It bloody well freaks me out to think about what I just did... begging Angel to let me stay like that. I hate groveling. I hate thinking. I want to *do*. Move. Fight. Shag. *Something*. So when the Pouf and I are finally done with our little meeting, I head off to the kitchen for the one activity I *know* will make me feel better.

Getting bloody well shitfaced.

I down a case of Guinness in fairly short order, and just sit there and stare at the empty bottles, listening to the beer sloshing around in my stomach. This is better... a nice buzz instead of the mopin' and cryin' and grousing all the damn time. I want all this shit to be done, and get back to kicking the Hell out of demons again. I want the Slayer to come back without a drop of blood, a scratch, or a speck of vampire dust on her, and pretend that Dru never returned from Brazil at all.

I want my goddamn wanker Sire to come the fuck in here and hold my sorry ass.

No sooner do I think it, than there he is, lurking in the doorway, wearing his trademark 'I'm so bloody worried about everything' expression. He stands there, staring at me fit to make my skin crawl and my blood boil all at the same time. Even with his soul, he still drums up all the same old psychotically paradoxical feelings in me. Only now they're more complicated. Not just because the Slayer's in the mix, and Darla and Dru aren't, but because I'm finding out that I love who Angel's bloody well become just as damn much as who he was before. Maybe more.

I'll be buggered if I know why. But now that I've decided to be his Most Favoured full time again, I guess I'll have plenty of time to figure it out.

"Whatrya gawkin' at, nonce?" I snap at him. I feel like a damn bug under a microscope, the way he's staring like he wants me to explain something, or lie to him and say everything's fine when both of us know it's not. Any second now, we could both feel half of what we are being ripped right out of us, and there's just no damn way to make that better. Not that I would care to if I could. It's Angel's damn fault all of this happened to begin with. He's the one who made me and Dru, and everything that's happened to us since is somehow related to him. It's not my job to give him his precious damn forgiveness.

"Nothing, I just... I wanted to see how you were," he says softly. "And contribute this." He pulls a bottle of scotch out from behind his back and sets it on the island in front of me, then plunks his fat ass down on the opposite stool.

I stare at his offering. It's a really nice, dusty old bottle, 20 years aged at least, by the look of it. Where the Hell's he been hidin' this? I scoured every inch of this hole looking for hooch.

I pick it up and stare at it for a bit. Not that I can see what the fuck it is... I'm a bit too sloshed for reading, at this point. But anything's better than having to look into his whooped puppydog eyes. He's my superior in the Big Vamp Chain of Command, but when it comes to pretty much anything outside of fighting and pack politics, he's a wussy-ass little baby, always lookin' for somebody to tell him what to do.

Okay, so you can probably add shagging to the list of things he can get all right on his own.

"Are you going to open it?" he asks, after I've been staring for a while.

I shrug. Dunno why, but suddenly I can't find the energy to twist the top. And I certainly don't have the energy to coddle him. I don't want to make him feel better. I don't want to give him shit but a good right hook. Caretaking's been what the whole past week's been about, hasn't it? I figure maybe it's his turn.

Angel takes the bottle out of my shaky hands and cracks it open, not bothering with a glass as he takes a few good, long pulls, wincing a bit after.

Time was, Angelus could drink me right the Hell under the table. Twice, probably. I remember more than a few nights when we were out playing poker with all his pansy-ass gentleman buddies, and he'd fairly close to clean the bar out of Irish Whiskey and vodka, and still have to carry me home before the sun rose.

But I'm thinking liquor is one of those things Soulboy's given up for his damned eternal Lent, so he probably won't last long.

He stares into the bottle for a while himself before he hands it back to me. I hold his gaze, and take double the dose that he did in a few swallows, then pass it back again. Angel tips it at me.

"Here's to a brighter future," he toasts, and takes another long guzzle.

I just snort at that sentiment. Ponce.

We spend a good while passing the bottle back and forth, neither of us saying anything, or even making eye contact as we drown our sorrows. By the time the bottle's gone, Angel's leaning heavily on the table, supporting his Cro-Magnon skull in his hand.

"They're not dead yet," he mumbles, only half to me, "Whadya think's goin' on?"

Aw Christ. Can't the brooding bastard just leave me to my nice denial and the daydream of fucking him into the mattress I was just having?

I shrug. "Maybe Slayer just went shopping."

He shakes his head. "No... she took weapons."

