The Wheel
Disclaimers: See part one.
Part Two
They were walking again. They existed in that sort of comfortable familiarity, the easy silence only lovers seem to share. The conventional title didn't seem to work, though. None of them ever had for them. They were soulmates, best friends, siblings of the heart…. The labels didn't matter. They were *together.*
Angel stumbled suddenly. Buffy caught his arm and looked at him in concern. "I'm fine," he insisted, and stood tall beside her. She had a frown on her face, but let it pass.
He wasn't all right though. He was feeling weaker as time went on and he was pretty sure Buffy could tell. Neither of them said anything about it, though. They knew what it meant - their time together in this place was about to come to an end one way or another. Neither of them wanted to think about that, though. *Treasure every moment.*
Buffy squeezed his hand with a small, sad smile on her face. Yes, they knew. They just wouldn't admit it to themselves. She stood still, and their endless walking came to a rest for a moment. "I want to ask you something," she said softly.
"Go ahead," Angel said. He hadn't even the slightest worry about what she might ask.
"Why *did* you leave me?" At Angel's surprised look, she tried to clarify. "I don't mean the 'erasing the day' thing. I understand why you did that. No, I mean Sunnydale. Why *did* you leave?"
"I told you," Angel said softly.
"So tell me again," Buffy replied with the infinite patience only the dead can have.
Angel looked down as he thought for a moment. He looked up again, no doubt in his gaze or his words. "I couldn't give you what you needed…a normal life. Children, a future, someone to grow old with…someone you could make love to. I…could never have given you everything that you wanted."
She smiled, that sad smile that had become so familiar now. "All I wanted was you, Angel. You should have known that."
He shook his head in denial. "You're the Slayer. You should have had something…someone normal. Someone who belonged in the light."
"I'm the Slayer. My life is darkness. The same darkness you dwell in. That's why we always fit so well together." She stepped closer to him, searching his face. "What was it *you* wanted that made you need to leave?"
"You don't understand," Angel said softly. "Everything I wanted, I wanted for you. There wasn't anything else."
"Show me," she whispered, leaning close. "Show me what you wanted." She kissed him then, and Angel let his eyes close and his mind wander. He painted a picture in his mind of the ideal moments they had never had, that they could never have. It was too late now, after all.
When they had opened their eyes again the gray had taken on a peculiar sort of glow as of the sunlight through mist. The ground was grass covered now and speckled with wild flowers. Hills stretched out beyond their vision, wooded in the distance. Close at hand stood a large tree, its branches creating ample shade over a blanket and an overstuffed picnic basket. It had a peculiar undefined quality, like a dream.
Buffy took the sight in and laughed lightly. "A picnic, Angel? Isn't that a bit…mundane?"
Angel took her hand and led her onto the blanket. "There's more than enough darkness in the world. Isn't there a need for something mundane in life?"
"Sometimes," Buffy agreed, sitting down in front of the picnic basket. She smiled and pulled him down next to her. "Let's see what you packed for us," she said and began taking out the food. Sandwiches, fruit, usual sort of stuff. For dessert…. "Chocolate and peanut butter?" Buffy asked with a chuckle.
"Ice cream would have melted," Angel explained with a grin.
Buffy smiled back. She reached the bottom of the basket and quirked an eyebrow at him as she lifted out the last item in the basket. It was a wooden stake. "Always prepared?" she asked with a grin.
He would have replied then, but a sound - so familiar to these dreams, but foreign to his unlife - interrupted them both. Laughter, high and childish, near at hand, made Buffy's eyes go wide. Angel stood and helped her up, leading her around the large tree to look down the hill.
The dreamlike quality was even stronger now, a non-reality bordering on the surreal. It was a scene that was too bright, too happy, and completely out of context with either of their lives. There stood a house, large but not too big, in an old style. Two children were playing on a swing set in the backyard. The eldest and clear leader of the pair was a girl of about seven years old with long dark hair. A smaller boy of about five followed her closely. The boy stopped for a moment and turned to look up the hill at Buffy and Angel. He smiled and waved, then chased after his sister once again.
Buffy turned to look at Angel, her eyes shining. Angel nodded and squeezed her hand. There were no words between them. Looking into her eyes, Angel let reality slip away.
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