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, the WB, Fox, etc.
NOTES: This doesn't have any real plot, or purpose for that matter, just me wallowing in angst. Sometimes I like a good cry.

Angel stifled a sob. Even if he lived to be a thousand he knew he would always remember the sound of her anguished voice denying the inevitable, promising remembrance when forgetting was the only course open to her. The tears welling in his eyes escaped and rolled down his cheeks, only to be replaced by more.

"I'll never for . . . "

There was a second of disorientation. He blinked. He was in his office. Buffy was no longer in his arms, with her own arms in a stranglehold around his neck and her tears wetting his collar. She stood several feet in front of him, outwardly calm and composed, hiding her inner turmoil. Their night of complete happiness was over, swallowed by the Oracles, just as they had promised. Angel clenched his jaw.

"So we'll just stick to the plan . . . keep our distance. With time we should be able to - "

"Forget," Angel choked out, feeling as if a golf ball were lodged in his throat.

" . . . yeah." Suddenly she stared at him with a frown. Her lips parted and she took a step toward him, then another, until only inches separated them. Mesmerized, he could only watch as she lifted her hand.

"Angel?" Her fingers brushed his cheek. When they came away, moisture gleamed on them. "You're crying. Why?" Her eyes, more beautiful than ever, demanded the truth, and he gave it to her without hesitation.

"Because you're leaving."

"Isn't it easier that way? At least when we're apart it doesn't hurt as much. Being this close to you but not able to touch you - it's unbearable." Tears filled her eyes.

He couldn't stand seeing her cry, not again, not this soon. "Don't, please, I can't do this again." His voice broke, and then she was in his arms and they were kissing frantically, and he was drowning in the touch of her lips, and remembering . . .

A crash jerked them apart in time to see the Mohra demon landing on the floor, the broken glass from the window falling in tinkling shards around him. The demon advanced menacingly. Angel grabbed the clock on his desk and before the Mohra could react, smashed it into the jewel in its forehead. Roaring, the demon staggered back and disintegrated in a blinding flash of light.

"That was - incredible." Buffy looked wide-eyed at him, angst momentarily forgotten. "How did you know how to kill it?"

"It's a Mohra demon." Angel replaced the clock on his desk and looked up to find her still watching him, obviously expecting more. "I've, uh, had a lot of time to do research."

"Well, I guess a demon with a ruby in its head would tend to stick in one's mind," Buffy agreed. She came closer. "Now where were we?"

"Nowhere." Angel walked behind his desk; Buffy stopped. He didn't look at her. "Buffy, please. We'll only want more and we know we can't have it, so why start it again? Please, just go home and start forgetting." His voice cracked on the last words.

There was a moment of silence, then he heard her breath catch in a sob. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'll go now." Her footsteps moved toward the door, and the door opened. "But, Angel?"

Angel looked up to see her standing in the open doorway. Her face was as wet as his with tears. "I love you," she told him. "I'll never forget." The door closed behind her.

Angel stumbled blindly downstairs. His first blow tore the punching bag off its hook and sent it sailing into the wall. He collapsed onto the sofa, staring blankly into space.

END.