"Yeah, well, you know the mall on Saturday. Things get rough," I growl, hoping he'll get the hint and shut the Hell up.

"Maybe I shoulda gone with her," he laments, looking sorrowfully into the now-empty bottle. "She shouldin' hafta clean up my messes."

Oh, for Chrissake. "She's the Damn Vampire Slayer, ya idiot. 'Ser job. And how do you figger this is your mess? You didn't conjure the stupid bitch back from Hell, didja?"

His scowl deepens, and his head sort of bobs and weaves around as he lifts it from his hand. "No. But's 'cause of me. Me an' my *Destiny*."

He says 'Destiny' like it's a nasty disease he caught from a whore and passed on to the rest of us. Which I guess it sort of is.

"What? Being a big fag in tights? Why the Hell would these stupid lawyers give a shit about that?"

I never did get all this prophecy crap. I didn't buy it from Dru, and I sure as Hell don't buy it from him. I think a bloke chooses his own damn Fate, myself. Sod the Powers that Be, and God and Satan and effin' Zeus or Buddha or whatever. Everything you bloody well do in your damn life is a *choice*. There's nothing guiding us or forcing us or any of that other bullshit. It's all the luck of the draw, and what you do with the cards after you pick up your hand. All his precious big battles of "Good" and "Evil" are a big waste of time, to me. I'd rather be watching telly.

Angel sighs and hauls his carcass off the stool, staggering across the kitchen toward one of the far pantry cabinets, and, like magick, produces a bottle of whiskey from within.

Christ! For someone who doesn't drink, he sure as Hell has an impressive stash. I make a mental note of that particular cabinet, and watch as he collapses onto the stool right next to me, ripping open the seal on the new bottle and downing a quarter of it before he hands it to me, and says, "I'm sposta be key in the whole arma... armagod... apocalypse thing."

Look at the sorry sod. Drunk out of his gourd and spoutin' gibberish. It's just like old times, but without the corpses and the stupid-ass brogue.

Angelus used to talk about Destiny all the time, too. But he didn't go in for all that sacred scroll crap the rest of the Order did. To him, Fortune was being the king of the world, fucking me and Dru silly, and glutting on the blood of every human that crossed his path.

"The Earth is our smorgasbord, young Will," he used to tell me, "And it's our Destiny to eat every last thing on it."

I sort of liked that kind of Fate. This new shit stinks like thankless effin' manual labor, and I'm bloody well not looking forward to having any damn part of it. Especially since there's no maiming or mutilation involved.

"What the Hell are you gonna do? Depress the Forces of Darkness to death?"

He shrugs. "Guess I'm gonna do somethin' big that saves humanity."

Saves humanity. Bloody poetic irony, that, considering his goal not so long ago was wipin' out the whole lot of the poor buggers. And saving 'em's a pretty stupid notion, if you ask me. I mean, mortals die, right? That's sort of the operative definition of 'mortal'. The only bitch is in the details. Individual humans, I can see maybe... but the collective 'humanity'? Think that's an awful lot of trouble for nothing.

"Whatdya get outta that?" I ask after draining the new bottle to half empty. The room starts to tilt a little, and now there's two of the wanker staring at me in horrified disbelief. Just what I need.

"The satisfaction of knowing I did something to make up for all the evil," he explains, like its a damn given, "And I get to be human again, too, if I' m a good boy and eat all my spinach." He laughs at his sorry joke, low, drunken and bitter. More than a little nuts still, too.

I just stare at him. What the fuck did he just say?

"Though I dunno what the Hell good bein' human's gonna do me. Not gonna change a thing but make sure I die eventually...and maybe get a tan." He lets his head drop into his arms on the table. "Everybody I know'll prob'ly be dead by then anyway. 'Cept you."

Wait. Fucking HUMAN? What the bloody Hell is this all about then?

I keep gawking at him, feeling something start to bubble up in my gut. And it ain't just booze.

Angel blinks at me. "What?"

Human. After all the bloody bullshit I've done this past week to bring him back to stable goddamn vampire with a soul mode, and all that's gonna happen is he's gonna go MORTAL? What the FUCK?

"HUMAN?" I yelp at him, and all of a sudden I can identify the feeling in my gut. It's a familiar old bloody friend, where he's concerned. Black fucking rage. "You're gonna be fucking HUMAN?"

