TItle: The Girl From Yesterday

Summary: Post NFA There are some things you can't run away from.

Rated: R

 

Two     Three     Four     Five     Six     Seven     Eight     Nine     Ten     Eleven   

 

Epilogue

 

Chapter One

 

-Buffy-

 

            I stand under the hot spray of the shower. The water is rust red from the blood and dirt that washes off my body. I close my eyes and slick the water off my hair.  I’m covered in cuts and bruises, nothing slayer healing won’t take care of though. That’s more then I can say about some of the girls I brought here. They’re lying out in the lobby of this old hotel now.  I get out of the shower, every muscle sore, and slip into workout pants and a tank top. I run a comb through my hair.

 

            I pad down the stairs into the lobby barefoot. Illyria, I think that’s what Angel called her, is picking up Rona’s body in a fireman’s carry.

 

            “What are you doing?” I ask.

 

            “The shells must be disposed of. They will begin to rot,” Illyria says.

 

            “What? Where are my other slayers?” I ask noticing now that Wesley’s body is the only one left in the lobby.

 

            “We have put them in the box of fire ,” Illyria says.

 

            “You what?” I shriek.

 

            “You heard her. We put the bodies in the incinerator,” Angel says walking in from the basement.

 

            “Those were my slayers. You had no right!”

 

            “Did you want me to go steal some coffins, dig a hole, bury them in the ground? Maybe we could have a priest say a blessing over each grave,” Angel asks.

 

            “You can’t just burn them,” I say.

 

            “We don’t have a choice, Buffy. It’s this or dump them in the alley to rot,” Angel said.

 

            I shake my head. No, no, no, no. They were mine, mine to take care of, mine to responsible for and he just burned them like trash.

 

            “I don’t even know why you came here, Buffy. I didn’t need your help-“ Angel starts.

 

            “Yeah because you weren’t in a battle to the death, you didn’t need an army of slayers swooping in to help you, an army that died,” I say, disgusted.

 

            “Go back to Rome, Buffy. Go back to your wonderful new life with The Immortal. I don’t need you,” Angel says and whirls on his heel.

 

            Have you ever been hit in the gut so hard you wanna puke? I have and this is worse. I stare at his retreating back in total shock. I’m going to be sick. I’m going to be sick right here in this lobby where we laid all the dead people. I turn and run up the stairs two at time. I throw everything in my carry on, at least I think it’s everything and creep down the stairs. I know he watches me leave. I can feel him, but he doesn’t try to stop me.

 

-Angel-

 

            I watch her walk out of the courtyard from the balcony in my room. I’ve never wanted to stop her from leaving more then I do right now. I don’t have that right anymore-- not that I ever did. She’s got a wonderful, shiny life in Rome with The Immortal. It’s not what I had in mind when I left her five years ago, but then it’s not my life to live and she’s not my girl, not anymore.

 

 

Five Years Later:

 

-Buffy-

 

            The afternoons here are decadent. They have feeling and depth to them.  I wander down the crooked cobblestone alley that spills out into the market. I take a deep breath and the smell of warm fruit wraps around me. I’m here every Monday and Thursday. They’re my favorite days of the week.

 

            Mr. Giagilio’s fruit stand is my first stop. I fill up my basket with peaches and plums, some strawberries and of course, grapes.

 

            “Il Pomeriggio buono, Bello Anne,” he says.

 

            I laugh. “Ciao, Mr. Giagilio.”

 

            I’m not Buffy Summers anymore. I’m Anne Williams, an American from Southern California who lives in the tiny village called Siena in the middle of Tuscany. Five years ago I walked out of the Hyperion Hotel and I quit. I quit slaying, I quit being Buffy Summers.  I pay Mr. Giagilio and fish a peach out of my basket. I sink my teeth into it and laugh as peach juice dribbles down my chin. Mr. Giagilio shakes his head and smiles at me. He’s like sixty years old, but I think he’s half in love with me. That’s okay, his wife is too.

 

            I buy cheese, wine and some fresh bread. The walk back to the little villa I live in isn’t far. It belongs to a little old lady that doesn’t speak English. It’s okay; I’ve lived in Italy for six years now. I’m pretty fluent in Italian, but at first talking to her was a mystery.

 

I put my groceries away in my small apartment and change into a bikini. The rest of my day will be spent drowsing by the pool like a very lazy cat. When night falls I’ll go to Celio, a nightclub where I work as a bouncer.  I’m a huge draw, nothing people like better then watching a tiny blonde toss a two hundred pound, drunk macho man out on his ass. Celio is the Italian word for Heaven-- ironic that after I got pulled out of Heaven, I’m now working in it.   As I’m lying by the pool, soaked in sunlight and warmth, I realize I like my life. For the first time since Angel left me, I like my life.

