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Author: Baby Blues
E-mail: purely_blissful@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Not mine . . . if they were, I’d be rich and enjoying life in style. *lol*
Status: Complete
Rated: PG-13
Distribution: Want, Take, Have . . . but e-mail first. ^__^
Summary: A young boy becomes thrust into a situation that deals with Angel and the ghost of his past love. Crossover with ‘The Sixth Sense’ B/A
Notes: I watched ‘Ghost’ with Demi Moore and I had to write something along the lines of it. ^__^ And also, **major** spoilers for ‘The Sixth Sense’ and the season finale for ‘Buffy . . . ‘
Also, I don’t really know A LOT about Cole Sear. His age and where he comes from is fake . . . at least I think it’s fake . . . so please don’t scold me for it!
Dedication: To . . . the ghosts that walk unsuspectingly among us. May your soul find the peace it rightfully deserves.
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She came to me one night. Laughter and light in her presence . . . surrounding her like a protective shield of everything that was wholesome . . . harmless . . . and yet powerful. She was a bright inferno that made me wonder why she was dead. Especially when her eyes still held so much life, when her lips still managed to curve brilliantly into a warm smile, when her cheeks were still able to flush pink, and when her skin was still tanned and perfectly golden.
"You’re Cole Sear," she affirmed, looking at me with her head cocked slightly to the side.
Her voice, like smooth silk and velvet, was of amusement. Nothing eerie or frightening about how she talked . . . or walked for that matter. She moved with grace and elegance . . . strength and energy.
"Yes," I answered as I drank her in with studious eyes.
She chuckled and smiled sadly. "I’ve been lost. I didn’t know where to go. They told me to look for you . . . I’ve been looking for you for years now," she said and sat down on my chair, her eyes never leaving mine, "I was expecting a small boy."
I shrugged and grabbed my thin glasses from my bedside table and put it on. "Well, I’ve had five wonderful years in this business," I said and stared at her as she came into more focus.
She really was beautiful. Golden hair falling gracefully past her shoulders . . . her cheeks surprisingly flushed pink, her lips soft, full, and inviting. She didn’t look like a ghost . . . perhaps an angel, but not a ghost.
She nodded. "Seventeen?"
I nodded.
"What an age to be," she laughed.
I smiled. "Oh, yeah," I said sarcastically and lifted my glasses up to rub my eyes.
I’ve only met a few ghosts in my life who ever made small talk. Who actually made me comfortable in their presence. Who ever actually really cared about me. First, there was Dr. Malcolm Crow. A child psychologist who vowed to help me through this . . . phenomenon . . . this sixth sense that I‘ve been gifted . . . yet sometimes cursed with. The man who made me realize I had to help these ghosts . . . these beings. He was a good man. If I ever really met one.
"You’re life has just started, Cole Sear," she sighed and looked away to gaze at the pictures of my mom and me that sat on my study desk. She looked and touched things as though she were still alive and breathing . . . with a tender and open heart . . . with wonder and astonishment. "This is only the beginning. There’s more to come . . . more obstacles to face and even more hurdles to run through."
I smiled, noting the ways she grazed her nimble fingers on the wood frames. "Great . . . I can’t even survive through gym class let alone years of going through hurdles."
Her laugh was soft. I twinkle of merriment and joy. A laugh that I’ve only heard from the living. But now that I think of it, her laugh was unique . . . more lively . . . more real. Never in my experience with ghosts did I ever hear such a laugh from them. Never. Not even humans.
There was a knock on the door and I saw her disappear. "Don’t . . . please . . . stay," I said gently, and she materialized back on the chair, biting her lower lip hesitantly.
I gave her an assuring smile as I answered the door.
My mom came through my door, decked beautifully, if not disheveled from her slumber, in a red plush robe and pink fuzzy slippers I had gotten her for Christmas. Her eyes were half open, drowsy with sleep.
"Customer?" she asked with a yawn as she leaned against the doorway, arms crossed against her chest.
I smiled.
It had been hard on my mother to accept the fact that I was different. Much, much more different that your average child. She was still uncomfortable with my . . . part time job, I guess you can call it, but other than that, she had been very supportive.
"Yeah," I replied, "I won’t be long. I’ll just take some notes and finish it up in the morning," I promised her.
She nodded sleepily. "Alright, not too long now," she said and looked around, "Goodnight."
"Night, mom," I told her before she smiled and left, closing the door lightly behind her.
I looked back at my guest who still sat on the chair, fidgeting with her fingers and nibbling on her lower lip nervously. "So," I said, gathering up a pen and a pad of paper on my nightstand, "What can I do for you?"
She stood up and walked towards me, sitting on my bed. Her amused expression had changed into a serious one and I got worried.
"It’s not only for me-me," she said as she started restlessly fidgeting once again, her thumbs circling one another as she shyly looked down at the floor.
"It’s for a friend then?" I asked, "Perhaps a family member?"
"For a friend."
I looked at her for a moment and knew, from the way she became more alive, from the way her entire face beamed even more, and how a smile suddenly appeared on her mouth that it wasn’t just any friend.
