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Author's Chapter Notes:
Song lyrics to Witness by Sarah MacLachlan.
Make me a witness
take me out
out of darkness
out of doubt

I won't weigh you down
with good intention
won't make fire out of clay
or other inventions

Will we burn in heaven
like we do down here?
Will the change come
while we're waiting?
everyone is waiting

And when we're done
Soul searching
as we carried the weight
and died for the cause

Is misery made beautiful
right before our eyes?
Will mercy be revealed
or blind us where we stand?

Will we burn in heaven
like we do down here?
Will the change come
while we're waiting?
everyone is waiting

Witness
Sarah MacLachlan

William had been trying to off himself for years. Not that he was proud of it. All of his games, even his initial attraction to Buffy, had begun with that deep-seeded desire for death.

He had twice been successful, too. But circumstances kept bouncing him back. It was like the Powers that Be had run short on kamikaze martyr types; they kept having to recycle him.

Now, though, he had something he really wanted to hang on to. Except it seemed Angel was going to make sure William the Bloody’s check cleared this time. No more bouncing back.

Part of him kept up with the internal monologue of reassurance. That part insisted it would never happen. Angel would not betray him because Angel was good. Angel had a soul. Angel would do what was right. They could count on it. Except the other more rational, more nagging part of him kept saying that it was possible Angel would believe he was doing the right thing.
William came home with a head full of thoughts that led him into dark places he’d rather not visit.

He had comfort waiting for him. A warm bed. A pleasant house. A modern breed of pseudo extended family like something from an American sitcom. It was something Angel did not possess, and William felt a twinge of pity over that.

William found Buffy already asleep. Actually, it was strange. She slept on top of the covers, damp hair drying to frizz on her pillow. She wore an appealing little number in chocolate colored silk, trimmed with black satin piping and cream-colored lace. Also, it was new. Had to be. One of those reserved for special occasions. They had been through all her underthings; he was sure he would have noticed this one.

A picture painted itself in his mind. He almost didn’t permit himself to think it, but the evidence seemed to suggest that she had dressed for him. After he left, she had showered and put on this 1940s Claudette Colbert goddess-of-the-silver-screen negligée, then fell asleep waiting for him to come home.

She’d waited for him, and he’d missed it. Spent his night drinking up bad news with Smiles-A-Lot. Hardly seemed fair. Except, she was at rest. Peacefully resting. She needed that.

William sat on the edge of the bed. He placed his hand on her belly. He splayed his fingers, wondering at the way he was able to cover all of it with his palm. He thought, how long would that be so? And would he last long enough to see her blow up like a puffer fish?

A deep agony struck him then, a pervasive ache from the back of his eyeballs to the balls of his feet. It hurt, all the way to his soul.

Buffy’s eyelashes fluttered.

“Hey,” she said. She smiled a sweetly sleepy smile.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. “I, um...”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Did you slay any demons?”

“Only the personal kind,” he said.

“I hear they’re the worst,” she said.

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither one speaking. Buffy slipped her hand into William’s, lacing her fingers with his.

“I love you,” she said.

She might well have struck him with a mallet.

Biting back the pain, he said, “You know, I think you do.”

Buffy tugged him forward, half-playful but fully awake.

William committed to his mind every detail, every touch. The way her hair fell around his face when she kissed him. The way his thumbs rested on her pelvic bones. The feeling of silk against her skin, against his hands. The scent of vanilla sugar. How they fit together. They fit.

She took him slowly, her small hands touching his chest and his face, smoothing his hair, tracing his lips.
He knew, finally knew, that she was seeing him. Maybe even for the first time. She saw him.

It was right, being humbled this way; being brought to bear by love.

He was sentimental. He was a fool. And he was lucky to have lasted this long.

~*~

Angel drifted, the key clutched in his hand. He saw nothing of the world around him. The only thing that mattered was the web of lines and markers in his mind that led him down into sewer tunnels, beneath utility mains, and deeper, into catacombs long forgotten by man.

In a dim place deep within the earth, Angel found it: a solitary door carved into stone.

Being a vampire, he was already breathless, but the anticipation coiled inside him like a snake. He raised the key to the door. A triangular notch lit up from within the stone.

Angel clicked the key into the lock and turned it. The door dissolved to a colorless glow. Beyond it, he saw a stretch of pristine beach. The ocean spread out smooth as a polished metal, reflecting the gold of sunrise at its brim.

Buffy was there. Of course, she would be. She waited for him at the shore. Waiting, and watching. It was the picture of taintless serenity, and it was his.

Without thinking, Angel stepped through the door. He crossed the soft sand, marveling at the warmth of it between his toes.

She didn’t turn when Angel took her hand in his. She simply smiled and said, “I knew you would come. It wouldn’t be heaven without you.”





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