disclaimer in part 1

Stages of Grief
By Ducks
-----
Stage III: Bargaining

"At this stage, the grieving person may make bargains with God: 'If I do this, will
you take away the loss?'" - From the "Arnot Ogden Medical Center's Guide to Dealing
With Grief"
~~~~~~~~~~~

When Buffy's house first came into view, I came close to turning the car around and
going back home. What did I think I was going to accomplish by coming here? Dawn had
all of Buffy's friends around her. She certainly didn't need me, the vampire who made
her sister's life various kinds of living torture over the years.

I hadn't seen her at all since I left Sunnydale. She'd be 14, now -- a young woman --
no longer the sweet little girl that used to make me stand in front of mirrors all
the time because she was fascinated by my lack of reflection.

When push came to shove, Dawn was really the only one who never looked at me with
fear, even after I tried to eat her on Valentine's Day three years ago. When I came
back from Hell, she was the only one who welcomed me unequivocally... the only one
who really accepted that I wasn't Angelus. In her simple, child's view of reality,
the demon was the demon, and I was something else.

So I think I broke her heart nearly as much as anyone's when I left. I remembered her
coming to the mansion a few nights after I broke up with Buffy. How she had screamed
and raged at my selfishness; for being such a "wussy"; for giving up so easily on her
sister. She ripped my heart into even tinier pieces that night, ultimately planting
the seeds for my final decision to go to the prom.

Dawn was more than just my lover's sister... there were many times when I felt as
though she were my own. A living second chance to be the presence in a young life
that I should have been with Katherine.

But I killed Kathy, didn't I? And I almost killed Dawn... along with everyone else
she loved. I broke her sister's heart time and time again. What right did I have to
try and offer condolences now?

Was that even why I came? Or was I here to get comfort for myself from the only
living remainder of all that Buffy was? Did I need a reminder of just what she died
for?

I didn't know. And when I pulled up in front of 1630, I found Dawn sitting on the
front steps, and it was too late to change my mind either way.

She watched me coming up the walk with those big, blue eyes, and I could see anguish
written so clearly there... But they were dry, and she almost managed a smile at my
approach.

"Took you long enough," she complained lightly.

It was meant as a joke, I'm sure, but the blunt truth of it sliced right through me.
It had taken far too long for me to come home. And now that I had... home wasn't even
there anymore.

"Sorry," I mumbled, and tried to return her smile.

Dawn moved over, making a space for me beside her on the step.

It was painful to look at her... this brave girl, left alone to bear the burden of a
family destroyed, and the knowledge that it was at least partly because of her. That
Buffy's death was her fault.

I thought that, and was immediately horrified that I had. It wasn't her *fault*. She
never asked for any of this. It was no one's fault -- it was just the way things went
when we were all at the mercy of the cruel hands of fate. Buffy might have been the
greatest Slayer in history, but she was still only human... and the simple fact
remained -- humans die. At least Buffy's end had some meaning. And I gazed long and
hard at that meaning sitting beside me.

"How are you?" I asked. People always say foolish things in moments like that... when
you know, deep down, that there really isn't anything you *can* say, and yet... the
social instinct of humanity compels you to reach out anyway. I might be something
other than human, but my soul was still bound by that simple rule.

She shrugged, her gaze cast to the ground. "I'm not dead."

Those three words conveyed so much... sorrow and loss, guilt and gratitude all at
once.

I knew intimately how she felt.

"No, you're not," I agreed.

Dawn forced her eyes upward and looked at me quietly for a long time. I felt pressed
under her scrutiny, as though she was trying to look into my mind... my heart and
soul, to see what I was feeling. So much like her sister had years ago, when she was
briefly telepathic, and she attempted to read my thoughts.

It hurt now to remember... all Buffy ever had to do was ask. She never had to trick
me into talking to her...

"You didn't come to the funeral," she observed. "I kind of thought you would."

This time, it was me who shrugged. "I didn't know it happened until... after."

