From: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com (buffyfic-digest) To: buffyfic-digest@lists.xmission.com Subject: buffyfic-digest V2 #303 Reply-To: $SENDER Sender: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com Errors-To: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com Precedence: bulk buffyfic-digest Saturday, August 15 1998 Volume 02 : Number 303 In this issue: BUFFYFIC: Poem (untitled) BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part Seven: Reaching Out" (7b/9) BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part Seven: Reaching Out" (7a/9) See the end of the digest for information on (un)subscribing to the buffyfic or buffyfic-digest mailing lists and on how to retrieve back issues. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Sat, 15 Aug 1998 11:56:28 PDT From: "Sara B." Subject: BUFFYFIC: Poem (untitled) Author: Sara B. Email: Sara114@hotmail.com Title: Undecided. Feedback: Yes, please! The shadows danced Upon the wall With the flame Flickering so bright; Through my window T’was the moon Dispelling luminescent light. In the dreary Dark of Night I stared upon your figure; Tall and grand So self assured As perfect as a picture. You took my hand To your lips And kissed it Oh so sweet; You stared at me With a gleam in your eye Of a lover Who once made me complete. Your dark red lips Were stained in crimson As they often were; The smell of a women Drifted from you You took that blood from her. I felt the tears Fall from my eyes As they had before; I felt the pain stab my heart Because my life you tore. With a flash You grabbed me tight Holding me with fierce; You kissed my lips With such a passion I felt your sharp teeth pierce. I pulled away, And felt the blood Trickling from my face; You left my room With one last grin And against the sun you raced. I stood and watched You disappear Into the shadows of night; Feeling as if I could die As I watched you leave my sight. I felt the stake Lie in it’s sheath Underneath my arm; I should have stuck it In your heart But to you I can do no harm. But be warned Because one day Within me the strength I will find; To tear myself Away from you And break the holding bind. And upon that day You’ll no longer be Taunting me at night; And I’ll take that stake And send you to hell Ending our last fight. The End. ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 15 Aug 1998 16:03:14 EDT From: Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part Seven: Reaching Out" (7b/9) See part one for all notes and disclaimers. Comments and requests for missing pieces to KylenRevik@aol.com, please. ~ Silent, because the Garou had threatened to bar him from this room if he so much as coughed, Giles watched the ritual taking place between Sef, Angel, and Buffy. The two willing participants were both lost deep in a trance, and Buffy was-- as she had been since he had come here-- unconscious. Giles shook his head, fighting the feeling of helplessness that had been threatening to overwhelm him since Angel had first staked the claim to the right to saving Buffy. The bitterness that had washed over him when he had realized it meant that his Slayer would be saved by someone other than himself had surprised Giles. He had thought it was the idea that he himself wouldn't be the one who pulled Buffy back from the brink of whatever insanity it was she was teetering on that had bothered him, but as time passed and he analyzed his feelings more intensely, he realized that wasn't it. The truth, he had decided, was that it was Angel who would be doing the saving, and the vampire had no right to make that sort of sacrifice for Buffy. She would wake up, Giles knew, feeling as though she owed Angel something for going onto the dreamscape and saving her. The rational, thinking mind she was capable of displaying would take yet another one of its Angel-induced vacations, and she would either blow up at the vampire and then seal herself off from all of Giles' attempts to make her face what had happened and acknowledge that she had indeed been made to _feel_ by her former lover, or else this act would finally bash through the barriers she had erected long ago, and she would undergo a complete nervous breakdown brought on by the idea that she had finally lost the battle and her involvement with Angel was something she had no way of avoiding. Being trapped, or feeling that she was, would only hurt her. And as Giles had told Quirin on that night at the cabin that seemed as if it had taken place years ago, he would do anything it was in his power to do, and quite a few things it wasn't, to keep Buffy from being hurt. Not, he berated himself silently as he heard one of the three participants in the ritual give a slight gasp of pain, that he had done a particularly good job of keeping her from being hurt in the past. But down that way was madness and the same sort of predicament he was now trying to extradite Buffy from, he reminded himself, and so he quickly ceased to allow himself to contemplate that line of thought. The thing that was so utterly maddening about the situation, he knew, was that he was powerless to do anything that would really contribute. He was too weak to fight the Garou and simply remove Buffy by force, and even if he called the Network-- presuming the Garou would let him get to a telephone-- he couldn't gain assistance for several days at the least. He wasn't even in