Rating:PG14

Discliamer:Joss Whedon owns them.
Authors note: To my lovely muse, who listens to my whining and makes me feel much better and inspires me to write and never stop. Thank you, Niccy.

It's beautiful here. I had heard about this place for years. He had told me so many stories of his home, both good and bad, and he had described in exquisite detail the beauty of this land. He had such a way with words and as he spoke, his voice would shift, returning to the accent of his youth.

I would close my eyes and imagine I was there, walking on the beach, hearing the soft sounds the waves made in the bay, smelling the peat burning.

Amazing, I had never smelled burning peat, but his descriptions were so lucid that I knew just what the odor was like.

And, now, here I am, walking on that beach. And the waves are breaking gently on the sand, and the peat fires are burning in the nearby cottages.

And I hold my lover and tears flood my eyes.

Why had we never come here before this point in time? What had been so damn important to keep us from experiencing this beauty together?

I know the answer, of course. Our eternal battle against evil. A battle I had allowed myself to become caught in and once caught, could never find my way out.

My hands shake and I bite my lip, holding back my sobs. I have cried so much during the past week, and tears are never good for the skin. Vanity...He always laughed at my vanity.

And, then he'd kiss me silly and tell me I was beautiful without the artifice.

He was the beautiful one. The angelic one. Angel.

But, never really my Angel.

The sun is setting in the West and I know they will be here soon. Whether to join me or kill me, I don't know, and I really don't care.

Twenty five years of fighting the monsters of the world have put a toll on my body and my soul. I am tired, physically, emotionally, spiritually.

And, my heart aches. Because, now he knows I lied all those years ago. Lied about her.

Darkness falls and I sink down onto a large boulder, waiting, knowing that they have been following me for the past week, keeping to the shadows, waiting to see what I did.

I don't have long to wait.

"Cordelia," the clear voice calls from up the beach.

Slowly I turn to face her.

"Hello, Buffy."

Images flicker through my mind, transporting me back to that night, that horrible night, twenty one years before.

~~~~~

"Why are we back in Sunnydale?" I hissed at my dark companion as we slunk through cemetery number three for that night. I had asked the question at least a dozen times and a dozen times I had received that infuriating, enigmatic half-smile.

This time I got words too. "You can go back to the motel."

I sighed in frustration and gripped my cross tighter, making sure I kept it away from his line of sight. I might be pissed at him, but there was no reason to cause him pain.

Well...not until we got back to our motel room and I could pummel him senseless for making me troop around every cemetery in Sunnyhell in the middle of January in the drizzle.

Suddenly, he stopped and I ran into his back. I knew better than to complain. He was listening. I strained to hear as well, knowing that it was futile. His ears were so much better than mine.

Grabbing my hand, he dragged me quickly down a path, his feet not making a sound on the gravel. I stumbled once, but had learned how to keep up with him. My five mile a day jogs didn't hurt either.

As we neared the eastern wall of the cemetery, the sounds of chanting and growling finally reached my ear. Rounding a mausoleum, I finally saw the commotion and understood why we were there.

The mayor, that vampire Trick, and several minions had Buffy tied to a makeshift altar and it looked like they were preparing to sacrifice her.

Before I could even think to say anything, Angel flung himself at the vampires, growling and swearing bloody revenge.

In admiration, I watched him fight for a few moments, then quickly raised my cross to ward off the vampire who thought I'd be an easy target. Drawing a knife from my bag of tricks, I began to edge around towards Buffy. I could see that she was struggling against her bonds.

Angel had the minions well in hand, but Trick and the mayor were still chanting and burning stinky herbs. Another vampire tried to attack me and I stabbed him enough to make him fall back. I gained another few feet before another vampire knocked the knife from my hand.

As I backed against a tall tombstone, my cross the only thing saving me, I caught a glimpse of the mayor raising a wicked knife over Buffy's breast. I screamed for Angel and the vampire jumped me, knocking me to the wet grass.

Somehow I managed to fight him off, driving the cross against his face again and again until he fell back. Scrambling to my feet, I saw fleeing minions and Angel on the ground, not moving. My eyes flew up and I caught the mayor's glance.

A growl came from my right and the mayor and I both looked that way. Out of the shadows ran a blonde and black blur. As the mayor and Trick beat a hasty retreat, I stumbled forward and my eyes landed on the altar.

Blood was pouring from a massive hole in Buffy's stomach.

I felt a wave of dizziness hit me, but I forced myself forward. I think I managed to moan in fear, in loss. Buffy wasn't moving and there was so much blood.

Suddenly something blocked my view of her wound, someone in black leather. My mind tried to work, tried to make sense out of what I was seeing.

He was bending over her, crying her name, shaking her. He looked up, meeting my shocked gaze, and I saw tears in his eyes. Then his face changed and I watched him bury his fangs in Buffy's pale throat.

I watched him drain her.

And I watched him slit his wrist and press it to her mouth, manipulating her throat until she swallowed, filling her with his own blood.

And she died.

A strangled sound escaped my lips and he looked up, his eyes hard, his lips compressed together. He took off his coat, then used his shirt to pack the wound in her stomach.

Then he picked her up and ran into the night.

Stunned, I stumbled over to Angel and sank to my knees. He stirred and his eyes opened. Recognition filled them, then horror. He was on his feet before I could blink.

"What happened?" he asked, fearing the answer.

"She...she's dead." At that moment, I knew I couldn't tell him the truth.

That his one true love would never die now.

Crying out her name, Angel stumbled to the altar, his hands running over the remaining blood. "Where?"

"They took her...body."

As I reached his side, I watched the tears stream unashamedly down his cheeks. I touched his arm gently, expecting him to push me away.

Instead, he sank into my embrace, holding me like if I disappeared too, his world would truly end.

That was the moment I knew I loved him.