 

 

-Angel-

 

            Contentment spreads itself over me like a warm blanket, no not perfect happiness, contentment. The little blonde next to me nestles down into my chest and I dip my head, kiss her on the crown of her head and take a deep breath. She smells like cool water and lavender.

 

            “You know, we’ve been doing this for a couple of years now,” she said.

 

            I make some sort of noncommittal sound. It doesn’t seem to bother her. One thing I happen to like about her is that she’s persistent.

 

            “I was thinking, if we’re going to continue doing this, maybe we should just get married,” she says.

 

            If I had a beating heart, well let’s just say it would have stopped.

 

            “Okay, so I can tell by your silence that you’re not totally on board with this,” she says.

 

            I shake my head. “No, it’s not that. I just-I’ve never really thought about it.”

 

            “Angel, I’m twenty eight years old. We’ve been dating for two years. We’ve been sleeping together longer then that. I want to get married and I don’t want to hear any of your excuses about why we can’t or shouldn’t. You will be getting your Shanshu in a little over a month and that negates most of those excuses,” she says.

 

            I start to argue. I start forming the excuses in my head and then it occurs to me why? She’s right; the Shanshu will negate all the real excuses. The ones that are left are just me and my insecurities, my hang-ups. Finally I shrug, “Okay then,” I say.

 

            She’s very still for a moment before sitting up and clutching the sheet so that it covers her chest. She arches an eyebrow at me. “Really?”

 

            I chuckle. This isn’t how I imagined a marriage proposal to go, but then she isn’t the girl I imagined marrying. Don’t get me wrong. I care about her, Hell I even love her but the fact that there’s only contentment in our bed instead of perfect happiness speaks for itself.

 

            “You’ve got a point. If you’re sure this is what you want, then the Shanshu takes care of my objections,” I say.

 

            She glances up at me. “What do you want?” she asks.

 

            I smile at her and tell her the truth, at least part of it. “You.”

 

 

 Chapter Two

 

-Buffy-

 

            I stretch and yawn. I know its early afternoon before I even glance at the clock. I work until almost 5 in the morning; I never wake up before early afternoon.  I shower and dress. I’ve got a date with espresso, pastry and the newest Nora Roberts book.  

 

            “Ciao, Francesca,” I say walking through the kitchen where the little old lady I rent from is sitting.

 

            “Ciao, Anne. Avere un giorno buono,” she says.

 

            I smile as I walk out into the sunlight and down the street. She always wishes me a good day, every day.  The man at the coffee shop greets me. He tried to set me up with his son last year. It’s not an uncommon thing. I think everyone with a son, nephew or grandson anywhere near my age has played matchmaker here. They can’t stand the idea that a young, American girl is unattached. I’ve been warned against becoming a spinster. I can’t tell them that I’m so much older than I look, that my heart is so shattered there’s not a chance of it ever being healed.  I just laugh, smile, blush and tell them I’m not interested in a relationship right now. They’ll try again in a few months.

 

            I take my espresso outside to the little patio and sit at a corner table under the big umbrella. I’m right in the middle of my second cup of coffee and a romantic love scene when I’m jolted by a name I haven’t heard in five years.

 

            “Buffy?”

 

            I sit up quickly, bumping my knee and sloshing coffee onto the table. I glance around.

 

            “Oh, God! It is you, I thought it was you, but it is,” a familiar redhead rambles as she steps closer to me.

 

            “Wil-willow?” I finally manage.

 

            The woman nods enthusiastically. “Oh good, for a minute there I thought maybe you had amnesia. Buffy, what happened? We thought you were dead. No one has heard from you since the thing in LA,” Willow says.

 

            I gnaw on my bottom lip. I vividly remember the thing in LA. I also remember the fight that came after the thing in LA, the final battle that killed Buffy Summers.

 

            “Yeah, sorry about that. I-I needed to get away for a while, you know,” I mumble because I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t tell her I quit being the slayer, I quit being Buffy Summers. I’m Anne now. I knew if anyone found out they’d drag me back into it. I had a chance at a somewhat normal life, no slaying, no vampires and no one stepping on my already broken heart.

 

 I take a deep breath and smile. “What are you doing here, Willow?”

