DISCLAIMER: I don't own Angel, Buffy or any other characters. Joss and the WB do.

Forgive me, I haven't properly set the scene.

Sunnydale, California. I'm back. I'm home, but by the time I came back, there was nothing to really come home to. It's 2056 and the world has changed. It happens. Nothing can stay the same forever because eventually change has to take place somewhere or the world finds itself in an endless loop of repetitive boredom. At least that's my theory why things can never be the same and have to change even when they are perfect.

I came back here to see her. No, I'm not visiting her grave, I'm visiting her but I know that if I wait any longer all that I will be able to see is a tombstone. She surpassed everyone's expectations for the length of her life; everyone's but mine because somewhere in me I hoped she'd live forever. It was a stupid thought, of course, and a stupid hope from someone that has wished for humanity for himself, but I can't much help it.

I found out through sources that she was diagnosed with an incurable form of cancer that has been slowly killing her over the past year or so. I put off coming to see her until I knew that if I waited any longer, well, there wouldn't be any time. It wasn't that I didn't want to see her before that, but I didn't know what to say when I did. Now, well, I know now that I have to say something because I won't get another chance.

I haven't been with her in years, haven't seen her in decades, but I still can't imagine a life without her. I've moved on, I think, in some ways, but that part of me that would hold so tightly to her if ever given the chance is in turmoil. I know I can go on, but I wonder if, after she is gone, I will want to.

It's odd that she is the Slayer, the chosen one, and she is the only one left, save for me.

Giles died almost forty years ago trying to recapture the glory days of demon fighting. He was too old for it, but from all indications his death was quick, which is what he deserved. He was a good man who never deserved the suffering given him by the likes of me. Wesley, coincidentally, met a similar fate when he tried to be the 'rouge demon hunter' he once was. Sadly, his death wasn't quick and the image of it still haunts my dreams from time to time.

No one saw Oz for a few years until he popped up on the cover of the Rolling Stone. He worked on a few albums, one of which is still considered a classic by many rock critics but like too many before him he joined Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, and Cobain in the '27 Club' of rock stars that died too young. The official cause of death, I heard, was suicide by overdose of sleeping pills and alcohol. Not the most original way to go, Oz, but I guess a part of me can understand why.

Xander eventually went back to school and became a high school principal where he was determined to rid the world of people like their dreaded Principal Snyder by being everything that kids would want in a principal. He was unorthodox and very loved. He died in a nursing home at the ripe age of 72 where he was a favorite among the nurses who always laughed at the jokes that came out of his mouth.

Willow became a doctor of all things where she specialized in treating emergency room victims who had somehow fallen onto barbecue forks and suffered mass blood loss. She got married, had a few kids and had everything that anyone could want from life. Sadly, she was killed almost two decades ago in a car accident on a rainy night when a truck lost control and collided with her mini-van.

And my precious Cordelia, she died a few years ago surrounded by children and grandchildren. She married once, divorced and never remarried because she'd been disillusioned by love but she came from that marriage with two children, Hunter and Adam. When the husband split we raised them together. It was the only family I ever really had and I loved them all dearly and I know it is mutual because Adam and Hunter both still catch themselves calling me Dad on occasion. They know I'm not, but sometimes I wish they were. The boys got married, had kids of their own, and I still see them from time to time. I always look forward to the days I can hold Cordelia's grandchildren in my arms.

I've kept a scrapbook, actually, a memory book if you will, of pictures of them and of other important things to have and to remember. Oz's Rolling Stone cover is in there, so is Xander's newspaper article about his strange teaching methods, Cordelia's wedding and baby announcements, and Willow's mention in a medical journal in an article dealing with treating blood loss. On the last page, I kept their obituaries. Oddly, it's Xander's that is my favorite. He wrote it himself, the ultimate last prank I suppose, and the ending goes like this: "He was at least tolerated by the people around him who faked laughter at his jokes, he loved his dog, and was usually rude to phone solicitors." It still makes me smile sometimes because it is so purely Xander.