the position of knowing what was going on and being unable to affect it. He simply knew something important, earth-shakingly so, was taking place-- and he had no access to any knowledge but that. With a slight, soft, bitter sigh, Giles adjusted his position in his seat, and waited for something more to take place. Something, he hoped, that he would actually be able to act on, instead of something he would be forced to simply observe. On that note, Giles sighed, resuming his watch of Buffy and the events taking place around her. * The darkness of the forest was unbroken as Angel sprinted through it, following the girl who wasn't making any sort of effort to conceal that she had passed through here. His ears still stung from her words, and his heart from the look on her face when she'd spoken them, and yet Angel couldn't make himself stop-- even though he knew full well that at this point, there was likely little he could do to fix anything at all from the myriad of relationships and people he'd broken. And then, suddenly, he stumbled onto the bank of the river that, were this the real world, would have flowed past the cabin Buffy and Giles were staying in. Angel cast glances both ways down the bank, and caught sight of a set of footsteps. The light, which was already disorienting him to some degree, streamed down from the sun and illuminated everything around him, dancing on the water and reflecting from the leaves and grass at the edge of the river. Angel took a breath, stopped for a few seconds by the sheer beauty of the world around him, the beauty he had only observed from car windows twice since he had been changed. Too much, something inside him whispered, it was all too much. Too much beauty, too much light. Almost overcome by the radiance of the light and the way it made everything it touched seem perfect, Angel was jerked from his reflections when a small stone hit the water at midstream. He glanced up, seeing the ripples as they ran swiftly over the water's surface, his gaze tracing back to the figure of a young woman, kneeling on a rock a few dozen feet away. Buffy appeared to be completely absorbed in her actions, paying no attention to the water or its reactions to her motions. Granting him no attention, either, Angel thought, but perhaps that was for the best. Still, he couldn't simply leave her here and say nothing, despite what she had said earlier and despite the knowledge that anything he said would most likely meet with a cold rebuff. "Buffy," he said quietly, first surprised when she looked up at his words, then surprised again when she offered him a small smile. "Angel?" she said, her voice soft and full of hope. Suspicion, though he tried to push it away, crowded his mind at her words. After the reception she had given him back in the clearing, that she would sound almost glad to see him was something he couldn't make himself just accept. Cautiously, he took a few steps forward, making sure to stay several meters away from her. "You're not running," he said quietly, struggling to make the words come. She shook her head and looked at him, confused. "Why would I run?" she asked. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting back the feeling of a sudden weight being lifted from his chest, then he opened his eyes again and looked at her. "You always do," he replied. She shook her head, the confusion seeming to grow. "I'd never run from you," she said quietly. "I've been waiting for you." Laboring to understand why she wasn't angry with him, why she was speaking to him at all, Angel realized he was unable to reconcile this Buffy with girl he had spoken to back through the woods, in the clearing. Fine then, he told himself, he wouldn't try to reconcile. He would simply be. With her. He took a few more steps, closing the distance between them, not letting himself think about the way that the entire situation was making little to no sense. "I-- I don't understand," he said quietly. She rose slightly from where she was seated on the rock, reaching out a hand to take his own and then backing away slightly, just far enough so he could sit beside her. When she looked at him, her eyes were glowing with love and trust. Emotions Angel had thought he would never again see in them, and the image was almost too much for him to bear. Without warning, memories of other times flooded him, and he looked away, unable to see her this way when in his mind's eye he was watching her hate-filled expression scream at him for trying to make her see that he still loved her more than anything else in the world. "Don't cry," she said softly, the soft touch of her fingertips brushing his cheek gently, offering the smallest amount of pressure until he turned his face and met her gaze again, though the sight was nearly enough to tear his heart to pieces. "I--" he began, then he realized his voice was thick with tears, and shook his head. "Shhh," she whispered, leaning forward until their foreheads were touching, "don't cry." The smile on her face was evident in her voice when she continued. "I've been waiting for you for so long. Please don't cry. I love you." "But-- but--" He struggled with the words, shaking his head as he spoke. "I thought you-- that you hated me, you said, and Buffy, I didn't--" "Shh," she soothed again, squeezing his hand while she put a finger to his lips. "I've been waiting for you. Hoping." This time, she didn't give