I wake up to the sound of the ocean lapping gently on the shore. My face is pillowed by something velvety and soft. It takes me a second to realize it is Angel's shirt. I am lying sprawled across his broad chest, as he sleeps, and I look up, watching the way his eyelashes blanket his pale cheeks.

“Hey,” he murmurs and I glance up at the sky. It's as black as pitch. We can't have been asleep long. Sitting up, I brush the sand off my hair and face him. He's drowsy and rumpled. It makes me want to kiss him but I know we have to talk.

“So,” he begins in a hesitant tone, “A lot of new information tonight.”

“You can say that again,” I agree and brush the hair out of my face.

“So Juliet didn't tell you anymore than you told me?” he inquired, obviously attempting to assemble his thoughts.

I shake my head and then say, “When did you know her?”

“1875,” he responds. “Darla and I were in London. She's part of the Ventrue. That's an elite group of vampires…they often mix with the upper classes. During a ball somewhere we encountered her…and she…well, Angelus was taken with her.”

I swallow and don't look at him. “How long were you…lovers?”

“A year,” he said. “She was involved with Darla longer. Angelus tired of her, but Darla never did.” He paused and a strange smile touched his mouth. Full of sadness, regret. “I think Darla loved her…but I took her away. I didn't want her with anyone for a long time.”

My throat is sticky, as if I've drank cough syrup. “Angel…did you…love Darla?”

He doesn't answer for a moment. “She was my Sire. My blood. She made me. The demon loved her. The man never did.”

“Oh.” I feel stupid and mean for asking. Really, it isn't my business. He killed her for me, that should be enough. Why isn't it? I just feel as if I can't compete with someone whose blood runs through his veins. Then I remember that my blood runs through his veins as well. Absently, I finger the tough flesh at the base of my neck. His eyes follow the movement. His mark. On my neck. It burns suddenly and I drop my hand, not wanting to be reminded of his possession.

“I think we should call Giles,” he comments and I nod.

“Best course of action,” I agree and then say, “Angel, what about this thing…that we have to fight in the End of Days together? What are we going to do?”

“We fight,” he replies gently. Too gently. I want to scream but instead I keep absolutely still.

“Should we trust anything the Council says? I pretty much told them where to go when they wouldn't—“

“When they wouldn't cure me,” he finishes and looks down.

~~~

I still remember the burning rage I felt then. When Wesley told me they wouldn't help Angel. I knew I was finished with them. Forever. It didn't matter what they did. Anyone who wouldn't help Angel could go to hell. I knew it. I wondered later how rational that was. Swearing off the Watchers because they wouldn't help my lover. I suppose I couldn't expect them to.

Everyone thought I was going to give up on him. They thought the look in my eyes meant I was going to let him drift away. Yeah, right. That's when it hit me that they don't know me at all. Angel knew. That's why his eyes were wild and he was trying to run away. He knew that I would stop at nothing. That I was always a fighter.

He bit me because I made him. But I think he wanted to. He was going to leave and he wanted me. Wanted one last touch, one last breath, one last kiss. So he gave me it. The last Goodbye. A Goodnight kiss. He drank from me, sucked all the blood from my neck, let it fill his mouth, hot and salty sweet. He fell on top of me and let me feel his full weight, pressing me into the cold stone of the floor. Let me feel his cool chest, his hard stomach, his hot thighs gripping mine. He gave me all but the final possession. And I gave him what he had always wanted. My blood.

~~~

“They are probably hiding things,” he remarks, leaning back, his hands running through the soft white sand beneath us.

I stare out at the ocean and wonder how far I could swim to escape him. How much would it take? How much distance would I have to cover before he wouldn't mean anything anymore?

How much time has to pass?

How much longer can I be with him but not really *with* him?

“Well they are the Council,” I say wryly and he nods, half-smiling. “Evil is their middle name.”

I play with a piece of dried out seaweed and my eyes glance up at the stars. They aren't shadowed by the smog out here, and they twinkle in the bowl of night.

~~~

When I was little I didn't know what the stars were. But I made up things. I would think, maybe they were other planets where people lived, and it was light all day long. Or maybe they were diamonds that we couldn't get to. When I got older and I knew they were burning balls of gas, it struck me as disappointing. Couldn't they be jewels on a crown? Couldn't they be something prettier…something…magical?

I know there are people who feel the call of the stars, and I never have understood them. I guess I figure there's so much trouble already on earth that we shouldn't worry about what's outside it for now. Sure, later, when we've fixed things. But until then…no space walking.

Besides, why would we want to disturb the stars?

~~~

“Do you think Giles should go to England and ask them what's the what?” I inquire and Angel shakes his head emphatically.

“We should wait and see what Juliet has to say first. She may have other information for you. We don't even know if she's telling the entire truth.”

“I know. I don't think she is,” I admit and stand up, brushing the sand off my bare legs. He stands up gracefully, his eyes confused and sad.

“You're not leaving are you?”

Oh no. This is starting again. I remember this. It used to happen when he got back from Hell. I would go and pretend to be helping him get his strength back. We would chat and be all friends-like and inside we were both burning. When I would decide to go, he'd get this look in his eyes…this 'must you go?' look. It made my stomach bottom out every time, and it hasn't changed.

“I have to…” and I'm telling the truth. It's not because of my father or anything. I don't trust me around him anymore. My skin is alternately hot and cold, and so itchy and restless. It's making a shout well in my throat. What I wouldn't give to be his girlfriend again. It sounds juvenile, and simple, but that's why I want it. I want to be a normal girl and a normal guy. Meeting on the beach to kiss and make love in the moonlight. To be a couple that has everything. That kiss and pretend they own the stars.