His gaze clears a little at my shouting. "That's what the prophecy says. 'After he fulfills his Destiny, the vampire with a soul will Shanshu.' Become human. Live and die and pay taxes and all that."

I start to wonder if maybe there's holy water in the liquor. I mean, my brain's gotta be melting. Or his is.

Or... maybe he's just fucking with me. I laugh.

"Oh, that's a bloody riot. Nice one, Angelus."

His face goes deadly serious. "I'm not kidding. It's my reward."

I find myself watching his face spin around, and blink furiously to straighten him out as the anger boiling around in my stomach turns into a burn that reaches all the way up and grabs a choke hold on my dead heart.

"That's a pile-a bullocks. You're *dead*. You can't just *turn* human, ya idiot!"

I don't know who I'm trying to convince, because he bloody well looks like he believes it. Of *course* it's horseshit. You can go *from* human *to* demon, but everybody knows you can't go back again! It's just common bloody sense!

He nods somberly. "It is possible. It happened once before."

Okay, now I know he's out of his effin' tree. "Fuck you, it did not! You been a bloody walkin' corpse for 250 damn years!"

He shakes his head and leans closer, like he's gonna let me in on some big secret. I'm thinking, as his blurry face gets right in mine, that I'm finally about to hear the punchline of this pretty goddamn un-funny joke.

"No. It did, I swear on a stack of Bibles," he says, holding up a hand. "Two Novembers ago. Me 'n Buffy fought a Mohra demon, and I got its blood mixed in mine. They've got regenerative essence, and I came back to life."

I'm totally sober in a split second. Angel goes on babbling like I'm not even there, his eyes looking out into nothing.

"I was alive for a whole day. Buffy and I... we made love, over and over and over... and we ate chocolate in bed, and..." He looks up at me again. "Do you remember what chocolate tastes like, Will?"

You know, I hate sharp turns in conversations that are nonsense to begin with. Dru used to do that to me all the time. "I'm not senile, ya wank. Had two Clark bars day before yesterday."

Angel shakes his head, and his attention wanders away again. "No. I mean what it *really* tastes like. With a human mouth... the way it melts into cream on your tongue... and it leaves this... sugary residue on your teeth. Buffy was like that, too... sweet and musky, and I could really *taste* her... *feel* her for the first time. The way she's meant to be felt. The way chocolate's *supposed* to taste."

He's babbling, making less and less sense as he goes, but still... It almost hurts to watch his face... The way his eyes light up at the same time they fill with tears. I know he's drunk and all, and probably having a psychotic episode, but... he feels it. And that means I feel it. Bullshit or not, his pain explodes in my blood, hitting me like a brick upside the head.

I'm speechless.

"I gave it up," he goes on, "I gave her up. I asked them to turn me back, and now... I've already forgotten what chocolate tastes like."

His voice cracks at the last, and one of the tears breaks free to run over his cheek. I don't know what the Hell's going through me. Disbelief. Anger. That old green goblin jealousy, because I can't even imagine how sweet my Sire would be human... but whatever it is, it makes me reach up and stop that single, salty drop with my fingertip.

Angel turns to look at me again, and the sorrow in his eyes near rips me in half.

"I love her, Will. I really do. I shouldn't, but I do."

And there goes my poor old, dead heart, shattering into a billion screaming little pieces. I forgot about this part of the Bonding. How big it is to have someone else inside you... how crowded it can get, especially with somebody as damn melodramatic as my Sire. Once upon a time, when all this started between us, it was like being stuffed full of fire and shadows -- about power and domination, destruction and *taking*. But now... this new bugger flowing through me... all of a sudden it's love and sharing, hope against bloody hope, and giving.

Aw, Christ. I think I'm gonna puke. What the *fuck* was I thinking? I never wanted to be human again, or have a soul, or fuck-all of what being tied to him means. Now I've got all that and more, and I don't know how the Hell to give any of it back.

"She loves you too, fool. You know that. Sod the bloody should-be's. When the crap have we ever done a damn thing by the effin' rules anyway?"

Sounds like as good a platitude as any, I guess. He just looks at me like I 'm the damn Madonna, and I've blessed him or something, those soul-tears streaming down his angelic face, and almost smiles. Then he reaches up and cups my cheek, pulling our heads together so his forehead rests against mine, and cuts right into my eyes with his.

"I love you too, Will. Don't think I don't. I'm sorry about everything... the pain, and Dru, and..."