 

            “Oh, well Oz and I are sort of here on our honeymoon, but that’s not the point! The point is you let us all think you were dead! Giles…Giles drank for months. Xander kind of went crazy. I don’t know what he would have done if Dawn hadn’t been there,” Willow says. She pauses a moment and then looks at me sheepishly. “Dawnie and Xander got married a little over three years ago. They’ve got a little girl.”

 

            I sit back, all the air taken out of me. Dawnie got married. My baby sister has a baby. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around that when Willow drops her next bomb.

 

            “Angel’s getting married in a little over a month.”

 

            I stare at Willow mouth agape. My Angel. Getting married. Apparently he’s not my Angel anymore. Willow is saying something else, but the world is spinning too fast for me to hear her.

 

            “Buffy, are you okay?” Willow asks. She’s leaning over me, holding onto my hand.

 

            I nod. “Sorry,I-” I stop. I don’t know how to finish the sentence.

 

            “I know. It’s a shock. You look kind of pale though.”

 

            I shake my head. “Wh-what about the curse?”

 

            “Oh, yeah I asked him about that too. I tried to fix it a few years ago. I don’t know how the gypsies did it but I couldn’t. If I removed the loophole, the soul not only got removed, it got destroyed somehow. Anyway, turns out I didn’t need to remove the curse. There was this prophecy Angel thought he’d signed away but it turns out you can’t sign prophecies away, which makes sense when you think about it. It all boils down to the fact that in a month, Angel’s gonna be human.”

 

            Something deep inside me clenches and everything gets darker. I struggle against passing out. Willow is crouched by my chair, holding my hand and calling my name. She’s trying to anchor me here so I don’t float away. With great effort, I shake my head.

 

            “I’m-I’m okay,” I whisper, but it’s a lie. I’m not okay. Angel is getting married and he’s going to be human when he does it.

 

 

-Angel-

 

            “This is an awfully short guest list,” Liv says.

 

            I glance over at the woman I’m engaged to be married to. “It’s got everyone that’s important to me on there,” I say.

 

            She passes the list to me. “Look at it again, please. I want to make sure it’s complete before I send it off to the caterer,” she says.

 

            I sigh and take the list from her. I glance over it. Liv doesn’t know that I had other friends and that those other friends died, friends like Doyle, Cordy, Wes and…I shake my head and go over the list again.

 

            Willow

            Oz

            Dawn (and by force Xander)

            Spike (if I didn’t invite him he’d show up and raise Hell anyway)

            Gunn

            Anne (yes from the shelter, his wife now)

            Illyria

            Connor

            Giles

            Faith

 

            I hand the list back. “That’s it.”

 

            Liv grumbles. “Alright, we can probably add anyone else you think of at the last minute. The cater will scream, but he’s being paid plenty for this. I’m going to look at dresses today; do you want to come with me?”

 

            I am very careful not to show on my face how much I don’t want to go dress shopping with her. “I’ve got a lot of work to do here, besides isn’t there a superstition about seeing the bride in her dress?” I say.

 

            Liv makes a face. “Oh yeah, I forgot how superstitious you are.”

 

            “I’m two hundred and fifty six years old, it kind of comes with the territory,” I say.

 

            “Alright, then I’m going. I love you,” she leans over and kisses me lightly on the lips.

 

            “Me too,” I say and watch her retreating form.

 

            I turn back to my papers on the desk. I might get them done sometime today if I can go a half hour without someone stopping in to ask me something about the wedding or congratulate me. For some reason my thoughts turn to Willow and Oz. They finally got married two weeks ago and are spending their honeymoon touring Italy. I used to know someone who lived in Italy, but not anymore-- not for a long time.

 

           

 

 

Chapter Three

 

           

-Buffy-

 

            I’m on a plane to Los Angeles. I don’t know why I’m on a plane to Los Angeles; actually that’s not true. Angel’s getting married.  I’m going under the guise of visiting Dawnie and Xander who live in LA along with everyone else I know, or at least used to know.

 

            The pilot comes over the intercom and says we’re beginning our descent. I break out into a cold sweat, not because I’m afraid to fly, land, whatever; I’m not. I break out into a cold sweat because I don’t know if I can do this. I can slay demons, I can save the world. I can’t watch Angel get married. So what am I doing here?

 

            I’m going to get him back of course.

 

 

-Angel-

 

            “So you’re sure this menu is okay?” Liv asks.

 

            I pinch the bridge of my nose and count to ten. This is the fourth time this morning she’s been in here asking questions about the wedding. It’s two and a half weeks away and every day closer is worse than the last. “Liv, its fine.”