“Buffy…” he reaches out and his fingers encircle mine. I bite my lip hard and feel the trickle of blood just as he sees it.

Shuddering slightly, his head bends down. I know what's coming and I know I should stop him, but God, I don't want to. His tongue flicks out and he's licking the drop of red blood on my lip. My body is trembling, and I feel a rush between my hot thighs, pressing closer to him as he takes my mouth. Crushing it beneath his, and kissing me with a searing passion that drowns me with its ferocity. Oh, this is Angel, and I need him.

Wrapping my leg around his, I curve my body into his, and feel the hard pressure on my stomach, his lips and groaning sounds and panting breaths and cool flesh…I'm making whimpering noises that even I don't recognize, trying to get closer and closer to him. Trying to get inside him. His tears scald my cheeks as he kisses my forehead, my eyes, my hair, my neck…murmuring over and over like a litany, “Buffy…my Buffy…Buffy…”

This is heaven and hell all at once. I just need to be a part of him. I need part of him. I need this. This moment…is all that I want. Being taken over, and devoured, by my love, my life. My Angel. God…I want to drink him…I want him to bite me and take me, and own me. This is crazy…crazy…crazy…

Suddenly I'm struggling. I can see the edge and we're so close. We're spinning out of control. As my foot catches on something, we fall and we're in the ocean. A wave crashes and it's in my mouth and nose, a salty gush of seawater. Choking. I'm choking. Angel's desperate as he pulls me from the waves and claps my back, making me cough and pant.

My chest hurts. He's holding me. I can still feel the water gargling around in my lungs. Maybe it'll drown me. Maybe.

~~~

From: Snoopy56@hotmail.com
To: Buffy16@hotmail.com
Subject: Merry Christmas chica
Date: Dec 24th 1999

Hey Buff,

Merriest of Christmases to you, old buddy. How are things in LA? Sunny here as usual. It's the Eve of the big day and I'm preparing for my annual “avoid my family” party. I figure Anya and I will do something. Not sure yet.

Guess you must have heard about the extreme silence thing that happened here. Not of the good, let me tell you. It hardly even made the news which I was a little upset about. I guess so many weird things happen here that it's just par for the course. I tell ya, Spike is starting to get on my nerves. I have him tied to a chair in my room and he won't shut up at night. He's here right now. Sleeping, the little shit. Seriously Buff, he's got to go.

How is everyone up there? You didn't mention your friends in your last e-mail. Hope everything's cool. So you're seeing Dead Boy again…strictly on a friendly basis I hope. Don't worry, I'll shut up now. I just worry about you, Buff. Don't want you getting hurt again.

Xander

~~~

From: WiccaSister89@hotmail.com
To: Buffy16@hotmail.com
Subject: Hey!
Date: December 24th 1999

Buffy,

Hey, I miss you so much. Since it's the holiday season. I know I'm Jewish and we don't even really celebrate Christmas together, but I guess it's the whole…festivy thing. It's got me all mushy and missing my Buffy.

How are things? It must be strange having Angel around again huh? But like old times as well. I can't believe Cordy's actually working for him. It must be weird seeing her there. Is the big movie career not panning out? Ok, that was bitchy. I'll stop now.

This'll be short cause I'm running late for a coffee date with Tara.

I promised I wasn't going to mention him. But Oz. It's Christmas, no card. I wonder where he is sometimes.

W

~~~

Christmas was never really a happy time in my hours when I was little. But my favourite thing to do was decorate the tree. Place the little angels and stars and kids on sleighs on every perfect branch till each one was kissed with a special something. It was always my job. My Dad doesn't have a tree.

It's around midnight Christmas Eve. I haven't seen Juliet in days and she's made no effort to contact me. It almost seems like I dreamed her up now.

It's cool outside. The heat wave is over and I'm wearing a big fluffy sweater. I love warm clothes and I so rarely get to wear them. When I get older I'm moving somewhere cold. Where it snows and everything is white and new.

It's coming on Christmas, they're cutting down the trees
Putting up reindeer singing songs of joy and peace
Wish I had a river I could skate away on

This song makes me cry. I think it does everybody.

It's so cold in here. My Dad has no heating. I want to get away.

~~~

Angel Investigations appears deserted. But I walk up the stairs and open the office door. I assume Cordy has gone home/ The elevator door is there and I go down, wondering what exactly I'm doing. I know I can't leave him alone on Christmas. Or, rather, I can't not be with him on Christmas.

Lifting my fist to the door, I knock and wait. It doesn't take long. He comes to the door, his shirt rumpled, his hair messy, his eyes bleary from sleep and tears. Without evening thinking, I go up on my tiptoes and kiss him. It's sweet. Sweeter than ice cream, or sugar, or strawberries. Sweeter than sunshine.

His arms are around me and we sink into each other, tasting, breathing. I've hungered for this, needed this for so long. Tears are streaming down my face, and his, but we ignore them as he carries me inside and kicks the door shut. “What made you come?” he asks and I curl against his chest, pressing my face where his heart should be.

“I couldn't let you spend Christmas alone,” I answer quietly, and he drops a kiss on top of my head, walking through to his living room. We sink down onto the plush couch, and I burrow into his embrace, feeling him press his forehead against mine.

“Merry Christmas, Buffy.”

I smile. The time will come soon when this peace won't be possible. But for now I kiss him softly, with great tenderness and care. “Merry Christmas Angel.”

next