I concluded, at that moment, that it was more than a friend . . . but a lover . . . a lover she had before death . . . a lover she couldn‘t forget and move on without.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I opened the tall black gates of the Hyperion Hotel, taking tentative and cautious steps towards the entrance doorway of the massive building that towered my 6‘1 form.
I was wearing a navy blue sweater and a pair of jeans.
It was hot in LA. But living in Massachusetts will make you dress warmly everyday. It’s a rule. And I was used to it.
The young woman walked with me as she looked at the enormous stone building in wonder. I smiled at that. She looked more like a child entering Disney World for the first time other than a woman who has practically seen it all . . . maybe not all . . . but . . .
I was about to knock on the door when she stopped me. "Just help yourself and enter," she said and I nodded, not really wanting to question it.
I opened the door and languidly observed the interior of the hotel. From the looks of things, the place wasn’t really a hotel. It had been turned into an office. The lobby was empty, except for the settee in a shape of a circle right in the middle. A few houseplants littered the place, adding a bright color to the dull tones. To the left was a counter, and behind it were desks with computers on it, just waiting for someone to type its keys and hold its mouse.
"May I help you?" a voice asked, and my eyes landed upon a woman with mid-length brown hair. She was tall, pretty . . . with a big and wide smile.
My eyes searched for the golden one, but she had disappeared. It often happened. Not from their own free will, but because of other greater powers.
"Just looking," I told her.
Her brows scrunched up together. "Ookaaay," she said slowly.
I watched as another ghost walk through one of the broken down elevators. She was old with a wrinkled face and withered brown eyes. She stopped and smiled at me, and I smiled back before she disappeared . . . reappearing on the top of the stairs. She waved and vanished into thin air.
I sighed.
A lost soul with nothing else to do than quietly roam Hyperion Hotel turned Angel’s Investigation. A small firm in LA that helped people, those who paid and also those who didn’t, with the paranormal.
Just then, two men in a heated conversation walked hurriedly from the back. One man, a British accent present in his voice, held an ancient looking book at hand while the other, tall and baled, held a mean looking silver sword.
"Guys," the woman said, breaking off their argument as the two of them looked at her expectantly. "We have a guest," she said, indicating me with a barely concealed confusion written clearly on her face.
They looked up.
"Oh, well, hello there," the English man said, "How may we help you young man?" he asked, putting the book away behind the counter.
"You can’t," I told him, "It’s how *I* may help you . . . well . . . one of you."
"Mini Angel," the black man muttered as he jumped on the counter, the glinting deadly sword still in hand, "Just what we need."
"Would you like to come in?" the British man asked, indicating the fact that I was still in front of the door.
I shook my head and smiled. "No, I won’t be long. I just need to ask a few questions and return tomorrow."
The three looked at each other for a moment. But the silent reverie was broken when a crash distinctly sounded at the back. A small womanly shriek followed. The three of them sighed. "Gunn, go see what Fred broke this time," the brunette ordered.
He nodded and went off and disappeared in the back once again.
"Amm . . . questions?" the man, who remained, asked confusingly.
I nodded. "Did either you or the . . . other man that just left ever lost a lover?"
He frowned. "Excuse me?"
I had asked the young woman what her name was, but all she ever answered was ‘Death.’ I couldn’t possibly say that her name was death because I knew that it wasn’t. It was the only strange thing I received from this ghost. Her name was a mystery. The only thing she acted eerie in.
"A lover," I repeated.
"A lover?" the man asked.
"Yes, blonde . . . " I paused and reviewed a smiling picture of the girl in my brain, "Petite, hazel eyes that could be mistaken for gray at times? Beautiful . . . " I added.
"Buffy . . . " the two breathed.
"So that’s her name?" I asked.
"Is this some kind of sick and twisted joke?" the brunette questioned, her temper flaring as her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, "Because if it is . . . it’s not funny."
The old woman I saw earlier appeared once again in front of me. "The angel will be bitter when he meets you," she said, her voice raspy with age, "Her death is a delicate agony in his heart and soul," she warned before vanishing once again.
"No," I told the brunette, "This is not a joke," I assured her. "My name is Cole Sear. Tell her angel that I’ll come back tomorrow."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Your name is Buffy," was the first thing I said when I saw her waiting for me in the hotel room, sitting on my bed as she stared dreamily at the gray carpet floor . . . as if her long lost lover‘s face was on it, wreaking havoc on her imagination.
She said nothing as her eyes shadowed over. "It’s Death . . . I lost that name when I was fifteen."
I sat on the bed besides her and stared at her face. "Death is not a name . . . "
"You don’t understand," she sighed and stood up, "It’s all I bring . . . it’s all I am."
I let out a breath and looked at the floor she had been intently gazing at as she watched out the window at the cars that zipped on the streets below.
She had told me her life as a Slayer. As the Chosen One. The one girl who had saved all of us from being destroyed. The one girl who had seen and experienced so much death. Who gave and received nothing but sorrow and even more death.
"Death surrounds you . . . but it’s not you," I told her.
She smiled. "I’m sorry."
I knew what she meant and shrugged it off with a grin. "They were just confused . . . and so was I. None of the men there was your lover."
"He wasn’t there."
"A ghost said he was an angel," I said, remembering the old lady’s words.
"That’s his name," she said, looking back out the window with a faraway look on her exquisite face.
"Angel?"
