Everything I Touch Dies
By Iago

Angel stepped from the shadows into the warm moon light. From darkness to light, from light to darkness, this was how he had lived his life. Who would have thought an advance on a pretty girl would have ended him here. Another continent. Another time. He had lived so long . . .

*How long was too long?*

He moved with the night, an unyielding alliance he had been forced into long ago. When had he become a child of darkness? Was it the night Darla had sired him, or had it been the first life he had taken, and the joy it had brought him? Or was it the first time he had laid eyes on Buffy and realized how *different* he truly was?

He watched her now from the darkness. She was so sad. She always seemed so sad now. But how could he comfort her? How could he bring himself to stand next to her after all that had happened? He'd said good bye, but now he was back . . .but not to stay.

Angel looked at the flowers in his hands. He had been holding them too tightly, and now they were dying. He acknowledged this sadly, *Everything I touch dies, eventually.* It wasn't only the physical sense that Angel considered either. Emotionally . . .mentally, he had become a murderer much like Angelus had been. Buffy's battered heart was evidence of that. Had Buffy been someone weaker, someone like Angel had been, the heartbreak would have destroyed her. But Buffy wasn't weak and still she stood.

His friend was gone. He'd arrived too late. . . and if he had stayed it might all be different now. If . . .

Tears were running down Buffy's face now and Angel watched as Xander hugged her to him. Angel felt himself tense up, jealousy creeping in as he watched his love in the arms of another man. But the feeling subsided, to a point, as Angel understood that *he* had walked away, *he* had said good bye. And hadn't this been the reason he had left her in the first place: to allow her to experince a life and love as normal as could be?

Yes.

But could Buffy ever live a happy, normal life? Had he been fair in not allowing his love to make her own decisions, to make up her own mind? He recalled the silence in which they had said their last good byes. The war had ended, the Mayor was gone, yet neither of them had given closure to their relationship. Did that mean that there was a possible future for them or had Fate only held them from speaking, perhaps fearing that they would be unable to leave one another.

Angel watched his love in lonely silence. That was the eternal prison he had been sentenced to. Had he suffered more than this in Hell? He could vaguely recall his tenure in the demon world, flashes of pain and torment would enter his mind sporadically, but he believed this was a much worse place. Without Buffy, his life seemed hollow, not that he had held much within him, but with Buffy gone, he was truly empty. She completed him, she was the light to his darkness. Without her, there was only the dark; cold and alone.

Buffy stepped to Giles as Cordelia came to Xander. They were all shedding tears now, and Angel longed to be a part of the healing; to be a part of the love that emanated from the group. He longed to give way to the sadness that the others could not contain. He had to be strong. He had to avenge her, no matter what. . .then he would go . . .again.

It seemed like hours before Giles dragged a limp Buffy from the cemetary. Angel moved from the shadows and stepped before the tombstone. He knelt on the fresh dirt and fingered the words etched into the fine marble:

Willow Rosenberg
Beloved Daughter and Friend
1981-1999

At that point, Angel surrendered to his regret and tears flowed like a summer's rain. He cried inconsolably, like a baby, holding nothing back and letting go all he had held for so long.

Willow had been his friend. Friendship, he had treated as a valuable commodity, for true friendship is rarely found. But Willow had offered hers without any strings attached. It was wrong that such an innocent soul had been forced to witness such evil and despair. That she had died valiantly was of no comfort to Angel. Then he heard a voice, a ghastly hallucination his heart wanted desperately to embrace.

Angel looked up to see her lithe figure stepping from the darkness. She seemed to glow as the moonlight cast an aura about her body. Her red hair appeared to shine a beautiful color Angel had never encountered. She walked to him with the wide smile that he had always acknowledged as a reflection of Willow's soul.

"Angel, don't cry for me . . .it was my time."

He shook his head. "No, Willow, I should have been there. I could have protected you. This . . .this is so wrong."

Willow smiled. "I was happy in my life, but she needs you. Buffy needs you . . .don't leave her again."

Angel smiled bittersweetly. He wasn't going to allow his mind to let him off that easy. He had made a decsion not for himself, but for her, for Buffy. He had done what he had for love and if he spent an eternity in torment and pain, so be it.

Angel closed his eyes, reciting an ancient prayer he had known as a kid so many years ago when he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He looked up into the sorrow-filled face of Buffy, her eyes slick with tears. Angel stood up and took her into his arms. She cried uncontrollably, shaking with every sob and Angel himself could not hold back. She held him tight, not wanting him to
go. This Angel noticed, and yet he held her close. He loved her so much that it hurt.

He said nothing as they cried upon one another, but he knew he would leave again . . .he had to . . .and what then? *Everything I touch dies* he said to himself sadly, but for that moment in time, they were together.

The End