My Immortal

By Gwenhwyfar Rose

{Iím so tired of being here,}
{Suppressed by all my childish fears.}
{And if you have to leave,}
{I wish that you would just leave.}
{ĎCause your presence still lingers here,}
{And it wonít leave me alone.}

I closed my eyes to the pain. Heís dyingÖmy son is dying... Thatís the one phrase that no one else around here seems to want to understand, even thought itís as real and true as vampires. Trying to run and hide from Holtz wonít save this babyís life. Even if I make it away from Holtz, this child isnít going to be able to make it into the world. My son is going to die. Iíll kill it. My body will kill it.

My dead body is not going to give birth to my child.

Iíve been trying to tell them that ever since Angel found me on the building top, but no one really seems to want to listen to me. Whoíd want to hear the ramblings of a dead pregnant woman? They all still carry this hope inside them that there are true miracles in this world, and more so than that, my son is one of those miracles. Iíve been alive longer than all of them, and dead hundreds of years longer than that. There arenít miracles. Everything has its price.

And Iím to be the price of this one.

{These wounds wonít seem to heal.}
{This pain is just too real.}
{Thereís just too much that time cannot erase.}

I can hear the voices in my head telling me that even through the fire thatís eating at the walls of Caritas little by little. Through the pounding of Angel and the others trying to tear through the walls of the Hostís room. I know what I have to do to save us all; I know the price of this miracle. I just wish that I were strong enough to carry out the necessary, to be the hero just once in my five hundred years of life. Vampire or no, Iíve always been a sort of coward.

If I dared to say any of this out loud, anyone around me would die laughing. Iíve faced apocalyptic daemons. The Masters of thousands of daemonic legends, I was the debutante of the Order of Aurelius, but deep down all I wanted was to be able to hide from what I was. It didnít matter who told me, what I was was a little girl hiding and trying to fit the part that I had walked into with eyes wide shut.

{When you cried Iíd wipe away all of your tears.}
{When you scream Iíd fight away all of your fears.}
{And I held your hand through all of these years,}
{But you still have all of me.}

And Angelus, Angel, whichever you decide to call him at any given moment in time, was the best part of me. I knew his potential and how hard he strived to be all that he was. He was magnificent. I wonít say it aloud, but he still is. Iíve bever been sorry that I created him. Never.

Itís amazing how life plays its little tricks on you. I went from being the scared impotent daughter of a whore to the Queen of an underground society in a single bite, and I lost my power just as quickly. When I created Angelus, I sealed my own fate, even if I didnít realize it. I died for the first time with his name on my lips, and been reborn with it still there. I should have known that it would be he that murdered me for the final time. He that forced me to be something that I never knew that I could be. Something that I had been terrified to believe in before.

{You used to captivate me by your resonating mind.} {Now Iím bound by the life you left behind.}
{Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams.}
{Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me.}

The raindrops wash away the tears in my eyes as they carry me outside to the alleyway , the club engulfed in flames and all six of them looking at me expectantly. Itís as if they have finally realized what Iíve tried to say. Thereís no room in this world for hope.

I donít hear his orders, but I see that the rest of them has left us and the only one that remains next to Angel is the one that they call Fred. Sheís bookish and snooty, but I can tell just by looking at her that there is some greatness in her that no one else sees. Sheís crying more than I am, but her tears are silent. Sheís not worried about herself, or Angel. Sheís crying for me. Me and my son. She understands that this body is dead and therefore cannot produce life.

It can breathe, it can digest, but I have no life in me. My hair grows, my fingernails get longer, but thatís where the living ends. My heart doesnít beat, and my blood doesnít run warmly the way humans do. Iím dead, and because of that I give life to the baby that I love.

And I do love him

{These wounds wonít seem to heal.}
{This pain is just too real.}
{Thereís just too much that time cannot erase.}

I can feel Angel looking at me expectantly. He wants to tell me that everything is going to be all right. He wants to say it, and he wants it to be true. But neither of us are naÔve. Neither of us can live in the world that we have lived in, kissed the sin of evilness and made love to the darkness within, and deny anything. Someone is going to die tonight. The only question now is where are we going to depart this life, and where the bodies are going to be buried.