him time to protest before she continued. "Waiting for so long. God, it's been so long..." He felt something warm and wet running down his cheeks, and for a moment thought it was his own tears-- but when he opened his eyes he realized she was crying, too. Her delicate fingers were trembling as they stroked his cheek, the flesh staining red when it touched the blood that trickled down his cheeks. He could almost smell, almost taste the salt in her own tears, and the warmth from her fingers passed through his skin with ease. Though he knew he didn't deserve the forgiveness she was giving him, he had wanted it badly enough for long enough that the earlier doubts, the ones had resulted from the way she had rebuffed him in Sunnydale, run from him in the clearing earlier, melted away without leaving any hint of ever having been present. His was not to reason or question or look for an explanation, his was simply to thank God she had found it in her soul to forgive him. Time lost meaning as he sat there with her, losing himself in her closeness, in the feelings and sensations that had been denied to him for so long. And then suddenly, the idyllic silence, interrupted previously only by her occasional breath, or his shuddering attempt to speak, was shattered. A footstep fell from several dozen paces away, and though he might not have noticed it otherwise, the one who had caused it spoke in a voice he couldn't ignore. "You sick, disgusting son of a _bitch_." ~ Comments to KylenRevik@aol.com, please! ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 15 Aug 1998 16:03:08 EDT From: Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part Seven: Reaching Out" (7a/9) See part one for all notes and disclaimers. Comments and requests for missing pieces to KylenRevik@aol.com, please. ~ "Part Seven: Reaching Out" //I didn't come this far For you to make this hard for me.// -"How", Lisa Loeb "I need to be with her," Angel said softly, his eyes seeking some sort of understanding from the elder Garou. There was no flicker of emotion from Quirin's eyes, and to the other side, Sef remained as impassive as he had been from the moment Angel had first made his request. "Be with her, how?" came Laisa's firm voice from where the matriarch stood before him. "No," came a fourth. Angel turned back toward the last voice, ignoring Laisa when he saw who had joined him with the Garou in the council chamber. "Yes," he said, his pleas to the Garou drifting away as he took a step closer to Giles. "I have to." The Watcher's eyes narrowed. "Don't you _dare_," he hissed angrily. His eyes darted back toward the Garou. "If you let him go into this, this dreamworld you have her in, and something-- if anything happens to her because of him, I'll hold you all responsible. As will the Network." A soft chuckle from Laisa. "You think we fear your Network so much?" Giles appeared to be unafraid of her lack of respect for the organization that stood behind him. "You'd have reason," was his only answer. Angel felt the chill inside him deepen, knowing full well that the arguments these people had gotten into with each other were his fault, and his alone. "Untrue," Quirin proclaimed when he voiced the sentiment. "I called you Friend, it is my responsibility as--" "It's _not_," Angel interrupted, his words still directed more toward Giles than toward the rest of the room's occupants. "It's me. I was the one who killed that gypsy, I was the one who was cursed. I was the one who let myself fall in love with her. And hurt her." "You knew not the results of your act--" "It doesn't _matter_ that I didn't know!" Angel shouted, turning on the pack's matriarch. Laisa looked slightly stunned by the outburst, and Angel was more surprised that he had been able to tear his attention away from Giles than anything else. The Watcher wasn't about to be so easily forgotten, though. "You have no, no _right_ to take responsibility for her," he snapped, his voice cold and condemning. "I'm taking it anyway," Angel said quietly, his own voice becoming stiff and chilled as he turned to look back at Giles. "She's mine, I claim the right." He turned back to Quirin. "Soul Rights," he said quietly. "Now hold on there a blasted _minute_!" Giles shouted, taking another step into the room. "She's not some kind of-- of _property_, damn it, she's the _Slayer_, and what in the name of God makes you think you can do something as stupid and archaic as claim sole _rights_ to her?!" Flustered, and obviously quite perturbed, the Watcher fell silent-- though he continued to glare at Angel as the vampire exchanged glances with the Garou. "Soul Rights," Quirin said to Giles. "The right a soul has to..." He cleared his throat, looking at Sef. The younger Garou seemed to take the hint, nodding and standing, walking to Giles' side. "The idea that mortals have, that everyone has a perfect match, spiritually and emotionally, somewhere in the world...a soul mate, if you will...although somewhat romantic, seeped into our lore several hundred generations ago." He shook his head. "If one person sees in another the possibility that they are one another's...perfect match..." Angel watched the expression on Giles' face shifting slowly as he first comprehended what Sef was telling him, then as he realized what Angel had done in invoking Soul Rights in regards to Buffy. It was something even Angel himself hadn't recognized the true significance