In this book, however, there is one space left. It's for Buffy's obituary that has yet to be written. I hope whoever writes it does her justice.

So there I was, in Sunnydale, standing outside of the hospital here with a bouquet of flowers in my hands. It's not enough, really, but what the hell? I walked inside, asked a kind orderly where Buffy Summers' room was. I was given directions by the woman who assumed I was probably a grandchild or something. If only she knew... I thanked her and went on my way.

I found it easily, and for a second I couldn't move my feet to walk inside. Something held me there for a while, just making me stare at the mahogany door of the room. When it seemed that I would never be able to move from that spot I finally willed my feet to take those steps and I walked inside.

It was like seeing a ghost of someone I'd once known and once loved with all that was in me. Her blonde hair was gone in favor of stark gray and her smooth skin was now old and covered with lines of age. There were tubes in her arms and machines connected to her, though I don't know what they were for. "Who is it?" she asked, and I knew that voice. It hadn't changed, even when so much had. It was still like music to me.

"It's me." I said softly.

"Angel?" she questioned. She cocked her head to one side and it was then that I realized that she couldn't see me. I moved closer, hoping that I was just too far away from her. "I'm sorry, Angel, I can't see you. I started going blind a few years ago--it's all gone now. Just some shadows, but not much else." I felt my heart leap into my throat at that statement.

I sat at the edge of the bed and touched her hand and brought it to my face. She touched my cheeks, my nose and my lips and a small smile crossed her face, "Still beautiful, I bet." she whispered as she kept her hand there, gently cupping my cheek with it.

"I don't change much." I answered.

"No, I guess not. Not like me." she shrugged, and for a moment she looked so sad that my heart broke once more. "I think it'd be better if you couldn't see me. I don't want you to remember me like this."

"Like how?" I questioned.

"Old. Ugly." she retorted, bringing her other hand to her face to run her finger over her crow's feet.

I smiled against her hand and shook my head slowly, "Buffy, you couldn't be ugly if you tried. I don't see age when I look at you anyway." I touched her cheek, just as she was doing mine, "I see strength because I know that every one of these," I touched a single, well defined wrinkle in her skin, "means that you survived. It means you lived longer than any Slayer before you. That's what I see."

"You haven't changed." she softly laughed. Her laughter soon turned to a ragged cough that sent me scurrying for some water. She must have felt my weight leave the bed because as soon as I stood up she raised a hand. "It's okay." she said once she could speak again, "It's done. Won't be long now." she whispered. I felt a tear slip down my cheek and it fell onto her hand. "Don't cry, Angel." she tried to smile. "Come here." she moved slowly in the bed, making room for me.

I wanted to protest, saying that it was too small and that I would hurt her, but the smile on her face ended all my arguments. Instead, I climbed into the bed next to her and rested her head on my shoulder. "Mmmm, this is perfect." she smiled and it was the same grin she always had. It, unlike almost everything, hadn't changed at all. I nodded against her and she felt it so words weren't needed.

Moments of silence passed between us as we just held each other. The time was that we wouldn't have risked this but now...now we couldn't risk not to because we both knew that this embrace would probably be the last. "Tell me what you've been doing." she said simply.

"Same old. Helping people, trying to save the world." I answered without much thought.

"There has to be more than that." she urged. "Have you loved anyone?" she asked, her voice suddenly tense.

"Yes." I answered softly. "But not how you think. I've loved Cordelia in our platonic way, I've loved her children in a paternal way...that sort of thing." I brushed a stray strand of her hair from her face gently, my touch as light as that of a feather because a part of me feared that like fragile glass she'd break under my touch. "I'm not much of a romantic anymore."

"Liar. I think you're still a romantic. And I think you should share that with someone." I couldn't believe that she was saying this, actually. I shouldn't have been shocked, but it was still surprising to hear the person you knew to be your soul mate telling you that it's okay to love someone else. "I want you to be happy, Angel...as much as you safely can be..." she amended.

