"Warm, Touching Warm"
by Debbie Nockels
(May 2000)

RATING: �PG-13
CATEGORY: �Songfic, Vignette, Futurefic
SPOILERS: Through Season 4 of BTVS; through Season 1 of ANGEL
DISCLAIMER: �I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. �They're owned by Joss Whedon (who ought to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, the WB, Fox, etc.
SUMMARY: �Three years from now, Angel looks back.
NOTES: �Just me, wishing. ��The songs are "Sweet Caroline," "Lady Oh," "If You Know What I Mean" and "The Story Of My Life" music and lyrics by Neil Diamond; and "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" written by Ewan MacColl, as sung by Celine Dion.

__________________________________________________________________




������ The music from Cordelia's radio wafted over Angel as he sat in his office chair, swivelled to face the windows. �Waiting. �Outside, Los Angeles twinkled and shone, lights by the millions brightening the dark sky, defying - or desperately ignoring - the other darkness lurking everywhere. �Demons. �Vampires. �And just plain human evil.

When it began I can't begin to knowing,
But then I know it's growing strong

������ The soft, slow, yet insistent beat of the music had penetrated his abstraction a moment earlier. �Now he began consciously to listen to the lyrics. �When did it begin? �Angel knew, almost to the second. �It had begun with his first glimpse of her as he huddled in Whistler's miserable excuse for a car, shrinking back from the deadly sunlight.

������ There she was, a normal teenager chattering away to her friends about clothes and school and boys, without a care in the world - unaware that that world was about to be shattered forever by a destiny her wildest dreams couldn't have prepared her for. �Her long hair, curling at the ends and only lightly streaked with blonde in those days, bounced around her shoulders with every movement of her head; her eyes sparkled; her throaty chuckle beckoned. �Everything about this petite girl drew him to her strongly. �Only later would he begin to wonder about the force of that attraction; at that moment in time he yielded to it without a thought.

It was in the spring
Then spring became the summer;
Who'd have believed you'd come along?

������ When had he recognized that attraction for what it was? �When had he realized that the emotion churning inside him every time he saw her was love? �He knew that too. �It was the night he'd helped her fight The Three, the warrior vampires that the Master had sent after her. �One of them had slashed him in the ribs and Buffy had not only insisted on dressing the injury once they'd reached the safety of her house, she'd also refused to let him leave that night for fear The Three might be lurking outside, waiting for another chance at him.

������ He'd made himself comfortable on the floor next to her bed with the blanket and pillow she'd given him, and pretended to go to sleep. �Of course he hadn't. �Instead, he'd spent the night watching her as she slumbered. �It was then, when the first pale fingers of dawn touched her face, causing his unbeating heart to twist with actual, physical pain, that he'd known that he, a vampire, loved the Slayer. And that, of course, was ridiculous. �Unthinkable. �Almost as impossible as the Slayer loving a vampire; yet both were true.

Hand, touching hand,
Reaching out . . . Touching me,
Touching you

������ It wasn't until the next morning that he'd realized his mistake. �He should have left before the sun rose; now he was trapped in the Summers' house until sunset since there were no convenient sewer accesses available. �He'd passed the long daylight hours pacing her bedroom and brooding over his situation, and he'd come to a decision.

������ He had to stop seeing her, except for the brief moments necessary to warn her of danger. He'd tried, he really had, to tell her when she'd finally showed up again. �Of course, the sun had set at least two hours before that so he didn't actually have to wait for her return - but he couldn't leave without saying goodbye and explaining.

������ Could he?

������ All it had taken was one look into her big, haunting eyes, and he was lost. �Even as the words of farewell stumbled from his lips she'd moved toward him. �As in a dream he'd bent down to meet her, and then they were kissing. �God! �It had been almost a century. �Even in the hundred-and-fifty years before that, before he was cursed by the Romany, the only living beings his arms had enclosed had been his victims. �Of course he'd had sex with other vampires, most notably Darla, his sire, and Drusilla, his favorite childe, but while their caresses had inflamed and assuaged his lust his heart was left untouched. �Until that night.