She nodded.
"He’s wonderful," she said, "My Angel," she whispered in a tone that was barely audible to my ears, but I was able to catch through the silence of the room.
"You never told me what to say to him," I said.
"I don’t know either," she answered softly.
I nodded.
It often happened.
Ghosts had missions . . . but some of them knew nothing of that mission. Only parts of it. Buffy was one of those ghosts. But she would know and understand more of it as time progressed. I just hoped it would be soon. After all, I only had Saturday and Sunday before I had to return home for school.
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The people of Angel’s Investigation sat waiting in the lobby. It didn’t take a smart man to know they had been expecting me. I looked at Buffy whose eyes danced with so much love, adoration, and life as she stared at the man with the dark brown hair and mysterious brown eyes who stood in the middle of the room.
"Cole Sear," he began, "Seventeen years old from Salem, Massachusetts. Living with one single parent. Has the reputation with talking to spirits."
I smiled. "A thorough research," I said.
"Who are you talking to, Cole?" he asked, his eyes hard and his arms crossed.
"At the moment, you," I answered wisely.
"You know what I mean," he practically growled, causing me to look at Buffy who stood by a houseplant.
"To you . . . she would be Buffy," I answered truthfully, "For me, her name, as she says, is Death."
"I don’t have time for this. I want to know why you’re here," he said, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"My reason here is simple," I began, "I’m the messenger. I only came to give you a message."
"Where is she?" he asked, changing the subject once again.
I searched for Buffy and found her inches from him. He was completely oblivious to her presence . . . but I knew, somehow, that he felt her.
"Tell him I love him," she whispered, her lips inches from his.
"She says she loves you," I told him.
He growled and stalked away. "I don’t want games, boy! I want a straight answer! Where is she!" he yelled.
I pointed to where she stood, looking heart broken and lost.
He looked away and I watched as the old woman I saw yesterday walked down the stairs and towards me with a small smile. "The angel will be bitter when he meets you. Her death is a delicate agony in his heart and soul. Remember that," she said, repeating the words she had told me yesterday.
I nodded and silently thanked her as she vanished once again.
"Is this real?" he asked quietly, looking up at me, "Is she real?"
"This is real . . . in body . . . she is not . . . in spirit . . . she is," I said.
"I don’t believe you," he said, jaws clenching.
"That’s not an issue to be taken upon me. I didn’t come here to make you believe . . . I only came to help. To receive knowledge to be passed on to you by her spirit," I said.
"Then what does she say?"
"I remember." I looked at Buffy as she stood there, dazed and lost. "Forgotten day . . . "
"Forgotten day . . . " I whispered with her and at that moment, the hotel began to shake as the paintings from the walls shattered to the ground. The plaster from the ceiling cracked as fine powder rained down on all of us.
She was strong . . . stronger than I ever imagined.
Spirits sometimes possessed power . . . power to move things according to their moods. They had the power to cause pain, physically and mentally. That’s what they often did to me in the beginning . . . that is until I began helping them instead of being frightened . . . or running away from them.
I looked at her and noticed that she had collapsed to the floor, her shoulders heaving from the sobs that consumed her body, making her quiver and shudder at the sudden realization that I, myself, still didn‘t catch. "I told him I’d never forget," she repeated again and again.
The tremulous shaking calmed as I took in Buffy’s appearance once more. Gone was the light that came upon me that one night, in her place was a grief stricken mass of a fading spirit.
"Don’t run away, Buffy," I told her, "It’s time to do what you came here to do."
She looked at me, her face full of sorrow and pain . . . and I winced at the anguish that tainted her face with such harshness that I momentarily forgot the face that held so much vivacity and sparkle.
"Tell him to forget," she whispered brokenly, looking down at her hands, "He never deserved it." She shook her head, "I didn’t deserve him . . . I never did," she cried and then looked at Angel’s still stunned face. "Tell him to forget," she whispered, "Tell him to forget me." With that said, she disappeared.
I cursed quietly and turned away to look at the shocked group. My eyes landed on Angel who looked at me with a puzzled and bewildered expression marked evidently on his face.
"What did she say?" he asked through clenched jaws.
I shook my head. "She’s not in her right mind at the moment."
"So what? We wait? Leave a message on the answering machine? Meaning you?" the brunette woman scoffed, eyes disbelieving. "Sorry, but no. We want answers and we want them now. Buffy Summers died three years ago. Why now?"
"She’s been lost," I told her, told all of them, "She came to me to help her find her way to her mission. And as for real answers . . . I’m afraid she’s the only one who has them. I’m only the messenger."
"Mission?" the English man asked.
"All lost souls that roam earth have missions. Some know theirs and are just waiting for the right time to pursue them. Others, such as Buffy, have no idea . . . they just know that they have a mission to accomplish before they get their peace," I answered.
"So . . . you talk to her?" the young black man asked carefully, a hint of doubt in his voice.
I nodded. "It’s a sixth sense."
"I still don’t believe it. How do I know you’re not working for Wolfram & Hart to try and destroy my mind with . . . with Buffy’s death?" Angel finally asked.
"Never heard of it. Is that a coffee shop?" I asked, totally serious.