"Sure." I whispered, hoping that she would drop the topic. It was an uncomfortable one and the last thing I wanted was for our last moments together to be spent talking about me. Enough had been focused on me in the past; this one should have been about her and about us as a singular being that we are.

"I'm serious. You made me happy, and someone else, somewhere, deserves the chance to have you do for them what you did for me. Promise me that you'll try to love someone." I nodded slowly against her so that she could feel my affirmative reply against her thin, almost translucent skin. "Thank you. You've made an old lady happy."

"You're not old. *I'm* old." I replied with a smile.

"True. But anyone that walks in here is going to think I'm the cradle robber."

"I don't care what they think." I answered without hesitation.

"Neither do I. I'm a little too old and life is way too short for me to worry about what a nurse thinks of me." she said with a short, sarcastic laugh.

"I've missed your laughing." I admitted.

"And I've missed everything about you." she replied without the least bit of hesitation. "What are you wearing?" she asked after a moment and I couldn't help but laugh. "I'm serious. I want a complete picture. Tell me what you're wearing so I can see you." she said and I immediately sobered.

"A T-shirt--white--and a pair of black pants and a black leather trenchcoat." I whispered. Her hands went to my shoulder where she touched the leather. "Same old. I told you I don't change much, style be damned." I smiled.

"Handsome men in black leather will always be in style." she replied.

At her comment I could not repress a chuckle. After that we were silent; speaking with simple touches: a brush of my hand against her cheek, a kiss to my forehead. These were the things that made up our language, not spoken words. Years ago we'd said everything that conceivably needed to be said about our relationship and somehow simple endearments and I love yous didn't seem enough. Understatements, the lot of them.

If I could have, I would have created a whole new set of words to tell her that my feelings hadn't dimmed or faded out even a little during our separation. I think that's what I was saying with every brush of my hand against hers and with every light kiss.

I slowly became aware of the soft murmur of her heartbeat pounding in her chest. It was no longer very strong but I knew that it beat with love. I didn't have to ask her feelings for that soft pounding answered my questions, as did her simple caresses of my cheek. Our touches had changed so much over the years. Gone was a feeling of desperate need and a fear almost that it would be our last. Now we both knew that these, without question, would be our final moments. Need and desperation fell to the wayside in favor of communicated love and the mutual desire to cherish this time that we had left.

Before I could stop it, a single tear streaked down the slide of my cheek and onto her own. "No tears." she whispered. "Not for me." I swallowed hard in an attempt to honor her request. "I think I had a good run." she whispered to me. "I fared better than anyone expected and I got to have one great love of my life." she explained.

"No one can say better than that." I agreed. My voice sounded so foreign to me, as though it were not my own.

"Do you believe in heaven, Angel?" she asked, snaking an arm around my shoulder again. I pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

"I believe in something better than this. We've given so much, you've given so much, I think there has to be something more than this." I answered, my lips brushing against her face as I spoke.

"I don't want to go there if I'll never see you again." she mumbled.

"You'll see me again. Maybe not soon, but I have to think that I've repaid enough of my debt and have suffered enough to be granted some happiness in the afterlife." I didn't entirely believe that, but it was what she needed to hear and I wasn't going to deny such a thing to a woman who might die in the next second. "We deserve it." That was the truth, though whether or not we would be granted it was the question, wasn't it? "I'll love you from wherever I am. Always." I whispered.

Always. I used to think we had always, and oddly, a part of me still believed it, even though I was in essence saying my farewell to her. Even being there, watching her slowly fade away from me hadn't disillusioned me of that quite yet. How, after all of this...how is it conceivable that I still have hope? The answer is probably that she inspired it in me and always has.

What will I do, I ask myself, when the inspiration is gone?

