I'm sitting eating on the quad with Juliet and Beth. It's very hot and my hair sticks to my forehead as I bite into a slice of orange. As the juice slides down my parched and salty throat, I sigh and look out into the distance.

“Pensive today Buff…” Juliet notes as the fork she is using slices into a large piece of chocolate cake. She loves sweet things. Anything with icing, anything containing sugar. I like salt.

“No more than usual,” I answer flippantly, and open up a bottle of water. “Besides, it's too hot to do anything but lie around.”

Beth looks up from her magazine and smiles wearily. “You would think this heat wave would be over. Man…I am about to roast out here.”

“I know,” I agree and pour some water on my neck. Who cares? I'm wearing a tank top and the cotton will soak it up easily. Juliet is watching. If I didn't know better I would think she was looking at my breasts. “Do you guys want to split? Go get some ice cream?”

They do so we go and have a fun girly time. Ice cream is sweet and cold and on that hot day, it's heaven. Later I go home and sit in my room. There isn't anything on the walls and I feel like doing something about that. Maybe I could put up some pictures of movie stars. Make it look normal.

My throat hurts and I want some water, but my legs won't move. If I sit still for too long I start to feel itchy. Maybe it's the left over sand. It seems to be washing away slowly. I haven't seen Angel since that night, which was a week ago, and I don't know when I will again. We came too close. Came too close to losing it and fucking each other senseless. But then I think, would it be so bad if we did?

I need to lose it. I need to let go.

~~~

My Grandma Elizabeth was a girl once. I could never believe it when I was younger. But she was, and she loved to dance. When I was little I would sit on her lap and she would tell me that during the war she entertained the soldiers with songs and a little pirouette. “What's a war?” I asked then, and her eyes were old as she patted my head.

“It's not a nice time,” was all she would say. But when I'd tug on her hair, she would laugh and peck my cheek. “Someday I'll tell you all about my lovers and my losses and my life…”

She died before I could hear about it. Sometimes I regret that those stories were taken to the grave with her. Before I could pick at them, and learn from them. I remember her hands. They were beautiful. Gnarled and bent as she got older, but always soft, like silk. She told me she used a lot of lotion, but I just thought she was blessed. I used to ask her if she painted, and her silvery laugh was light as she'd say, “No. But I sang. And that's enough for me.”

Maybe it was enough, but as a child, I wondered how she could say that. I wanted to paint, and dance and sing, all at the same time. I used to practice all three and try and perfect myself to be what people wanted.

~~~

From: WiccaSister89@hotmail.com
To: Buffy16@hotmail.com
Subject: Something's up…
Date: December 13th 1999

Buffy,

Hey. Something's going on in Sunnydale. Apparently there are some military commandos we know nothing about roaming around. We've been trying to find out more about them from Spike. He was captured, and now he can't…perform. He tried to bite me…and Buffy, it was so scary. But he couldn't. I'm not sure why, no one is. So how he sort of hangs out with us. Well, really, we tie him to chairs and feed him blood. Not of the good!

Oz is still gone. As I told you, he sent for all his things and hasn't been in contact with us. Me especially I guess. He wants to be somewhere that isn't with me. You know, I want to cry over him still every day? Cause I'll just be sitting somewhere, and something will happen and I'll think, “I gotta remember to tell Oz that”. And then I remember to tell myself he's gone.

I'm been hanging out more with the girl I told you about, Tara. She's a great Wicca. Better than me, and I totally admire her. She's very shy though and I'm hesitant about letting her meet the Scoobies. I just want to keep her all to myself for a while.

I talked to your Mom today. She says she talks to you every couple of days. She misses you, and says the house is empty. I miss you to and hope you will come and visit sometime. I know school must be busy though! That's kick ass that you got a B on your History paper! I knew you could do some great schoolwork…

Have I mentioned I miss Oz? Can you tell me it gets better? Please?

W

~~~

From: QueenC@hotmail.com
To: Buffy16@hotmail.com
Subject: Didn't know you were in LA…
Date: December 15th 1999

Buffy,

Angel grumbled something the other day about you being in LA? Well, why haven't you come down to see me? I know you and Angel have the issues thing…but hey, we did go to High School together!

Anyway, he needs your help…don't freak out. It's not anything demony…well…depends on how you look at it. Our friend, Doyle…he died. He was Vision Guy for our company and he passed them onto me. Angel…he's not taking it well, and I think it would be nice if you could please…come down and talk to him? Please, Buffy? As much as I hate to beg, or hate the fact that you might be the only one who can reach him…I have to ask. Cause I care about that dumb vampire and I'm not letting him lose his mind.

Cordy

PS: Address for A:I up top…

~~~

“Hey.”

Cordelia looks up from where she's typing at the computer and sort of grimaces at me. Her eyes have dark circles under them, and I suddenly wonder how close Doyle was to all of them. I deal with death every day and know what it's like. I feel a rush of sympathy for her, but it's wiped out with her next comment.

“Took you long enough to get your skinny little ass down here! I guess Angel must mean so much to you.”

“Don't start with me Cordy,” I warn her, not even batting an eye. “Where is he?”

With resentment clouding her features, she motions to the elevator. “Go down. He's in his apartment. Being broody-guy. Not good for business. I'll tell you that much…geez…you'd think he would have the decency to snap out of it—“

I lay my hand on her arm. “I'm sorry about Doyle Cordy.”