~~~~~

I loved Angel for over twenty years and I know he never loved me. I have that proof.

If he had loved me, Angelus would have returned a long time ago.

Within a year of connecting in Los Angeles--he the demon hunter, me the freshman at UCLA--we were sharing a bed. It was enjoyable. Two hundred and forty odd years of life provided a man with quite a bit of experience. He could make my body hum and scream with pleasure.

But...he never lost his soul.

And we never called it making love and we never called ourselves lovers. For twenty-four years I shared a man's bed. I was his mistress, his companion, his partner. I kept his house and researched his demons. I fought alongside him and made sure he had clean clothes to wear.

We were good together. We could have been great. If we had been a normal couple.

I watch Buffy sink gracefully into the sand next to me and wonder why I don't feel any fear. She's a vampire. Beautiful, young in appearance, but deadly. I can see that in her hard eyes.

No soul there.

I hear the scratch of a match and smell cigarette smoke. Spike's standing just out of the range of the light from the cottage behind me. I wonder what he's thinking, watching the woman he loves sitting next to me.

I know he loves her. I knew the moment I saw him shaking her, panicking in the face of her imminent death.

Does Buffy love him back? Does she still love Angel?

Or is she just a typical vampire?

Why is she here?

"You look good, Cordelia," she says, smiling slightly. "Aged well."

"You too...well, except you haven't aged at all."

She laughs at that, a tinkling laugh, that I realize isn't faked. Maybe there is a part of the real Buffy in the vampire shell.

"I'm surprised that the others aren't here to pay their respects."

I think about that for a minute. Does she really want to know about the others? Her former friends? "We decided that this should be private. I'm going to England tomorrow."

A shadow crosses her immaculate, pale face. "Giles?"

I nod slowly. "He and Willow." Buffy looks up sharply, surprised. "After Faith's death two years after...Well, he saw no reason to stay in Sunnydale. Willow had just gotten her Masters from Stanford and she followed him. They're married and have two sons."

Buffy chuckles. "I knew they had a thing for each other. I'm amazed that he finally gave in to his feelings for her. He...he's well?"

"Do you really care?" As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I curse myself silently. Oh, yes, let's anger the vampire.

Her face grows troubled and she shifts in the sand. "They mattered to my old self. She's a part of me. My memories are hers. My...emotions are hers. They're muted by new emotions and desires...but, yes, a part of me cares. The human part."

"Do you...want to know about the others?"

I watch as she nods, not eagerly, but almost in resignation. Like a part of her needs to know, so she can put her human self's past behind her.

