I'm lying here trying to sleep. But this is a strange couch. I hadn't realized how used I'd become to his apartment, his bed, the softness of the sheets and the smell of him on the pillows. The ceiling in Valentia's loft is so high it might as well be the sky. My eyes are streaming salt and the tears burn as they drip down my neck. I can't believe he said Goodbye to me. I can't believe I said goodbye to him. Breathing's hard. Sniffling, I turn over and press my hands to my sore belly. It's stretched and aching with the effort of drawing air into my body. A throb behind my breasts reminds me that I still want a fix.

The material of the couch scratches my face as I pant and gasp against the tears. I don't want Val to hear me. She's high and would be no help. Finally I drift, sleep claiming me.

I'm dreaming. High in the clouds, the whipped cream whiteness of them enfolding me like wings. Willow appears. She wears her normal clothes, strange orange pants and a red T-shirt. Her hair is bright and her eyes wide. She smiles at me. With hands that shake, I touch her. “Will,” I breathe quietly, joyously.

“Buffy,” she says clearly. “Hi.”

Her voice. I had forgotten it. “I miss you,” I tell her softly and she grins.

“Why?”

“Because you died,” I remind her and she looks surprised.

“But you have your memories of me,” she remarks as if that should be enough. But it can never be.

“But I need you, Willow.”

She touches my arm. “You never needed anyone, Buffy. You were always the strongest of any of us. I couldn't deal when Oz left, but you were so great when Angel did. You picked up and went on. I always envied that about you.”

I feel bitter. Didn't she realize I died inside when he left me? I guess no one did. I guess maybe I hid it well enough. “I should have saved you, Will,” I whimper as I stare at her. She smiles sadly.

“You couldn't 've…you realize that when you die. No one could have saved you. If it's your time to go, it's your time to go. And besides, Buffy, I always wanted to die heroically. I was proud about how I went. Saving the world. Helping you. That's all I ever wanted to do, was help you. Help people. You gave me so much, Buffy.”

I feel the tears drip down my lips and I lick them absently. “I didn't save you at that moment you needed me most, Will. I didn't help Dawn or Faith. Or Anya. What was I thinking?”

She grins, and her teeth show. “You were being you. Trying to save everyone. You just couldn't, Buffy.” She frowns. “And shame on you for marrying Riley afterwards.”

I bow my head and laugh. “I always thought you liked him.”

She laughs to. “I did. But not as a husband…and besides, Buffy, we were all blind. We didn't see what was right in front of us that whole time.”

“And what's that?” I ask her and she cocks her head to the side, regarding me seriously.

“That Angel was your future. I guess all of us were almost scared at how much he was of your life. We didn't think you could control your love for him and me, being all scientifically minded…I just didn't get it. We were all happy when he left. We barely talked about him after that. And you were so great about it that I guess I assumed that you had moved on. And that made me glad. I'm so sorry Buffy. I should've seen that you were always going to love Angel.”

I touch her arm. “It's ok. I don't think I even realized it. But he's moved on, I think.”

She smiles strangely and shakes her red head. Her hair looks like brilliant fire and I think she's beautiful. “Buffy…you haven't figured out that he loves you and always will, yet, have you? You two have to work this out…”

She's fading away and I realize I must be waking up. Reaching out desperately, I try and hug her but she's gone and my eyes open to sunshine. A new day. My face is sticky and stained. Valentia is passed out in the bathroom. Her hair is lank and frizzy and her skin pale. She lies on the tiled floor; her face slack and her mouth purpled.

I wonder if I used to look like that. Dead. But still alive. I take a shower and make some coffee. She's going to have a headache when she wakes up. Setting a glass of water and some aspirin on the floor next to her, I get dressed and walk down to the corner to get a newspaper. It's time to look of a job.

~~~

I like walking to work. Well, at least I like walking to the subway. My heels click against the pavement and I keep to the right side of the street. Under my arm is a fashion magazine to read on the train. In my hand is a hot coffee with milk and sugar. I don't eat in the morning. Usually my hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail. I wear a suit. Black. Sexy and yet elegant.

Working at Bloomingdales is a dream come true. It really is. When I went looking for a job, I started out delivering sandwiches for a deli in the daytime and working as a waitress at night. But soon as I looked and looked, I found out that the legendary department store was hiring in their personal shopping section.

I blew all my money on a suit. I cleaned up and was capable and confident and I nailed the interview. They gave me the job. I shop for people. It's not intellectually stimulating, but it's work and it pays. I did it. I actually make money and I was able to get another apartment for myself. Trying to get Val to move was useless. She wouldn't.

I like walking to work. I feel like I have a place in this huge city. It swallowed me up before, but now, I'm a part of it. I'm not overwhelmed by it. It took six months, but maybe I've made it.

~~~

My Boss says a crisp hello as I enter. I smile at her and go into my office. Files are piled on my desk. Keeping track of all the clients is a tough job. Sometimes it makes me sweat and for a moment I wonder if I can do it all. If I can be that girl on top of everything. Then I remember Angel and I know I can.

Sitting down at my desk, I think of him. It's been a while since I let myself. I haven't seen him since that day he left me again. Or I left him. I'm not sure which. It's been over half a year since I touched drugs and I feel like my blood might finally run clear. Like there's no disease left. In the heaviness of the night I still crave it. My hands sometimes shake and that ache behind my breasts sounds like a dark bell. But bearing it becomes easier and easier. Someday I'll be cured. Not just yet, though.