I can't fucking take it anymore. I grab his face in both hands, and kiss him.

I don't want to talk. I don't want to listen. I don't want to think. Don't want him to be sorry. I don't want a soddin' thing but to forget all of this.

His mouth is bitter with liquor and salty with tears, and I plunge my tongue inside and drink it all like ambrosia. He tangles his big hands in my hair and dives right into it, nipping hard at my lips and tongue, drawing tiny droplets of blood, then licking it away.

"I love you," he murmurs, "I'm sorry. I love you."

Is he sorry he loves me? Sorry he made me? Sorry... he's just fucking sorry. Well, I'm not goddamn sorry. Not for anybloodything. Not that I love him, and not the years we were together, and not the years we weren't. All there is, is right now, and even if my mate and his mate and the whole fucking world turns to dust, it doesn't matter. We're here, and we've got a damn future no matter what the Hell species we end up.

All I have to do is show him that.

"Will, I..." he sobs.

I cut him off by claiming his mouth again. No more fucking words. I lean hard into him, and push us both to the floor.

"Shut up. Just shut the fuck up and feel," I order him, like I'm the Master. And I guess right now, I am, because he's crying and drunk and lost in his damn pain. I'm not letting him do it. I'm not letting him drown. I just bloody well got him back, and no way in Hell he's ever leaving me again.

I rip his shirt up over his head, revealing that perfect damn alabaster torso, and nose-dive down onto the rippling muscles, biting and licking, stroking and teasing him until his tears vaporize into panting half breaths. He finally sets to stripping me, desperately tearing my jeans at the fly, kicking them away, and reaching right down to take hold of my cock.

That's right, Sire. Feel. Touch me. Take me, I'm bloody well yours, and I don't want the pain anymore. I don't want to hurt. I don't want you to hurt. I just want to be, and I want you to be with me.

He's a writhing mass of contradiction. He snarls and sobs at the same time as he flips me onto my back in a motion that manages both drunken clumsiness and elegant, animal grace, then takes to devouring mouthfuls of my screaming flesh with alternating violence and tenderness.

Christ! It's like being set on fire, and it feels so good to know that as fucked up as I am, he's always worse, and from now until the end of the damn planet, we'll bear it all together.

Angel strokes me hard and fast as he smashes our mouths together... a force that wipes everything else from my mind, giving me what I wanted at last, making me nothing but nerves singing and balls tightening. It's perfect... firm... quick... I go flying over the edge because this... this is what I am and what he is and what we are together. I scream and spurt into his hands and he grinds up against me, growling in my ear, then tears into my throat and takes the rest of me into him as he drinks and I cry and come for-damn-ever, and the whole world falls away into cool, soothing shadows of nopain, nodeath, nochip...

I just let myself go.

When I come to again, it's still dark, but there's a proper mattress under my back, and Angel's big, naked bulk is wrapped tight around me, his eyes soft and wet just above mine, watching.

"You're awake," he observes, caressing my face.

Part of me wants to curse and shove him off, because I hate this mushy bullocks, and still pretty much hates him. But that part's been swallowed whole by the blubbering, terrified, lost whelp that's smashed its way out of my heart. I close my eyes and gulp.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I didn't mean to drain you so far."

I can't say anything, looking at him. I just shake my head, and the vision of my Maker blurs as I start to cry again. You know, I've been around for almost 150 years, and twenty-something as a pretty sorry-ass human before that, but never have I cried like a little pansy so much as I have this past damn week. He just brings it out of me, I guess... especially now that I can taste his pain like raindrops on my tongue.

The most fucked up thing of all is -- with him here, holding me like a scared little fledge again, I don't care. I have to cry. I have to bloody well let all this out, because I *hate* this feeling. Knowing everything about my damn mockery of an unlife is changing all at once, spinning out of control, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it but hold on to him and hope he can make it all better.

I only felt even close to this fucked up twice before, that I can remember. The first was when I realized that the one damn creature I loved more than anything had just fucking vanished, staggering off into the sunset and leaving me alone with his psychobitch Sire and my nutbird Dru, without a goodbye or a word or a bloody clue one way or the other just what I fuck I was supposed to do next. The second was in an effin' dorm room at SunnyHell U, when I was finally about to eat juicy Red for dinner, and I realized I couldn't bite. Couldn't feed or hunt or anything, anymore. Those two times, I lost everything that made me *me*, and I wanted to just walk out in the sun with the pain of it all.