She nodded, and we fell into a silence both companionable and awkward at once. We
looked out together at the stars, lost in our thoughts, until she spoke once more.

"I know how to bring her back," she informed me softly.

I turned to stare at her, uncertain if I heard correctly. "What?"

Our gazes met, and I found a bold determination burning behind her eyes. A knowledge
and wisdom that no child her age should possess -- should have to possess -- and it
chilled me to the bone. Was she saying...

"I know how to bring Buffy back to life. I could do it. It's easy. I did it with my
mom, and I think it would have worked, but... I changed my mind and broke the spell
at the last minute."

"Dawn..." I began to object.

"No, I know. It wouldn't be right. I mean... it wouldn't really be... her," she
admitted sadly, "But it's so hard not to, Angel. I miss her so much, and... she
shouldn't be dead. It's not fair."

Her voice broke at the end, and I was once again overwhelmed with emotion in the face
of another's grief. I so envied her that outpouring. I reached out to put my arm
around her, and she leaned heavily against my shoulder.

"No, she shouldn't be," I concurred, "But she is. You have to let her go."

"I know," she whimpered, then suddenly yanked away. "No, you know what? I DON'T know!
She died for ME! WHY? I'm not even REAL! She should have just LET ME DIE!"

It had been so hard for me to fathom what Buffy told me that night at her mother's
grave... that Dawn wasn't Dawn at all... or at least, she hadn't been until a few
months before. I had so many memories of time we spent together. It was beyond my
understanding that they weren't genuine, when I could feel every moment of it in my
heart.

I grabbed her gently and turned her to look at me once more. The agony in her eyes
ripped me apart.

"Dawn, you *are* real. Real enough for Buffy to be willing to die for. Don't diminish
that by trying to raise a zombie with her face. You have to go on. She would want you
to."

Her bottom lip trembled, tears splashing in a torrent down her flushed cheeks, and
for a moment, she was the little girl that I once knew... small and innocent, crushed
under the unbearable force of a world that seemed to have nothing to offer her but
pain.

Or maybe, I was simply seeing Buffy reflected in her.

"How... how am I supposed to..." she sobbed, "The last thing she said to me was
that... she wanted me to live. For her. How can I, Angel? She was strong, and
beautiful, and funny, and everybody loved her. I'll... I'll never be her! I'll never
be able to pay her back!"

She collapsed in my arms and I held her, listening to her beg God to bring Buffy
back, and take her instead.

"Please! I'll do anything!" she wailed, "Anything!"

I closed my eyes, rocking her gently, and struggled to fathom what felt to me to be
the ultimate injustice. How could the Powers think that this was fair? To heap sorrow
after sorrow on this child and all the people around her -- good people, who laid
everything on the line... sacrificed everything they held dear, for what they thought
was right? Whose darkest sin had been loving the Chosen One?

And Buffy... Sweet Buffy, who had wanted so little for her life... who asked for
nothing more than the normalcy every other human being took for granted. She'd had
such simple dreams. All she wanted was to live... to love... so little to ask, when
she had given so much.

Anger welled up in me once more. Why? Why her? She had never been anything but brave
and strong in the face of a world that refused to stay solid under her feet. Why
should she and all of her dreams be dead when I, a monster who had perpetuated the
darkest evils imaginable, was allowed to remain?

It wasn't right. And as I held Dawn, listening to her keening echo in the fading
night, I vowed to myself that I would do something about it. They called me a
champion. A warrior for right. Helper of the hopeless.

Perhaps this was my chance to finally earn those accolades.

***

Lorne didn't look the least bit surprised when I arrived at Caritas just before dawn.
He simply leaned the broom he had been holding against the bar, and stepped forward
to take me in a comforting embrace.

"I'm so sorry, Angel," he said softly as he pulled away, "I know how much she meant
to you. I wish there was something I could do."

I pulled away and held his gaze. "There is. I want an audience with the Powers."

