Joss Whedon is the master of this universe in which I play.

Reflection

She was the sort prone to impulsiveness, but that hadn't always been of the bad.

Like when she'd kissed Angel. Very much of the good. It had been so long and there had been all that basking, and warmth and glowiness. Definitely of the good.

Until it wasn't.

After, when she had looked at him, there in the basement, and she had seen his heart reflected in his eyes, torn and raw and almost bleeding, she had wanted to look away because she couldn't bear to see him like that. No amount of glowiness was worth that.

Of all the ways they had been with each other, touch was what they had understood best. Touch for the good, or for the bad. She was so over the bad with him. So she had reached out, stroked his face, dared to look into his eyes, and saw then a different reflection, of a heart ever-forgiving and open towards her.

He had lain down beside her, unspeaking yet saying everything through his caresses, fingertips stroking and lingering, loving. Beyond the comings together of their dark past, they had made love by just being, every sense heightened, hearts one. And she had never felt so safe, so adored.

Now he slept and she simply watched him, her fingers ghosting over his eyebrows, cheek and lips. The love she felt flow between them overwhelmed her ability to speak, even to breath.

Her champion. Her best friend. A part of her for always.

Impulsively - and definitely for the good this time, she thought - she whispered right into his heart.

I love you.