SPOILERS: This takes place after Angel loses his soul but before Becoming, which never happened in my 'verse. I will keep and discard Buffy lore as I see fit.

Part 19

A thin shaft of artificial orange light penetrated the oppressive darkness surrounding Angel. As quickly as it came, it was gone, and the darkness enfolded Angel once again with it's velvet wings. A sound like a dull thump accompanied the brief appearance and disappearance of the light. He thought it might be a door closing but he couldn't be sure. Over the past few days his hearing had been off, as if his body was submerged under water and every sound had to be filtered through the viscous liquid to reach his ears. He was sure if he survived this he'd be left with permanent hearing loss.

Though the sounds were diffused, he could sense another presence in the room. Cursing internally, he braced himself for the figures of either Buffy or Angelus. Inside, he felt like crying. He'd only been alone for. well he wasn't quite sure how long it was exactly. Time had begun to lose all meaning during his captivity. It could be anywhere from 15 minutes to 15 hours. All he knew was his body hadn't recovered yet from their last visit. He could still feel the blood leaking from his numerous wounds. If they picked up the torture again, he knew with certainty he wouldn't make it through the night.

But it wasn't Buffy or Angelus that filled his field of vision. With the flip of a switch, cold artificial light flooded the room, chasing away the darkness. When his eyes had adjusted to the sudden brightness, he found himself staring at the red haired beauty that dominated his every waking and sleeping thoughts. She stood before him staring, words dieing in her throat as she took in the broken remains of his body. Angel hadn't looked in a mirror for over a week so he could only imagine what he looked like. Pretty bad, judging by the horror in her eyes.

She, in contrast, looked amazing. It was probably the best he had seen her look, but his perception was probably tainted by the fatalistic slant to his thoughts. Her hair hung down her back, in intricate plaits, framing the sides of her face. Her makeup and the lush pale green of the Victorian dress she sported highlighted her natural coloring, making her eyes appear even brighter. Even her usual gilt and porcelain complexion seemed brighter; as if aglow with some emotion he didn't want to contemplate. Happiness, most probably.

Angel lowered his eyes against the raiment of her beauty; sure this vision was just another hallucination. He'd taken to having them since he'd last seen her. Whenever he was alone she'd appear. Sometimes she'd merely sit on the bed, watching him with sad, faraway eyes. Sometimes she'd scream at him, pounding his chest, making the blood fly, as she berated him for lying to her, blaming him for all that had happened to them. Other time he'd envision her walking in while Angelus was there. Her entire aura would exude a cold detachment as she'd stop Angelus from his torture and pull him to the bed. He would be helpless to stop the vision, unable to look away as she fucked him right in front of him. Once or twice he'd dream of her forgiveness, of her coming to him as she was now, and cradling him in her arms. She'd call him Angel and whisper over and over how much she loved and forgave him. Those hallucinations didn't come too often, and for that he was grateful. It always made reality all the more painful when it came crashing back in.

She was speaking now, and he wondered which vision this one would be. "Angel," she whispered tentatively, her anguish evident in both her face and her voice, "Angel, please answer me. Goddess, please don't let me be too late." Her had lightly caressed his forehead, pushing damp strands of hair away from his eyes so she could stare into them, probing for signs of intelligence.

Angel felt himself relaxing at her touch. Despite the fact that every inch of his body felt like it was on fire, his skin as sensitive to touch as raw nerve endings, her hands managed to soothe him like those of a mystical healer. It was as if her hands were a direct conduit for the love she felt for him, the depth of her emotions acting as a balm to both his physical and emotional wounds.

He tried to lift his head further, tried to speak but couldn't. To her the only visible movement was the occasional blinking of his eyelids and the faint rise and fall of his chest. He could sense the panic welling up inside of her as he continued to remain silent, unable to speak no matter how hard he tried. He knew she was on the verge of hysteria and there was nothing he could do to reassure her. It hurt too much to even try. Even though she was just another hallucination, he didn't want anything he did to hurt her.

She was crying now. He couldn't see because the muscles in his neck had given out, his head slumping like a broken flower stem. But he felt her tears as she fell to her knees before him, cradling his body against hers, her chin resting lightly on the top of his head. Even though all he wanted was to hold and be held by her, he wished he could push her away. He hated the idea of his blood staining her skin and dress, tainting her innocent beauty.

Willow didn't seem to mind. She kept on holding him, oblivious to the blood though trying to be careful around his wounds. She didn't want to end up hurting him by reopening wounds that weren't totally healed. Hoping he could hear her, Willow began to unburden her soul, offering up explanations she felt he needed to know. "Angel, I'm sorry, this is all my fault. I know that. I just. I couldn't think of any other way out of this mess. I had to trick Angelus into trusting me enough that he wouldn't hesitate to leave me alone in the house with you; only it took a week for him and Buffy to leave at the same time. That's why I couldn't come to you before today. And now it's too late. please, please, please don't be too late. Please say something Angel." Willow paused, waiting in vain for a sign she knew wasn't coming. She could feel his body moving with each labored breath. Each exhalation sounded as if it was his last- as if his life force was being pushed out of his throat on a breathe of air. Fearful, Willow rushed on.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you with the whole catatonic/amnesia act. When Angelus was going on about who you really were it was the only plan I could think of. I needed to get him to let his guard down so that I'd have a chance to rescue you." Willow began to cry harder, as if realizing how futile her rescue attempt had become. "Please don't leave me, Angel. not so soon; not when we've just found each other. Goddess, it's not fair. I love you, Angel. I love you."

As Willow sobbed, desperately clutching his broken body to hers as if she could mend him with the strength of her body and will, Angel felt his own desperation slip away. He knew now that this was no hallucination, no feverish last attempt by his brain to cling to some vestiges of sanity. His body had been holding on, waiting for this moment so that his heart and soul could hear what it needed to before being able to move on. As she confessed her love for him- not for Adrian, but for Angel- he felt his entire being, weary from its harsh journey, begin to shrug off its mortal coil. He had held on for so long, hoping for this moment and knew he could finally slip the surly bonds of earth and move on.

With a last rallying of strength, Angel managed to whisper, "I love you too, Willow. Always."

Willow pulled back, desperate hope at his words washing over her, banishing her tears. She searched his face, her own crumpling once again as she took in the peaceful expression on his face. She swept his now motionless body in her arms, holding him to her for dear life because she knew the moment she let go- accepting his death- she would cease to exist.