ethrosdemon ||| Buffy & Angel

Let No Man Put Asunder
by ethrosdemon

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com
Distribution: You don't want this
Disclaimer: Joss made it up, too bad he is an incompetent ninny.
Rating: PG-13
Dedication: Rabbit, look, look, your name! Lar (it's not Cordelia, but she was quiet), Yvette for reading over when I am too lazy too.
Notes: Where is all the fic about this? It is a sad, sad day when I am the one writing this. I felt bad for not doing an Improv this time.
Improv: homophones
Spoilers: Fredless

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Angel sits in the overly lit coffee shop watching the Dead Live Again. He's seen it before. Done it before. The epitome of been everywhere, seen everything. But somehow that doesn't mean that much. Not when he realizes there exists in this world so much he never imagined. All the unconsidered corporeal imaginings of his time on earth fascinate him in the down time now. Now being post-Epiphany. Not post Resurrection, although he's positive people will expect him to measure his unlife from that marker.

Cup to lips, throat constricting, nasals flaring, he's rapt with the small movements of her being. So much the same, and he knows that's what others see, Dawn and Willow and Xander. They see a miracle of similarity. He scents a new perfume, spies an odd tilt to her head, hears hollow sighs between her words. Difference and similarity he's had time to mull over.

In the awkward place they occupy, once lovers, once a whole world to themselves, they both struggle for words. The common humanity he's learnt to wear is striking next to her shield of otherness. Obliteration of self takes a while to recover from. She stares at him while he walks her through the platitudes, living for today, finding a center. The vein above her left eye twitches three times before she thanks him for his words. For his understanding. But he stares at her lips and misses the words if not the meaning.

He knew the only way it would ever end was with a death, hers or his. Knew it from the time before his soul moved from this plane to the next, to the place of nothing and stasis; the demon knew it even more truly as it occupied space and tried to rush the finality.

Here in this coffee shop, he knows now it didn't take one death, but two. Equilibrium and all possibilities covered. There are no magic words, no easing balm to assuage the true pain here. Two bodies whole and remade, but love flows in this world and the cycle of mourning can't be undone. The necessity of meeting somehow now the last reverberation of the Past.

Angel gazes through the plate glass to his right watching the cars in the parking lot and Buffy's image superimposed over them. She's staring over his shoulder at a family eating pancakes. Her eyes don't blink as he waves the waitress over, pays the bill and stands to leave.



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