A Change
By Fyre
TITLE: A Change
AUTHOR: Fyredansa
EMAIL: Fyredansa@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: There has been some major change and it has serious repercussions. (Deals with suicide)
FEEDBACK: Hey, if you like it, please comment. If not, I'll go and sulk in the corner.
DISTRIBUTION: Just here at the mo...but anyone can have it :-) Just ask nicely ;-)
SPOILERS: Not much - just the first few bits and pieces of Angel - Season 1
COUPLE: B/A, S/W (implied)
RATING: Erm...A bit above PG13, but below the one above it...or something.
DISCLAIMER: Let me get this clear - if I owned these guys, do you THINK I would waste time writing? Ho no! ;-) These chaps and chapettes (chaps preferred) belong to Joss Whedon and all the other companies involved with the TV show. I should have asked for permission to use them, but I didn't and its too late now, so please don't sue me cos I'm poor!
CLASSIFICATION: I could write more...possibly an explanation. I'm useless. I know :)
NOTES: What can I say? Although I don't really like the B/A pairing, its WAY better the B/R and I do like Angel so NYAH!
DEDICATED: Anyone who actually reads it :-D
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He didn’t know how it happened. Wasn’t sure if he wanted to know either. But it had happened and there didn’t seem to be any way to undo it now.
One minute, everything had been how it had been for as long as he could remember, then – in an instant – it all changed. Everything he could remember knowing seemed to have vanished like mist in the morning sun. Irrelevant. Unimportant in the new scheme of things.
Lying back on the bed, he briefly let his mind wander to the moment when he realised he had changed. When he knew there was no way he was ever going to be the same again.
Punching the pillows to a fuller fluffiness, he sat up and let himself fall back to sink into the softness, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he propped his hands behind his head, his eyes half-closed.
His torso was bare, the sheet on the bed smooth against his skin, but it felt different, as did the rough, rumpled material of his jeans against his legs. It was as if all his senses had altered somehow.
Everything seemed different – the smell, the colours, the textures...everything.
Leaning up on his elbows, he looked down at his body with curiousity. He didn’t seem to look different, but then, he hadn’t really paid that much attention to his body before, so any differences could have gone unnoticed.
Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe it was just another one of those bizarre dreams that seemed to haunt him.
He remembered a dark face over him, then pain. Intense, agonising, soul-jerking pain as something he thought he would never lose was torn from him, leaving him trembling, sobbing, helpless.
The pain that lingered had alone made him mad enough to storm out and kill anything that got in his path, but he fought the urge. He couldn’t do that. He’d been at the receiving end too often to do that now.
Did this mean he still had his soul? Or not?
Maybe it was only temporary and he didn’t know that it was really what happened to him. It was still dark outside.
He would have to wait for sunrise until he could test his theory. Wait til sunrise. That was, like, almost four hours away. And he didn’t want to be outside until he was certain what had happened. That he was right and it wasn’t just a dream.
Rolling onto his side, he pushed himself to his feet, the wooden floor feeling strange against his bare soles as he padded up the stairs, a light breeze cool on his skin as he stepped into the dark room.
Stepping over several folders and piles of paper, he pushed the window up, gazing out at the dark sky, a surge of longing hitting him as he inhaled the sweet scent of the night air.
The stars twinkled high above him and he allowed himself a little smile. They were beautiful As always. He remembered spending all of one night just watching them with one of his lovers. Remembering her sent a surge of pain through him.
Maybe it wasn’t too late for them. Maybe.
It had been a long time...but if things were truly changed, they would have to eternity and beyond to spend with one another...and that was long enough, wasn’t it?
Running his fingers through his hair, he let out a low whistle, trying to distract himself from the savage hunger clawing at his belly fiercely. This kind of hunger felt different too. Annoyingly so.
Pacing back and forth across the floor, he tried to remember the people most important to him. If he could just remember them, despite the change, he knew he would have some hope to cling to. Any hope was better than nothing.
There were so many people. So many memories that tumbled through his head, uncalled for. Some good, some bad, some just plain weird.
