Since it's nighttime, Kennedy is a little quieter than normal. I take my coffee and orange juice and sit down by a large window, overlooking the various runways. Planes are being loaded up, and lights blink in the black sky. I've always hated airports and never known why.

I should never have agreed to take this account. I don't like flying. Just because the investors for this company want to meet with me… doesn't mean I should have to take a plane all the way the hell to Barbados to talk to them. Couldn't they live somewhere ordinary? I take out my business card and stare at it. Buffy Summers… is that even my name? Sometimes I don't know who I am anymore. I used to wear leather and walk the night.

Now I dress in suits and tie my hair back so sleekly it hurts. Right now I'm clad in a khaki pants and a white tank top with a white sweater over it. No need to be uncomfortable on the flight. The flight. Damnit, my hands are shaking.

The coffee burns my mouth. Quickly I sip the pulpy orange juice and it slides down my throat with ease, mending my red lips. My eyes flit to the window again. I can see the plane I will take being loaded with luggage and the animals in their cages. Sometimes I think how sad it is for them, stuck in the dark bowels of the aircraft. But I also think they are more fortunate than us, because they don't know what is going on.

“All passengers for flight 187 to Barbados, please commence boarding at gate 34.”

My legs wobbling slightly, I get up and throw away the paper cups, straightening my shoulders and walking towards the gate. I place my bags on the belt and let myself be checked over by security. Gathering my things, my feet take me to the on ramp.

People crowd past me, talking noisily about what they are going to do in Barbados. A woman wears a Hawaiian shirt and it makes me grin. The promise of a vacation is always so nice. A couple of kids bump into my knees and take off, hitting each other with little fingers. Their bright T-shirts swim before my gaze as I glide on, my footfalls light and purposeful.

An overly cheerful flight attendant greets me, her make-up cracked around her cheeks from the permanent smile. It makes me feel sorry for her, so I'm very polite as she leads me to my seat. It's a small plane, narrow. A steel tube. I sit down and close my eyes immediately. My stomach hurts and I wish desperately for something to put me to sleep. If only I could lapse into drugging forgetfulness until we land safely, as I know we will.

~~~

The person sitting next to me has a burn mark on her knee. I want to ask her about it. It's red and shiny, swathing the pale flesh like a badge. She keeps moving her skirt down as if to cover it and I know she must know I'm staring. Sighing, I turn away and press my face against the cold plastic of the window. It's so small and dark, and all I can see is whirling silvery clouds. I know far below me is blue, blue ocean and maybe some ships, trawling the waves for fish. Cruise boats where people are dancing the night away. And down down down is where the shipwrecks are, and the mermaids and the silence of the deep.

Whenever I see the ocean, I miss Sunnydale. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's the salt smell of it, or the way it reflects the sunlight. But I do know my heart cracks a little whenever I see it. Maybe it reminds me of Mommy, or of Dawn…of Willow and Xander and Giles. I haven't seen the Scoobies in a few months. Not since the last anniversary when I went to the graves.

There was already some white lilies at my mother's. I lay down a bouquet of freesias, her favourite flower, and touched the stone. It was cold. It always was, no matter how much the sun flooded it.

It's only a short walk to Dawnie's from there, and I strolled through the lush grass, my feet sinking into the mud as I went. Dawn Summers… pretty pink roses adorned the worn grass, and I smiled a little, knowing Xander must have been there. I sat down for a while, talking to her, my little sister. Telling her about my big job in New York City, imitating the accent for her. I could almost hear her giggle…that fresh innocent laugh, as I chatted about nothing and everything. Lying back, I looked up at the sun and pretended she was with me, and that I was stroking her silky brown hair. I always pretend when I go there. It makes it easier.

And then I did what I always do. I walked back to my Mommy. I lay down and felt the hot sting of tears in my throat. I pushed my fingers into the earth surrounding her and wept out all the dull pain that still festered in my belly. The pain of a girl that needs her mother. Everytime I go I think that will be the last time I'll cry. But it never is.

And then I did the last thing I always do. I walk away. Well maybe that isn't the last thing… because I look back. I always look back.

