It's a fundamental part of aging that people look for love, to search for that missing piece. It's taken for granted that we all feel it, that lacking, that void we want so desperately to fill. It's a curious and sometimes easily dismissed ache, but it never lets itself be forgotten for long.
A song can remind us, or a poem. A joke that we have no one to share with, a kiss between strangers we secretly envy. A rainstorm so beautiful and full of power that we actually look around for someone to smile at, only to find ourselves alone. A windy night can trigger the familiar longing, its howling shaking the eaves of an almost empty house, and a silent bed within holds only one body, a body that would love to be warmed by the heat of another but can only clutch at a lumpy pillow that is a poor substitute for a companion.
But once you've found it? Well, there's another chapter entirely. It's a warmth and a smile that always lurks in the corners of a well-kissed mouth. It's the bewildered joy of knowing beyond reason that this is the end of the search. It's occasionally pity for the masses still wandering unanchored, but mostly, it's inexpressible contentment.
The search is definitely trial by fire, but using that expression is practically a pun in this instance. Living for two and a half centuries only to endure a couple more in a dimension of hell seems, somehow, a high price to pay. Then again, perhaps not. After all, he would probably have died lying in a whore's flea infested bed or an ignominious gutter if he had only had a normal lifespan. However long he had to wait, who's to say whether or not it was worth it? Worth finding someone who with the ability to fill him to overflowing.
(Twice, technically, but only once in remembrance.)
The prerogative to put a price on her lush green gaze is his alone. And if he chooses to forget his impossible wait while he concentrates on counting each fiery strand that seems to make a statement about her personality, well, perhaps it would be no more than voyeurism to stay and criticize.
****
If filling that all too familiar void is a thrill beyond imagining, how then can we comprehend what it feels like to find love only to lose it? To adore and be adored, then to abruptly discover that the sentiment is no longer returned must be the most wrenching realization imaginable.
Perhaps it shouldn't be attempted by anyone less hardy than the Chosen One.
****
Willow's mind was in a daze, her heart was in rapture and her body was in his lap.
Altogether, not a bad situation.
"Angel?" she asked.
"Mmmm?" he replied, his name on her lips almost as sweet as his mouth.
"How are we going to explain this new...situation to the others?"
At that, he couldn't help but laugh. And if he consciously deepened his laugh so that she could feel it all the way down to her delicate toes, then no one but he has any right to comment on the fact.
"Willow, I think they know."
"What do you mean? I know they had an idea..."
"Well, it's one of the side-effects of me following Buffy's orders..." At his words, Willow twisted to look at him in confusion.
"Her orders?"
"When she called, she told me to ignore Giles and kiss you properly."
Willow frowned. "Okay. Now I have two questions. Ignore Giles?"
"He told me I shouldn't be so obvious about loving you, for Buffy's sake," Angel explained.
"Uh-huh. Number Two: You kissed me because Buffy told you to?" Her eyes, liquid and gentle only moments before, managed to look rather intimidating. Angel hastened to explain.
"I kissed you because I've been dying to since the day I woke up and found you sleeping beside me. The only thing Buffy influenced was the timing."
Her eyes still held some degree of doubt, a doubt which he couldn't bear to see. "Willow, I promise you, it was merely a matter of Buffy undoing Giles's mistake."
Willow looked at him for a moment, when a thought occurred to her that made her giggle. "Oh, Angel, you..." she broke off in a laugh again.
"I what?" he prompted.
"You're so good at being reassuring and sincere. I was just realizing what a rake you must have been." She continued to laugh, and he frowned, somewhat nettled.
"You're laughing because you think I was a rake?" The truth of her guess made it no less uncomfortable.
"Oh, I know you're not now. It's just-- you always know what to say to make a girl feel exactly how you want her to feel. It's a rakish quality." Upon seeing that he was missing the humor entirely, she managed to quell her laughs. "Okay, I'm sorry, it's not rakish, it's sensitive and charming. There, is that better?" The twinkle in her eye not only proved that she was certainly not sorry, but that she had her own share of irresistible charm. Angel chose not to dignify her impertinent question with an answer. Rather, he chose to prevent her from speaking any more for a long, long time.