Demons, vampires, ghosts, witches, lovers, spirits, shades, humans, were-creatures, mortals...all were blended together to form the huge kalleidescopic mesh that was his whole amazing life.
Pausing to lean against the closed door, he felt a thrill of anticipation run through him, as he stared at the sky.
It was almost time. Almost time to see if he had become what he believed or to be returned the the illusion that he had lived for so long.
Watching the first rays of the dawn filter over the horizon, the spread of orange-gold sent a shiver through him. It had been far too long since he had seen the sun rise. A thing so trivial.
Stepping onto the doorstep, he knew that he could be dead in moments, depending on if her were right or wrong, but he had to take that risk. He had to know. He had nothing left but that now.
Dropping an envelope on the doorstep for any of his friends who happened to be anywhere near that place he had called home, he walked out of the door, standing in the middle of the road, his arms outstretched, as if he were on a crucifix.
Above him, the velvetty blue of the sky was laced with streaks of gold that slowly turned to violets, reds, lilacs, slowly spreading out to the pale, beautiful blue of the summer day’s sky.
As the sun finally completely pulled itself over the horizon, it shone down on the quiet stretch of empty road where the Vampire called Angel had been standing moments before.
The quiet stretch of deserted road where the Vampire called Angel would never, ever stand again.
*
The Next Day - Sunnydale
“Buffy?”
The blonde Slayer looked up with a sleepy smile. Her patrols of the last few days had been rough with several gangs of Vampires taking the concept of actually working together to new levels, when they ambushed her.
Giles took the seat next to her, Willow sitting on her other side. “What is it? What’s happened?” A feeling of unease swept over her. A kind of deep-rooted, terrifying fear that she was about to lose everything she held dear.
“Buffy, we’ve just got word from L.A.” Giles began, pulling off his glaseses and nervously wiping the lenses. “It would have gotten to us sooner but-but Cordelia didn’t know what had happened.”
“Giles?” Buffy looked from her Watcher to her friend, the fear sinking its claws into her stomach, her throat drying up. “Willow? What is it?”
Leaning over the back of the couch, Spike frowned. He knew something serious had happened, but the witch and Watcher had refused to tell him what. “Get on with it, Giles. The suspense is killing us...”
“Er...Spike...if wou don’t mind going out of the room for a moment...?” Giles nodded towards the bathroom, a steely expression in his eyes.
Confused, the platinum Vampire got up and sauntered around the table where the trio sat, pausing to lean over Buffy’s shoulder and whisper. “If you need a hand, pet, give me a shout and I’ll come running.”
Squeezing the vampire’s cold hand, she nodded. He may have been a cruel, cold-hearted, evil son of a bitch, but he knew when someone needed comforting and he always had a shoulder there.
“So are you going to tell me already?” She forced a note of boredom into her voice, trying to fight back the tears that were creeping onto the edge of her vision. “Or do I have to play twenty questions?”
Silently nodding to Willow, the Watcher lifted a slim white envelope out of his briefcase and laid it on the desk in front of her. “If you want to read it alone, we could leave you...”
Staring down at the paper, she recognised Angel’s elegant handwriting – only it looked like he had been trembling when he wrote. A pang of pain ran through her as she slid it between her finger and thumb, picking it up.
Gesturing for Giles and Willow to remain, she ripped the envelope with trembling fingers, pulling a folded sheet of paper out, unfolding it slowly, as if to delay reading the truth.
Inhaling a trembling breath, she stared dully down at the scrawled note, stumbling to her feet and making her way across to the sofa, sinking into the familiar softness with a low moan.
Peering out of the bathroom, Spike shuffled out, making his way silently to the table as Buffy buried her face in her hands, dropping to her knees on the floor, her body trembling with heart-breaking sobs.
“Slayer?” Hurrying to her side, he sank down on his knees and gently drew her into his arms. Pulling the crushed piece of paper from her hands, he let her burrow against his chest, her sobs shaking her tiny body, his eyes taking in his Sire’s last message.
Buffy~
Once – you won’t remember – I got given life again. A demon’s blood gave me the one thing that could mean we would be happy. And we were, but without my demon, I was weak. I gave up our happiness to make certain you would live. That we both would.