The brunette and the black man burst out laughing and my cheeks turned warm as I looked away, completely embarrassed and humiliated. Whatever Wolfram & Hart might be, it was far from a coffee shop that sold their specialty donuts only on Friday afternoons.
"If Wolfram & Hart was a coffee shop, we won’t have a job," the black man said with another chuckle, "We’d be workin’ there instead."
They’re the enemies, I concluded silently.
"Did Glory work for them?" I asked, and they turned silent.
"No," Angel answered gruffly, "What did she say?"
I put my hands in my pocket. "Forgotten day," I began and noticed the hurt look that crossed his face, "She said she forgot . . . " He nodded. "She said to forget her," I added and turned to walk out the door.
"Why would she say that?" he called after me.
I turned to look at him and shrugged. "I’m only the messenger."
"Well give her this message," he said. "Not even her death can make me forget . . . here," he said, indicating his heart with a baled up fist, "She’s here . . . because even if it doesn’t beat . . . she still keeps it going . . . she still keeps *me* going."
I studied him with a serious face and knew how true his words were. Not because of the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, but because of the determination that ran thickly in his voice. The love and the fire . . . it was all there, still burned as fiercely as Buffy’s soul.
And as if on cue, she appeared once again. This time, right by Angel. Her hand placed upon his fist as she smiled gently.
"You don’t need me to tell her that," I said with a small smile as I watched Buffy gently trace her fingers on Angel‘s face, "She just heard you."
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I do a lot for the spirits and ghosts I help. I’ve gone as far as to LA for Buffy. But as I sit here in a place called Caritas, never in my existence did I ever picture myself in a karaoke bar full of demons and about to sing.
"You okay?" Cordelia asked.
I could only nod. "I’m not much of a singer . . . " I told her truthfully.
She nodded. "Just picture them naked," she said, patting my shoulder before turning to talk to Wesley.
I looked around and noted the many demons that littered the bar and I shook my head. No thanks. I’d rather keep *some* fraction of my sanity while I’m at the job. But I guess it all just depends if I actually *still* had my sanity. After all, working for five years with ghosts can do a lot of traumatizing . . . and I often wonder if I’m close to being packed away in some sort of mental institute with a strip jacket holding me down.
And that’s when the green guy/demon (whatever) called me up. I stood up on shaky legs and walked towards the stage, the lights shining on me as I squinted to clear my view. I gazed at the beings that stood waiting and I began to sing. ‘My Girl‘ wasn‘t much of a deep and serious song that went genuinely along with this situation with Buffy and Angel, but it had to do. Living with a mother who’s a humungous fan of The Temptations can do that to you. And because of her, I chose the song.
Buffy entered my body and I let my soul rest as she controlled it. I only did this two times before. It all depended on how powerful the spirit was . . . and Buffy was definitely powerful . . . so she was able to do this without real effort.
It was my really bad voice that drifted in the air. But it was her spirit who sang.
The song faded into a halt and she left my body, letting my own spirit take over once again. I shook my head, trying to clear away the satisfying dizziness that overwhelmed me. It was like a drug . . . being taken over like that . . . an unnatural high that I could get addicted to with no problems.
"What did you see?" Angel asked the green demon expectantly.
"Well, Angel Cakes," he smiled, "It seems as though you’ll be taking a trip back to the post office."
"Post office?" Gunn asked skeptically.
"The Oracles are dead," Angel said.
"Oh, contraire . . . who ever said you were going to meet with them?" he asked, before leaving us to tend to another customer.
"All this crypticness is giving me a headache . . . and I didn’t even get a mind-blowing vision," Cordelia complained.
"So what does it all mean?" Wesley asked.
"Just what the green guy said," Angel answered.
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Cordelia, Wesley, And Gunn headed back to Hyperion Hotel to check on Fred to see if she broke anything else while we were gone. Angel and I jumped in the black convertible and headed towards the post office instead . . . with Buffy sitting peacefully and quietly in the backseat of the car.
Again, I saw the exact same woman I met in the beginning. Life was back in her hazel eyes, and I can only conclude it was because of Angel. No need for real brains to come to *that* assumption.
"He’s my everything," she said, as if reading my mind.
"I can tell," I told her with a nod.
"What?" Angel asked, looking at me with a confused frown.
"Buffy," I said simply, indicating the back seat.
I saw him gulp and look at the rearview mirror with pensive and hopeful eyes, but disappointment soon crashed down on his face when he didn’t see her.
I watched as Buffy lean her face down to rest her chin on Angel’s shoulder and I noticed him shiver. I sat back, in awe as Buffy trailed her fingers up his chest . . . causing him to let out a wavering breath.
"You feel her," I said in astonishment.
"I’ve never felt her before you came . . . I often dreamed of her and wondered about her soul . . . but I never felt it," he answered truthfully.
I nodded. "She was lost."
"Do they often get lost?" he asked.
I nodded my head. "Sometimes, they just don’t know where to begin," I told him as we continued to drive towards the post office.
"I know how it feels," he said.
"I know you do," Buffy whispered before kissing him tentatively on the cheek.
"When they’ve achieved their mission . . . do they stay?" Angel asked, and I could tell by his voice that . . . he didn’t want to know.
I shook my head sadly. "No . . . they just . . . disappear. There’s a light and they just evaporate to . . . heaven, I suppose," I told him truthfully.