~~~

The restroom is hot and the walls sweat. It smells in here and I take a look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are hollow and so are my cheeks. I think I look like I have a disease. I pee and wash my hands, all normal things that feel normal and are normal so why do I feel strange for a moment?

I'm thrown into the mirror. The glass cracks and my lip splits, spurting blood that drips down to the counter. I stare at it in amazement and realize my head is aching. Opening the door to the bathroom, I am jostled into the flight attendant.

That's when I guess I figure out something is wrong. People are screaming. My stomach lurches as I look down the aisle and see that it is at an angle that it is not straight. It is going down, like a long slide. What did I say about landing safely? Now I wonder. Now I know. No one is starting their vacation tonight.

“Sit down,” the stewardess yells to me, over the rumble of the engines. The plane is not happy, and it's going to let the deep sea swallow us. Have us for breakfast. I feel vomit swell in my throat and fall down into the nearest available seat. My hands are trembling so much I think they are going to fall off and there is a roar in my ears that is louder than the loudest sound.

“Buffy?”

I look and I see him and it doesn't feel real. His voice is scared and his eyes wide. He is still Angel though. Of all the times. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. The plane banks sharply and I can almost feel the pilot struggling for control. We're going up now, and my insides are still going down.

Tears squeeze past my eyelids as I look at my former lover, who I haven't seen since the End of Days fight. “Angel…” I sob and he reaches out and grabs my hand. His fingers are warm, reassuring. Mine are icy. The child in the arms of the woman next to me cries. Her eyes are huge and red with a baby knowledge that something isn't right.

The screaming…if only it would stop…the plane is going up and down, up and down…and then down…down… I can tell the pilot knows we're going to be hitting water soon and wants to make the descent easier. I don't know what's wrong, but I want it over. Angel is trying to crush my fingers with his hand and I'm looking down, swallowing back my vomit, dizzily thinking of all the things I still want to do.

I want to spend a night in Central Park. Find out if you really can live through it.

I want to get married. Wear a wedding dress and eat stupid frosted cake.

I want to have a baby. Get fat and eat because of cravings and then take lots of drugs and yell at my husband for getting me this way.

I want to dye my hair jet black and pretend to be cooler than I am.

I want to go to Paris and walk down by the River Seine.

I want to read books like “Ulysses” and “A Brief History of Time” and understand them. I want the words to touch me.

I want to cry at old movies on rainy Saturdays and eat popcorn and cream cheese bagels and be lazy in pyjamas.

I want to kiss Angel again…

A terrific pain rips through my body, a jolt that hits me and makes my whole being ache like it's been crushed. My ribs cave and I feel like they're broken. We hit the water. I'm still alive. But I can't see anything. Everything is dark and wet…noooo…wet…water laps at me and I realize we're sinking.

“Oh God…”

He isn't listening… he isn't here. We're alone in the deep dark ocean and everyone is screaming at once. Angel grabs me, yanking me up. I assume it's him. I'm blinded in this dark blackness…endless night. We push and pull and the water covers my knees. I can see fire. Fire…fuel…

“Buffy! Come on!” he cries to me and he's dragging me down the soggy aisle as the ocean eats hungrily at my knees. There are so many bodies. A jagged piece of the plane cuts and rips into my arm as Angel tugs me out a gash in the side of it.

We're in the sea and a brilliant fire spits at us from one side of the drowning plane. I can see Angel's face finally. We're treading water and there's nothing below us but death. I know it, and I don't know what we're doing. No one is going to find us in time. No more time… woozily I drift onto my back and blink up at the stars. They are red… and that's when I feel the blood flowing into my eyes. I must have cut my head.

“Stay awake…Buffy…” Angel cries in my ear and slaps me across the face harshly. His voice is panicked. I smile at him with aching teeth and think about biting him or slashing him across the face with my nails.

“Hold onto me,” he orders and I cough as salty water fills my nose as I loop my thin arms around his neck. My sweater pulls at my skin, like a deadweight. I don't have shoes on. They must have gotten lost.

I can't see the plane anymore. I think Angel is swimming.

Briefly, I look back. Fire illuminates the sky and turns it red, like blood.

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