of when the words had been bubbling around in his thoughts. He knew what it meant, in theory. He hadn't realized how deep a bond soul matches were considered by the Garou, and by effect how deeply they were when constructed between two people. Despite that, as the Garou finished educating the Watcher, Angel realized there was no better term to describe what Buffy was to him-- his everything. She was his sun, his moon, his every thought. Had he still been able to breathe, she would have been that too. All he ever cared about, his reason for being. He wondered, fleetingly, what would have happened if he had never changed, never become. If he had stayed the mortal he had been that night in Galway when Darla had offered to make him what he was nowadays. Would he have found someone else, just like Buffy? Or would he have gone through his entire life, knowing there was something missing and yet never able to put his finger on it, starting every time he recognized something that might somehow be incorporated into the girl that would be born nearly two and a half centuries after himself. He couldn't imagine anyone like her, either in the past or the future. "He can't do that," Giles was saying when Angel returned his entire attention to the room. "I can. And I have," he said, his voice more even than he had expected it to be. Before the Watcher could protest again, Angel shook his head and took a step toward the door. "And I need to be with her." "She doesn't need you, she doesn't want you." The sting of the words was a harsh one, and it was all Angel could do not to round on the Watcher and shout at him that wasn't true, that Buffy needed him as much as he needed her, that without each other both of them were incomplete. But he quelled the animal inside him that urged him to action, and instead remained silent, communicating to Sef with a glance that there would be no more deliberations, no more consulting with the other two members of the pack over matters that had been decided the moment he had invoked the right of his soul, his being, to go to hers. With only a gentle nod, the Garou turned with him, and they left the room. Neither Laisa or Quirin moved to stop them. Giles, Angel was already telling himself, had already condemned him. There was no reason to worry about the Watcher's opinions of anything else that might transpire until Buffy was safely conscious, and safely in his arms. Silent, letting the Garou lead him back to the room where Buffy had been laid out, Angel waited in silence as Sef took a piece of rock from a shelf and passed it to him. "Focus on this," he said quietly. "And sit." Angel glanced at the rock, lowering himself to the floor. "What is it?" he asked. The Garou shook his head. "Focus on it," he said. "It will make your soul's passage easier." With a silent nod, Angel did as he was told. "Close your eyes," Sef whispered. Swallowing at the memories evoked by the words, Angel again obeyed the order. Almost immediately, his heart dropped to his stomach and he heard an onslaught of air rushing past him. He wanted to release the stone in his hands, use them to cover his ears instead of to carry this dead weight. Use them to shut out the screams that assaulted him from all sides, carried by the wind. Some of the voices he recognized. Some, he did not. Some of the words screamed at him were cries of agony, guided only by the flow of the wind, dying as he himself moved away from them. He could hear the cries of people he had killed, and he remembered the times he had spent murdering. The slaughters. The bloodbaths. Tiny hands pawing at him as he lifted children into the air and dashed them down upon hard cobblestones. Women's nails raking his cheeks as he laughed and the flesh grew back, leaving him undamaged. Images came, next. A thousand faces, two thousand terrified eyes staring at him in their last glowing moments. *Give up your hold,* came a whisper bourne upon their voices. Refusing to let himself be swayed by the pain being projected toward him, Angel gripped the stone tighter and focused harder, and then he felt another voice whisper into his ear. *Look for light in darkness,* it said. And then all motion ceased, and Angel found himself still. His eyes were still closed, and yet there was light streaming through his eyelids, hitting his retinas. Bright, too, he could tell, not knowing whether or not it was safe to open his eyes again. There was a sort of pale pink to the shade that he was seeing. What if he opened his eyes and all he saw was blood, the bodies of the people he had killed, everything wrong he had done during his lifetime? What if he opened his eyes and was reminded of the horrors and the tragedy, instead of the love he was coming here to find? On the other hand, he knew well enough that unless he looked, he would never find Buffy-- and though she would heal in time, he wouldn't have been there for her and his duty because of the rights he had claimed would remain unfulfilled. What's more, he would never forgive himself. So slowly, unsure of what he should expect or what would present itself to him, Angel let his eyes flutter open. He gasped first, dropping the stone Sef had passed him as he pulled his hands in toward himself, trying to use them to shield his face from the bright light streaming down-- because now, he realized, it was sunlight. Sunlight, and it wasn't burning him. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Angel next set his mind on undoing the protective stance he had moved into the second the source of light had registered with him. He cast his gaze downward, and it fell on a circle of violets that stretched out from beneath his feet. He felt a smile passing over his face as he stooped to run his fingers over them, then stood again and looked over the landscape before him. A clearing. Flowers. And a small, bundled-up heap of a girl- child, curled in a ball halfway between himself and the darkened woods. "Buffy," he whispered, his lips barely moving and the words barely forming themselves in his throat. She didn't hear, or simply pretended not to. He took a few steps toward her, his hand reaching out to fall on her shoulder. "Buffy," he said, a little louder. "It's me." There was still no response. Angel swallowed. He had known this wouldn't be easy, and yet he had hoped she might at least speak to him... "Buffy," he said again. "Please. Listen to me. I'm sorry. This is my fault." He shook his head, lowering himself to sit in the flowers beside her, his amazement at how beautiful she was in the sunlight, which was growing with each passing moment. So serene, so calm. Motionless. Ignoring him, he felt something inside him snap in a cruel tone of voice, but he pushed it away with practiced ease. "This...I did this," Angel said quietly. "I asked the Garou to heal you. Buffy, you have to understand, I thought it would be for the best, they didn't tell me it would hurt you to heal, they didn't tell me everything about it..." Still, the Slayer gave him no answer. His voice catching in his throat, Angel reached forward slightly, moving to take her hand in his. "I love you, Buffy, I just seem to be really bad about figuring out how to tell you that." He shook his head, closing his eyes for a bare second before they opened again almost of their own accord, as though wasting precious seconds of seeing her in the light of day were something they couldn't abide by. Angel was surprised when Buffy made no move to push him away, letting him twine his hand around hers, hold it... A shudder wracked his body as he realized her hand was too cold. She was warm, that was what he had first fallen in love with. Afterward had come the emotions, the soul, the girl who was the Slayer. At first, like with so many other human girls, what Angel had fallen in love with was her warmth. The way heat radiated from her body, emanating through her skin before dissipating into the air around her. Even that was warm. Later, when she had let him come close enough to feel the heat, he had never ceased to wonder at the way her lips sent shivers of heat-- physical, not sexual, though that was in the mix as well-- through him. The way her hand on his arm, even through a long-sleeved shirt, was enough to make him stop and wonder at the life she carried. But now her hand was cold. Horror creeping in at the edges of his mind, Angel quickly pulled her up to him, turning her, feeling his throat constrict as she offered no resistance to his motions. "Buffy," he whispered, his voice already ragged. He shook her once, gently, then when that brought him no response he shook her again. A split second later, a coppery scent hit him so hard he nearly lost his grip on her. She would have fallen, he realized, his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring at the scent, because there was nothing beneath the glassiness of her eyes, there was nothing there at all. "Buffy," he choked, a strangled cry as he sank back into the faerie circle, cradling her in his arms, staring in horror at the dried, red-brown stain that covered her clothing and her skin, the cracked flakes of blood that had dried around the gaping slashes in her wrists. "No, no..." he whispered, pulling her close as though if he could only feel a trace of the warmth he was used to, she would be alright, he wouldn't have been too late. He'd been such a fool, he thought, his memories flashing back to what Quirin had told him-- that she might not be strong enough, that dreamwalking was never a cure for life's ills. He had protested. Insisted. Pleaded. Begged. Finally gotten his way. And for what? He blinked, trying to keep the tears back, instead failing and watching as two pinpoints of blood fell and marred the smooth perfection of her cold flesh. It was then that he heard someone step into the clearing, from across the way. A horrified breath, sharply taken, made him stand. He held the body close as he rose and turned, then stared. Quickly, his gaze darted from the form in his arms to the one standing at the edge of the clearing, and he spoke softly, his voice charged with confusion and disbelief. "Buffy?" The body in his arms was as solid as anything he had ever touched, cooling by fractions of degrees with every passing second. The same was true of the woman who had just stepped into the clearing, the one who was staring at him and the body he held with shock, confusion, and-- he couldn't miss the final emotion-- a dull, weary sort of anger. Not knowing what to do with the body he held, not wanting to put it down, Angel took it with him as he closed the distance between them. Buffy did nothing for a few seconds, but as he neared her, she took a few steps back. "No," she said, shaking her head, her voice trembling with the word. "This...this didn't happen. I'm not--" She broke off, then swallowed back whatever was preventing her from speaking. "--that weak." Angel glanced down at the body, then back to her. Perfect in every detail. He was on a dreamscape. It couldn't be real. Couldn't be. But if it was, and it was only wishful thinking that had called this image of her up? Suddenly, Angel realized why it was so important that one be trained as a dreamwalker before one ventured into the haze of the dreamscape dimension where they conducted their business. Carefully, gently, he lowered the body to the ground, then he stood and looked at her. "Buffy," he said quietly, doing his best to keep the hope from his voice. From the look on her face, he could tell she was far from forgiving him. *If this is even her,* a doubting voice spoke up in the back of his mind, *and not another delusion.