"Well...After your...death, your mom...she didn't take it too well. We all thought she would go insane, but she became sort of the housemother to all the Slayers that pass through Sunnydale." As I speak, I wonder if I am putting Joyce in danger, but then figure that if Buffy wanted her mother dead, she could have killed her long ago.

"Faith and Xander married soon after...Of course, you knew they were dating..." I'm a little rattled and I take a deep breath to center myself. "I think he really loved her and I know she loved him. He finally had a Slayer who loved him and they were happy. But, of course, she died. She didn't even make it to twenty-three. After that, he left Sunnydale. I haven't spoken to him since her funeral, though he keeps in touch with Willow. He's, of all things, an English and drama teacher in a small town in Kansas."

"He always was a drama queen," Buffy says lightly.

I can't help but smile at that. Apparently Xander is a very good teacher. "He married again while getting his education degree and they tried to have a baby for years. Finally, about six years ago, they had a daughter. Her name's Hope. I guess that's as close as he can come to Faith."

There's no pang in my heart any longer as I speak about my first love. My love for Angel had long since overshadowed those teenage emotions. "Oz never married. That band of his and Devin's actually made something of itself."

"I know. I have all their CDs."

I nod and continue, "Devin married enough for both of them, Oz always says, having five wives in the last twenty years. Since the band disbanded, Oz has been living in L.A. I see him every month or so. He's been living with a guy named Greg, an artist, for about six years and they seem to be really happy. I know Oz wants to have a kid, but he doesn't dare risk it."

"And what about you, Cordy?"

"Me?" Yeah, what about me. Slowly I take a deep breath and think back over the last twenty five years, since I left Sunnydale behind. "I've been living with the man I love," I finally say simply.

I watch her eyes drift down to my lap, to what I hold in my hands.

His urn.

"Did he love you?" Buffy asks softly.

Tears prick my eyes and I blink them away. "I...He cared. We shared a lot of the same interests. We...were comfortable together." As I say the words, they sound so cold, so impersonal. Our relationship hadn't been like that...but...he hadn't loved me and I had learned to accept that so long ago.

Our eyes meet and hold as Buffy speaks. "If he had loved you, Cordy...you would have lost him."

"I know," I whisper as I watch the emotions flicker through her eyes. They're no longer cold and hard. They resonate with a hint of the love she and Angel had shared past death. "Do you love Spike?"

She nods and I know she's being honest. The demon she has become can still love, but why would it want to love someone with a soul? Spike's the perfect mate for her. But, I wonder what the human part of Buffy thinks and feels.

I break our locked gaze and my eyes float upwards to the star filled night sky. "I never told him...about your being turned. I told him you died."

"...I wondered why he never looked for me. Spike kept tabs on his activities and the two of you rarely left California."

"I...didn't want to lose him. I think I knew that if he searched for you, he'd end up dead."

"Or...you might just have lost him to me. Two vampires, even one without a soul..."

Her words cut through me and I flinch, knowing she's speaking the truth. I had feared that if he found her, even as a demon, he would still love her, still go to her, even risk losing his soul again. I had told myself I was doing it for the world, a world that couldn't survive another round with Angelus.

"I was selfish...but tell me, Buffy. If Angel had found you, what would you have done?"

I don't look at her as she sits still and silent beside me. Her voice is firm when she finally speaks. "I like to think that it wouldn't have mattered to me, the me I am now. I love Spike. Only a fleeting remnant of me loves Angel. Angelus might have been a hoot, but I'm not sure I could have put up with Angel long enough to try to get rid of his soul."

"So why are you here?" I demand, suddenly angry and frustrated.

"Because that little human part...needs to say goodbye."

I look down at the simple urn in my hands, then look out at the lights across the bay.