He blinked very slowly, and wiggled a finger in his ear as if to clear it. "That's
better. Now... could you repeat that, because I could have sworn you just said..."

"You heard me. I want to talk to the Powers That Be. Now."

"Oh. Oh, honey," he chuckled sadly, backing away. "I know you're hurtin' and all, and
really, I'm sorrier than you can imagine, but..."

I followed him. "No. No but. I know it can be done. And either you know how, or you
know someone who does."

His expression changed quickly from shock to a mixture of pity and incredulity as he
sank onto a barstool.

"Sweetie, there's no way. I know you mean well, but..."

I took the last space between us, and leaned down so that our faces were inches
apart.

"I'm supposed to be Their Chosen, aren't I? I have a *right*!"

The Host sighed, his gaze dropping to the half-empty drink on the bar. "No one has
that right, Angel. You can't just go running to the Powers every time something
happens that you don't like. It's just not done."

"NOT DONE?" I heard myself shouting, "LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME HOW MUCH YOU THINK I
GIVE A *DAMN* WHAT'S NOT *DONE*! Do you know how to contact them or NOT?"

Some part of me felt badly for taking this out on my friend. But I had to do this. I
had to make myself heard this final time, do whatever I could to remedy this
injustice, or I might never be able to fight under Their banner again. The Oracles
were dead... the swimming pool where I had undertaken the Trials for Darla was
repaired and filled. All my other options were lost, leaving only him.

He frowned, and for the first time since I'd known him, I saw some measure of anger
on his placid features. Still, though, his voice remained calm and even. "Angel.
Honey. Stop. Think about this. I know that you're angry. You feel cheated. You gave
up everything so your lady love could live a long, happy life." Lorne rose from the
stool and gently pushed me backward, out of his personal space. "You think you got
ripped off by the Powers. You feel guilty that you weren't there... that it wasn't
you who died... *and* you can't stop thinking that you could have spent those last
few months together, if you knew your sacrifice would go to waste. That's all
perfectly *normal*. But raging at the Powers won't change what has to be! You of all
people know that you can't thwart Destiny. Remember a little evening of fun called
The Trials?"

I shoved him away. "I didn't come here for *therapy*, Lorne!" I hissed, "And this is
completely different from what happened with Darla. Buffy was *good*! *Always*! She
had *nothing* on her soul to be punished for! She deserved to LIVE!"

He stood up straight, shrugging out the shoulders of his jacket with a sigh. "Sure
she did. But it doesn't matter, puddin'. What you're asking can't be done. Come on...
let me make you a nice O-Pos Mary, and we'll sit down and..."

"NO!" I screamed, wrenching the barstool closest to me from its moorings, and hurled
it across the bar, smashing what little of the mirrors and bottles of liquor remained
from the car plowing through it on our return from Pylea.

I can't tell you what came over me... where my last shreds of sense and sanity went.
I can't even tell you much about what happened next but that I unleashed my fury at
the gods themselves on Caritas.

Mercy. What a joke. There was no mercy to be found under the heavens. No justice at
all if a pure, honorable soul could be ripped away... and for what? Some endless war
that never had a victor, that kept swallowing generation after generation of beings
whose only crime was the having the bad luck to be born with goodness in their
hearts?

The Host didn't try to stop me as I destroyed his home and livelihood, cursing the
name of every deity and saint that popped into my head. He stood quietly nearby, his
face marked with his trademark empathy, calmly waiting for the madness to pass.

He had, after all, said he wanted to remodel the bar.

But it didn't pass... or even fade. It seemed to go on forever. Even in my soulless
days, I'd never been so driven with unadulterated rage... with such a pure hunger to
annihilate. I shudder to imagine, thinking back on it now, that if I had gone on
Lorne himself might have fallen in that maelstrom of grief.

Then a pain struck me... hot and sharp like a bolt of lightning, and the world was
wiped out in a rush of storm wind that sucked all of the superfluous oxygen out of my
dead lungs.

