Before he met Doyle, the Buffy times would spring upon him at any given moment, tormenting him with their desolate beauty. Those months after leaving Sunnydale had been the most unbearable of his life. It had been far worse than those ninety years of guilt-stricken misery on the streets. It had even been worse than Hell. Both those experiences had been purely painful and without the slightest hope of escape. But now.

Now the torture was the constant memory of soft lips and sparkling laughter. It was the haunting thought of what was - and of what might have been.

It had almost eaten him up inside, the cancerous ache. He had been so close to seeking release in the touch of sunlight.

Only she had stopped him.

She was always his strength.

He had remembered Christmas and her tears and the snow. And how she alone had had faith in his strength when all had seemed hopeless. "You have a real power to make amends", she had cried with a conviction so pure that it hurt his heart to remember. That day he had vowed never to betray the belief shining in her eyes.

So with her words in his heart, he drew hope for redemption.

Now that he had the Agency to take care of, he could try to occupy his mind with the plight of others. And for a few thoughtless hours, he could at least pretend to forget.

But it was always with him, the bleeding ache. An ever-present force of which he was aware in the same way that one is aware of one's own existence. Yet still sometimes, the ache would stab him with its jagged edges; so agonizingly that he would think again of reaching for the sun.

But then he would think of her.

In a way, the pain and the memories were a comfort to him. They kept her in his life.

Angel closed his eyes, sealing the darkness that embraced him from around, and that which engulfed him from within.

And he remembered her.