Its hard to explain and I wish I could, but I think the fate’s have been playing tricks on me. I feel alive. But if I’m not. And if I have to face this feeling again...I can’t cope with the memories of our love. What we had. My life would be too long. Too long knowing I could never have you. See you. Feel your kisses. Your embrace.
I’ve decided to see if I am alive. And if I’m not, then you’ll never see me again. No one will. I’ll be another pile of dust. Harsh words, I know, but I can’t face an unlife like this any more. You know what I’m like...I always wanted to see the sun rise. And it seemed like a romantic way to go.
I only wish it wasn’t like this, Buffy. I wish I could have been a normal, loving, living man. The kind who could always be there. But I have to know. If I die, it’ll be for the dream that was our love.
I love you, Buffy Anne Summers. You weren’t just the Slayer. You were and still are the most beautiful, wonderful and amazing woman in the world.
I will always love you.
~ Angel
“Oh, Buffy.” Clenching his jaw, Spike felt like his long-dead heart had been torn out of his chest. His Sire – his father....dead... “I’m so sorry, luv. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry...” And the voice in his head screamed in sync - "You bastard! You evil, evil bastard!"
*
Several Days Later
Ducking under the vampire’s arm, Buffy let all her frustration and despair pour out of her as she battered the undead crap out of the newest trio of vamps trying to open the Hellmouth again.
“Take. That. You. Dumb. Vamp.” She spat every word savagely, punching and kicking her punctuation.
As the last of the three erupted into a cloud of dust, the Slayer finally sank back, inhaling a slow breath through her teeth, her palms coated in a cold sweat, her skin crawling in that feeling she once jokingly told Giles was her ‘spider sense’.
Glancing down at the pile of dust, the feeling faded as she remembered why she was so upset.
He was a pile of dust. Just like that, her soulmate and lover was gone. No longer in existance. Demised. Killed. DEAD!
“Angel...why did you leave me?” Sinking to her knees, the dampness of the grass ebbing through her trousers unnoticed, she shivered, tears breaking from the corners of her eyes again.
Kneeling there, her head resting against the chilly marble of the tomb, she knew his soul was still there. His soul was watching over her. His soul was waiting for hers somewhere and she knew she had to go to him.
Letting the hot tears run down her cold cheeks for the first time in this particular hour, she shivered again, rubbing her red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes, marred from the weeping of the last few days.
Lifting herself on her shaky legs, she made her way to one of the benches and lifted out her small knife, absently sharpening Mister Pointy as she waited for the next batch of vamps.
“Ow!” Exclaiming sharply as the blade cut into her skin, she stuck the cut finger into her mouth, wincing at the sting, the tang of blood metallic on her tongue.
Slowly drawing the finger out, she looked at the cut. It wasn’t too deep. In fact, it had already started to heal, but a single drop of ruby rose, beading on her pale skin, dark, thick red.
“Blood.” She murmured thoughtfully, turning her hand over and looking at the veins running down her plm and across her wrist. “Angel always likes blood...Angel must be thirsty. I’ll have to give him some more blood.”
Lowering the blade to her wrist, she hummed quietly, drawing it across the skin sharply, in a zig-zag motion, pulling it deep enough to cut into those narrow blue lines that pulsed beneath her pale skin.
Switching hands, she watched the blood run down the blade as she lowered the knife to her other wrist and repeated the swift action, the sticky warmth flowing from the cuts quickly.
The stinging cut of the metal was unacknowledged as she let the bloody knife fall from her hands, staring dully at the crimson tide streaming from her torn wrists, over her trembling hands and onto the ground.
A little voice inside her screamed “That was stupid, Buffy! You’re bleeding now and there’s no one to help you.” But she didn’t care.
The pulsing, throbbing pain in her wrists as her life flowed out of her seemed unimportant. She was dying. Big whoop. Everyone died some time. Just like Angel had died. Died for their love.
Raising her tear-stained face to the sky, she smiled. “I’m coming, my Angel.”
*
The Morning After
Standing in the hospital corridor, Giles gently rubbed Joyce’s back, his own eyes dark with concern and pain.
