Forgive Me

By Felicity

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or even the situations. They belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, Fox, Mutant Enemy, and any others I may have forgotten!

Author's Note: This takes place right after "Enemies" and it's just Angel's and Buffy's thoughts on what happened and their lives. I apologize if it's a little mixed-up sometimes...people's thoughts sometimes are...I love comments! Please write me!

Angel

I could see it in her face; the hurt, the pain, the total, utter despair. This was her face before, my heart cries. Only that time it was true. That time it wasn’t an act at all. I wanted to stop the charade so much. I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her it would be all right, tell her that it was me, truly, and I loved her. Tell her that no matter what happened, I would never hurt her.

Except I would. Except I have.

Part of me wants to protest that she even had the smallest doubt of my relationship with Faith. But another part tells me why shouldn’t she? Isn’t it justified? Isn’t it true? I hurt her so much. I caused her pain and reveled in it. It was my life. And she paid for it. I remember being Angelus, and that is the worst of it. I remembered laughing at her terror, taking joy in her despair. Pretending to be that person again was almost too much. No one realizes it, because I don’t tell them, but the demon is always there. I’m stronger, and I figt it and I can hold it away; some days it’s even easy. But there are days when it isn’t. And when I was mocking her, when I was kissing Faith and hitting Xander (I think I just lost whatever friendship we were beginning to almost have), the demon loved it. The demon was strong and I was feeding it. I triumphed; I always do except when the curse itself falters. But it was hard. It was so hard, and that is something I cannot share, something I cannot tell Buffy to be comforted and give her comfort in turn. If she ever knew . . . if they ever knew . . . they would never trust me again.

Buffy knows some of it. The first time we kissed . . . the demon is attracked to strong emotions and that was as strong as they come. But she denied what happened that night, she’s made me into a man, the only difference being no touching, and I can’t go out during the day. I understand why she does it, why she denies the demon. I would too, if I could. But I can’t. If I forget it, if I relax for one moment . . . that way lies pain and terror and that horrible heartwrenching look on Buffy’s face. I can’t stand that look. I’m so strong physically, but I cannot keep that look off her face. And that is the worst thing. I can handle the demon. I’ve done it for a hundred years. I can handle going to extremely graphic movies with her beside me and wanting her as I’ve never wanted anyone or anything. I can even handle her sweet, sweet lips on mine. But I can’t see that look on her face. Not and pretend as if everything’s all right.

She’s so strong, but no one realizes how young she is, how fragile. When she gets hurt, she handles it, which is far more than many many others can. If they knew, for one second everything she suffers . . . but not everyone is Buffy. It would hurt them so much if they knew what she felt and how she dealt with it. They think they see it, but they don’t. A fraction maybe. Even I don’t see it all. But I know. She doesn’t tell me things always, but I know. I know because I’ve felt it all; I’ve felt the betrayal and the fear and all the pain. I’ve been there, done that. I lived through it, but I don’t know if she can. I don’t want to have to find out the hard way. She deserves so much more. There are only a few souls like Buffy’s in all the world, through all time. Even Slayers . . . look at Faith. I almost feel sorry for her. I could have become like that. I was worse than that, but at least I know it wasn’t me. At least I know my soul wasn’t involved.

Buffy is more than just a Slayer. She seems so young and yet she’s so strong, so amazing. I know I sound like a lovesick fool, and I am. But I know an old soul when I see one; I’ve been around long enough to recognize the diference between the strong ones and the weak ones, the ones that survive and the ones that wilt away. Buffy’s a survivor, and unlike most of those kind, she’s also a giver. She’ll give and give until she has nothing left and somehow she’ll go on anyway. That’s the amazing thing about her. That’s what makes her beautiful and strong.

Sometimes though, it catches up to her like it catches up to everyone else. And she won’t let me help her.

I don’t know all the answers. I’ve only lived for two and a half centures, not since the world began. I know I’m just the same as everyone else; my soul is as human as hers, as Xander’s and Willow’s and even Cordelia’s. I hurt as much as they do. I love as they do, and hate. It’s so easy to admit those things now; I never used to be able to say them. Look how long it took me to tell Buffy I loved her, though I told everyone else. It was almost too late when I did. I told Faith and look where it got us. Now Faith hates Buffy all the more . . . why? She didn’t want me that much. She wanted what was Buffy’s and I could never give her that. And she said all anyone ever talked about was Buffy. At least the part of me that killed and my soul were separate–hers are so tangled up I doubt she knows one from the other. But they are separate. And someday she’ll realize it. I just hope it isn’t too late.

