Solitude: Buffy the Vampire
Slayer/Angel: the Series crossover
by Liz Barr
Buffy/Angel, post "The Gift"
characters and lyrics: not mine
summary: "I don't think we
will meet again, and you must leave now, before the sunrise."
In his dream, he woke up. It
was sunset; he walked over to the window and felt the sun's weak prickle
on his skin. Heat, no fire. He didn't wonder why he could see
the sunset in New York, with skyscrapers all around. There was no
sun here, no stars, except reflected in the skyscrapers, the townhouses
and the ghettos.
Buffy was stretched out on the bed
behind him. Sleeping or dead. Both.
Neither. She opened her eyes and
looked at him.
There were weapons lying all around:
stakes, a sword. A hammer, a glowing ball. A gauntlet, an axe
made from an old hubcap. An old rocket launcher, a set of tarot cards.
A gypsy girl lay dead on the floor,
in front of a fireplace that was impossible in this modern New York apartment.
Her body was covered in rose petals.
He rarely had prophetic dreams –
why would he, when the Powers had Cordelia to torment? His dreams
were rarely true, but were always intense.
There were footsteps behind him,
and he shivered.
"In the flesh. Only not."
Her presence was like a fire: warm,
seductive and deadly. Luminous. Effulgent, even. Like
a flame. Darla, Drusilla and the Slayer. It always came back
to blood and fire.
"Heard you were dead."
"Lot of that going around."
She looked out at the impossible sunset. "Dawn is hours away."
"Do you mean your sister or the
sun?" Stupid questions.
She smiled, and it was more beautiful
and painful than the light of day. "Yes."
Stupid. Stupid Irish boy, too
lazy to work and too dumb to stay away from seductive blondes.
"I know. I was there."
She smiled, and he laughed.
The laughter passed quickly.
"I'm sorry." Inadequate.
"It had to happen. Along came
a spider. My number came up."
"So I've been told."
He watched her in the fading sunlight.
His flame, burning his soul. Her skin, hair, scent, blood.
He knew them all. Gone now, another rotting corpse in Sunnydale.
"You shouldn't have died."
"Better than the alternative."
"You lasted so long. You had
a gift for survival."
"Death was my gift. And blood.
It always comes down to blood."
Her voice echoed on the edge of his
memory. Drink me.
"Not your only gift," he said.
She looked away, at the sun and the
city. He didn't know if she'd ever been to New York. She was
a California girl. Was.
"This is a strange dream," she said.
"A bad dream?"
"Not for me. But then, it's
not my dream."
"Usually I do this kind of thing
"Maybe she's busy."
"Maybe she's not important yet."
"Well, this isn't the end.
New directions, you know? I'm going places."
"Six feet under."
"Didn't stop you."
The sunlight faded, and he saw a
star appear. He could see the Boxer Rebellion in the streets below,
Spike and Dru dancing in the flames, intoxicated with the Slayer's blood.
Across the street, in a building he knew from LA, he could knew Darla was
admiring the view. It was a dream, his past and perhaps his future.
He'd spent years in New York, but never in a place like this.
Buffy turned and looked around the
"I'm looking for someone," she said.
"She's short, dark. Wears
white gauze. Back-to-Africa dreadlocks. Makes regular appearances
in my dreams."
"Haven't seen her."
She frowned. "I have a message
for her. How can I tell her if I don't know where she is?"
"I know a guy," he offered, "he's
green, has horns. He could help. Destiny and all. And
"I know my destiny. I just
need to dispute it."
Buffy looked at him.
"This isn't an ending, Angel.
It's not about the past."
He woke up. It was sunset in
She had always left him at dawn.
Copyright © 2001 Elizabeth M.