Infinity
by Salatina

I used to hate the sunset.

Before, when all it meant was that night was coming, that I would have to go out and patrol soon, I hated sunset. Now, I love it.

Because it reminds me of him.

I know that, no matter what I'm doing, when the sun goes down, he's waking up. He's starting off his day. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks of me at sunset. Or if he ever thinks of me, anymore.

One thing that pollution has done for southern California - it gives us beautiful sunrises and sunsets. Especially over the ocean.

As I sit and stare off into the red-and-gold sky as it dips into the endless calm of the Pacific, I think about him. About where he is, what kind of night he has to look forward to.

The sand shifts under my feet. A breeze is coming in off the ocean, and whipping up the top layer of the small debris, sending it flying around me. My view of the beautiful sunset is obscured, for a moment, but I don't mind. I close my eyes, and enjoy the feel of the cool zephyr, dancing about the beach.

My feet are bare. That's the only way to truly appreciate a beach - with no shoes. My clothes are baggy, shockingly against the fashion. But there's no one around to impress, and the dull, soft material feels good against my skin. My hair is tied back neatly, with an elastic band of no particular color, and the ends of it tickle my neck and cheeks in the stirring wind.

Angel would like it here. It's quiet. It's probably the only beach in the entire state of California that is quiet, even in this chilly

winter.I quietly open my eyes, feeling that the minor sand storm has died down. The sun is on the pinnacle of its daily death, hovering just above the barely distinguishable line of the horizon. This is my favorite moment, just before it slips away.

Like Angel slipped away. Forever.

I can't help but smile, a little bitterly. When I was a little girl, my father would always mutter to his fishing friends about "the one that got away." The biggie. The one to end all one's.

Fishing, I think sadly. Yet another thing that I don't know if Angel likes. That I will never know if Angel likes.

There's something blurring my vision, and most of me knows it's not the sand. It's too wet, it's too cool. It's too painful. But I don't wipe the tears off my face, I let them come.

I'll stop crying when my heart dies. I wonder how many more hits it can take? The forces of Darkness and fate are certainly trying hard enough to find out.

Parker, out of my life. Riley, dead. Giles, dead. Willow and Xander, living their own lives, without me. Angel... wherever he is.

There are more tears. My eyes are dry and red and it hurts to blink, but the physical pain is nothing.

Now, the bright disk of the sun has left me, too.

I wait. I'm not sure exactly what for, but I suddenly know I'm waiting for something.

I usually get up, after the sun sets, and head back to the house. My little break from life ends with the day.

But not on this day. Today, I'll sit here for a few more moments.

Then I see it.

It starts out as a black speck off in the distance, farther than even my highly acute Slayer eyes can discern its shape. It moves closer, becomes clearer, and I can see that it's a person, walking gracefully along the edge of the shore.

The person draws closer, slowly. Tall, dark-haired... long coat over black clothes.

My guard goes up. It could be a vampire. The sun has just set, and the light is diffused enough that a vampire in a simple coat such as the one on this person could be safe outside. I stay still where I am, slightly obscured from their view by a gnarled tree stump and an ocean of waving sea grass.

I doubt the person would have seen me anyway, even if I had been dancing on top of the stump. His gaze is riveted on the roaring Pacific, seemingly lost in thought.

His shoes are off, too, I notice. He's holding them in his hand as he walks. They're black, just like everything else he wears.

He comes to a stop some thirty meters away, staring off at the horizon. I think, for a moment, that he's going to sit down on the sand, but he doesn't. He just stands there, and stares.

Then he turns around, and looks straight at me.

My carefully-prepared guard falls apart. My heart contracts violently in my chest, and I swear that if I hadn't already been sitting down, I would have lost all balance and fallen.

He looks surprised. His dark eyes blink owlishly at me for a moment, somehow unbelieving. I can almost hear the thoughts screaming in his head, because I'm thinking them, too.

It can't be him. It's someone else, someone who just looks like him. He's not here, he's off in LA. With someone else, someone he loves enough to stay with.

But as we stare, silently, I know that it's a lie. My heart knows him, will always know him, even if he no longer loves me.

He tries to say something, but stumbles over the words, and stops. Neither of us move, because we know that we won't be able to stop ourselves from drawing near each other if we do.

I look at him, pleading for his eyes to tell me that there is some ounce of love for me in him. I need to know if he pines for me, day in and day out, the same way I do.

He swallows, and turns away.

Somehow, thirty meters stretches into infinity.

The End

Tell me how much you hate me.

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