������ The touch of Buffy's lips, the increasing pressure of her body as her arms slowly circled his neck and she leaned into him, and the heady, enticing pulse of her blood, so near - not only had it been a hundred years since he'd kissed a woman, he hadn't even been that close physically to a living human being for the same length of time. �Throughout the long decades that followed the Kalderash curse he'd known only torment: the ever-present, physical gnawing pangs of semi-starvation, and the even more overpowering emotional ache of guilt and remorse and despair.

������ Small wonder, Angel now mused, that the Change had come upon him so suddenly that night in Buffy's room. �He'd had only a moment's warning, just long enough for him to break from their embrace and turn away in a futile attempt to fight it back. �He might as well have tried to hold back the tide. �The horrified disbelief in Buffy's eyes as she realized what he was, and the sound of her scream, like all his memories of her, would never leave him.

But now I look at the night
And it don't seem so lonely
We fill it up with only two

������ But somehow they'd weathered that first shock and many others that quickly followed: Buffy's temporary death at the hands of the Master, his followers' attempt a few months later to resurrect him, and Buffy's subsequent breakdown as she finally faced what she'd managed to keep at bay over the summer: �that she had actually died, and her rage and fear because she knew that it could happen again at any moment, this time for keeps. �That was the first time he'd held her sobbing form in his arms. �He was bitterly aware it wasn't the last.

And when I hurt
Hurting runs off my shoulders
How can I hurt when holding you?

������ Angel smiled, recalling the joy those next months had held - for joyful they were, even though the tapestry of their happiness was woven almost equally with threads of angst. �And that could be laid directly at his feet, every time. �It was he who'd held back, he who fretted about their relationship; not Buffy. �Never Buffy. �Once the first jolt of learning he was a vampire passed, she had accepted him for what he was, without reservation.

Warm, touching warm
Reaching out . . .Touching me
Touching you

������ Never would he forget her soft hand caressing his vampiric face at the ice rink after they'd fought the Tarakan assassin sent to kill her; and never would he forget her words when he'd shied back from the contact, saying she shouldn't have to touch him when he was "like that":

������("Oh," she'd said, and removed her gloves. �The sensation of her warm fingers stroking his thick facial ridges was as potent as an electric shock. �He couldn't speak, only stared at her through his yellow vampire eyes. ��"I didn't even notice.")

������ (Then she'd kissed him, tenderly, full on his befanged mouth. �If her simple touch had rendered him speechless, this second and greater shock rooted him to the ground. �They had kissed before, yes, but never when he was in game face. �The possibility had never even crossed his mind.)

������ It was just as well, he thought now, wryly, that the second Tarakan assassin hadn't come after her then - or Kendra who, they learned later, had been lurking in the building, spying on them and completely misinterpreting the scene - for they would have been sitting ducks. �Especially when the kiss segued from tender to passionate. �Long before it ended he was back in human visage and Buffy was flushed and breathless. �Fortunately they'd also come to their senses and hightailed it out of there; she to advise Giles of what had happened and he to scout around for information.

������ The song ended. �The dulcet tones of the DJ announced, "You've just heard �Sweet Caroline' as part of this hour's tribute to �Neil Diamond. �Now here's our last set from this artist. �The first one isn't one of his better known songs, but it's one of my personal favorites. �It's called �Lady Oh'." �Soft piano chords played, slow and bluesy, and then Neil Diamond's rough-velvet voice.

Lady Oh, Lady Oh,
I walked the streets again last night
I saw you in the city light
Like a vision, Lady Oh

Lady I, Lady I,
I've been waiting around such a long, long time
Believing I could make you mine
Just wanting you, Lady Oh

������ Angel stirred restlessly as memories swelled around him: �of his first months in Los Angeles . . . the short, hot summer nights; sidewalks thronged with people spilling out from restaurants, movie theaters, bars; humanity teeming around him, with its laughter and its clamor and its pulsing life . . . the vampire in him pleading for satiation of the ceaseless craving for blood - not cold, sanitized blood out of hospital bags but hot and spurting and fresh. �A century of practice enabled him to ignore that familiar hunger, but no amount of effort could erase or even mitigate his other constant companion: his yearning for Buffy.

But here I am and there you are
You're much too far to even hear me
Hurts a lot, you know it does
It hurts a lot
Oh, Lady Oh . . .
When am I gonna ever learn
What I never learned before?