He closed his eyes for a moment and smiled bitterly. "Then I don’t know if I want her to finish this mission," he said honestly, and I stared at him, wanting him to explain why on earth he wouldn’t want to help his love finish off what she had to do. "When I found out she died . . . I never felt whole again. I know she had always been in my heart and mind . . . but my soul . . . my soul, it cried out for her."
He hesitated and gripped the steering wheel harder as I watched Buffy place her hand on his. He calmed and let his grasp loosen on the innocent wheel.
"Now that her soul is here . . . I feel as whole as I can be when I can’t even see her," he continued, "At least I know she’s there . . . at least I can feel her presence."
"I’m always here," she whispered, tears falling from her eyes as she studied him with pain filled orbs at the sad truth. "Tell him I’ll always be here."
"She’ll always be here," I said.
He madly shook his head. "Memories," he simply said, "They will all be just memories."
Buffy was silent as she pulled away and disappeared.
"Where did she go?" Angel asked, frantically looking at me yet still keeping an eye out on the road.
I shrugged. "I’m not sure," I said, amazed that he would know that she was gone.
He sat back on his seat and stared at the road. "I’ve hurt her," he said calmly before he let out a bitter chuckle, "I always do . . . even in death . . . I’ve managed to hurt her."
"You blame yourself too much," I told him, "It’s not healthy."
He shrugged. "It doesn’t matter . . . I’m dead anyways."
"Doesn’t mean you don’t feel . . . doesn’t mean it can’t cause pain. You’re alive, maybe not in the same level as me and Buffy . . . " I told him.
"Buffy’s dead," he reminded me.
"But she lives on. In you, in me . . . in everyone she touched with her life and soul," I said, "If she was truly, truly dead and gone . . . she wouldn’t have led me here."
Silence.
"You’re a wise kid," he commented.
I smiled. "It’s true with what they say."
"About what?"
"That you can learn a lot from the dead," I replied.
That caused a smile.
"Did she tell you about . . . herself?" he asked.
I nodded. "The whole trip from Salem," I said.
"So you know the Slayer deal."
"Right down to the part about the star crossed lovers," I said.
He only nodded.
"You two love each other a lot," I stated, not questioned.
He shook his head. "It wasn’t just love . . . it was more than that," he began, "When I looked at her . . . I saw the sun. Everything about her was so bright and golden . . . from her hair right down to her skin and the sparkling brown in her eyes. When I touched her, I felt the warmth day radiated. Not just because she was alive . . . but because of the life that surrounded her everyday," he left in a dreamlike state as he continued, " And . . . and when I kissed her . . . I tasted the light she was made of."
He shook his head. "No, it wasn’t just love . . . it was everything. She accepted me when *I* couldn’t even accept myself . . . she forgave me when I didn’t deserve it. And she loved me . . . when no one ever did before . . . "
And that was the moment Buffy appeared again. Tears of joy glistening in her eyes and I heard Angel take an unneeded breath when he realized that she had returned. He stayed silent, and I knew he was just drinking in feeling of his soul mate so near him, enjoying the feeling of the harmony and the richness of the sensation.
"I love you, Buffy," he whispered in the wind.
I smiled at her and she smiled back. "He’s right," she said, "It was never just love . . . " she continued as she stroked his hair. "Whenever I was alone with him . . . I was just a girl in love. In his arms I was safe . . . in our own world, I was comforted. He was my sanctuary . . . " She nodded, "Yes, there was pain there . . . and guilt . . . there were lies and moments of anger. But in the end, there was always love." She smiled tenderly, "In the end, I was always able to turn to him . . . he was always willing to fight . . . always ready to give up everything for me."
She smiled. "He’s my strength . . . as well as my safety . . . and my friend," her eyes became dreamy, "My passion . . . as well as my love."
"She completes me."
"He completes me," the two of them said in unison.
Now it was my turn to smile.
Never in my entire life have I ever seen two beings, one of a dead body with a soul and another without a body but of a soul, have such a strong connection with one another. I had to admire the love and devotion the two shared . . . even in one’s death they continued to love each other. Time and death did nothing to dull their bond. One could tell it strengthened it even more.
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The colossal room with the white stone pillars was dark and empty. There was nothing there. No life . . . just a room of nothingness. Except for the one form that laid huddled in the middle of the room, emitting an eerie yet hypnotizing glow that put Angel and myself in a calm sort of trance.
"Who is it?" I asked in a whisper, afraid if I was too loud, the radiant form would be disturbed from it’s peaceful slumber and wouldn’t be too kindly about it.
"I-I don’t know," Angel replied as quietly as my question.
"Warrior and Messenger," a distant voice echoed through the walls.
The two of us looked around in surprise, searching for the form or face that the voice belonged to. But we found none in the dimmed and spine-chilling room.
"Why have you brought us here?" Angel asked to the absent being that we only knew was partly there because of our faith . . . as well as the supernatural energy that distinctly traveled and flooded the room.
"The Slayer has died . . . and with her death is the destiny of the world," the voice replied.
Angel angered, fury radiating from him in dark smothering waves. "What are you getting at exactly?" he asked, demanded mostly . . . but yet he asked.