"What happened, Cordelia?" Buffy asks quietly, and my mind flits back seven nights. One week.

~~~~~

"No argument, 'Delia. You're still recovering from the flu. I can handle this one demon."

I looked up at Angel as he hovered over our bed in which I lay, being pathetic as I always am when I'm sick, and gave him my best 'I'm fine' look. He didn't buy it.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" I asked, whining slightly.

"It'll only be in town tonight, then it heads to Sunnydale. We don't want it going there. Bethany is still too inexperienced to face a real demon, even a minor one."

Reluctantly I nodded. The new Slayer was only fourteen-- still a baby in my eyes. She could hold her own against vampires, but this was a Ixorthian demon. Apparently they secreted acid from their skin and had sharp spikes growing out of their arms and legs.

I wondered idly if they had to go around naked or if their clothes were just ripped all the time.

Angel's mouth brushed across mine and I grabbed him, tugging him down on top of me. I hated it when he went hunting without me. I knew I wasn't the best fighter in the world, but I liked to be there with him...for him. Sometimes, he'd even needed my help.

"I'll be back, 'Delia. Before dawn, in one piece, I promise," he murmured against my mouth before kissing me deeply. Dazed from his passion for me, I watched him scoop up his bag of weapons and stride from the room.

I was still awake six hours later as the sun peeked over the horizon. I had been pacing for over an hour, swigging orange juice, determined to get well so that I could kick his ass. I beeped him again--the tenth time in the past hour-- and continued pacing.

The front door opened and I dashed towards it, relief flooding me.

Only to have it flee as I took in his appearance.

Angel staggered into the house, covered in blood from dozens of wounds. The worst were concentrated in his chest. As he collapsed just out of the rising sun's light, I slammed the door shut behind him and fell to my knees.

My heart pounded furiously and I could barely breathe. All my years of experience had me turning him onto his back and gently peeling his shirt away from his chest. Tearing off my t-shirt, I used it to wipe at the flowing blood until I clearly could see the large hole. Broken ribs floated in bleeding veins and torn muscle.

"Angel?" I asked in a strangled voice. "Your heart...where's the rest of it?"

His hand caught mine and our eyes met, mine I knew were full of panic, his were full of pain and sorrow...and relief. "Delia," he whispered. "Thank you."

Tears burst from my wild eyes and I clutched his hand to my chest, feeling his cold flesh brush my warm breasts. "For what?"

"For...being mine...For loving me...unconditionally. For understanding why..." His voice died away and his eyes fell shut.

"Angel?" I yelled, terrified, my heart threatening to explode.

His lips moved and I leaned in to listen, my tears dripping onto his face. "I wish...I wish I could have...loved you back..."

"Oh, Angel..."

As I raised my head, I felt him squeeze my hand and then the pressure vanished. Looking down, I saw him turn to dust and watched it settle on the tiled entryway, too stunned to do or say or think anything.

~~~~~

As I finish my recitation I feel the tears dripping down my cheeks, but make no move to stop them. I look at Buffy and see her staring out over the water.

"His heart was too damaged to survive," she explains needlessly. I know all about vampire physiology. Damage the heart enough, even though it's a dead organ, and a vampire will die. I wonder if Buffy had known this as the Slayer. If so, why hadn't she just taken a gun and shot for the heart a dozen times or so?

I know the answer to that, too. The Watchers are so set in their damn ways. Stakes, fire, beheadings, the traditional way to do things. Give me a rocket launcher any day.

My tears stop and I hug the urn to my chest, knowing that the time has come. Buffy seems to sense that and rises to her feet.

"What will you do now?" she asks.

I look around at the dark night, the few lights of scattered buildings. I listen and hear only the sea. It's so quiet here, only ten miles from a bustling city. It's like we're a couple of hundred years in the past. As I rise to my feet, I smile slightly. "I think I'll stay here. Angel left me a large fortune. I think I'll buy one of these cottages and maybe put some of that money to good use."

Buffy gives me a skeptical look. I know why. Cordelia Chase, fashion queen, socialite, living in a cottage in Connemara. "What kind of good?"

I feel myself smiling for the first time since Angel's death, realizing what I want to spend the money on. "Children. I want to help children."

"I don't get it."

"Angel couldn't give me children," I say softly. "I know he regretted that because he knew I wanted them. I'm too old to have my own...but there are lots of unwanted children in the world. Maybe I can help some of them."

I can see that Buffy is baffled. The real Buffy would have understood, but this is just a demon after all, no matter that she has been rather understanding and willing to listen for the last hour.

I take a deep breath and open the urn. "Angel's greatest desire was to be buried with you. When I told him your body was gone, he told me that if he died before me, he wanted me to bring him here, to this stretch of beach."