Oh God I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could have broken the charade the moment Buffy appeared. She asked me to do it, but did she know what it would cost both of us? Did she know how much it would hurt? I don’t blame her for asking; she doesn’t know about the demon, and her goals were all for the good. Maybe she thought she could handle it. If she’d asked, I could have told her she couldn’t. But she can’t ask. She can never ask, even when she needs to the most. Especially when she needs to the most.

Oh sweet love. Please forgive me. Forgive me for being too good of an actor. Forgive me for showing you what you know far too well. Forgive me for not being the man you deserve. I don’t fool myself she could love anyone else, anymore than I think I could. But please love, forgive me for not being human.

Buffy

It hurt so much to see him like that, to hear his voice and not know . . . I did know though, in my mind. I had asked him to after all. It was my heart that doubted. It was my soul that ached for reassurance. I had seen him with Faith after all . . . what if he’d been Angelus the whole time and he was silently laughing at me? But why didn’t he mock me then? I asked myself. Because he was pretending. Because he had his soul and he loved me.

I wanted to trust him so much. The doubt hurt as much as anything else. I used to trust without compunction, as I used to love–totally, completely without holding anything back. I can’t do that anymore. I lost my innocence, lost my trust and I miss it. I miss knowing that he’ll always be with me, always love me even though my soul knows he will. I’m so confused, I don’t know what I know. I don’t know how I feel. I live in fear and hope and each day I pray for just one more, God, just one more.

He says he’s all right, it doesn’t bother him, but I can never tell him that it bothers me. I want him. Every time he touches me I remember the sweetness of that night and I want him. I’m not going to lose control or try and seduce him, but kissing him . . . it’s so sweet. So very sweet.

When he turned to look at me, with his game face on and that horrible smile on his face . . . all I could think of was how sweet his kisses are. All I could think was how I wanted him, and that was the most frightening of all. That’s why I want some time away from him. Maybe it will help. Maybe it will make it easier. Though I know it won’t. Though I know nothing ever will.

How can he be so strong? It can’t just be the years he’s lived . . . it has to be more than that. He kisses me as if it is nothing, but there at least I have no doubt, no fear. It is something, to him, to me. He wants me as I want him. And he’s so strong. He lives with all the hurt he caused people, all the pain he brought. I couldn’t even deal when Faith killed a man. And yet somehow he endures–I know it hurts him. It’s not like he doesn’t care. He does. But he moves beyond it somehow, he survives. It took me three months to even face my friends and family after I sent him to Hell. Three months and it wasn’t even him I was facing. I don’t know how he does it. I wish I did; it might make it easier.

Part of me hurts for Faith. Part of me knows how she feels; I don’t know what she means about everything being how great I am. I’ve failed so many times . . . and how did she expect it to be her town anyway? She knew I was here when she came. She knew I’d been here for years. What did she think would happen? All these things make me want to hurt her; she tried to take his soul away and that makes me want to kill her. But as much as she denies it, as much as she jokes about it and pretend it’s just because she likes it the way it is, I know she’s hurt. I know she needs someone. Someone human, who will love her. From what Angel told me, it sounds like she thinks she’s getting that from the Mayor. But he doesn’t know how to love. He doesn’t know what it is. He will ascend and will Faith be even a part of his plans? Maybe he won’t kill her for her pains. Maybe. She made her own choice and so I can’t weep for her, but part of me wants to.

My mind keeps going back to Angel. To those horrible minutes when I felt as if time had stopped, as if it would never end. I kept seeing other scenes in my mind. I kept seeing him grabbing Willow, gloating over Theresa or Ms. Calendar or bringing Acathla forth. I kept hearing him asking me what was left and over and over I would tell him I was. And all the while it was a charade, played out for the benefit of a young woman that needs help more than I ever have.

Oh God, why did I do that to us? There must have been another way. Some other way. I didn’t think it would hurt that much. I thought I’d be laughing inside as we fooled Faith. But all the laughter died when I saw him. All the laughter dissapeared as if it had never been. I cried inside as we fooled her. I cried for all of us; my sweet Angel, who was battling the demon he doesn’t think I know he has; Faith, who looked so desperately triumphant; and for myself I cried, because I couldn’t trust the only man that’s ever needed my trust this much.

Forgive me love, for not trusting you. Forgive me for asking that of you at all. Forgive me for making you suffer even though you claim you don’t. I’ve thought about my jealousy and realized, as Willow told me, it was irrational. He couldn’t love another woman as I could never love another man–I tried, but my relationship with Scott was over before it began. Forgive me for trying to change destiny. Forgive me for not knowing the truth of our love. Forgive me Angel for not being able to stay. Forgive me love for walking away that night, and know that I’ll always come back, no matter what. So forgive me love, for loving you too much.

The End