And now... now me and him are lying here in his bed, waiting for one half of our damn family to wipe out the other half, and I'm full of him and full of her and full of them and about to set out on another damn life I don't know how to live.

I'm just fucking terrified. You won't bloody well hear that too often from me, either. So I lie there and stare up at him, and goddamn it, I want to tell him all of this. He's my Sire, and I guess my lover, and I should be able to just come out and say, 'I'm scared shitless, Angelus. Just bloody shag me until it's all over and I feel like I'm standing on solid ground again.'

But I can't. I can't damn well say that to him. So I just lie there, shaking like a newborn puppy, and try to stop crying.

All these things are raging around in my muddled up head... in my blood. I can hear Dru crying... feel Darla and the Slayer coming to blows. It's like a storm kicked up inside me, and all I can do is lie there. Helpless. Bloody useless. Crippled, stupid, purposeless fucking moron Spike.

Angel feels it too. He closes his eyes, and that enormous brow scrunches tight, his whole body going tense against me.

I'm not the only one who's shaking, now.. Not the only one who's waiting for the whole damn universe to come crashing down. Will I survive it, when they go? Will he? Are we all about to meet some fucking gruesome cosmic Final Death?

Then... it's over. Gone. No pain, no death screams... just quiet. All the bits and pieces of my blood are exactly where they were before.

And aren't I just bloody well crying again? As much relief as there is in it, I'm still fucking terrified and empty and cast adrift... maybe more, because now he really is all that's left of me.

Angel finally opens his eyes and looks down at me, and I can almost hear his thoughts.

'It's all right. It's over. You're safe.'

Safe...but nothing's different! I don't... I can't understand what the bloody fuck is going on! I start trying to shove him off, or move out from under him... start trying to get away. To where, I don't fucking know. I just can't take this!

