Well I never claimed to understand what happens after dark
But my fingers catch sparks at the thought
Of touching you
When you're wounded
Let me break it down, til I force the issue
We miss your face
And you know—I wish you could come back
Down

“Wounded” - Third Eye Blind

I open my eyes to darkness. My head hurts and so does my nose. I feel something warm and wet slide across my forehead and I shift, my bones creaking. Where in the hell am I? Oh God, these questions. So stupid. What does it matter where I am? I suspect its Hell wherever I turn.

That's when I remember. Angel. His eyes. It must have been a dream.

“Spike?” I ask into the blackness and hear an indrawn breath.

“No.”

Oh,

God.

I know that voice. I know everything about it. I know how it says my name.

Never simple.

I stay lying down, and now can make out faint outlines. I'm in a hotel room, but it's not the one I've been sharing with Spike and Dawnie.

“Angel?” I whisper, and wait for the laugh- the 'shut up, blondie, your boyfriend's dead…”

But all I hear is his soft answer, “Yeah?”

“You're alive.” It comes out like an accusation.

“So are you,” he reminds me, and I sit up finally, not quite ready to look at him. I can tell he's sitting with his back against the headboard, and his hand rests near my thigh, holding a washcloth, which is glistening with droplets of water. Warm trickles of liquid drip down my spine, running over my flesh like his fingers did the night they took my virginity and innocence and life all at once.

“Spike told me you were dead,” I murmur, feeling dizzy.

He sighs and I hear the tinge of rage in his voice before it goes blank. “He thought I was, I suppose. I disappeared underground after they took everyone. I'm sure he assumed I was dead.”

I nod and look up, the breath leaving my belly and lungs as I do. He's beautiful. Was he always so beautiful? He stares into my eyes, and I drown in that moment, remembering him and remembering us and seeing his dark as night gaze, his skin as smooth as chalk dust and the palest fire- and I whisper, “Everyone's dead, you know. All my friends.”

He takes my hand, pressing it into his palm and draws me forward. I curve closely into his side and he wipes my cheeks and blood stained lips and nose with the sopping cloth once more. “That may not be the case,” he finally says.

“What?” I jerk, and bang my elbow against the wall in my haste to turn and look at him. His eyes could never lie to me. But he restrains me;

“Shush, love. Just be still for a moment. I don't want your nose to swell up…” he pauses and then presses something icy cold to my face. I realize I must have hit the floor pretty hard when I saw the living dead before my eyes. “Spike didn't tell you everything, obviously. About the camps, and about Willow and Giles and everyone.”

“Well then what really happened?” I mumble.

“After you—“ he breaks off. “After the fight, Willow came and told me. I started coming down to Sunnydale every weekend to help with the Slaying and everything. The Council wouldn't let Faith out of jail so there was no Slayer. It was pretty messy. Especially when the veils between the world weakened even more and demons came pouring out of the dimensions. I wasn't in Sunnydale when they arrived.” I hear the bleakness in his tone and know right then that he blames himself. “But I came during the middle. Everyone was gone. Except Spike. I asked him where Dawn was, and he told me he hid her and he didn't want me near her. I tried to find her, but I just couldn't. I went back to LA and it was rubble. They had taken everyone- and the fires were starting. Somehow I got underground and found my way here.”

“Are you saying that my friends might be alive?” I ask, unwilling to let myself hope. They're dead. They must be dead. Spike said so. I can't think.

(You have to look closer Buffy. You have to save those who need saving.)

“They might be,” he hesitates. “But in those camps… a person might as well be dead, Buffy.” His voice cracks. “I… I haven't said your name in four years. Not since Willow told me you were dead.”

My breath hitches as I sit up and feel the pain shoot through my throbbing facial muscles. “Spike said some other things.”

His thumb brushes my cheek. “What did he tell you?”

I change my mind and ask instead, “Are you and Darla together? I mean, it's totally fine if you are. Of course. Why wouldn't it be?”

“Why indeed?” he echoes, sounding confused.

“Are you?” I mutter, afraid of the answer, afraid of everything. Is he really alive? If I touch him, will he be nothing but ash and bone? Will he dissolve and hit into the atmosphere like so much dust to the wind?

His hand grips my arm suddenly, and it's Angel and it's real and I can't think of anything but him suddenly. I thought he was dead, and now he's here. What do I do? I think that this is worse than when he came back from Hell the first time. Even then I had hope. Now I'm not so sure there is anything left of us, but memories of kisses sweet and burning rage.

“Buffy.” He whispers the name and it's good. So good to hear him say my name. I thought the word had lost all meaning. The Buhhh still sounds alien to my ears. “You were dead. I thought I had lost you forever, this time. I'm not with Darla. But we… we're connected. She's still my Sire. And she works with me. We work together. You have to understand… a lot has changed.”

I remember me saying something along those lines to him when he came back from Hell. Yeah, Angel… I'm doing so much better in school and gosh, I'm dating someone now! Wanna know all about him?

I feel sick and realize what he must have felt then. My belly boils with blood and sweat and all the lives I've saved and lost over the years and I nod. “A lot's changed,” I repeat dutifully.

He shakes his head, and cups my face. “A lot's changed. But I still love you. That will never change. I told you that- long ago. Do you remember?”

I remember the flare of the fire and the way it danced across his skin. “Nothing can change it,” I whisper, “not even death.”