 

            “Well it’s going to be your first major dinner party in two hundred and fifty some odd years. I want everything to be perfect.”

 

            I take a deep breath. I’ve had this edgy, restless feeling all morning. Maybe the wedding jitters are getting to me more then I thought.

 

            “Liv, it will be perfect. I’m marrying you,” I say between gritted teeth. I love the woman, I do, but right now I’m sorely tempted to give into Angelus’ demands that we snap her neck.

 

            Liv arches an eyebrow at me and smirks. She’s a smart girl and I’ve no doubt that she can hear the impatience in my voice.  “Okay, so I’m going to get out of your hair and let you get some thinking done. By the way, I’m entirely too nice to you and tolerant of your deep thought periods.”

 

            “It’s brooding and it’s what I do,” I say.

 

            “Okay, so I’m tolerant of your brooding,” she says, walking out of the office and shutting the door behind her.

 

            Oh thank God, I think and turn back to the pile of books on my desk. I’m doing some extra research on the Shanshu.  Dawn, Giles and Willow have been doing the research. It was actually Dawn who managed to pinpoint the timing for me, but I’d like to check things myself. It’s not that I’m worried about my soul. Marrying Liv won’t change what perfect happiness has, and probably always will, equal. Liv isn’t it.

 

            There’s a soft knock on my door. I growl low in my chest.

 

            “Dammit, I’ve been patient, but I need to get this done before the damn wedding or there won’t be one,” I snap without looking up from my book.

 

            “Yeah, I’m sure it’s high quality brooding, but I thought you might have time for an old friend.”

 

            The entire building seems to hold its breath.  I take a deep breath, scent telling me the same thing my ears have already told me. I haven’t seen her in five years, but I’d never forget the sound of her voice, her scent.

 

            “Do you want me to come back later—or not at all?” she asks.

 

            “No, you-Buffy,” I finally manage.

 

            “Angel.”

 

            I close my eyes. I think some part of me said her name just to see if she still says my name the same way, breathy, girlish, almost like a wish.  She does. After a moment I open my eyes and look up at her for the first time. She still takes my metaphorical breath away, and suddenly I want to know what that will feel like when I’m human.

 

I stand up and walk around the desk.  I need to know she’s real. I need to know she’s not a ghost, or a vision or a last favor from the Powers that Be. I’m standing close enough to touch her.  She’s put on a bit of weight since I last saw her, but it looks good on her, gives her a few more curves.  Her hair is a bit darker and a little shorter than it had been five years ago. She’s beautiful. Somehow I’d forgotten how beautiful.

 

            “Well…at least you could tell me you’re glad to see me,” she says.

 

            She’s in my arms. I honestly don’t know if I pulled her there or she did, and it doesn’t matter because my lips are on hers, the world is fading away. There’s just Buffy and me. That’s all there ever has been.

 

           

-Buffy-

 

           

            I twine my fingers in his hair, longer now than it was the last time I saw him, more like when I first met him.  I tiptoe and pull him down to me, aching to be closer, regardless of the fact that we are aligned, pressed together from lips to legs.  One of Angel’s hands is behind my head, lifting me into the kiss. His thumb glides over the old scar on my neck. His other hand drifts down my back, pausing at the small of it and then creeping just a little lower, pulling me even closer.

 

            I moan with regret instantly turned to desire as his mouth leaves mine and peppers tiny kisses across my jawbone, down my neck.  He pauses and rubs his nose across my skin when he gets to the pulse there. He continues to his scar and laves it with his tongue, then nips at it lightly with blunt teeth. He suckles at the slightly raised skin there for a moment.

 

            “Mine,” he growls softly against my skin.

 

            I’m melting into him and breathing “always,” before I can stop myself.

 

            The world seems to snap back into place for him then because he jumps away from me like I burn.  My face flushes and the pulled together, almost happy woman I’ve grown into disappears. I’m sixteen years old all over again.

 

            “I’m sorry,” he says.

 

            “You-you are?”

 

            He swallows hard. “Not for the kiss-“ he goes very pale and stops. He takes a deep, unneeded breath. “I-I just needed to know you were real.”

 

            “Oh.” Okay, so maybe I had entertained a few fantasies that the mere sight of me would make Angel renounce his fiancée and declare his love anew for me.

 

            He sighs. “Buffy, I’m getting married in two weeks.”

 

            “Congratulations,” I say, concentrating on keeping the tremble out of my voice.

 

            Nice job, Buffy. You come here to get him back and you congratulate him on his engagement, I think. I take a deep breath and scrub my palms on my skirt.

