Day and Night
By Ralkana

Disclaimer – I don’t own them; Joss and Mutant Enemy and all the various other Powers That Be do. If I owned them, I’m pretty sure they'd be much, much happier.

Comments and feedback to Ralkana47@yahoo.com would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

Author's Note – A thousand words on the subjects of sunlight and separation.

Timeline – Mid S3 BtVS.

š š š š š š

Rolling my aching shoulders, I climb into my window and toss my bag on the bed. A glance at the alarm clock, and I can’t stop the groan that follows. So tired. If I go to bed now, I can still get a couple of hours of sleep. I turn to close the window and draw the curtains, but the faintest glow of day on the horizon stops me, and I stare at the weak light.

Damn. I cut it close, much closer than I wanted to. Falling asleep in Angel’s arms on the couch in the mansion after a really hard night felt so right. We both knew it wasn’t a smart thing to do, but we needed the closeness, the comfort after the roughness of battle.

The sky lightens gradually, and I watch it numbly, thinking of what it means. All over Sunnydale, people are waking up, cursing the light that creeps through their curtains or their blinds, grumbling over the start of a new day. I shake my head, irrationally irritated. Don’t they know how lucky they are? To be able to get up, face the day, go to work or to school or shopping, and not find themselves trapped in the shadows, pacing away the day like a caged animal.

The sun’s a wedge, a weapon, one I can’t fight. I can – we can – rail and wail and flail against it, but that would change nothing. The light will always be there, a divider, an unignorable reminder that Angel and I lead separate lives, lives that won’t ever, can’t ever mesh. The light drives my love, my soulmate, out of my arms and back into the darkness.

“Buffy? Are you just getting up?” Mom’s questioning tone of voice becomes accusatory as she comes in and notices my bag on the neatly made bed. “Or just getting in?”

Rubbing my hands up and down my goosebumpy arms, I don’t answer her. The sky is beginning to grow blindingly bright as the sun peeks its way into the world. Mom walks farther into the room and slides an arm around my shoulders. The touch is unusual and unexpected, but I don’t shrug her off or say anything. We watch the sky in silence for several moments.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she murmurs, and I can hear awe in her voice. “The sunrise?”

She doesn’t get it. She’ll never get it. I feel like cursing as my eyes fill with tears. With an angry jerk, I pull the curtains closed, plunging the room into darkness. I turn away from Mom, fighting not to start sobbing, clenching my fists. I will not cry. I will not cry. She places a hand on my shoulder, but I stiffen. It’s not her touch I want. She sighs and leaves the room, saying something stupid about breakfast. She closes the door behind her, missing my tiny words, which slip out, left hanging in the room’s oppressive darkness.

“Beautiful? The sun? I hate it.”

š š š š š š

Sunset is coming. I can smell it. It’s been another hot day, a beautiful day, according to the people hurrying by outside, I’m sure. I shake my head, wondering what I’m doing here. What vampire in his right mind would settle in sunny Southern California, in a town called Sunnydale, no less?

But I know why I’m here. My reason for being here, my reason for being is probably moving towards me through the growing twilight, moving quickly and with a purpose, just like the people who rush past my door.

I think of her, and I can’t help the smile that lifts the corners of my lips. In my mind, she is laughing, surrounded by friends, her hair a golden halo in the sun. Of course, this is her, my angel, seen from afar, for the only way I can see her in sunlight is if I am in shadow. The shadows hold me and drive her from my side.

It’s a sobering thought, one that would normally banish all traces of optimism and leave behind a dark mood. But now, when she’s on her way to me and the sun’s slowly vanishing beneath the horizon, I feel awake, all of my senses alert and ready. I feel alive, and I laugh, for that word hasn’t described me for over two centuries.

I pace the entryway, drawing close to the door and then away, over and over again. I can’t help it, this straining. I hate being cooped up here – well, if one can be cooped up in a mansion – and I just want out. Preferably with her, but even alone would be good.

I can feel her now. She’s right outside. The front door opens, and I am right in front of it. The sun’s last fading rays hit me, but they leave nothing more than a tingly, vaguely uncomfortable warmth. She looks surprised to see me right there, but then she’s in my arms, oh God, she’s kissing me, and everything fades and melts away.

She rests her head on my chest, and I hold her close, rubbing my hands down her tiny back. Her body is so warm and soft, and it feels so good against mine. We should stop, pull apart; it’s dangerous for us to be so close, and we both know it, but we can’t help it. We need this.

“Angel,” she says, her standard greeting, and I smile and reply in turn.

“Buffy.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“I needed to see you. I couldn’t wait for the sunset,” she murmurs. “Giles saw that I was edgy and he let me go early. I think if he hadn’t, I’d have had to kick his butt in training and come anyway.”

I laugh as I lead her further into the mansion. Nothing will happen. I won’t let it and she won’t let it. But we need each other. And night is the only time we have.

God, I love the night.