I remember thinking in that moment, as the familiar decor of Caritas vanished and I
saw and felt and heard nothing, that God had finally struck me down. If I'd have had
any form at all, I probably would have laughed at the irony. Of all the countless
sins I had committed, it was that one, born of ultimate pain and sorrow, that finally
pissed Him off enough to take me out, once and for all.

But it was only a moment, and then with another rush of wind, I... *was*, again, for
lack of a better term. I looked down and could see my body, dressed in the same
clothes I had been wearing since yesterday, fresh blood on my hands from crushing
glass, wood and Formica to fine powder.

I had form... but wherever I had arrived did not. All I saw was a murky grey in every
direction. I stood in a void... no ground, no walls, and no sky. Just emptiness.

The same color, I imagined, as my shattered heart.

A voice boomed from nowhere and everywhere at once. I call it a voice, but... that's
not what it was. I don't think it was really even a sound at all. More... a sensation
inside of me. And when the sensation spoke... or... moved... it wasn't a voice, but
The Voice. Indeed, all The Voices. I stood frozen in awe and confusion.

Creation was speaking to me.

"You question."

I didn't understand. Was it asking me, or telling me?

"Yes," I finally replied.

"It is what it is."

Great. What or whoever spoke was far more cryptic than Lorne had ever dreamed of
being. Well... I did ask for an audience. Maybe this was the reason why they never
gave one.

I swallowed stiffly. So... I was here... whatever here was. What now?

"We had a bargain," I reminded Them.

"You cannot barter with the Cycle. There is only movement. Oneness."

There was no way for me to piece together this puzzle. All of the abstract philosophy
I had read over the centuries in no way prepared me to deal with this.

So I simply spoke from my heart... from the dark pit of rage and pain that froze the
edges of my soul.

"I want her back. You can't take her!" I shouted into the nothing. "You expect me to
represent your Justice? Your Law? How can I when you can't keep a simple deal with
ME?"

The void blinked... white, then black, and finally back to that empty grey once more,
as if it was thinking. Then there was a POP! like the cork being pulled from a bottle
of champagne, and I found myself looking into eyes of crystal clear blue that I never
thought to see again.

At least... not in this world.

"Ach. So much for eternal rest, eh?" the apparition complained.

I blinked at it. Closed my eyes. Shook my head to clear my vision. But when I looked
again, it was still there -- a grief long scarred over, suddenly returned to life.

He gave me a crooked grin, and threw open his arms. "Ya just gonna stand there, or
are ya gonna say hello to your long lost pal?"

"Doyle?" I gasped, but didn't move toward him.

He looked the same. Exactly the same as the night he died. The same cocky smirk, the
same slovenly outfit, the same barely-combed hair, and even the faded scent of
whiskey wafting from his skin.

He nodded. "Yep. Guess I don' need to ask how you are," he said softly, giving me a
once over. For the first time, I realized what I must look like in my rumpled,
blood-stained clothes. When his eyes met mine once more, I found the same thing in
them that I'd been witnessing from all my friends in the past few weeks. Pity.
Compassion. Sorrow. Even ghosts felt sorry for me.

I had to turn away. It was too much, to look on yet another being that I had loved so
dearly, and who had sacrificed himself to save others. Was I the only one, then? The
only one unwilling... or maybe unable... to die for what I believed in?

"Aw, Angel, come on. You know that ain't true. You sacrifice every day. You walked
away from Buffy in the first place so that she could have a better life. You were
willing to die for Darla. Hell..." he glanced around at the nothing that surrounded
us. "You pretty much put your eternal ass on the block just to come here. They don't
take too kindly to their soldiers cursing 'em in public, you know?"

I forced my gaze up at him again. "Why are you here?"

Doyle shrugged. "They can't communicate with you. They can't give you any answers
because they don't understand your questions. So they sent me to help out." He leaned
in and whispered conspiratorially, "And to be honest, the timing was damn good. Me
old da was handing me my ass at poker. Again."