"There lies her body," the voice said, almost amused. And I could tell from the clenching and unclenching motions of Angel’s fists, he would love to get his hands on the voice and strangle it with all his strength and rage, "For three years now . . . her body has been here waiting."
"Wha . . . "
And that was when the light from the figure that was curled up in the middle of the room began to throb and beat, dimming and brightening . . . a repetitious medley of a dancing bright light.
"Buffy," I heard Angel whisper before the vampire practically lunged itself towards the unresponsive and unanimated form.
But he hit something hard and invisible as I watched his hands settle on the unseen barrier that stood between him and the body that continued to lie still on marble floor. He slammed his fists on it as if trying to break through it, his teeth gritted in anger as a growl escaped from his throat and echoed through the walls.
"The body continues to grow . . . her heart still beats . . . and she still breaths," the voice said.
"Why now!" Angel yelled in anger around him. "After three years! Three years of suffering and agony at *my* loss for *your* cause! You finally bring me to her after three years! Why!"
"For a lesson that you still haven‘t learned, Warrior!" the voice yelled angrily.
"A lesson?" he let out a somber chuckle as he spun around. His gaze landed on me and he laughed a bit more. "Did you hear that?" he grinned coldly, "It was a lesson." His face faded into another angry look as he looked around the room. "You took the love of my life away! *That* was a lesson?! The one thing that matters to me most and you killed her because of a lesson!" he shouted, throwing a fist in the air as he let out another growl of frustration.
I took a step back, afraid that he would take his anger out on me. I was only seventeen. I knew what physical pain was, but I had no idea what a vampire can possibly do to me . . . and I didn‘t want to know either. Although I have a pretty good theory about what would happen to me. But I like my limbs and other body parts where they naturally belong.
"That was not a lesson!" Angel continued to storm his fury and ire, "That was a punishment!"
Silence permeated through the room, and I was deathly afraid that the voice had abandoned us. After all, we needed its help. I might only be a messenger, but I cared for these beings who clearly needed answers. For the vampire and for Buffy, herself. I wanted the two of them to finally find serenity. From the looks of things, the two of them deserved it more than anybody else. I’ve seen the wisdom and the pain in their eyes . . . and I know that they’ve both seen a lot in their lives and unlives . . . they really do deserve that peace.
"You gave up everything for this girl," the voice finally spoke, more calmly this time, "You have denied your life and existence for her and with her more than we could possibly bet on a being . . . *any* being."
Angel walked towards the barrier and looked down on the still glowing form of Buffy Summers.
"But the lesson you haven’t understood since the day you came back from hell was that *she* is your life . . . your soul . . . the one thing that continues to drive you to fight for *us* . . . and yourself as well as her. Without her, you continue to fight . . . but without the real strength that you truly need to survive."
"You think I don’t know that?" he asked softly as he trailed his fingers through the invincible barrier.
The voice ignored that and continued. "The lesson that you were to learn were the heartbreaking roads that you insist on choosing," the voice finally revealed, "The lesson . . . that her death is her gift to you."
"My gift? How is that a gift! Tell me! Huh? How is her death her gift to me?" Angel shouted in disbelief.
"The gift in which you still have to realize that without her, you are not alive . . . a gift in which you still have to realize that you fight without true power . . . that without her, we have a broken Warrior who persist that we, The Powers That Be, are against him and his love," the voice said, "A gift in which light is finally shed . . . "
I watched as Angel looked around for the voice in disbelief, and I cringed at the cold hearted and cynical sneer on his face. "Nice lesson!" he yelled, "What a great lesson! Look at me! I‘m ten times as smart now!" He slammed his fist through the barrier. "Your lesson was a waste of precious time! Time she could’ve been living with her friends and her family! Time that could’ve saved everyone who loved her through *all* the pain that you, The Fucking powers That Be, caused us!"
"Enough!" the voice boomed.
"Why? Huh?" he chuckled without humor, "Can’t take the truth? Bring her back! Bring her back now!"
"You still haven’t learned your lesson, Warrior, you still do not see it," the voice almost mocked, "It had always been destined that you will meet The Slayer . . . as well as to protect her and serve her. You failed."
A look of hurt crossed his face. "I know I failed. But I always fail! To you! To her . . . "
The voice let out a sigh, surprising me at how impatient it sounded. "Your destiny was with The Slayer as her protector . . . as well as her lover . . . you failed in both areas. You had taken the wrong road . . . we were disappointed in you, Warrior."
"Thus making me even *more* miserable by killing her!"
"We did not kill her. Because of the path you took, her life was in danger the moment you walked out. You completed her and she completed you. Together you are strong. Apart you are dead."
"I had to go! I wasn’t going to risk her life by letting the demon free!" he yelled.
"If you would have stayed by her side even through the downside of not having complete happiness with her . . . you could’ve been there to receive a spell The Witch would have found to bind your soul and punish and return the demon back to hell," the voice said softly, as though speaking to a child.
Angel stood there stunned as he slid to the ground. I mentally winced at the aching revelation the voice had thrown, not only to him, but to me as well. Years . . . years that Angel and Buffy could’ve had together.
