Friday evening rosebud
Rosebuds. I love rosebuds. 500 words or so. How hard can this be? Okay, I went over, my rosebud is approx. 540. So sue me. *grins*
Title: Shadows
Author: Ares
Characters: Buffy and Angel
Rating: G
Prompt: Shadows
Disclaimer: If wishes were horses...
Moonlight crept across flagstones and trees, its silver glow plating everything it touched. Branches bent slightly as the breeze picked up, their leaves sighing softly: a tune only a night owl would hear or another creature of the night lurking by. He trod the path silently, careful not to disturb those resting beneath his feet. He was shadow, not of this world or the next. Undead, unclean, an impossibility: legend.
He was all that and more. He was loved. Another impossibility, and yet true. In his turn his heart was full, returning the love bestowed upon him. It made him more than just a monster.
An obstacle forced his stride to halt. A pond, walled in brick, glistened quietly at him, its surface partially covered with lily pads. The water stared blankly up at him when he peered into its depths, no trace of his presence marring its surface.
“You always stop and stare.”
He turned, a smile resting easy on his lips. She stood waiting for him, a step or two away, beneath an overhanging branch of a tree.
“Buffy.”
She laughed. “Angel.”
He was by her side in an instant, and followed her to a seat carved out of stone. It was curved, favouring the wall of the pond. The seat was designed for those who wished to contemplate the still water. He sat when she sat, his hand itching to hold hers. He knew the rules. No touching. He ached with longing and wished things were different.
“No brooding, you,” she said, her eyes full of concern.
He nodded, and watched as her hand reached out toward his face. He closed his eyes, waiting for her touch to fall. It didn’t. He forced his eyes open. She was staring at him.
“Tell me about your day,” she asked.
“It didn’t start well. There were these demons…”
Hours sped by, the two lovers unaware, entranced with each other. As always, Angel talked and Buffy listened, she spurring him on with her questions and insights. When he ran out of conversation, Angel was content to merely sit and stare. He drank in the sight of her. Her beauty pushed at the dark corners of his soul, her light setting up home inside his heart, his sadness and grief put aside for a short while. Happiness wasn’t an issue. Buffy no longer threatened his soul. He wouldn’t wish her back. He couldn’t. She was happy where she was. He knew that. She had told him so, once, all that long ago.
It was time to go.
“You still my girl?” he asked as he stood to go.
“Always,” she declared, and threw him a kiss.
He returned the gesture and placed a hand on his heart.
He left that place, not once looking back. He knew what he would see. Buffy was no longer there. She had winked out, the image of her, anyway. It was 2050. Times were different. The bereaved could visit with a hologram of their loved ones, microchips providing a semblance of life. Buffy had lived a grand life, and he had been included in that life. He was content.
As he strode away, he remembered he had forgotten to tell her something. Next time, he thought, as the shadows swallowed him whole.
The end.