* No, Angel told himself, this had to be her. She was too perfect to be anything but. Her blood smelled the same, and the rhythm of her heart was as it had always been. Besides, he thought with a rueful bitterness he hadn't expected, if he was imagining her, then she would have been even more upset with him than she appeared to be. She would have screamed by now. Accused him of something. That's what it had been like in Hell, hadn't it? Accusations flying from all sides, first her screams of betrayal and then later the screams of the people he had hurt, enveloped in a dusty cloud of shame and the knowledge that he had lost something precious to him, the knowledge that he had somehow wronged her, the knowledge that he had driven her to the point where she would rather have killed him than kept him on Earth any longer. Later, he had been told what had happened and realized why she had sent him to Hell. The facts made sense. End of the world. Closing a vortex. Blood sacrifice. Sword. Worthy. End of the world, closing a vortex, saving the world, sacrifice, no choice, and more. They had lined up in neat rows, little soldiers of reason marching off to do battle with the demonic forces of emotion and pain. "Angel?" she whispered, looking at him. He reached toward her, wanting to touch her, feel her flesh here in the sunlight and see if it was any different from when she was shrouded in darkness and shadows. She shied away, shaking her head and staring at the body he had just put on the ground. "What..." she started to ask. He shook his head, having no ready answer, no answer of any sort at all. The apologies he had offered before she had come had no place on his lips now, seeming somehow clumsy and meaningless. What could he say that wouldn't be something he had already told her a thousand times? "None of this is real," he said quietly. She looked at him. "What?" Her eyes were wide, staring at him. He shook his head, slowly, his eyes remaining trained on the body. "None of it...it's a dream..." He looked over at her, struggling to find a way to explain everything he had done. "The werewolves," Buffy said quietly. "I know." He looked at her for a few seconds, then realized that as much as she thought she might be aware of the situation, she knew far less than even the limited amount she thought there was to know. "You don't, he said quietly. "It's not that easy." She shook her head. "No," she said, "I understand perfectly." Her expression suddenly shifted, until she glaring at him, the look full of anger and suspicion. "I understand that you thought you had the right to dictate what was and wasn't _good enough_ in terms of my recovery, I understand that what I'm feeling is nowhere _near_ as important to you as what you're feeling, what you want. I understand that you don't give a damn about anything but your guilt, I understand that nothing I ever say to you gets through for the simple reason that you don't care enough about me to pay attention." She shook her head, and Angel stared at her, stunned. The Slayer didn't give him time to respond. "If you loved me," she said bitterly, "you would take a few seconds to think about everything you've done to me-- and then you'd realize there's _no way in hell_ that I'm ever going to be able to trust you again." Though the tone in which she said the words made it seem as though there were more to come, Buffy immediately spun on one heel and stalked away from him, away from the circle of flowers and the clearing, into the trees. Into the darkness. Angel watched her go, not knowing how to react or what to do, or how he could do anything to stop her. *Look for light in darkness,* the voice whispered again in the back of his mind. Not giving himself time to think, lest he lose the sudden burst of initiative that had exploded in his gut, Angel took off at a sprint, crashing through the darkness of the forest as he left the light of the sun and the bloodied corpse of something that was anything but the woman he loved behind. ~ More to come. ~ Comments to KylenRevik@aol.com, please! ------------------------------ End of buffyfic-digest V2 #303 ****************************** To subscribe to buffyfic or buffyfic-digest, send the command subscribe buffyfic-digest or subscribe buffy to majordomo@xmission.com. You will need to go through a confirmation process, and the listowners have to manually approve your subscription request, so it may take some time. To unsubscribe, send email to majordomo@xmission.com with unsubscribe buffyfic-digest or unsubscribe buffyfic in the body. 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