I know this all sounds very self centered of me--she's the one dying, not me. The truth is that I don't worry about her for I know she's destined for something better than the hardships this world has bestowed upon her. I didn't lie about that. I believe that heaven was designed for people like her.

Her old, worn hand grasped my cheeks gently, pulling me from my thoughts and into a kiss that, could, for all we knew, have been our last. "Thank you." she whispered.

"What for?" I asked gently.

"For coming. And making my life whole." she answered without hesitation. I felt familiar tears welling into my throat that I struggled to fight for her sake.

"I couldn't have stayed away. Nothing could have kept me away. And as for making your life whole...the feeling is very mutual, only I've never had the words to truly thank you before."

"You don't need to. The pleasure was mine." she smiled.

"And mine." I replied instantly. Our language once again became that of unspoken words, consisting of feelings lone. Love and gratefulness for that love; that's what our touches said.

Grateful, you might ask. Why would two people that had been robbed of happiness by fate be grateful? Maybe because we had each other now, and because we'd loved each other at all. Fate be damned, somehow we'd made it through. Somehow we'd made it through it all had somehow had stayed as in love as we'd ever been. That was something to be grateful for, to be sure.

In the back of my mind, back because most of my concentration was on the old shell of my love against me, I heard a distant clap of thunder. Her body jumped a little--instinct perhaps. "It's just a storm." I soothed.

"Our lives have been one big one." she smiled.

"Not always. There were rays of sunshine now and then." I replied with a similar expression on my face. Even after all of this, she could still make me smile like no other.

We laid there and as we did all I could think and hope was that she knew how thankful I was to have known her. She changed my life and I doubt she'll ever know how much. The rain began pouring outside and yet all I could really hear was the hypnotic sounds of her heart and her breath. "Is the rain pretty?" she asked gently.

"It's just a little rain. The worst is going to come later, I suspect." I replied quietly.

"I think the worst is over." she stated, and of course she wasn't speaking of the storm brewing outside the window. "Is there lightning?" she questioned. Her blindness prevented her from seeing with her own eyes so she was relying on mine.

I turned my head to the window just as a flash of light filled the night sky. "Yes," I responded, "There always was," and now I was the one not speaking of the weather. Between us there was always electricity, even now and it could not be denied. The days of us trying to do just that are long since over anyway.

She smiled as her hand crept to my hair once more, slowly stroking it in rhythmic movements. "I can't believe sometimes that we survived the storm." she replied, of course speaking of the turbulent waters of our love affair that had somehow ended in this--a calm after the hurricane, perhaps. "We did it though. There were some moments I didn't think I'd make it through." she confided. "There were times when I didn't think I could live without seeing your face once more."

"How did you?" I quietly asked.

"I lived our love in my dreams. Actually, my dreams involved, of all things, peanut butter and chocolate." I froze, my heart, had it ever beat would have stopped. I lifted my head from the curve of her neck and just stared in disbelieve.

The Powers That Be had taken that day--how could she dream it? How could she.... "We ate ice cream in bed." I stated slowly. "And I was mortal." It was a test, and oh, god, I wanted her to pass. God, I wanted her to remember. Please, please let her remember now. It was too late for those memories to hurt her, so please, please just remember.

"Yeah, that's right." she answered. "How'd you know?" she questioned.

"Because it happened." I mumbled. "It wasn't a dream. A demon's blood made me human--you remember that part of the dream?" she slowly nodded, a look of total shock on her face, "I was almost killed because I was human. I asked the Powers That Be to make me a vampire again and so they turned back the day. I was the only one that remembered." I whispered.

She softly sobbed and her hand went to my face again, grasping it gently. "It was real...." she whispered. "I knew...something in me knew it was real...."

"It was." I clutched her gently, just holding her to me. "I never forgot. Never. Not for a second." I mumbled, my head burying itself once again against her shoulder and neck. "I didn't tell you this to make you cry. I just...I just wanted you to have a happy memory of me." I whispered.