"Angel..." I whisper as loudly as I think that I am able to. I know that he barely hears me, but he turns to me anyway. There are tears in his eyes as well. Emotion is written all over his face. He knows exactly what I know, the only difference is that he has a little hope that God, or the Powers That Be, or some sort of higher being is going to intervene. "Our baby is gonna die right here in this alley." I finally said it.

My heart broke with every syllable that I muttered. My child, my life, my soul was going to die here in this alley and I'm too coward to do anything about it. "You died in an alley, remember?"

He nodded weakly and I shuttered. "I remember."

{When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears}
{When you scream I'd fight away all of your fears}
{And I held your hand through all of these years}
{But you still have all of me}

His despair went deeper than mine did. Then again my soul's on loan. When my son dies I'm not going to remember much about the events of this night. I won't even be able to remember that I loved it. My words shudder through me as another false labor pain shoots through my abdomen and I rock forward. Fred rushed to hold my head, as if that's going to do anything. But she's trying. She's one of Angel's all right. She's always going to try. "I wanna say I'm sorry." I whisper to the air. I'm not sure who I'm saying it to, my son or Angel. They way I'm in and out of it I might just be saying it to myself. "I wanna say it and mean it," Pain shoots back through me and I cringe again. Whoever's up there, whoever Angel's praying to doesn't care about me. The closer and closer I feel to the end the more pain that they give me. I choke as I try to speak again. "But - I can't." I stare up at his face. The face of my Angel. "Aren't you gonna tell me it's okay?"


His response was simple, genuine. He knows how it feels to have a soul. He knows the pain of having that soul ripped from your body. And now he can feel the ache of losing your child. Your only hope of redemption. "No? It's really not, is it?" I start to cry again, my pale hair sticking to my head as the rain pelts us again. It's getting harder. It too knows that I'm going to die. " We did so many terrible things together. So much destruction, so much - pain." I shift my shoulders to where I'm putting less weight on my lower back and something to my right catches my attention. Parts of the wall that they busted to get out of Caritas is laying in shards on the ground. I close my left hand around Angel's and lock eyes with him.

"We can't make up for any of it. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah." Again with the simple answer. He's trying to be strong, trying to figure out how to keep us alive longer. He's trying to hold on to something that's letting him go.

My right hand slides away from my body as showers of dull pain spring through my body. "This child - " He can feel me pull away slightly and he moves back to take all of me in. "Angel," I say again, capturing his attention back to my face. "It's the one good thing we ever did together." And he realizes what I'm about to do. "The only good thing." His hand clutches mine and I can feel my heart begin to pound. The irony of that strikes me. It's only in my final moments that I feel the most alive. "You make sure to tell him that."

{I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone}
{But do you're still with me}
{I've been alone all along}

And then. thereís nothing, not even darkness. I'm not exactly sure what I expected, but this is definitely not it. It's nothing like the last time I'd been killed. If I weren't dead, I'd laugh at the irony of that statement. I've been a dead for almost 500 years, killed four Slayers, staked, been brought back to life (or should I call it death?) and the thing that ends up killing me is myself. And over a baby.

My soul is gone. Part of me is relieved that the weight has been lifted. The voice that has been suppressed for nine months is out at last, and it's screaming. But there's another voice buried deep down that can still be heard. A tiny, almost miniscule voice that I can barely hear. It calls out for my attention like a lost little lamb bleating for his mother.

With the appearance of that voice I've know that my son is with me. Because we shared a soul. I feel the pain, the anger, the hurt, like it were my own. And part of me is in him. The part that wasn't dead. The part that didn't give up in Virginia when the Master came to call. I gave him the best parts of me. And I'll never hate him. I'll always feel like my sacrifice for him was worth everything. Because he is everything. Despite me losing my soul when I gave birth. Despite the emptiness I float in. Everything I have always done for him will be worth the soul I put into his body.

{When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears}
{When you scream I'd fight away all of your fears}
{I held your hand through all of these years}
{But you still have all of me}

He is my son.

And I remember loving him.