“Hey Buffy.”

Oh great. Maggie Glendon comes into my office with a grin on her freckled face. She's a supermodel and they're the ones I hate dressing the most. But she is nice so I guess it's not so bad. Pasting the smile of professionalism on my face, I rise and shake her hand casually. “Hey Maggie.”

She flops down on the chair in front of my desk, one long leg slung over the side. Her arms are depressingly bony. I've put on a little weight over the last few months and feel much better. Seeing skin stretched over someone's frame like hers, scares me.

It's June and smoggy. I still wear suits, but I wear a tank under them to ward off the heat. Thank God there's an a/c in here. Maggie fans herself and complains that she's never been hotter. “Need some summer clothes?” I ask her, pen poised to take down anything she might throw at me.

“Sort of,” she drawls and scratches her blonde scalp with one long nail. “I'm going away on a shoot to Bermuda and I want some bikinis, that sort of thing. I want to impress the photographer.”

“Maggie,” I say, trying to keep the chiding note out of my voice. “You always made it your rule never to get with the photographers.”

“I know,” she whines. “But he is so good-looking. God's gift to women, I'm sure.”

I smile tolerantly and mark down some bikinis in the catalogue that I think she would like. “Anyone I know?”

“Maybe,” she responds, filing away at her nails with a rapt expression. “Angel something? I don't know his last name.”

My pen almost slips but I catch myself and bite my lip. “Angel? Nope…don't- don't know him.”

“He's so nice to,” Maggie sighs and wrinkles her nose. “Such a gentleman, which isn't great for me.”

“Do these look ok?” I ask, pointing to the suits I picked out and thankfully she is distracted from the subject of my former lover.

~~~

Usually I eat lunch at my desk. A salad and some iced tea. But today the office is choking me and I grab my bag, going outside into the musky summer day. The smell of car exhaust and coffee reaches my nose, mixing in with the scent of hundreds of different restaurants all crammed together along the street. Chinese, Thai, Mexican…it all whirls together. Feeling light-headed, I start to walk and slowly everything clears and I can see normally. I take off my suit jacket and rub my thin arms.

Taking a cab to Dean and DeLuca in Soho, I get out and walk into the crowded food emporium, my mouth aching for he taste of hot coffee. The counter is shiny and smooth under my fingertips. Setting the change down, I order a coffee and a sandwich.

“Buffy?”

His voice. Turning, I'm faced with Angel. He's sweaty and looks absolutely wonderful. He enfolds me in his arms. Oh God. He smells so good that I want to taste his flesh. Tearing myself away from him, I smile and he says, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” I answer. It hurts to look at him.

“How's…the withdrawal?” he asks and I bow my head.

“It's actually better. Still a little hard at night, but I think soon I'll be totally done with the sick thing.”

He smiles and indicates my suit and briefcase, “Very professional.”

“Yeah, well, got the job now,” I remark and lean against the counter as the man hands me my coffee and goes to make the sandwich. Angel nods and grins.

“Where do you work?”

“Bloomies,” I respond with a shrug and the coffee burns my mouth as I gulp it. “I work in personal shopping. Shopping for a living sort of thing. Too bad I didn't have this job as a teen instead of being a Slayer. I would've excelled.”

He laughs softly. “You would have excelled at anything. You still do.”

That makes me smile. He always knows what to say. “Thanks, Angel…so how are you lately?”

“Fine,” he answers and sips his tea hastily. “Busy. I've been doing a lot of work. Listen…Buffy, do you want to have some dinner tonight? Catch up?”

Looking away, I glance down at the floor and it appears blurry. “I thought you were going to Bermuda?”

I can hear it in his voice, he's startled. “What? How did you know that?”

“Oh, a model that's coming with you…for the shoot. Maggie Glendon? She came into my office today and told me.” I swallow and gaze at him, and force a smile to my face. I realize my eyes are brimming with tears. “She likes you.”

He regards me seriously and contemplatively for a moment as I pay for my sandwich, my eyes still locked with his. “She's a nice girl,” he says finally. “But I'm not looking for anyone like that.”

“Like what?” I ask, and my voice is snappish but I can't help it. “Like a model? Like beautiful?”

“Like anyone that's not you,” he cuts me off and his tone is tender and gentle and all the anger in me flows away. My smile is involuntary as I gaze at him in the middle of Dean and DeLuca, people all around us. He reaches out and his hand embraces mine. His fingers squeeze my hand and his thumb rubs the outside flesh. I close my eyes and just feel the sensation of Angel…Angel close. Angel with me. Oh, Angel…I love you…

I open my eyes and he's staring at me like he always did. Like there was no one else in the world he wanted to fix his gaze upon. “Come to Bermuda with me,” he says suddenly and I laugh, startled.

“What?”

He's serious. “It would be good for you…and I want…I don't know, Buffy. I want us to get to know each other again. Without drugs or Sunnydale or vampires…or anything in the way…you need this anyway. A trip would put you one step closer on the road to recovery, I know it would.”

“You're babbling,” I say absently and run my hand down my arm. My elbows are sharp and still I can feel the outline of my bones. Looking down I realize how skinny I still am. How pale. I still look dead. But I'm alive.

Or am I? Maybe I'm not healed yet.

I look up and feel Angel take my hand again. His eyes are pleading and I open my mouth to answer.

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