Insomnia
by J_A_G

As much as it hurt I knew I deserved it. Listening to the voices of the thousands I had hurt, it was like therapy. They had the last words in the end, they got to hurt me back. It lessened the pain. Buffy didn't understand, instead she just busied her self making sure I returned to my normal, brooding self.

I always felt bad about having her take care of me. Like she doesn't have enough to things to worry over. I hate letting her see me when I'm weak because she's the epitome of strength, where I falter she excels. She always does the right thing no matter how difficult the decision. The image of her thrusting her sword into my heart is forever emblazed in my mind. Two hundred and fifty years of memories and that's the one that stands out the most.

Every time I saw her after my return, her guilt was so evidently etched on her face she grimaced when she smiled. I tried to tell her that I didn't care what she had done. My throat was raw simply by the amount of times I would say ‘I'. I didn't care that she had sacrificed me, I would implore her to make the same decision a hundred times over.

I fall asleep every morning with the dream of her small, strong body pressed firmly against mine, needing the contact between us as much as I did. Before her 17th birthday I would sometimes stay to tuck her in at night. It became a need that rivalled my body's demand for blood, to watch her sleeping form. She looks so peaceful, so innocent, even when she's tossing and turning, caught in one of the nightmares that visited her frequently. I loved the nights when she would moan my name, her face glowing with pleasure and I would close my eyes and place my self in her dream. Sometimes after a rough night, she would flip me over when I went to kiss her goodnight, and burrow her head in the crook of my shoulder as she drifted off to sleep.

That sign of trust meant more to me then anything else in this world or the next. To let a vampire into her room when she was most vulnerable was something that went against her every instinct. She defied them, she defied everything, even God. I'll never forget when she rose from the dead. Nerves of steel, stronger than ever before. She defied logic, simply by being that beautiful. Aphrodite must have been jealous.

There's something unearthly in the way she moves. It alerts everyone around her, they stiffen knowing a predator's near. It also attracts a lot of men, the element of danger. It was also the reason demons went after her, when they should have kept out of her way, it was the thrill of being fought by something too gorgeous. It's the reason she saw more fights then any other slayer.

I love her stubbornness. Her love for life. Her devotion and loyalty. I love the essence she gives off. It's also everything I hate. I hate her courage and her strength. Her intelligence and her beauty. I hate them because they're constant reminders of what I'll never be. I don't hate her. I'll never hate her. She can yell at me, kick me, beat me, kill me again and again, but I'll never be able to hate her.

I hate the fates, for giving me a taste of heaven. She's the apple in the garden of Eden. One taste of her and I'm destroyed. Yet God is more vindictive then that. He's let me back into Eden, but he's made the apples sweeter, better and I'm helplessly addicted.

I can feel the sun begin to set and I realise I spent the whole day dreaming of her. I'm not surprised, I'm sure I'll never be able to sleep again after my night with her.

I can't smell her in the air now. It's like the sweet smell that follows an April shower. The scent that comes before the flowers bloom and the trees blossom.

"What fertilizer?" Her voice startles me and I drop the book I was holding. "You were talking to your self, sorry."

"It's ok," I can't think of what else to say and an awkward moment passes. We stare into the flames, a heat incomparable to our own passion. "Not fertilizer" I blurt out, I feel like a teenager. She does that to me, I blame my sudden decline in maturity all on her.

"Huh?" She looks confused and gives me the dumb blond stare she perfected so well at her old school. It really doesn't work though, given that she's far from dumb and not a real blond. "Oh, fertilizer, well I didn't think so."

That's it, the pathetic extent of our conversation. We can't look at each other because we know we won't be able to finish what our gazes will start. We can't speak because the next words out of our mouths will be "I love you."

"I'm leaving" it just pops out and I'm not sure where it came from. I had been waiting for the right time to tell her, but this wasn't it. Apparently my brain decided to ignore that fact and open my big fat mouth.

"Leaving?" she repeats, her eyes burning into the back of my head. It's more a statement than question. "Way to start being spontaneous Angel. You picked the best topic for your first try too." She turns away angrily, but she's actually just stunned.

"I'm sorry. I .. . I. . ." I try to start again " you knew . . . "

She interrupts me. "Knew what exactly?"

"You knew I had to leave." She's defeated, her shoulder slumps and her eyes cast to the floor.

"I know" she whispers, I have to strain to be able to hear her. It seems like an eternity passes with us just standing at opposite sides of the room.

"You should get some sleep, I'll walk you home." She's in my arms before I can finish. Her small hands grasping handfuls of my shirt and pressing her face into my chest. "Sleep with you" is her muffled response.

"Buffy . . . " I start to protest, but a sharp jagged pain in my ribcage reminds me she's the slayer and it's her call.

"If that's ok." She asks quickly. She doesn't want to pressure me into anything, the wounds from her last birthday have yet to close.

"It's fine. Maybe I'll finally be able to sleep" the last part is another one of those things I hadn't meant to say tonight. She smiles at me, sensing my embarrassment over my loose tongue. That's not the only thing I might not be able to control tonight, I think. Thought the rapid flush on her cheeks tells me it wasn't only me who heard it.

My cheeks are as red as hers when I lead her into the bedroom. I tell her to change here, she can take me of my shirts if she wants and I go to the backroom to change. I debate wearing a shirt with my boxers but I want to be able to feel her closer.

She's already under the covers when I get out. Her face is bright pink and I wonder if she's flushed all over. It's hard to pull my head out of the gutter when my biggest fantasy is lying in my bed.

I climb into my side of the bed holding my nonexistent breath for the contact I know is soon to come. She scoots over to me and I gasp when I feel her bare breast against my arm. It takes me a while to realize she's completely naked, given that I'm thinking with another part of my anatomy. I try to swallow but it feels like there's a bowling ball lodged in my throat, I'm glad I don't breathe or else I would be hyperventilating.

"Hold me" she whispers and that's it I loose whatever small grip I had on control. Her sweet breath tickles my arm and I feel my self shrinking away from sanity. The fight for some kind of mental control over myself not the only thing becoming harder. She sees this and smiles, proud of her ability to cause me so much discomfort. She's asleep within a matter of seconds.

I was wrong about not being able to sleep without her. I can't sleep with her either. Although this type of insomnia is a lot more enjoyable.

Flame me or praise me just tell me what you thought.

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