His face softens, but he holds me fast, looking hard into my eyes. I don't think I've seen anyone look at me with that kind of tenderness before in my life... except that one time... one single damn moment that I haven't thought about in so long...

~~~~~~~~~

("William!"

His voice is half erotic spell, and half bullwhip tipped with meat hooks. I'm not doing anything ...just sitting in the garden, watching Dru dig worms out of the flowerbeds, singing 'em a little song, and then sucking them down with a slurp like she's eating a plate of pasta.

Mindin' my own business, me, and still Angelus' voice makes that single word sound like 'Get your hide in here so I can tan it raw, whelp!'

Naturally, I go, running full speed into the house like I'm on fire. Twenty years, I've been a vampire, and a fairly badass one, too, but here I am, skittering into his study and standing at attention before the bastard with my eyes nailed to the floor. The book he's reading snaps shut. Funny how such a little sound can portend what I know's going to be a big pain.

"My Dam tells me there was trouble in the square tonight. That someone snatched the Mayor's daughters right in the middle of the New Year's Parade, and started a right panic."

I say nothing. If I admit it, Angelus'll pound me into meat paste. But if I deny it... Angelus'll pound me into meat paste. I'm fairly well fucked, either way. Besides, the bugger can probably smell the sweet little princesses on me already anyway, and all this lecture bunk is just foreplay for the torture.

"Do ya ken anythin' about this, William?"

I swallow hard and stare at the funny pattern in the oriental rug under my feet. That's a direct question, and one way or the other, I better damn well answer it.

"Sire... uh... I..." I stutter

"Yes or no, Will? Didya take yer kill out in the open in front of the entire village?"

His voice is soft, but I can hear the edge of fury like broken shards of ice, freezing and slicing me to the core.

"Yes, Sire."

He sighs. I hear him get up from the chair, but don't dare raise my eyes. I don't plan on seein' what he's gonna do to me until he does it.

Angelus stops right in front of me, so now I'm staring at his fancy ridin' boots. I spit shined those damn things for an hour this afternoon, and I have to say, I did a good job, because I can see my face reflected perfectly back at me.

I look bloody terrified.

"Look at me, boy," he commands.

It takes a lot of effort to obey, and look into that face. It's like gazing straight into the eyes of God and Death and the great love of your life all at once. I've seen a million things in those oceans of sable: rage, lust, and hunger... But this... I don't know what the Hell it is.

With a motion so quick it makes me jump fair out of my skin, he grabs my shoulders and shakes me fit to make my teeth rattle and the blood of the anklebiters in question slosh around in my gut.

"Listen to me well, William! I knae ya think it funny to be pullin' pranks like this, but ya got to understand! This isn't London, boy! It's Romania, and the folk here take creatures of the night seriously! I'm nae talkin' about bein' run out of town on a rail by a mob, either, but them sneakin' in here at dawn and stakin' us as we sleep! Is that what you want? To be dust in yer sheets without even a chance ta fight? Is that what you want for our Dru? For me, your Master?"

I'd rather have him screaming in rage and beatin' me bloody than this, truth be told, because the fear and concern in his voice damn near rips me apart.

"N-no, Sire!" I yelp

Then he slaps me. Bloody *SLAPS* me -- flat palmed, like a woman. Yeah, it hurts, but it's more humiliating than anything. It's all I can do not to cry like one, too.

"Yer nae stupid, William! Stop always actin' like ya are! I dunna wanna lose ye to some idiot game, do ya understand?!" He raps my temple none too gently with his forefinger. "Use yer brain, boy! Havna I taught ye better than that?"

I just stand there and shake. He stares straight into my eyes, drilling right through me, and I can feel every inch of my innards screamin' for him to stop.

"I'm sorry, Sire," I mumble.

I see a shudder run through his huge frame as he lets go of my shoulders and steps away. Guess the beating comes now. I'm ready. I'm almost looking forward to it... it'd be a Hell of a lot better than what he's been doin'. Seeing him scared makes me scared, because there isn't a bloody thing my Master fears.

"Sorry willna save ye when the hunters come," he says softly, "That'll be left ta me."

For a long time, he doesn't say or do anything. The tension just builds as I wait for what's coming next. The lash, his fists... whatever. I just wish he'd bloody well get to it already, before I pop.

"Darla kens I should stake ye and scatter yer dust to the winds. She says that yer a bother... a danger to us all. And in the most, she's right."

Oh, bloody, screaming Hell. He's not gonna beat me, he's gonna dust me. I start shaking harder, close my eyes and just wait not to be anymore. He steps toward me again, and touches my face.

"Beautiful Will. Look at ya, shakin' like a wee child. I put the fear into ya, didn't I? Well, good. That's as it should be. Ye've not a lot to be afraid of in this world, boy, but I am most assuredly one of them." His voice drops back to a soft tone again, and he raises my gaze to his. "It's only this... you are my Childe. My First Made, and my Most Favoured. Of all our line, it is you who is closest to me... you who are my heir, do ya see? I canna bear the loss of ye to some idiot diversion ye'd cooked up because yer bored. I'd rather see ye dead by my hand, than that. It's ma duty as your Master to protect ye, and I canna do so if yer ta be runnin' about, stokin' the ire of the cattle like this! I canna always rescue ya, or the rest of our kin, from yer stupidity!"

"I'm s-sorry, Sire," I say again, and feel the tears finally break free and run down my face. I never cry when he beats me till my skin's peeling off, but this... his words and the look in his eye... hurts worse than anything he's ever done to me, because all I want in the world is to make him proud. Make him glad he made me. He's the finest hunter ever to walk the Earth, and as his Childe, it's my duty to do justice to his name. That I've failed him enough to bring him fear almost makes me want to die.

Angelus takes another long, deep breath, and claims the other side of my face, giving my head one gentle shake as his eyes drill into mine. "Ye could be a legend in yer own right, William, doncha knae that? Yer of the greatest Line in the history of our race, and all of creation could be at yer feet, if only ye'd listen ta me, just once."

I'm stunned, is what I am. I hurt all over from the lecture, and yet... that look in his eye and the fact that he's barely touched me at all in his anger are like the greatest gifts he's ever given me, and I realize for the first time...

Maybe the bastard loves me, after all. I nod. "I promise, Sire... I'll try."

He smiles and kisses me lightly on the lips. "Good. I'll hold ya to it, son, mark my words. I want to see ye make something of yerself.")

~~~~~~~~~

A hundred years later, those same eyes look at me with that same affection, and he brushes gentle kisses to my mouth and cheeks, lapping away my tears. I watch him, memorizing this moment... taking in every detail of that beautiful face -- the features of the damn monster that might as well be God, to me, and I realize...

