Title: Written in the Stars
Author: Drusilla
Email: Drus1lla@hotmail.com
Rating: PG, I guess.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters used within this story, probably with the 
exception of Iain and Brighid, cuz I made them up.  But Buffy and Angel don't belong to 
me, they belong to the evil Joss monster, the WB, FOX, and whoever else owns a piece 
of them.  The song, Written In the Stars, belongs to Elton John and Tim Rice.
Author's Notes: Callie has been liking this series so much, and I actually do too. This 
came to me at 2 am, after listening to this song repeatedly. I was in a really strange mood, 
as is probably evident.
Summary: Sequel to Song For a Winter's Night

I am here to tell you we can never meet again
Simple really, isn't it?  A word or two and then
A lifetime of not knowing where or how or why or when
You think of me or speak of me or wonder what befell
The someone you once loved so long ago, so well 


My Darling Angel,

I don't know why I'm even writing this letter, for I know I will not send it. The last nine 
months of my life have been the hardest I've ever had to endure.  But now as I gaze at the 
little boy who's asleep not far from me, I know that they were worth it. For him, because 
he's here.  And he's you, and he's me, he's us.  I don't know how I know that, but I do.  
I've never been more certain of anything in my entire life.  His name is Iain, and he's our 
son.
Today is August 26th, his birthday.  Nine months ago I was visiting you in LA. We only 
spoke for five minutes, or so I thought.  The last few months of my pregnancy, I was 
having the most amazing dreams.  I just thought they were my fantasies again.  Cordelia 
assures me they aren't.  And in my heart, I know they're real.  Iain is my proof that for 
twenty-four hours in November, you were human, and we were happy.
I've picked up the phone to call you, and set it back down so many times.  I want to tell 
you what it's been like, to feel him growing inside me.  Tell you about the first time he 
kicked, the cravings I had in the middle of the night.  And I want you to tell me what 
heaven is like.  For I know that the day I spent in your arms was exactly that.


Never wonder what I'll feel as living shuffles by
You don't have to ask me and I need not reply
Every moment of my life from now until I die
I will think or dream of you and fail to understand
How a perfect love can be confounded out of hand 


I know that you love me.  I've never doubted it, not for a moment.  Sometimes it's hard 
though, because I'm here, and you're not.  You're there in LA, helping others, maybe 
even moving on.  I know that's what you wanted for me, but I can't.  Because I love you, 
and I'll always love you.  That's something that will never change, I can't change that, 
and I don't want to.
I wonder if Cordelia's said anything to you yet, about my pregnancy.  I made her swear 
not to, it was unfair of me.  She shouldn't have to bear that burden.  I've made the others 
promise not to tell you either.  For some reason there's this selfish part of me that doesn't 
want to let you know about him.  I keep thinking that if you knew, you'd come back. And 
I wouldn't know if you were just coming back because of the baby, or because of us, 
because you miss me as much as I miss you.
I'm still writing, more to alieve my guilt for not letting you know.  You have a son, 
Angel.  A beautiful little boy who sent me into labor six hours ago.  He's the most perfect 
thing I've ever seen in my life.  He has the deepest brown eyes, exactly like yours, and a 
full head of dark hair.  I like to think that maybe he looks exactly like you.  Maybe he is 
the only way I will get to have you in my life.


Is it written in the stars?
Are we paying for some crime?
Is that all that we are good for
Just a stretch of mortal time?
Is this some god's experiment
In which we have no say?
In which we're given paradise
But only for a day? 


I constantly wonder what I've done wrong.  Maybe it was wrong to love you, and that's 
why we're apart.  I know that you would tell me I'm being crazy.  Maybe even own it up 
to that post-pardom thing.  But it's not something I've just been thinking about today, it's 
something I've thought about since you lost your soul.  The next thing you would say is 
that it's your fault, not mine.  That you have to make amends for all the things you did.
I don't believe that, not for a second.  You're not the only one suffering through this, I 
am too.  So that means I must have done something to deserve it.  I have to wonder what 
though.  I accepted my destiny, I fought the demons, I saved lives.  Haven't I earned the 
right to love you?  I guess not.
I'm going to end this letter now, because I realize that I'm crying.  My tears are 
smudging the ink.  Someday maybe I'll let you read this, let you know how I was feeling. 
Right now I can't.  And I really need to stop or my mom and Giles will wake up and 
wonder why I'm crying my eyes out.  Everybody's been so, well really good about it.  
My being pregnant.  Even mom.  She and Giles wouldn't leave me alone once I went into 
labor.  And I'm glad, because I needed someone here with me.  I know it should have 
been you.  I'll hate myself later for denying you all these things that you had the right to 
experience. Maybe you'll hate me for it too.

Love,
Buffy


Nothing can be altered, there is nothing to decide
No escape, no change of heart, nor any place to hide
You are all I'll ever want but this I am denied
Sometimes in my darkest thoughts I wish I'd never learned
What is to be in love and have that love returned 


"Where did you find this?" Iain asked me.

"I was looking through mom and dad's old things, photo albums, everything." I answered 
my older brother.  "I thought you should have some of them.  Especially that one, it's 
kind of about you."

"Thank you," he whispered.  That tone was back in his voice, the one that creeps in when 
he's thinking about you.  I look at him, and I see Daddy.  Mom was right; Iain's exactly 
like him.  He even goes into what I call, his brooding stares.

"There are lots more, if you want to read them."  I handed him a thick stack of worn 
envelopes.  He looked at them as if they were gold.  "I never realized how many letters 
they'd written to each other, even after they were married and everything."

"They always did stuff like that," he whispered.  "Mom always put little notes in our 
lunches, remember?"

"I remember," I could only nod my head afterwards; I could feel the tears starting to 
constrict my throat.

"I miss them," he said, the tears already starting to run down his face.

"Me too," I answered.  "Why don't you keep those?"

"Don't you want them?"

"I've got pictures, other letters.  Mom left me her journals.  You should have some of 
them too."

"Brighid?"

"Yes?"

"Do you ever wish you could just see them once more and let them know how much they 
meant to you?"

"All the time.  Everyday since they died," I whispered.

"Me too."

"They always knew you loved them.  You always told them.  I never did."

"But they knew," he told me; trying to relieve some of the guilt I was feeling.


Is it written in the stars?
Are we paying for some crime?
Is that all that we are good for
Just a stretch of mortal time?
Is this some god's experiment
In which we have no say?
In which we're given paradise
But only for a day 

So I gave Iain a stack of letters that the two of you had written to each other, but never 
sent.  I didn't let him know I'm writing this journal, he'd probably think I'm crazy. 
Maybe I am.  Maybe you're not really reading this at all.  But like Mom said before, I 
don't believe that, not for a second.  I know you're here, listening to all the things I 
should've told you.

I love you Mom and Daddy,
Brighid


Is this some god's experiment
In which we have no say?
In which we're given paradise
But only for a day