Spike and Willow had turned to one another for reassurance, the slight redhead clinging to the bleached vampire as if her life depended on it, tears pouring silently down her pale cheeks.
It had been Spike that had found her. He had smelt her blood from the Watcher’s house and had run almost all the way to the cemetary, not caring if any of the remnants of the Initiative were lurking about.
Sitting on the bench, she had turned her pale face to his, a beautific smile on her lips and whispered. “Angel’s waiting for me.”
Moments later, she sank into unconsciousness and had remained there since, even after being delivered to the hospital and being pumped with blood, fluids and everything else.
But she was slipping away. Her will to live was all but gone.
The door of her room slowly opened, the group all turning anxious faces towards the Doctor as he stepped into the chilly, harsh white light of the hall, his expression grave and stoic.
“Shes dead, isn’t she?” Joyce’s voice trailed off, tears welling from the corners of her eyes, her face aging more in that moment than it had in the seven years they had all known her.
“Mrs Summers...I’m very sorry...”
Waving the doctor away, Giles drew the weeping woman into his arms. They had all known that this day would come – the day when the young Slayer would be killed, but they didn’t expect it quite so soon or in such tragic circumstances.
“Why did she do it?” Her head pressing against Giles’ chest, she futiley tried to wipe the continuous flow of tears away. “Why would she commit suicide? She had everything to live for...everything...”
“Not everything.” Giles murmured, pushing his hand into his pocket and retrieving the crumpled note, handing it to her shakily. “This is probably what triggered it. I should have known she wasn’t all right. I should have had someone watching her closer...”
Raising confused eyes to him, she blinked back her tears, staring at the blurring letters, her breath escaping in shallow sobs.
“You didn’t tell me he was dead...” She whispered painfully. “No one told me the man my daughter loved was dead...why?”
Exchanging helpless glances with Willow and Spike over her head, Giles falteringly mumbled. “We-we thought Buffy wou...that is to say...”
“We thought Buffy would have said something.” Spike put in bluntly. “You’re her mum, so we thought she would trust you with it. Apparently not. It hit her harder than we all thought.”
“When did he die?” Joyce finally asked, handing the note back too the Watcher.
Giles pushed his glasses up his nose. “I...we’re not certain. The letter arrived three days ago...and we haven’t heard any-anything since.”
Joyce rubbed her eyes and slowly stood up, moving towards the door mechanically, her voice a low, pain-filled whisper. “I’m going to go and see my daughter. I’d be grateful if you would just leave me alone for a little while.”
Nodding, the trio, waited until the door closed quietly behind her, then they turned and left the hospital.
*
Half-sitting on the couch, Spike tenderly cradled the sleeping Willow, his hand gently holding onto hers, even in sleep. Her tear-stained face resting against his chest, he brushed a lock of her red hair back from her cheek with a sigh.
She had cried for hours, finally fallling asleep with the tears still running down her pale cheeks. He had never seen her in such a state. Even after Oz’s departure, she had still been more alive than she was now.
He knew she and Buffy had been close. Very close. But now it seemed as if Willow had lost half of herself.
Tracing a finger down her cheek, he gently brushed his lips across hers, holding her closer. He knew how he would feel if he ever lost the little red-haired witch. He would probably do what Buffy had done...only sooner.
A tap at the door distracted him from his little lover. Twisting around, he looked for Giles, but – seeing no one – he carefully slipped off the sofa and made his way to the door, opening it slowly.
Staring at the familiar figure before him, Spike did what no vampire had ever been known to do – he keeled over backwards in a dead faint.
*
Touching the wounds on Buffy’s wrists, Joyce fought back another surge of tears, catching her lower lip between her teeth, biting down so hard she drew blood, her eyes stinging.
Her shaking hand brushed down the freshly-washed blonde hair and she absently noticed that her daughter’s roots were starting to show through again. Her naturally dark roots.
“Oh, Buffy.” The name slipped from her lips as unconsciously as the tears that streamed down her face.
Her baby. Her little girl. Her Buffy. She was dead. Completely, this time. No returning like she had that night with the Master so many years before. This time, the death was final. Complete.