 

            “I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead,” he says.

 

            “Yeah, uhm-yeah.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for anyone to think that,” I answer.

 

            “What exactly did you mean? We never got a postcard, a phone call, a letter, an email. You never sent anything to us to let us know where you were. You didn’t think we were important enough to let us know you were alive?” Angel asks.

 

            I swallow hard and sigh. That’s not entirely true. I called Giles half a dozen times and hung up on him. I wrote endless letters to Dawnie and never mailed them. There were more international connect fees to Los Angeles on my phone bill than I care to remember, calls I hung up on.  I shake my head. “You were the one who didn’t need me, Angel. I think those were your words exactly.” I know they were his words exactly because they’ve haunted me for the last five years. I’ve had nightmares with Angel in them telling me he didn’t need me.

 

            Angel goes completely still in that way only really old vampires, or corpses can do.  “I didn’t mean I wanted you to disappear, letting me and everyone else who loved you think you were dead.”

 

            “You weren’t exactly specific about what you meant.” I cross my arms over my chest.

 

            Angel pinches the bridge of his nose. “Buffy, can we not do this?”

 

            “Do what?” I ask, even though I know exactly what he’s talking about.

 

            “Dammit, Buffy, I don’t want to fight with you.”

 

            I paste on my happy slayer smile, haven’t had to use this one in a while so it probably looks more cardboard cut out than it used to. “I know. I don’t want to fight either, really.”

 

            “Why did you come back?” Angel asks.

 

            That one question shoves a knife in my heart. I take a deep breath and the knife twists. “I-I saw Willow in Siena and-“ I pause, unsure how much I really want to reveal here. I sigh. “Willow told me you were going to be human.”

 

            He presses his mouth into a thin line, half turns away from me and nods.

 

            “Ho-how?” I manage.

 

            Angel pinches the bridge of his nose again. “A prophecy, I thought I’d signed it away, but Dawn and Giles did some research on it. I guess I’d forgotten you can’t change prophecies.”

 

            I smirk. “Yeah, thought we covered that way back when I died, the first time.”

 

            He turns to me and the intensity in his eyes takes my breath away. “I guess I’d forgotten. I forgot a lot of things about Sunnydale, but never the important things.”

 

            I’m dying to know what the important things are, and yet I don’t want to know. It’s best if I don’t turn into a quivering pile of Buffy, okay a more quivering pile of Buffy.

 

            “I-I’m happy for you,” I squeak. Strong, slayer strong, slayer strong. My mantra doesn’t work. I turn and run out of his office, managing to keep the sobs in until I reach the street.

 

           

Chapter Four

 

-Angel-

 

            She was trying not to cry when she ran out of here. I know this because I could smell it on her. I’ve made Buffy cry often enough to know exactly what she smells like before, during and after.  I pace the office, scrub my hands through my hair. I’m getting married in two weeks. I shouldn’t be standing here, trying to decide whether to go after my ex-lover or not.

 

            She’s not dead, she’s not dead, she’s not dead, is the only thing going through my mind. For five years I’d believed otherwise. A frown creases my brow, I’d assumed because I could smell her, feel her, touch her, she was real. It hadn’t occurred to me that maybe I was the only one, until now.

 

            Frantically, I rush into Harmony’s office. Somehow after the debacle with Wolfram and Hart she ended up as my secretary, again.  “Di-did you see Buffy?”

 

            Harmony gives me her patented confused look. “Duh, she was just here, left a few minutes ago, looked like she was going to cry.”

 

            “Oh, thank God,” I breathe. And then I remember, when Cordy came back Wes, Fred, Lorne, Gunn all saw her, but the security cameras showed nothing. “I need the security tapes, Harmony. I also need you to find out if Buffy is staying in a hotel somewhere.”

 

 

-Buffy-

 

            I manage to make it to my hotel room before complete melt down. I almost lose it at the door. I can’t get the damn credit card key to work. The light refuses to turn green. It finally does. I shove open the door and stumble inside.   I take a deep breath. I’m gonna be okay. I knew all of this when I came here. I’m gonna be okay. I keep repeating it to myself, but somehow hearing Angel say all the things I knew already made them real.

 

            I just need a hot shower, I tell myself. A hot shower will make this okay, I lie to myself. I know that once Angel becomes human and married to someone not me, nothing is going to be okay.

 

            I climb into a hot steamy shower, so proud of myself for holding it together, for being strong Buffy. It’s easy to ignore the scalding tears that mix with the steamy water. That’s not me breaking down, that’s stress or jet lag or a thousand other things that