"Why here?"

"He used to walk here every day, or ride if he could borrow a horse. He loved the water. He told me that our beach house in L.A. could never compare to a simple cottage here on Galway Bay. He was right."

I begin to walk down the beach towards the water's edge and know Buffy is walking with me. I look down into the dark, swirling water and tip the urn. Dust flutters down, pooling on the surface before merging with the water and sinking. "Goodbye, my love," I whisper.

"Goodbye, Angel," I hear Buffy say softly. A rush of air and she's gone, disappearing into the night with her demon lover. I stand there and watch my love's remains disperse...and finally feel a bit of peace enter me.

*****

Forty-five years have passed since that night. Here I sit in my three hundred year old cottage, in walking distance of the place I buried Angel. Today I made my last trip to the water's edge and said my final goodbyes.

I'm dying. Cancer. No one has managed to find a cure for that disease yet. It's been eating at me for nearly a year and nothing has eradicated it. The doctors say I'll live for another year or so.

But, I know that they mean hooked up to machines, having to endure more radiation and chemotherapy. I've done that. No more.

No. I've chosen when to go. Now I just wait for the appointed time. For the sun to set.

I sit at my desk, looking at the pictures of my children, hundreds of them. Happy, smiling faces. Some with new families, all with futures. Thanks to Angel's money.

I spent a fortune, but there's still enough to keep the houses running for another decade and we have many other benefactors these days. Angel House and all its namesakes are very popular charities these days. The first one, in Galway, is my baby, but there are nearly fifty others scattered around the world.

I said goodbye to my babies this morning, although they didn't realize it. Kissing each sweet face, listening to their stories of what they had done over the weekend, looking at the pictures they had drawn for me.

Then, I had gone to church. For the first time since I was a teenager, I stepped inside a church and received absolution. Of course, I'm well known to the local priest, but he was surprised to find that I was a very lapsed Catholic.

After that, I had made my way to the beach and spent several hours talking to Angel, hoping and praying that I would soon be joining him.

For, I know there is a Hell, so surely there is a Heaven. I hope he will forgive me my deception. It has always bothered me that I lied about Buffy. I knew that when he died, he was reunited with her soul. The buried Catholic inside me firmly believed that.

On meeting her soul, he surely found out how she had really died.

A part of me is desperate to see him again...and another part of me is afraid...afraid to see him with her...afraid that he will be angry with me.

I close the scrap book and let my eyes fall shut. I will have my answers soon.

The night passes swiftly. I doze. I eat my last dinner. I write a few letters to some of my children. All my friends have passed before me. I hope to join them. Giles went first, nearly thirty years ago, and to all our surprise, Willow quickly followed, her heart broken. Xander died in a car accident eighteen years ago, and Oz, of heart failure three years ago.

I'm the last.

Well...not quite the last.

It's nearly dawn when the door to my back garden opens and she steps into the room.

"I was beginning to wonder if you got my message." I say, my heart beginning to pound in fear and anticipation.

"I got it. I just wanted to time this right."

I look up into the eternally young face of my old nemesis and friend and smile. "It's time."

Buffy nods. There's an eagerness about her. When I heard that Spike had been killed by the latest Slayer over six months before, I knew how it would end for the last two Sunnydale Slayerettes.

The vampire's hands shake as she reaches down and lifts me to my feet. There are tears in her eyes. "I...can't bear to be without him any longer. It's only been six months. This is pathetic."

"No it's not," I say gently, stroking her shoulders. I've shrunk so much that we're now the same height. "You love him and you want to be with him, even in Hell."

Buffy nods and pulls my frail body close. "Are you sure about this, Cordelia?"

"Yes...It's time to go."

"For both of us."

As I feel the sun break over the horizon and shine through the windows, I feel her fangs slip into my throat. After the first pinprick of pain, there's nothing but peace. I feel her drawing my blood from me and I smile, relaxing against her young, strong body.

As my eyes fall shut and I grow limp, I smell the smoke and feel the heat. She's burning. I hear her cry his name, a guttural, needy sound of 'Spike'. I whisper 'Angel'.

And we're free falling...

Feeback is nice!