Ember in the Ashes
By KNS

Disclaimer: Two words - not mine. Three more words - wish they were. And now the rest - everything belongs to Joss Whedon and anyone else that is not me.

Author's Notes: This is a stand alone fic set in the forth season around Christmas; it is not part of any series I've created. Here's hoping you'll like it anyway.


She didn't know why she was doing this. This had to be one of the worst things she ever could have chosen to do. Why, why was she doing it? Stop, she told herself. Turn around and go back to the dorm.

But her feet kept moving, and step by step Buffy Summers made her waytowards the edge of town, towards a dark, silent mansion, and a handful of memories best forgotten.

Sunnydale was in full holiday mode. Lights of red and green were strung across the streets; garlands and ribbons had been tied to every lamp post and telephone pole. ‘Merry Christmas' signs were hanging from store windows, and at homes everywhere Christmas tree lights shone brightly through glass.

If she listened carefully, she could hear snatches of holiday music escaping from the houses. If she looked through the windows, she could see families smiling and laughing together.

She bowed her head and walked down the empty street, concentrating on the sound of her footsteps on the pavement.

Her mother was with some family relative in Nebraska. Willow was with her parents skiing in Vermont. Xander's clan had descended in droves in preparation for tomorrow's meal. Riley had gone home - wherever that was. Where was Angel tonight?

She cut that thought off abruptly. You're a fool, she told herself angrily. You could have gone with Mom to visit Aunt So and So. You could have gone skiing with Will. Right now you could be over at Xander's, trying to keep his cousins from making a pass at you. I wonder what Angel's doing.

"Stop it," she told herself out loud. It didn't do much good. She drew a deep breath, trying to clear her mind, and read the words above the Sunnydale Theater: Pray for Snow - It Worked Last Year!

She looked up at the sky. The stars looked back down at her, white diamonds set on black velvet. It had to be close to sixty degrees out here. There was no way it was going to snow.

The same miracle never happens twice.

She wrapped her arms around herself and walked on, a lonely figure on a lonely street.

*****

At the mansion she chose to enter through the back door rather than the front. She had the keys to both, so it really didn't matter. It was funny, really, when she thought about it - he'd been cold hearted enough to walk away from her and kind hearted enough to leave the keys incase she ever needed a place to stay. That was a man for you, she supposed. She would've rather had the deal reversed, but then she guessed that was why he hadn't asked for her opinion.

She closed her eyes and stepped inside. She shivered - it was cold, colder by far than she'd thought it would be. Her eyes still closed, she listened for sounds, any sounds at all - but there was nothing, not even the rustling of mice.

The silence of the building was echoed in her heart.

With a ragged sigh she opened her eyes. Moonlight shone through an undraped window, shedding a pale, mournful light among the shadows. The fireplace was cold and filled with ashes. A fine layer of dust lay over everything; cobwebs hung from the ceiling. She hadn't realized a home could become so barren after only a few months of vacancy.

Of their own will her feet moved her further into the room. She gazed forlornly back at the door and noticed her footprints in the dust. If she wished hard enough, whole heartedly enough, could she follow those tracts back into a better time? A year to the day ago, she'd wished with every ounce of will she possessed that she'd reach Angel before the sun came up - and it had worked. Were the odds set so much more against her now?

She turned her eyes from the footprints, set her gaze on the cold hearth. She stared at the shadows lurking there, stared until her vision blurred and she could feel the pounding of her heart in her chest.

She was about to give up when suddenly she heard a sound. Was that his footsteps coming down the stairs? Was that his voice calling out her name? Was that his shadow moving on the wall?

She turned with a smile of joy on her face, only to find stillness, silence, and the drapes covering a half-open window moving in a slight breeze.

Loss of hope, fleeting though it had been, left her grieving afresh. What was she doing here, tearing her heart out for old memories littered among ashes and shadows? Gone was gone, and he certainly wasn't coming back. She's done everything she could to hold him, and it hadn't worked, and it was over and that was all there was to it. The end. Finished. Caputs. The grande finale. She should take a bow, for she'd played out her last scene with him.

Her eyes were stiff and swollen. She felt like she'd been crying for a long time.

Slowly she walked over to the front of the couch and sat down, raising a little puff of dust around her. He'd kissed her on this couch. She'd told him she'd been accepted to a half-dozen colleges on this couch. Together they'd read the newspaper and worked on her homework and argued over crossword puzzles on this couch. Now she sat staring blindly at an empty fireplace, listening for a familiar sound that she would never hear.

She laid down, not caring about the dirt. She shouldn't feel like this. After all, she was luck to have had any time with him at all, right? The world was filled with billions of people who never found their heart's equals, and she'd had him for two or three years, so why was she complaining?

"Because I deserve more," she cried into the darkness, and then, as her words were echoed and flung back at her, she started to weep, because her words were true, but no one was listening.

*****

There was a warmth on her face.

That was what she realized first. Then she noticed that there was a lightness behind her eyes.

"Buffy," a voice said softly. "Buffy, wake up." Slowly, slowly she cracked open her eyes to find a roaring fire on the hearth and a beautiful figure crouched down at her head. "This is the most wonderful dream I've ever had," she said, her voice low and soft.

Angel laughed quietly and smiled. "I'm flattered," he answered, then gently kissed her forehead. "Merry Christmas, beloved."

She reached out and laid a hand on his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Angel."

The fire was warm, and its light drove all the shadows from the room.

*****

Her eyes snapped open, and it took her a full minute to remember where she was.

And another full minute to understand that she was alone.

Slowly, slowly she sat up. The room was filled with sunlight, all but a few shadows banished with the night. There was no fire on the hearth. There were no glasses of eggnog waiting on the table. And there was no Angel, kneeling at her head and encouraging her to wake up.

Briefly she buried her head in her hands. A dream, a dream - it had all been a dream. Damn her believing soul.

She abruptly stood up and snatched her keys from the floor where they had fallen. She was leaving, dammit, and she was never coming back. The end. She began to march towards the door she's come in through.

If the sun hadn't been shining just right, if she'd been glaring at the door in stead of the floor, she never would have seen it -

Beside her footprints in the dust rested another pair, longer and wider and very familiar.

She stared at them for a moment, then frantically began to look around, hope painfully swelling in her chest.

"Angel?" she called hesitantly. "Angel?"

But no answer came to her, no voice returned her name. Indeed, there was no other indication at all that he had been there - nothing.

Except -

She stumbled back to the fireplace, dropped to her knees beside it.

Among the cold and scattered ashes, a single red-hot ember remained.


Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low,
As long ago, my love, how long ago.

~ Christina Rossetti - "Echo"