"You would’ve still moved here to The City of Angels, but the two of you would’ve still been together . . . happy and content. After all, we knew that the love you two shared made the two of you more powerful . . . but at the same time the two of you still needed to learn how to work apart with only the other’s love assuring you," the voice said. "We gave it time . . . hoping you would come to your senses and return to her . . . The Forgotten Day . . . Riley Finn . . . Darla . . . even Spike."
Angel looked pained as he rested his head against the invincible barrier. His eyes landed on Buffy’s form as the voice continued.
"We played and toyed to get you to go back and settle things . . . the spell that The Witch was to find still stood waiting . . . but you never took any of the opportunities that was handed to you. You’re a stubborn man, Warrior . . . "
"So this is my entire fault," he whispered, tears running down his cheeks to drop silently on the cold floor.
"No one puts the blame on you, Child," the voice said, its tone warming at the broken sight of the vampire, "There are different players here . . . one against you and the other with you. It’s how we work here. But either way, the two of you, Slayer and Vampire, were destined together by us." The voice paused for a moment, "But now, we’re actually begging your, Warrior . . . take the right path this time . . . because we promise you, there won’t be a next time."
Buffy’s glow began to dim and Angel’s hand was able to reach for her. My heart almost broke at the site of the vampire, dressed all in black, hesitantly touch the body dressed all in a white. A startling contrast of dark and light . . . but with the similarity of everything that was good and pure . . . of everything that was love.
"Take care of her, Warrior, and remember, together you are strong . . . apart your are dead," the voice said, a smile prominent in the tone, "Your only problem now is how to get her soul back into her body . . . and what you will do from then. Good luck, Child . . . Warrior . . . and Messenger," and with a bright light, it was gone.
Angel picked the body up, the silk, lace, ribbons, and sheer cloths of her dress falling in wispy clouds around her . . . her soft golden hair coming loose within the crystals that tied limply in her golden strands.
I watched quietly as he kissed her forehead . . . and I smiled as I silently followed them out of the room.
I looked back one last time, looking around, before a bright flash of light covered the entrance once again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I looked at the spirit of Buffy expectantly.
Angel and I had returned to a very confused group who he promised will know the ‘heads-up’ after they took care of the small problem of having Buffy’s body spiritless, and they now stood silently by the counter.
Angel kneeled by her body that reclined silently on the couch in the middle of the lobby. I stood next to him while Buffy’s soul studied the motionless body that was hers.
"I don’t want to," she said, crossing her arms firmly against her chest as she slowly took a step back, her eyes panicked and confused.
"This is your mission," I told her patiently, putting my hands in my pocket as I looked at her. I knew I had to be tolerant . . . after all, this was some news not to be taken lightly. She has been dead for three years, lost and nomadic ‘til she found me for help, and now she was able to live and continue on with life.
I knew it was complicated for her . . . and I understood how it was. This was amazing. Something I’ve never experienced, seen, or heard of before. A spirit able to live again.
I had to be patient for her.
Buffy shook her head. "It can’t be," she said, "I thought I would gain peace?" she questioned, looking at me with a hopeful look, searching for an answer in my eyes that I knew she didn‘t find.
I smiled. "You *will* gain peace. True peace . . . up there with those who play the harps," I assured her and she smiled. "But for now, your mission in death has been completed and accomplished, and you take a new one . . . a mission to live life to the fullest from now on," I told her, showing her Angel, who looked around for her.
She tilted her head to the side and studied him with a smile. She then turned to me and looked down at the floor. "I’m so tired," the whispered openly, and my heart pained for her at the truth in her words, "I don’t want to fight anymore."
I looked away and so did she.
She’s been fighting for most of her life now . . . even in death she had to fight, her spirit fighting to search for that peace that she rightfully deserved. I knew she was tired . . . I knew she just wanted it all to end and to finally gain the tranquility she had been looking for.
"I know you’re tired," I said to her, "and I know you don’t want to fight anymore."
Angel stood up and stared at spot where Buffy’s spirit stood still. The two of us amazed at the fact that he knew where she was.
"Strong is fighting . . . " he said, his voice shaky with emotion, yet steady with will. "It’s hard . . . and it’s painful, and it’s everyday. It’s what we have to do . . . what we can do . . . " he swallowed a visible gulp and almost chocked on the next word as his eyes glassed over with tears, "Together . . . "
And that was it all took.
Buffy smiled, the brightest smile she had ever given from the moment I first saw her. She took a deep and unneeded breath as she stepped towards Angel and placed a loving hand on his cheek.
He closed his eyes and leaned against it as Buffy placed a gentle kiss against his lips that caused him to shudder.
She pulled back, took one more look at him, and disappeared.
I watched in concern and worry as Buffy’s body convulsed. Angel ran towards her and embraced her lovingly in his arms as he stroked her golden hair, letting the crystals that adorned it fall to the floor. I heard him whisper incoherently in her ear as she threw her head back, her eyes wide as she swallowed gulps of air.
She let out a fierce scream as she clung to Angel, her nails digging through his leather-clad arms as they held onto each other. Her scream turned into cries as she stared at the ceiling of the Hyperion hotel.
"Buffy?" Angel asked as he looked at her face, wide and awake, but with tears streaking her cheeks as her eyes continued to shed tears.
