DISCLAIMER: *YAWN* Not mine, feel free to sue. *shrug*
TIMELINE: Now, or very soon in the future.
SPOILERS: B/A Canon to Present (BS5/AS2)
SYNOPSIS: A despondent Angel gets a surprising phone call.
DISTRIBUTION: All my lovely archivers, please do! Everyone else? All ya gotta do is send me gobs and gobs of cash, and/or naked Angel's, and it's yours!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the companion piece for "Her Sunrise", which you can read at my site: http://www.geocities.com/the_anti_joss/fic/hersunrise.html
FEEDBACK: Well, YEAH!
RATING: PG... even though nothing really happens, it's kind of depressing.
DEDICATION: For all my wonderful readers who asked for other POV's on Her Sunrise. I love you, guys! Enjoy!

I'm like an old rubber band.

You know... When the elastic is new, fresh out of the box, you can pull at it and twist it and snap it over and over, and it'll always snap back, as strong as ever, and ready to do it again.

But after awhile... after too much abuse, too many yanks and twists, the rubber starts to stretch out of shape, get dry and crack around the edges. It doesn't fly as far when you shoot it from your thumb and forefinger, and it doesn't spring back into shape quite the way it used to.

Then one day, it doesn't snap back at all -- it breaks, and if it's old and strained and just... empty enough, it crumbles into dust.

I am a very old rubber band. And I sit here in the darkness, the shadows and the ghosts crowded around me like they always are, crying and howling and demanding their justice, the memory of Darla's face set with sheer terror as my childe drank her dry like a shard of glass at the front of my mind, and I wonder...

Is now when I finally snap?

When the phone rings downstairs, it nearly makes me jump out of my too-tight skin. To say I'm skittishly oversensitive these days, I'm afraid, is a gross understatement.

Old, dry and crumbling nerves stretched thin.

Is it worth it? Maybe tomorrow is the day I should just go out on the balcony and greet the sunrise, once and for all.

I think it, but I know I won't. I still have the grim responsibility of destroying my Sire... now my GrandChilde... ahead of me. I won't leave that to anyone else.

Crumbling.

Cordy's tentative knock at the door brings me back from dark thoughts of Death... the violent end of my cursed bloodline...

Except for Spike, of course, He's Buffy's responsibility, now.

And there's a whole other pain.

"Angel?"

I close my eyes, consider not answering. "Yeah." It's so hard to even form words anymore. Harder still to give them voice.

"Um... you've got a phone call."

She tries so hard. I've treated her so badly, with such disrespect, when all she's done is stand by me. More regret.

Is there anything else inside me anymore?

"Take a message." I pause, rethink. "Please."

"It's... sort of an emergency."

I let my head fall back against the chair. 'Sort of an emergency'? There's no such thing. Not in my world.

"Fine. I'll take it."

I pick up the extension. "I've got it, Cordelia. Thank you."

She hangs up.

"Angel," I inform the caller.

"Yeah, so I figured. You sound chipper, as usual, mate. How's the old City of the Souled One, eh? Still sunny and full of melancholy?"

He's so very close to the bottom of the list of those I care to talk to...

"What do you want, Spike?"

I don't need this. And try as I might, I can't find a single legitimate reason why he might call me.

"Buffy..."

Except that one. My dead heart clenches tight. I forget to breathe, and I don't want him to finish that sentence. My first thought?

'She can't be dead. I would know.'

"... really needs you."

Is that better? Of course. There can be nothing worse than the possiblity that she's gone. But for a moment, I can't think of anything to say. I just sit there, blinking mindlessly at the phone. Dazed, as if I've only just wakened from a month's rest underground.

"Did you hear me, ya bloody plonker? Your bloody Slayer needs you. Now."

My Slayer. No. Not mine. Not anymore. I relinquished that honor... so long ago...

"Is she..." I swallow. Hard. Choking back tears that haven't flowed in a year, now. "All right?"

Spike snorts. "Well, that depends on how you define 'all right' doesn't it?"

I have so very little patience, these days. Least of all for my smart-mouthed descendant.

"Spike..." I growl.

"Yeah, yeah. Grrrr," he mocks, "She's not poked full of fangholes, if that's what you mean, but I can't guarantee how long it'll last, the sorry shape she's in..." He sighs, and if I didn't know better, I would say it was a sound of frustration... growing from concern.

But of course, I know better.

"What's the game, Spike? Setting me up for... what? To walk in on a nice, steamy love scene? Dump my ass on the latest Big Bad that offered to fix you in exchange for my head? Cut to the chase. I don't have time for this."

Or energy. Or will.

"Just shut your gob for a minute, and I'll tell you. She... Aw, Hell. Her mum's sick. Brain Cancer. Dying, mate. And the Slayer's not... holding up so good."

Have I ever heard so much emotion in his voice? Even for Drusilla? I'm not sure. And the fact is, right at the moment, most of me doesn't care.

"Sick," I echo. Joyce? Dying? Buffy handling this alone? Running the house...taking care of Dawn. Taking care of the whole world, all by herself.

But... she's not by herself, is she? She has her friends. Her Watcher. Spike, apparently. And... Riley.

It hurts just to think his name.

"Yeah, sick. Isn't that what I said? You know... I don't care much about her mental health to begin with, but... I'm tired of all this 'I'm so stoic' moping about shit. She's coming apart at the seams, mate! Stop mucking about and cart your hero ass back here and lend a shoulder, eh?"

"I..." I almost tell him I can't. I can't handle that pain, on top of everything else. I can't take seeing her hurt. Isn't that his job now? "What about Riley? Aren't they..."

