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A/N April again turned the proofing around so quickly I could post today. Big thatks as always to her
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Even in winter the Californian sunshine is bright and warm. She remembers that in Italy the December sun had been pale and cold, like him. No. She mustn't think of him. She tries never to think of him; he is past, long since lost to her and so she doesn't allow her self to think of him. At least not in the daylight.

She reaches out to slip her hand into the large warm one of the man beside her. Her man, and now truly a man. It had been prophesied: the Sanshu, vampire with a soul, champion for good, pivotal role in apocalypse, big reward, yada yada yada. So he is human now, a living breathing human, with a pulse and body heat. He feels her tense and looks down questioningly at her. She gives him a tight smile and grits her teeth against the sudden sensation of burning in her hand. She feels perspiration gather between their coupled palms and fights the urge to tug her hand away and let the winter air cool and dry her skin.

"Ooh, look," she covers clumsily, pulling her hand from his and pointing towards the familiar coffee shop window. "Winter warmer." She grins at him and steps backwards towards the cafe. "Two for one on hot chocolaty goodness. This offer cannot be ignored."

She has marshmallows in her hot chocolate; she has found lately that she enjoys the sweetness of them. It is a sinful treat and at twenty-four even a slayer should be more careful about the excess of calories, but she doesn’t care. There is something comforting about the childish indulgence; it reminds her of her mother, and, of course, of him. Not that she allows herself to think of him. Still, she enjoys the mindless familiarity of enjoying the over-sweetened drink, just as he had.

"Buffy?" His voice startles her from her forbidden reminiscence. He knows her well enough to recognise the guilty nervousness in her eyes.

He looks so vulnerable as he touches her hand, his dark eyes asking questions she will never answer. It is better for him not to know; she even doubts that he truly wants to know. He looks younger; it's strange. In the last year, he has aged for the first time in two centuries and yet he looks younger. She likes to think it is because he is new; his body and soul have been reborn, new and innocent and untarnished. It is strange to think of him as light, but he is - he is a child of the sunlight now, bright and sanguine. She knows that she is not.

A glance at her watch tells her it is gone three and she smiles at the thought. The sun only has a few more hours of lordship left, before it relinquishes its throne to the silver night watchman of the sky. She smiles at her own clumsily poetic thoughts; he would have been proud.

She has come to enjoy winter. She likes that the days are short and the nights are long. The night is her time, after all, just as it was his. It is at night that she indulges her memories of him. She hunts alone. She doesn’t have to, she has a thousand sisters now with whom to share the night. But she prefers to hunt alone; she'd rather have his memory to watch her back anyway.

"Buffy?" His voice disrupts the lazy circling of her mind, and she shakes herself. This is why she must keep the other in the night: because, if she lets him, he will invade her days. He will reach out into the sunlight and pull her back to him, surround her with the ethereal coolness of her memory until the present loses meaning and all there is is that lost forbidden time with him. This is why she tries so hard not to think of him. Because she knows that if she does, he will consume her and she will have nothing left to give to the wonderful, warm human being in front of her.

She smiles sadly at her companion. It is not that she doesn’t love him. She loves him now perhaps more than she ever has, but she senses that she is losing him. That she who first drew him to the light is now losing him to that same brightness. She does not enjoy the irony that it is she now who is too dark for him. But she understands that it is true.

She has resolved that she will not fight his leaving; she is ready, perhaps even a little impatient, for the day when the divergence of their natures takes him too far away from her and he has no choice left but to step fully into the light. She will not try to keep him with her, will not try to bind him to her darkness, nor will she try to follow him. There is no place for her out there in his bright new world of vivid hope and vibrant life. She is, after all, a creature of night, of dark and righteous violence.

There is no resentment left in her, no bitterness. The night is no longer the insidious accomplice of an unwelcome calling. It is her refuge, her comfort; it is her time. Her dogged mind once again returns to him. Despite her best efforts, it gets harder each day to keep him locked away in the night. She hears his voice in her mind. He knew her so well; she understands only now that no one else has ever known her as well he did.

"Buffy." He is so concerned, so loving, she feels tears fill her eyes. Perhaps she is a fool to let him go so easily. Shouldn’t she fight for a love like this? Perhaps. Perhaps she would if she did not feel so ready to spend her days alone and share her nights with just the ghost of love. It is strange, she thinks, that the other’s phantom caresses, conjured by her mind to ride on chill night air and cool cotton sheets, are more real to her now than her living lover’s warm and open arms.

"Are you okay?" He is right to be concerned. She is so very far away from him right now, so deeply lost. Does he know where she is? With whom? If he does, he never speaks of it, never mentions the other’s name, and she is grateful for it. Perhaps one day she will tell him everything. Perhaps, when he is ready to leave her, she will tell him that it is okay, that he can go now, that she will not be alone in the night. But for now, she will preserve their charade and lie to him.

"I'm fine, Angel," she assures him with a regretful smile. She hates to lie to him, but it is a good lie, if there can be such a thing. "Just thinking about mom, that's all."


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A/N Im experimenting with tense for this story, normaly Id write in the past third person so this is new for me. All constructive comments are of course welcome.

Thanks to those whoe reviewed

Shippy, are you calling my story pointless? Stamps her paws and pouts. Maybe itll make more sense to you now, if you didnt watch Angel it would have been confusing, and it was deliberately ambiguous. Thanks for the compliment about the writing though :)

Pin - Glad you like, and you sahll have more, this storyll probably be a slow burner hope youll stay with me.

Oh Lizzy you know you love it R rated. Thanks for being careful of my muse, but its a stubborn and indolent beast and you should feel free to crack the whip on it.

And the gold star goes to Enchantress for figuring it out, now you know who that someone is too. Im so flatered that you thought about it and reviewed a second time xx

Take care
TheBear





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