������ A hundred miles separated them, only a blink of the eye in comparison to the weary days it would have taken to travel that distance in his breathing days. �Even by the time of his cursing a hundred miles could be covered by railroad in only hours. �Today, by car, ninety minutes would do it with time to spare. �How often in those early, forlorn nights after coming to L.A. had he fought the overwhelming urge to hop into his car at sunset and drive back to Sunnydale? �Just for the weekend. �Just for a day - or two at the most. �Just to see her . . . hear her voice . . . touch her hand . . . make sure she was all right.

������ And how many times in his wanderings throughout L.A. had a glimpse of long blonde hair on a petite, slender frame caused his heart to spasm with hope even as he recognized it wasn't her, couldn't be her?

City lights, city lights
They burn so warm, they burn so bright
But me, I walk the city night
Trying to forget you, Lady Oh

������ Forget her? �A faint, tender smile softened Angel's somber countenance.�Never. �Forget her luminous eyes looking up at him with love and trust? �Forget the delicacy of her bones, the softness of her skin as they embraced? �Forget her passion and dedication and fierce loyalty? �Forget her love? �Even if he never saw her again, he would recall every second of their time together for as long as he existed.

������ The music segued into the next tune, another slow song that fit in perfectly with his mood.

When the night returns just like a friend
When the evening comes to set me free
When the quiet hours that wait beyond the day
Make peaceful sounds in me

Took a drag from my last cigarette
Took a drink from a glass of old wine
I closed my eyes, and I could make it real
And feel it one more time

Can you hear it, babe?
Can you hear it, babe?
From another time
From another place
Do you remember it, babe?

������ A kaleidoscope of images and voices tumbled through his mind:

������ (Buffy . . . looking down on his recumbent form, arms akimbo, demanding to know why he was following her . . . "Wrong. �What I want is to be left alone!" . . . Sprawled face down in a pool of water, tossed there like a rag doll by the Master after he drank her blood . . . In his arms, soft and pliant, returning his kisses with an eagerness that matched his own . . . "Do you see anything?" �"No, I don't see anything." �"Okay, that's enough patrolling." . . . At the dock, gazing up at him through her tears as he explained the symbols on the claddagh ring he'd just given her . . . "And the heart - well, you know" . . . "Don't go" . . . Shivering, chilled to the bone, crying because it was her birthday and she'd almost lost him . . . "Buffy, maybe we shouldn't" . . . �"Shh. �Just kiss me. �Please" . . .)

������ Again the music changed:

The story of my life is very plain to read
It starts the day you came
And ends the day you leave

������ (Buffy . . . her body warming to his caresses, his hands learning her secrets . . . moisture and heat sheathing him, their soft cries filling the silence . . . her face, eyes fluttering shut, cheeks feverish, hands clutching as she convulsed with her first orgasm . . . Standing over him, sword raised to decapitate him . . . "Angel?" . . . "I feel as if I haven't seen you in a year. �Everything's all muddled." . . . "Shh, don't worry about it . . . Close your eyes." . . . Sudden, searing pain, and the sight of her face, tear-stained, glazed eyes staring, as he was, at the sword jutting from his torso . . . )

The story of my life begins and ends with you
The names are still the same
And the story's still the truth

������ (Jenny's cool voice urging him to take her . . . "She wants you" . . . to lose himself in her . . . "Think of the peace" . . . Buffy, struggling with him on the hilltop where he waited for the sunrise to end his tortured existence . . . "What about me? �I love you so much. I tried to make you go away. �I even killed you and it didn't help." . . . "You have the power to do real good, Angel, but if you die now then all you ever were was a monster!" . . . )

I was alone
You found me waiting and made me your own
I was afraid that somehow I never could be
The man that you wanted of me

������ (The Day That Wasn't . . . the incredible, singing joy of being able to hold her, love her, make love with her freely, without fear . . . her warm tongue licking ice cream off his chest . . . her arms around him, his head between her breasts, during one of their brief respites from lovemaking . . . "I love you, Angel; I'll always love you, no matter what happens" . . . Dropping back onto the bed, gasping and limp, after making love again . . . "God! �I don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow!" . . . Falling asleep with Buffy in his arms, hearing her drowsy murmur: "It's perfect" . . . )

������ (Then, the next morning, "I'll never forget; I'll never forget" . . . her arms in a stranglehold about his neck, their �tears mingling, soaking his shirt . . . The slight disorientation as time folded upon itself and the day began over again . . . Watching her walk out of his office, truly understanding for the first time how she'd felt when he'd been the one who left . . . Fighting desperately not to run after her . . . Stumbling downstairs instead and beating the shit out his punching bag, silent, dry-eyed, and raging inside, until the rope snapped and the bag crashed into the opposite wall.)