Her lower lip trembles until she catches it between sharp white teeth. A bead of red swells from the torn skin and she licks it off, her eyes sad. “Thanks.”

I nod and walk into the elevator, feeling it go down in a daze. My every pore revolts at seeing him once more, but maybe I can help. Or maybe I will just make things worse. “Angel?”

There isn't any answer. It's dark down here, the shades drawn even though it's night. The walls breathe with him. My whole being reacts to his smell, his mark, on everything in these rooms. I have never been in a place that screamed his name so much. My stomach hurts. “Angel?” I call again, louder this time.

Treading lightly, I step into the bedroom. There he is. Lying amongst cool white sheets, his pale flesh shadowed and drawn. Purple smudges adorn his eyes, and even from where I stand I can see the tear tracks. He's asleep, but it's troubled, he's moving from side to side, murmuring things I cannot make out. A bottle of tequila lies empty beside the bed, his hand outstretched as if he dropped it.

Picking it up, I cap it and throw it into the nearby garbage. I want to take him in my arms and hold him close, try to ease the suffering wracking his body, the shivers he gives into every once and while. But I'm not sure I can help, so I sit down beside the bed, my fingers absently playing with the coverlet.

~~~

My parents used to fight when I was younger. It wasn't something I understood. They would scream and shout after I had gone to bed. I don't know if they were so delusional as to think I didn't hear them. I remember being four years old and lying curled up in my bed, cowering under my pink sheets. My ears didn't recognize the voices hissing and swirling under the door. Maybe bad people were in my house. That's what I thought.

~~~

My Grandma Elizabeth took me away for a holiday once. She was healthier and I was seven. In all my girlish delight, I loved it. She took me to Hawaii and let me have a sip of her funny tasting drink with the little paper umbrella. It was our secret, she told me. I wasn't to tell my parents. She giggled and sounded younger than my mother. I was in love with her smile and her bright blue dresses. At dinner she treated me like a lady. She told the waiter I was seven and of course I should have the grown up menu. He was amused and patted my head. She leaned in and told me conspiratorially. “That's what men do. Pat our heads. But you never let anyone do that to you, ok darling?” I smiled and shook my head happily. No, I would never let anyone make me feel little. I was seven. That was grown-up.

“My Buffy. So old, before her time I think.” She would always say that. Maybe she knew more then than I would for a long time.

~~~

Angel is shaking. He's not awake yet. I'm starting to think he's unconscious. Tired of waiting, I smack him. “Wake up!”

He doesn't. Damnit. Anyone else would shoot out of the bed after I swatted them. But of course, not him. Staring down at his tortured face, my belly hollows out. I lean down and press my kiss against his. “Wake up sleeping beauty…” I whisper.

His eyelids flicker and his mouth softens under mine. “Buffy?” He murmurs and I pull away, sitting beside him. “What are you doing here?”

His voice is slurred from sleep and I realize I don't think I've heard him when he is just waking up before from a long, deep rest. “Cordy e-mailed me. She's wigging about you. What's this? Death by tequila?”

He groans and I notice his eyes are faintly blood shot. At least vampires get hung over. It would be unfair if they got out of that. “I guess…” he responds and sits up, swaying to the side dizzily. “Did you hear about…?”

“Doyle? Yes,” I reply softly. His mouth is a pained slash as he nods. “I'm sorry…”

Maybe that's a useless thing to say. I've always thought it was. Because, really, what is the person that is saying it, sorry for? Sorry you're feeling like shit? Sorry your friend died? It seems so pat and trivial. But he smiles wanly and he goes to touch my hand. My fingers curl into my palms, and he retreats.

“It means a lot…that you came,” he says, and our eyes lock. “Thank you Buffy.”

“Is there going to be a funeral?” I inquire and he shakes his head.

“No body. Besides, I don't know what family he has…I really don't know anything…”

“It's okay…” I soothe him, and against my better judgement, curve my arms around him, bringing his head down to rest against my shoulder. His face is pressed against my neck, and I feel the hot tears. I guess vampires' don't have dead tears. They're alive and burning and salty.

My own eyes burn, and I caress his head, running my hands through his hair as he buries his face in my lap, slumping down and sobbing, the sounds he's making cutting into me like nothing else could. Murmuring words of comfort that mean nothing and everything all at once. I know my voice will be enough.

~~~

One of my favourite songs has always been “Stairway to Heaven”. I used to wonder if maybe heaven is somewhere that you have to buy your way into. I now look down at the weeping vampire who clings to me, and wonder what he will have to do to get into heaven.

Can he ever buy his way in, saving all these lost souls and helping people in trouble…will it be enough? Or will he be denied that peace?

Maybe heaven isn't what we imagine. I don't think it will be anyway. He's sleeping. The tears have stopped.

~~~

I never had anywhere to cry when I was little. My mother would lock herself in the bathroom and weep after a fight with my father. I had forgotten that until now. Her gasping sobs were so rampant and frightening I couldn't get away from them. I would curl up in my closet and try to hide but they'd follow me.

And part of me always hated my father for making her cry like that. But as the years went by, I forgot about it. And he was just my Dad, who I loved. The only man I wanted to see with my Mom. I suppose I should have asked her if that was who she saw herself with forever. Maybe I should have asked. I never did.

~~~

I lean down and kiss his cheek. It tastes like salt on my lips. He's the ocean. He's my harbour.

Or am I his?

I could never figure that out.


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