“Yes,” his mouth touches my forehead, and he lowers me back amongst the pillows. “Sleep, ok? I have to go talk to everyone. Figure out what we're going to do.”

“Angel?” I murmur, and he leans in close, so my lips are against his ear.

“Yes?”

“You know I never stopped loving you?”

He nods, and I think I feel the drip of salty tears on my neck, but know I must have imagined it.

“I know. Sleep now. Dream.”

“This is all a dream,” I mumble thickly, and everything blurs as I slip beneath the waves and into the raven's wings, it's feathers enveloping me in their black embrace.

I'm sitting in Xander's basement, the smell of musty laundry filling my nostrils as I wrinkle them and watch him walk into the room.

“Hey, you ever heard of detergent?” I grin and he shakes his head.

“So you're back, Buff. I admit, I was wondering when you'd return to the land of the living.”

“What can I say?” I giggle. “I missed you, Xand.”

He waggles a finger at me. “No need to flirt me with me, ya little slut. I know what you're after.”

“And that would be?” “Information, of course. Which I'm surprised you would come to me for, but that's fine. I am a well stocked source of info when it comes right down to it.”

“A regular walking Encyclopedia,” I murmur dryly and he looks offended.

“We can't all be Giles. Now- what am I doing in your head?”

“I don't know,” I shake my head sadly, glancing around. “Didn't you move into an apartment?”

He laughs. “I guess the image of this place is indelibly painted in your brain cells. Wait…” he pauses and then shouts excitedly, “I'm having a thought! Willow… Willow's doing this. She can make me dream of you.” His eyes glow for a startling second. “Not that I don't usually. You're a hard girl to forget, Buff.”

My stomach knots and I swallow the wash of pain, sighing, “I'm sorry, Xand.”

“You just need to remember Buffy,” he says. “Remember who you were, and we'll all come out of this in one piece. Sort of. Some of us may be missing pieces, but basically, we'll all be there.”

“I don't get it!” I mutter, frustrated. “Remember what?”

“You forgot yourself,” he tells me. “You forgot your dreams. You forgot what made you, you. You forgot what you love. You died so long ago. Before Dawn. You died with that sword and that Hell. Do you remember?”


I see Acathla's eyes and shiver. “I think I do.”

He grins wryly. “I don't like it. But he's the one. You tried to hide it. You tried to hide yourself, your darkness. You have to find it again, Buff. Then you can save who needs saving.”

“I miss you, Xander,” I say quietly.

He nods. “I know. I love you. Be strong, Buff. Then we can get out of this.”

The room begins to dissolve. “Tell Giles I'm thinking of him.”

I can't see him anymore. I can't see anything. It all starts to scream, then whisper in a building rush that blinds and deafens me with its ferocity.

(Shuuuuuuuuush)

Close your eyes

I don't have time for you

Noooooo—

There's not enough---

How am I supposed to---

With my life?

-- go on?

So I told him that I loved him

Kissed him

Killed him

I wanted to know what you felt--- with

Angel

Angel?

Buffy?

What's

Happening--- close your eyes

(Kill him… forget him… it doesn't help. It is never forgotten. Nothing is ever forgotten)

Something happened to Mom

Mommy?

It's not her

It has to have the blood

The only way---

Is to kill---

Dawn—I kill my sister. In that moment, I wanted it---

Because I want you so badly

(Remember) I killed you and it didn't help

What about me?

I've loved exactly one person

A lot has changed

Darla's… we're connected

I still love you

(Sleeeeeeeep, darling. Dream of the past…)

~~~

I see misty forests and glens where stags wait to be hunted. I see ravens bending and bowing as they curve, flying underneath the cloak of night. I dream of Camelot, where everything is rotten to the core, but sweet to the touch. Riley comes to me with his insistent embrace and I remember how lying next to him made me feel dead and safe and blank and I remember the emptiness of his hollow kisses and the way I wanted to love him—

-- oh, how I wanted to!

But I never could and he never forgave me for that.

I suppose I didn't need him to. I see myself, flying to the helicopter on legs too strong to be a girl's, with hands too small to hang on to a boy- and watch it soar into the sky for the thousandth time, carrying him away. I see myself- and the relief- and how I tried to hide it, but it flooded my insides like poison and I walked home, ready to throw up to get that feeling away.

I dream of when Angel left.

And I was numb.

I was numb. For years. I didn't feel anything. There was no roar, no burn, no fire and no consequence.

There was only silence.

~~~

I wake up and think for a moment that I'm sweating, but realize Angel is beside me again, with the washcloth to my face, trickling sweet warm water over my wounds. It drips into my ears and they tickle, causing me to smile slightly.

“Angel?” I ask.

“Yes?”

“Did you get over me?”

He sort of breathes in and then sighs. “How could I get over you?” he inquires softly. “You're not only you, Buffy. You're my heart.”

Suddenly I feel the tears.

They swell in my throat and sting my eyes, and I turn over, crawling up Angel's body to his chest. I bury my face in his neck, and feel the cool skin against my hot cheeks. His hands hold me tight, and finally I cry.

We lie there for a long time, for hours, and he murmurs things only I would understand, and his arms cradle and rock me, and I sob out all the terror I've felt since I've been back.

There's a knock on the door in the dawning hours of the morning. Angel presses a kiss to my eyelashes and then calls, “Yes?”

It opens, and I feel Spike as soon as he enters. His voice is riddled with anger, with fury, but all he says is, “It's time for the meeting. You bring the Slayer.”

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