You're the story of my life
And every word is true

������ (Facing her in the hallway of her dorm as she painfully spoke a truth neither of them wanted to acknowledge . . . "We don't live in each other's worlds anymore" . . . "The best thing you can do right now is . . ." looking at him silently, leaving unspoken the word "leave." �The bitterness of that moment haunted him for months. �Years.)

Each chapter sings your name
Each page begins with you

������ (Wesley's voice, hushed with awe . . . " �The vampire with a soul, once he fulfills his destiny, will shanshu.' �Become human." . . . The ensuing years . . . the plagues . . . the battles that came more and more frequently, with increasing power and ferocity . . . Yet even in the midst of war there were moments of contentment . . . Cordelia and Wesley finally discovering their love for one another, their moonlight wedding a year ago in Sunnydale with all their friends in attendance - including Buffy, matured into a woman and lovelier than ever . . . )

������ (Catching her eye, holding it, as the bride and groom exchanged vows . . . Their too-brief time together after the ceremony, walking in the dark . . . "What are you thinking, Angel?" . . . "I was thinking how beautiful you are - and also how much I envy them" . . . "Yes. �They can be together, while we - can't" . . . Turning, gathering her close and kissing her until they both were weak-kneed . . . "Someday it will be our turn.")

������ (The End of Days . . . standing once again shoulder-to-shoulder with Buffy, just as they had in the beginning; Giles, Xander and Willow to one side; Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn to the other . . . Meeting all that the First Evil threw at them; not only the physical attack but also the emotional assault as the First drew upon their every negative memory to use against them . . . Darla . . . Jesse . . . Drusilla . . . Kendra . . . Faith . . . Joyce, who had collapsed at home while Buffy was on patrol one night and died the next day of an embolism . . . dozens of others for Buffy; hundreds for him . . . past failures, past evils . . . Together they faced them down . . . together they vanquished the First and Its minions.)

It's the story of our times and never letting go
And if I die today
I wanted you to know

Stay with me here
Share with me, care with me
Stay and be near
And when it began I'd lie awake every night
Just knowing somewhere deep inside
That our love affair just might write

The story of my life; it's very plain to read
It starts the day you came . . .

It ends the day you leave

������ Ah. �He felt it. �His time was up; he was no longer alone. �Angel rose to his feet, turning to face the door. �A moment later Buffy appeared, her face expressive of hope and trepidation. �Her wide eyes sought his. �Leaning unobtrusively against the desk for support, Angel took a deep breath. �"Hey." �His voice cracked on the word.

������ "Hey." �Her voice, also, held uncertainty; she took a hesitant step forward. �"Cordy called me, and I came as soon as I could. �Is it true?"

������ He nodded slowly. �"It's true."

������ "When did it happen?"

������ Angel cleared his throat; moistened his lips with his tongue. �"Two days ago."

������ "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly, unmoving. �"We've dreamed of this for years. �Didn't - didn't you want me to know?"

������ He shook his head almost violently and came around his desk. �"It wasn't that, Buffy. �I just needed a little time, that's all. �I had to let it . . . sink in. �I had to believe it was really true, that it wouldn't disappear. �If Cordelia hadn't told me this afternoon that she'd already phoned you, I was going to go to Sunnydale tonight. �I swear."

������ She came closer. �"So - you do still want to be with me? �Because I do, with you."

������ "Oh, God." �With two swift strides Angel reached her and caught her to him. �Her mouth was soft and yielding, her body molded so tightly to his that their twin heartbeats sounded as one.

������ "Now we go from the old to the new," announced the DJ. �"Here's Celine Dion."

The first time ever I saw your face
I felt the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the night and the empty skies, my love
To the night and the empty skies

The first time ever I lay with you
And felt your heart beat close to mine
I thought our joy would fill the earth
And would last til the end of time, my love
And would last til the end of time.




THE END


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