"I have a lot of those, Angel. But thank you for giving me one more. I won't forget again." she said, lovingly stroking my face again. "It's made me more happy than you can know just to know that for a moment in time we could be truly happy--that it was possible for us. I didn't think it was, you know. I thought sometimes that we were cursed, you and I, to never have a second of happiness after...after that night." The night I lost my soul but neither of us wanted to dig up that memory. It hurt too much.

"We're not cursed. Ill-fated, perhaps, but not cursed. Nothing this true could be cursed." I replied softly. "Memories of that day tore me apart." I confessed, "I mean, Christ, we'd been so close. So close to perfect to have it taken away--I thought for a very long time that it was God or fate or whatever punishing me for my sins. It wasn't though." I murmured into her ear.

"What was it?" she gently asked.

"Luck. I realized that I was lucky to have that day because it was probably more than I deserved." she immediately shook her head at my self loathing. "More than I thought I would get," I amended, "And once I got my act together and saw it like that, I cherished that memory. But it still ripped me apart that you didn't have it too, even though I think it was for the best."

"For the best?!" she asked quickly, her voice full of shock. "How can you think that?"

"How would you have been able to go on, knowing that for those hours we had what we didn't think possible? It would have hurt you more than anything else to know that we'd had perfection that could never be realized again. It would have hurt you and I've done enough of that. I think that in the end the Powers That Be were right to do it. Even if it did hurt me...I'd take that pain and more to spare you any." I smiled at her, knowing that she couldn't see it but not caring.

She let out a quiet sigh, "I see your point, but it still...I can't believe that it's real." she finished.

"It was as real as anything. That day used to be mine...now it's ours." she smiled and together we embraced all the more tightly. Somewhere in that touch I lost myself, no longer knowing where I ended and she began. That's the way it should have been. That's the way that it should be between two people that truly love each other as we do.

"It's one more gift from you that I will treasure." she replied softly. Her heartbeat was slower than it had been a few minutes before. I knew that sound. It was the beat of a dying heart. I knew it well enough from my years of killing and I knew that it eventually struck every human heart--but why hers? Why now? Why now when we'd finally returned to each other?

I was kicking myself for not coming sooner than this. It would have been tempting fate, of course, to have done so but at that moment, realizing that our time was drawing very quickly to an end, I wished I had risked it. Sensing something in me, she touched my cheek, "No regrets?" she asked.

I hesitated, wanting so much to spout all of my regrets in a list; hurting her, leaving her, not coming back sooner. But I just shook my head, "No regrets." I agreed and with that, I put them to bed.

There was no point in wishing to change the past, at least this part of it anyway. This wasn't the type of thing that the Powers would have granted, so this past was written in stone. We couldn't change it, and it was pointless to wish for it now. Now all I could hope for was just a few more minutes with her. A day, an hour, anything more. Just a second...just a second more.

Is that too much to ask?

"I've never regretted a second with you." she whispered, "I never will." Oh, God--she's saying good-bye. I knew she was. Oh, God.

"Neither have I. I'll love you forever." I sobbed.

She didn't tell me not to cry. She couldn't because tears were soon coming down her cheek as well. "I waited for you. I didn't want to go without saying good-bye to you." she mumbled. "I waited and now I don't have the words to tell you. Ironic, huh?"

"You don't have to. No good-byes." I answered. "If it takes me forever I will be with you again. We'll see each other then. Good-byes aren't needed." I replied with a kiss to her lips. Suddenly, before I could stop it, everything in my heart, all the words I had never said came forward in a great flow. "I've always loved you and I will love you forever and if I have a regret it's that I didn't tell you that enough." I felt tears fall onto my cheeks and I didn't care.

"I knew. You didn't need to say it any more than you did. I always knew." We were silent again and her heartbeat once again filled my ears. It was soft again, softer than it had been. "I never loved anyone the way that I did you. You're my angel, and I know that the angels of Heaven will never hold a candle to you." My tears fell all the more freely at that and I didn't try to hide them anymore.