He's the foundation. The center of all of us. My reason for damn well being. A century and a half ago, I didn't know what the Hell I was about or what I was doing, either. My last years as a human were a pathetic fucking mess of blood and fights and booze, and not a damn thing in the world made sense.

Until him. Until he walked into that bar, took me to hand, and made everything right. Angelus knew just what I ached for, what I really wanted, and he gave it to me.

This Angel knows, too. He might have a soul, and fritter away his damn eternity making amends for things that weren't his fault to begin with, but... Despite all of that, he's still Him. And despite all the time we've been apart, he knows me inside and out, and knows exactly what I'm feeling and what I need, even if I can't tell him.

He kisses me softly, and murmurs, "Sh... it's okay, Will. I know you're scared. I am too. But everything will be all right. I'm here, and I'll always look after you, no matter what. I promise."

I want to believe him, I really do. I want not to feel this hollow in the pit of my gut, and the ache of this goddamn chip in my head, and the bleeding, gushing wound of losing him and Dru and everything I ever believed in. I want to forget that he almost died just a few days ago. I want his words to comfort me, and make me believe that there is so much more ahead of us than right now... just like he did all those years past, that night when he finally showed me that he wanted more for me, too.

But he promised me a lot of things when I was young, and all that turned out to be a lie. He promised me the world, and his love for all eternity, but his vows ended up meaning fuck all against the crushing tides of the universe turning, and the power of a Gypsy curse. Three nights after that lecture in his study, he was gone, and the next time I saw him, he couldn't even look me in the *eye*, let alone take me back under his wing.

Then he kisses me again... long and soft...gentle, and strokes the length and breadth of my whole body, turning my skin on like a neon sign... and Now is all of a sudden just like Then. When I was lost, he found me. When I was groveling around in the muck, he picked me up and made me into something. So when he takes me this time, sliding inside me slow and easy, it's more than just my body that fills with him. It's like he's inflating a balloon in my heart as he moves in me... moves *me*... and I'm bloody well complete. This time, when the world explodes, and we cry out to each other, all the fear and the doubt is just gone. This time, I believe him when he says he loves me.

I hold him after, and we just sort of stare out into space without the need to say much of anything at all.

Except...

"You really gonna be human?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "So the prophets say."

That's a big damn deal, if you think about it. For all three of us. I mean... after all this, what the Hell would happen to me if he was all forgiven and mortal, and him and the Slayer ran off to buy a house in the burbs and a minivan, pumpin' out a few pups... Where the Hell would I go, after I'd swore my eternal sorry ass to him? Be their in-house damn demon babysitter?

"Huh," I grunt.

He peers up at me from his perch on my shoulder, and gives me a little smile. "If it happens... it's not going to change the way I feel about you. Nothing can. I owe you, Will... and I love you, whether I'm human or not. I failed you last time, but I won't fail you again. Not as long as I exist."

I stare at him for a bit, and chew my lip. Hell, I don't know if I believe him or not. But I guess it doesn't really matter. All I can do is take him at his undead Boy Scout word and hope he really is as damn noble as he always tries to be. He does sound like he means it.

"Sure, mate. If you say so."

He chuckles softly and burrows into my neck, licking at the already mostly healed wound in my throat until I hear his breathing slow and deepen. I hold him closer as my tension leaks away, and think about what happens next. Time stopped, this past week. The whole damn universe held its breath and waited for us to find our places and cool down from the sun exploding... until we all settled to earth and our pieces cooled. Now, with my beloved wrapped tight in my arms, it starts up again.

It wasn't just him that got brought back from someplace cold and dark and damn scary by this... it was all of us, including me. And that's why I'll stand by him. Ever since I lost Dru and got this chip in my head, I've been like a bloody mental patient set free without their meds... scrambling around, trying to deal, when the one thing that really could help me function was nowhere to be found. But he's here now, right up close to me, his stupid breath tickling the hair on my neck, and I think... from here on out, it'll get easier. He's my master again, the way he should've been all along.

But I won't tell him that.

Eventually I forget I was ever scared at all and join him in sleep, slipping into dreams of Slayers and souls, sunshine and love and pasts laid to rest and such noncy bullocks, like a damn fruity-ass puffy-shirted poet. It's probably some shit out of the Great Pouf's subconscious, knowing him. Guess I'll just have to get used to the fucked up things that go on in his head.

Like the great, heaping gobs of cookie dough fudge mint chip ice cream all over the place, which I can't figure out for the unlife of me.

*****