I stared at him in wonder and remembered... I had been able to grieve for Doyle. I
had been able to cry, to fall apart, and finally to accept his passing as the way
things had to be. I had vowed to carry on in his name, the memory of his bravery
always at the forefront of my heart, part of the crest I would bear on my shield
until the last battle was won.

Why couldn't I do the same for the very woman who had inspired me to take up that
shield in the first place?

Doyle's smile turned sad, and he stepped toward me, laying a gentle hand on my arm.

"Because ya don't really believe she's dead, that's why."

I frowned at him. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I believe she's dead."

He shook his head. "No. You won't let yourself believe it, because you don't think it
's right. Not that I blame ya. I mean, let's face it, ya loved the girl, didn't ya?
She was the center of your whole universe for a long, long time. The reason for every
damn thing that you ever did. It's hard to let go of something that important."

"Tell them to take me," I suddenly found myself begging him, grabbing his shoulders
and giving them a shake. "Take me instead of her. She didn't deserve to die."

"Doesn't work that way, my friend. What the Big Guys were trying to tell you before
was just that... Death is part of the Plan, you know? Everybody's got an expiration
date. You know it, and your Buffy knew it. I knew when I'd reached mine, too. Nobody
wants to stop living, Angel. But... sometimes we have to. Sometimes that's just the
way it is, and without that part of the circle, the rest of it's just... meaningless.
What good is everything After if you don't go through everything Before?"

I could hear his words... I knew what he was telling me, but I couldn't see how this
Zen fortune cookie garbage was any more helpful than the nonsense The Voice had been
spewing on my arrival. I didn't want to have koans preached to me. I didn't want
abstract logical puzzles to sort through. I wanted answers. I thought They had sent
Doyle to clarify our communication...

"Well... yeah and no," he explained, reading my thoughts once more, "You came to beg
a case. To plead for them to give her back to you. But They can't do that, pal. You
know they can't. Done is done... one door closes and another opens and all that,
remember?"

"They why are you here?" I shouted at him, "Why did They bother sending you if they
weren't even going to hear my argument?"

"Hey, brother, listen to yourself! 'Argument?' You got an argument against Death that
They haven't heard a million times already? You can't tell Them anything about young
Buffy They didn't already know, can ya?"

Of course I couldn't... They had, after all, made her what she was. And They had to
know by now what she meant to me... and to everyone else who knew her.

"Doyle... They can't do this," I whispered, the effort of speaking finally too much,
"It's not right."

"That's just it. It *is* right. And that's why They sent me. To give you what you
need, instead of what you think you want."

*Think* I want? Did the Powers somehow imagine that my deepest desire wasn't to see
Buffy one more time? That I didn't want, more than anything I had ever wanted before,
for her to *live*?

I'd given up everything for exactly that.

Doyle's posture drooped a little when he responded, as though he was sorry for what
he had to say. "They never promised you that she'd live forever, Angel. In fact, they
never promised anything at all but that you could have That Day back."

Anger flashed briefly inside me, but vanished almost instantly. Some part of me knew
that I couldn't be upset at the Powers, because Doyle was right. The Oracles had done
only exactly what they promised.

"If it makes you feel any better," he went on, "She would have died a lot sooner --
and stupidly -- if you had stayed human."

I wanted it to make me feel better, I really did. But I was unsurprised when it only
made me angrier.

"Fine," I snapped, "So what do the All Wise think I *need*, then?"

"You need to see something," he informed me, giving me a smack on the shoulder.

For an instant, I was awash in a memory... another tacky half-demon, but this one on
a cold Manhattan street. "I've got something I want you to see. Then you tell me what
you want to do."

But Doyle's hand against the leather of my coat made a booming sound, like thunder,
and another explosion of white light shattered my vision.

When it cleared again, we were somewhere that seemed to be a construction site --
there was clutter and scaffolding everywhere, lumber and power tools littering the
ground. Time crawled by, while Doyle and I moved normally through the rubble. Fire
rained down from the Heavens... the air was split with shouting, and the shriek of
monsters materializing everywhere. I looked up, and saw the universe crack wide
open... an ocean of electricity tearing at the sky above.