Outside, she heard footsteps thundering down the hall, then several voices raised in anger. Absently, the buzz of the argument reached her, although she couldn’t make out what was being said.
Until the door smashed inwards, slamming against the wall with a resounding crash.
Slowly, reluctantly, Joyce turned in her seat, raising empty to eyes to see who had disturbed her grieving. Her blood-shot eyes widened in horror, one trembling hand rising to her mouth, a flurry of words stumbling from her slack lips.
“Nononononononononononono!”
The figure stared back at her, then at the still form of the late Vampire Slayer in the bed, a low moan of despair rising from him.
*
Kneeling on the bed, Buffy’s body pulled into his arms, he sobbed, not caring who heard or saw him, tears streaming uncontrolled down his cheeks, splashing unto her motionless face.
“Angel...” Giles stood at the door. “She’s gone. You can’t bring her back...”
The former-vampire raised his anguished brown eyes to the Watcher, more pain there than had ever been, even after his hundred years in hell. Nothing could compare to this pain. The pain of losing the one he loved like this.
When he was able to have her.
If only he’d gotten here a day sooner. If only he hadn’t ended up in jail for those two days that could have made a difference. If only he had been smart enough to memorise Cordy or Doyle’s phone numbers.
If only he hadn’t written the damned letter in the first place.
“She can’t be dead...” He whispered chokingly, a burning rising at the back of his throat. “She can’t be!”
“Giles...” Raising her eyes to the Watcher, Joyce stared from the bed to the English man. “He...he’s in direct sunlight...how?”
“I got my life back.” Angel mumbled, his face resting against Buffy’s, the chill of her flesh making him shiver. Now, he knew how she felt whenever he touched her. It was strange. The coldness. “I came back for her...I thought we would be happy...I didn’t think she would do...do this...”
He lifted her limp hand in his, his fingers slowly running over the livid pink wounds on her wrist, his face contorting in a mask of bitter pain.
“No matter what happens to me,” He lowered her hand sadly. “I’m a curse. I killed her. Its all my fault.”
“No!” Shakily standing up, Joyce made her way around the bed and slid under Angel’s arm and hugging him tightly, their tears mingling as they clung to one another in a desperate quest for comfort and reassurance.
And to show him that she didn’t blame him for the death of her beautiful daughter.
*
A Year Later
“A little to the left...bit more....right a bit...” Squinting, Joyce nodded. “Perfect!”
Glancing over his shoulder, Angel gave her a weak smile. “Can I get off the ladder now, before I fall and break something?”
“I guess so.” Joyce smiled at the much-older-younger-looking hunk of a man, dusting her hands down her baggy trousers. He had been lost after he returned from LA to find the love of his life had killed herself and she – Joyce – had shared that pain.
The day he had arrived back and appeared at the hospital, she had offered him the room that had once been Buffy’s before she had left to go to college and before she had gotten the apartment with Willow and Tara.
At a complete loss and with a new life ahead of him, he hadn’t been able to find the words to say no. He was as helpless as a newborn and her maternal instincts had overwhelmed her. He needed someone to take care of him until he was able to himself.
But feelings had changed over time. Growing ever closer in the months that followed the blond Slayer’s funeral, they were rarely seen apart. She had done something for him that no one else could.
She had taught him to live - and love - again.
Stepping behind her, he slid his arms around her distended belly, his hands brushing lightly over the smooth swell with a proud smile. “If its a girl,” He whispered softly in her ear. “We’re going to call her Buffy...if that’s okay with you.”
Laying her hands over his, she touched the narrow gold band on his finger. “I’d like that.” Looking up at her husband, she smiled. “And if its a boy?”
“Liam.” Nuzzling her neck teasingly, he smiled. “I do have some of the old Irish me lurking here...”
Turning, she slid her arms over his shoulder and drew his lips onto hers, a rush of love pouring through his veins as he pulled her closer. His wife and the precious bundle that would be his child.
And on the wall above them, the portrait of the girl whose loss had brought the two lost souls together smiled down on them, safe in the knowledge that she would never be forgotten.
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