Her breathing was rough and labored and I knew she was having a tough time getting used to the body. "She needs a moment Angel," I told the vampire, "She’s only getting used to the feeling. It’s like being reborn again, I suppose."
He only nodded as he held onto her, his own cries mingling with hers.
"Angel," she whimpered when she finally pulled back to look at him. More tears flowed from both their eyes as she gently caressed his face.
"I’m here," he told her, placing his hand on the small and soft hand on his cheek, "I’m here, my love, I’m here."
She embraced his neck and pulled him to her, resting her face in the crook of his neck as they held each other, Angel rocking them back and forth as the everything around them stilled and it was only them in their own world.
The employees of AI were silent, Cordelia sobbing with joy in Wesley arms who noiselessly cried himself. Gunn, just smiled, fighting his own tears as he stood back. And Fred just watched on in awe and wonder as though she was a child.
And I smiled as I looked back at the couple.
Relief, overwhelming happiness . . . love . . . it all radiated from the two of them in engulfing and torrent waves of pure energy.
And my smile widened.
They finally received their peace . . . if not in heaven, then in each other.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a typical morning when I came down for breakfast. My mom and I finally have our own house instead of that apartment. I was sorry to leave Billy, a boy who died with a blow to his head, and Mary, the kitchen woman. But I had to go and I said my goodbyes to them and they told me that they’d miss me.
That’s what you get by getting to close to ghosts.
My mom married Tom. He’s a cool guy. He actually accepted my sixth sense and my stubbornness and will to help the spirits who come to me. After all, it’s my job. I’m the messenger. Hand picked by The Powers That Be.
"Morning, honey," mom said as I sat down in our new kitchen.
I gave a warm smile towards the lady by the houseplant. She waved a little and bended over to smell the flowers that had begun to bloom from it. She turned back around, revealing the knife that oozed and dripped with blood and stuck notably out of her back, and disappeared down the hall.
"Hey, Mom," I greeted back as I practically inhaled my breakfast, "Tom already left for work?"
She nodded and handed me a fairly large box. "It came for you last night. You were busy," she said, giving me that look I knew too well when she meant that I was with a ghost. She turned back to the stove and hummed as she continued to cook the scrambled eggs.
I smiled and looked down at the rectangular box covered with brown paper. In the middle, in loopy handwriting, was my name and address. I shrugged and tore it open, revealing three plane tickets to LA, a certificate at Armani for a tux, a newspaper, and a note.
I picked up the roll of newspaper and saw a picture of a pair of familiar faces embracing in the front page. In large headlines, ‘AI’s favorite Bachelor ties the knot,’ splotched the cover, and beneath it read, ‘Angel O’Connor, of the well known and very famous Angel’s Investigation, finally settles his wedding date with long time fiance, the beautiful Miss Buffy Summers.’
I smiled at that.
I had been keeping in touch with Buffy since I met her. Three years has passed since then.
Angel’s Investigation rocketed during these years, causing a big boom in their private business . . . as well as calamity among single women because of the handsome man who led it. Thus the huge deal with the newspaper.
Buffy’s friends and family soon ran to LA after I left to see the newly resurrected Slayer. They told the Sunnydalians what happened and that Buffy was staying in LA. After all, Janna, the Slayer who replaced Buffy, was doing well on her own with her watcher as well as some help from original Scooby Gang’s on the Hellmouth.
Dawn, Buffy’s younger sister, decided to stay with her sister and live with Buffy and Angel in the hotel.
Six months after I left LA, Angel had asked Buffy to marry him . . . and *after* Willow found that spell to bind his soul. Buffy phoned me to tell me the happy news. I was delighted for her. I truly was.
They didn’t marry as soon as I thought they would. But Angel was waiting for something. And a few months ago, I got the news from an ecstatic Buffy and Angel, himself, that he had turned human . . . a surprise, not only for Buffy, but for everyone else as well.
I picked up the note and began reading.
Dear Cole,
Can you believe it? Angel and I are getting married! And I want you to be there when we do. As you can tell, I’ve already booked you and your mom and stepfather tickets. I still owe you for booking one yourself to get here when you helped me, remember? Angel wants you to be one of his best men. You, Wesley, Gunn, Xander, and Spike. Dawn will be my maid of honor. Willow, Cordy, Anya, and Fred my bride’s maids. Giles will be giving me away. Anyways, I don’t want to bore you with the details. I just would like it very much for you to be a part of this. After all, you were very much a part of us as everyone else.
Love Always,
Buffy
PS: I hope you could make it.
I smiled and folded the note. I turned to my mom who was busy singing ‘My Girl’ along with the radio she turned on. Sipping her coffee while mouthing the words to the song, I asked her, "Mom? You up for a trip to LA?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now I stand here, watching Buffy and Angel say their vows to each other . . . their eyes only for the other.
They truly were soulmates. Meant for each other and all that mushiness.
The future was unclear, but they had each other . . . and that was all that mattered.
I smiled. This was meant to be. They were finally getting what they deserved . . . what they were destined to have . . . which was simply each other.
I caught Dawn staring at me.
I smiled at her and she gave me a wink.
I knew, from the heat that had built up inside me, that I was blushing beat red.
And at that moment, I realized that I might have my own destiny with a certain ex-key.
~{End}~
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