The apocalypse. Was this happening now? Tomorrow? Next week? Sometime in the past?

My answer came in the form of familiar faces that began to appear here and there...
caught in the heat of battle. Giles fired a crossbow into a crowd of unfamiliar
demons... Willow and her blonde friend chanted frantically, casting spells almost
randomly into the fray. I found myself stepping over the prone form of Spike, who
bled profusely from wounds in his head that looked serious... like his skull was
crushed from a fall.

A fall... I suddenly remembered Willow's story... Buffy had jumped... leapt to
certain death from a tower built to be the centerpoint of the convergence that would
tear a hole in the fabric dividing the dimensions. The only way to stop the ritual
was to stop Dawn's blood from flowing... Summers blood... Buffy's blood.

We were at the scene of Buffy's death.

For a moment, I froze, unable to fathom why the Powers would think I needed to come
*here*... to see *this*. I found my gaze pulled upward once more, a whole new horror
rushing through me. They believed I needed to see this... Buffy falling toward me,
her body already limp and still except for the motion of the fall, dead limbs
flailing as if to take flight. All painfully slow, as if someone had turned down the
speed of the world, so I wouldn't miss a single moment... an excruciating detail.

I barely heard myself screaming her name above the gale... it took forever for her to
finally crash to earth in the middle of a pile of rubble a few feet away.

"NOOOOOO!" I bellowed, diving into the debris where her beautiful body lay, now
broken and lifeless.

I scooped her limp form into my arms. She was already growing cold, her skin paling
to the dull grey pallor of death, despite the expression of peace and acceptance
etched on her beautiful face... That face that so haunted my dreams...

Everyone and everything vanished but she and I as I held her... crushed the shell
that had once housed the most precious soul in all creation to my chest, and wept
senselessly. For the first time since I found Willow in the lobby of the Hyperion, I
*felt* it.. The reality, the finality of it all... her final decision, and the peace
that came with the knowledge that she was about to die for the world -- for her
sister. Her love for all of those she was leaving behind... including myself. I
finally felt her go the way I always knew that I would, as if part of me had taken
her hand and gone right along with her.

At last the dam broke inside me... the wall I hadn't wanted to admit I had built
around my heart crumbled, and an anguish like nothing I'd experienced since I
regained my soul ripped through the center of my being.

For the first time, I not only knew... I *believed*. My beloved was dead.

"Oh God, Buffy!" I sobbed, collapsing around her... wailing until I thought the
universe might be washed away in the tempest. I touched her beautiful face... ran my
fingers through the silken cascade of her hair, and kissed her cold, blue lips.

Doyle was right... despite all my protests to the contrary, I hadn't really believed
that she could be dead. The truth of it didn't register inside of me until those
endless hours as I knelt there, weeping over her body. I finally knew...

This was real. This was her corpse. Buffy was really gone, and all the begging and
anger and wishes in the cosmos would never bring her back. It was her shell buried
under those mounds of roses in Sunny Rest. That stone with her name on it really was
the final memorial that marked her passing.

I bawled like a wounded child until I was bone dry, and finally could do nothing more
than shake, sick to death with this truth. All this time that she and I had been
separated, some small part of me had clung to a sliver of hope that someday...
somehow, Buffy and I would be reunited. When the wars were over and we were released
from our Duty... When I again had a heartbeat and true breath with which to speak her
name, I honestly believed that we would grow old and die together.

Now, that would never happen. We would have no happily ever after.

The scene vanished, her body gone from my desperate embrace, and I found myself back
on the floor of the bar, held tight in Lorne's arms.

"It's okay, Angel. It's gonna be okay," he lied, and gently helped me to my feet.

As he led me out the door and we got in a cab, I felt Doyle's voice, one last time,
in my heart.

"You will be together again, my friend. Someday... "

continue