Mourning Light

by Sheila Marie Lane
Copyright 1997

Dedicated to Leslie--I *will* return the favor someday--and David. *sigh* Standard disclaimers apply.

Angel sighed and turned over. The morning light was bothering him--wait a minute, the morning light wasn't supposed to be there. He yawned and tried to forget it, but it was *really* annoying him. Besides, someone was knocking on his door.

"Angel! Angel! Wake up!"

He ignored the rattling of the door handle as long as possible--until the very real worry that Buffy might try to kick the door in occurred to him. "O-kay! Hold on."

Jeans...where were his jeans? He finally dug them out from under his bed. He debated looking for his shirt, too, but there were some ominous sounds coming from the door...

It was fairly amusing to see Buffy gape at him when he opened the door. He must remember to strip more often. "What *is* it?" he asked, trying to hold on to his annoyance.

"What is *is,*" she mocked, "is a glorious day. And you promised to go to the movies with me this afternoon."

"Oh, jeez, is it afternoon already?" He looked over at the window and blinked. No wonder the light hadn't seemed right. It was afternoon light. Wasn't it? He stood there, confused, for a moment, but Buffy was shaking his arm.

"Yo! Angel! Snap out of it. Night owl," she said with a laugh. "Come on, drag a shirt over those glorious pecs and let's *go*!"

The darkness of the movie theater was blessed relief to Angel. "I think I have a sunburn already," he groused.

"Shhhhh!" Buffy stopped watching "George of the Jungle" long enough to poke him in the side.

He sneered one more time, considered going back to sleep, then finally snuck Buffy's hand into his--and some of her popcorn into his mouth, while he was at it--and started trying to follow the plot.

Weird tasting popcorn. Of course, what did he know? He hadn't had popcorn in--never mind. The movie was actually amusing. So was picking Buffy up off the floor when one particular scene involving a coffee commercial had her in hysterics.

"Okay, I admit it," Angel finally said. "It was fun. Not really my style, but fun."

Buffy looked smug.

"Stop that."


"That see-all, know-all look."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "There, is that better?"

The sun was getting way, way too hot. Angel knew he'd have to head home soon, or he was going to be duller than ashes. Er, duller than dirt. Er--

He grabbed Buffy and kissed her. She made a startled "eek," then hung on for dear life. He bent her back over his arm, started kissing his way down her neck--

And woke abruptly when the pillow he was clutching broke. "Damn," he said, looking down at the feathers all over the bed. "Not another one." And he wasn't talking about the pillow.

At dusk, Angel stood at the window, watching the shade over it glow with the light outside. It dimmed and dimmed, until finally he could lift it up and stare at the stars above. Tucked tightly into his hand was a single feather.

the end

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