Spike laughs. Cold. Sarcastic. "Oh, yeah. He's a big soddin' help. He sits around and pouts at her, and she won't let him close enough to spit on him. Listen, I'm not wasting another quarter on this. Come or don't come. I really don't give a rat's teeth."

He hangs up. I sit there, holding the receiver, too stunned to move.

But only for a moment. In a rush, it hits me. She needs me. No matter what is going on with me... with her... It doesn't make any difference.

She needs me.

* * *

I hate hospitals. The mind-numbing stench of antiseptic, blood and misery. The damn places are like stone and glass containers of everything I hate. All pain, all the time.

My footfalls echo in the eerie stillness, and suddenly, I'm Death himself, stalking the halls. The air fairly shivers in my wake, like it's afraid of me.

Destruction walking. Look out.

She needs me. Don't get in my way.

The receptionist is half asleep, and barely spares the energy to tell me what floor I can find Mrs. Summers on. Stopping here is just a formality, on my part. I could find Buffy in a stadium full of strangers, with little effort at all. She does, however, remind me that visiting hours are over.

I ignore her.

When the elevator doors open, I can smell her immediately. Sweet and warm... that scent I can never quite forget, like fresh muffins. Like life. But there's an edge to her perfume... an edge I've never smelled before. Not even when I stood before her in a shaded courtyard, taunting her, about to thrust a sword through her face. Not even when she sobbed that she would never forget, right before she did.

Hopelessness. Defeat.

No. She can't be defeated. She's the greatest Slayer in the history of Slayers. A woman with a pure, loving, selfless, furious warrior's heart.

But still... just a woman. A human being.

I press on, and I see them... a huddle of worry, of sorrow, of impotent concern. Some are sleeping, others staring into space, just waiting.

Waiting for me. Waiting for Death.

Aren't we all?

My Buffy sits alone, away from the others, straight and poised, determination etched into her weary features. No one sits close to her. No one offers their hand, or their shoulder. I want to shout at them for leaving her there, like that.

She's just a little girl, inside. A small child whose Mommy is dying, and she's been so strong for so many for so long, she can't remember how to break down and cry.

Can't they see? Why don't they help?

For a heartbeat, a fury akin to bloodlust rushes through me. Finn sits three chairs away from her, looking tired and sad, and I could swear, bloodless. He stinks of stupidity. But all I care about is the utter disbelief that nearly blinds me.

Why isn't he holding her? Can't he see that she's dissolving, collapsing there under that stony facade? Can't he see that she's dying??? Can't he smell all that pain and terror? Doesn't he want to make it go away? Is this what I've left her for?

What the Hell is wrong with that boy????

Everyone turns to look at me as I approach, including Buffy. No one speaks. No one moves, but I move closer, ignoring them. They hate me, and I don't care. They don't deserve the benefit of my attention.

They've failed her. But I won't. Ever again.

Her eyes rise to meet mine as I stand before her. They flicker with shock, then anger, then soften with relief. I feel it, like she reached out and touched me. I can help, and for once, I'm not useless. I squat down before her and take her tiny hands in mine. They're so cold, so lonely... shaking almost imperceptibly. But I feel it. I squeeze them gently and look deeper into the agony of her eyes... the pain I still can't believe the others don't feel washing from her like a storm, filling the dead air with the sound of her soul screaming.

Those beautiful hazy green orbs immediately flood. She tells me everything with that look. Fills me, like she does every time I get close to her. Holding her hands, I listen to her thoughts, and... for the first time in... God, so long... I'm alive again.

Her fingers squeeze tight, and the air shifts. Breaks. Snaps almost audibly. The stone of her walls explode, and she lets out a heartbreaking sob that I swear rocks the very gates of Heaven, even as it nearly knocks me off my feet. She pitches into my arms, and all I can do is catch her.

Oh, my sweet love... my little princess. I'm so sorry you hurt. I'm so sorry your world isn't filled with flowers and sunshine and laughter. I'm sorry about mortality. I'm sorry Death stalks you.

I lift her from her seat and lead her away. The others don't deserve to feel relieved at her release. My anger with all of them surprises even me.

My beautiful lady... my broken warrior... I sit down and take her into my arms, settle her weight on my lap and whisper in my mother tongue... Words of comfort... I love you. It's okay. I'm here. You're safe. Let it go.

She chokes and weeps with all the sorrow inside of her... the agony of losing... not just her mom, but her hope. Her youth. Me. She's dying without me, she cries, and she can't hold on anymore.

She can, I tell her. She is the strongest being I've ever met. I love her so much, God...

She keens into my chest, and I'm back suddenly, from where I've been for so long. I come back just for her. Just because she needs me. Because her love is worth living for even when all else seems hopeless.

Hearing her cry that way breaks my soul into a billion shivering pieces. And yet...

If she needs me... still needs me... I can live through another sunset. I can live. I can go on, for a single chance to see her smile again.

At last, she's empty, and sleeps. So tiny, so drained, so weary in my arms. My brave soldier. I wrap her tight in my embrace and listen to the sweet song of her breath... her heartbeat. The dawn is coming, and I should go... she's better now, and she has her life... I have mine, what of it there is.

But I can't leave her. I'll sit here and hold her until she doesn't need me anymore.

Spike gets up to leave, and flashes me a smarmy smirk as he passes by. But I see the truth in his eyes, no matter how much he tries to hide it. I can hardly believe, but as my progeny, I can hear his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken them aloud.

'Thank you, GrandSire. Thank you for saving her.'

I close my eyes and hold her closer. Maybe I can snap back, just one more time

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