Even in his sleep Angel ground his teeth. He had always felt he was more than a match for any other guy on the face of the planet, but somehow he always seemed to come up short with that one. First with Darla and the fact that Spike was left kicking his heels while Drusilla went too didn't make him any happier. He saw Buffy, her back anyway, dancing with the Immortal, ignoring him. The vampire who had loved a Slayer groaned, only to feel a warm presence holding him and drawing him away from that picture. From far away he heard a familiar soft voice going "Shhhhhhhh. It's alright."Angel struggled to make sense of it all. He felt like all these scenes were some kind of show, that there was a reason behind this flood of memories. What was he being told? Why was he taking this journey again? He was thankful that apparently he was being spared a reliving of all of his crimes, as thankful as he was for the familiar voice that calmed him.Around midnight Angel finally woke, confused about. She open her card (I got her a mushy one that girls just love), and it brought more tears to her eyes, and then she read the poem (kind of an odd poem). Who in this world of ours their eyesIn March first open shall be wise,In days of peril firm and brave,And wear a bloodstone to their grave. I told her where the poem came from, and it was a very old poem. I said, “ it real does not make a whole lot of sense to me.”We laid on the couch listening to some music that she likes, she laid up against me admiring her new jewelry. We chatted a bit about the evening, and reminisced about a year ago, and what a good time we had together. We also talked about how so much has happen to us since that first meeting.She got up and went upstairs for a few minutes, and then came back down wearing a light blue see through negligee, with a bow on front between her breast.She said in a sexy voice, “here is your gift wrapped with a bow.” “Do you want me to open here or upstairs?”, I laughed.“Right.
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