"My beautiful Buffy...." I whispered.

She softly laughed, "A flatterer to the end." she smiled. She turned her head to me, moving slowly under my touch. "Leave." she said simply. I stared at her in absolute shock. "Please, Angel. I don't want you to...just go." she desperately said. I was torn, torn about whether I should leave or if I should protest and stay. The look on her face answered that question for me.

I slowly rose from the bed, disentangled myself from her and walked to the door. "I love you. I always will." I said, once more reiterating my love for her.

"I know. I never doubted it for a second. I love you too and I will love you forever. Believe that, Angel, and the rest won't matter." After that she fell silent and I walked out of the room.

Hopelessly confused I wandered the hallways, wondering why she had set me away. I had no answers, no reasons that I could think of. She loved me--why had she sent me away at the very end? I let this run in my head for five minutes before I headed back to the room.

Just as I reached for the door a nurse came out of the room. Her expression was enough to tell me what she was about to tell me. I barely heard the words when she said, "I'm sorry, Sir...she's gone." I felt my body go numb for a moment before my brain started working again and something occurred to me.

She'd waited for me to leave the room. She didn't want me to see her die. She wanted to save me that. She was considerate and loving to me to the very end. "I don't know if it matters, but whatever you said--she was smiling." the nurse informed me.

"Thank you." I tried to smile politely. I turned and left, not going back to see her one more time. My Buffy was gone, what was the point of going to see her body now? That's why I think funerals are kind of pointless, but I digress. I left the hospital in a state of numbness, dripping wet from the heavily falling rain.

The next day, I left for Los Angeles again. My life continued on, though a little darker than it had been, of course, because my sunshine was gone. That's all there is to say, really. The story is done.

Almost.

I said I hoped someone would write her a great obituary. It turned out that I was the one that wrote it. It wasn't great, but it was honest and from my heart. It's in the back of my scrapbook, on that last page in the last spot, and it goes like this:

"Too many years ago to even count, I fell in love. It happens to everyone, but I never thought it would happen to me but there it was and there she was, the most wonderful woman I have ever known. No words could describe her, and I won't try. Unless you knew her you will never know, and I am sorry for that because you'd have been lucky to know her like I did.

Things happened, fates twisted and I lost the girl, and everything fell apart. But one day, one magical day when we thought all was lost we found each other again and she was the love of my life for that day. I have lived a long life and that day, that moment in time was the greatest I have ever known. We ate ice cream together, and, to paraphrase an old film, in that day we loved a lifetime's worth. But the day ended and it faded away into a forgotten memory.

But I remember. I always will and nothing will take that from me. She was the best person I have ever known, and I can only hope that in their lives everyone knows a person like her because the world would be better for it. I know that I am.

Buffy Summers passed away on March 25 after I got to hold her in my arms and tell her the truth of my feelings one last time. She died smiling, which is better than most of us will be able to say. She was a lot to many people and she will be missed by those whose lives she touched. She has no living family and is survived by the writer of this piece who is now half empty because a part of him, the very best part, is gone."

With that final entry that I sealed in the book of memories I closed it forever. I don't look at it anymore; maybe I will someday when the years have gone by and there is no more pain in the losses of those people. I just don't see a point in gazing at it anymore. I've realized that I don't need a book to remind me of them or of her--it's all in my head. I remember and I always will until the end of time. I have no doubt about that.

I've tried my best to tell this story and I'm sure I've left out parts or have glazed over facts or whatever. I could fill in the gaps and make the story complete but I won't. The story is over, the ending is the same, and no filling in of that which is currently between the lines or the addition of more anecdotes about our love will change or alter that fact. In truth, there are no words left to describe her and I'm done trying. I'm done talking, as I think I prefer to let my memories of her speak for themselves.

END.