Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Author's Notes: My anti-"Untouchable" fic. Buffy died. Buffy came back to life. Buffy goes to visit Angel. Everything else is totally different. The song is "Drops of Jupiter" by Train, which is amazing and forced this fic out of me. It's kinda angsty, but in a totally different way than "Untouchable" . . . it was going to be a happy fic, but then I discovered three repeated verses in the song and I had to do something with them < g >
Spoilers: "The Gift"
Dedication: To Jess, for reminding me how much I love this song. I hope you like it :)

She walked back into my life one day, as if she'd never gone; as if I hadn't spent the past three months aching for her, dreaming of her, dying the death she never should have died. She was smiling, her hair in a pile on her head sewn with tiny crystals, like tear drops. A peach dress hugged her curves and high-heeled sandals graced her feet, barely seeming to touch the ground when she walked.

"Hi Angel," she said, standing silhouetted in the doorway of the hotel, with the sun forming a halo around her. I thought she was an angel at first, or a ghost, or a figment of my imagination.

Gunn whistled, oblivious to who she was. And she - no ghost, no apparition - laughed and walked briskly inside, looking around.

"Nice place you got here," she said, nodding in approval, and then turned and winked at my young associate. "And very nice staff. Why aren't mine that cute?"

I think my jaw was hanging open. If it wasn't, I can't imagine why not. She pivoted on her light-as-air shows and walked over, right up to me, gazing up with shining, starry eyes. One small, warm hand reached up to touch my cheek, and she smiled again. I saw stars. So, apparently, did she.

Now that she's back in the atmosphere
With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Reminds me that there's time to change, hey, hey
Since the return from her stay on the moon
She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey

Gunn was suitably chagrined when he realized the petite blond was the girl I'd been moping over for months, returned to life. "Hey man, I didn't mean anything . . ."

"Pfft," she called from the next room. "Angel doesn't mind. He knows I'm gorgeous." She peeked her head in the doorway, eyes dancing. "Don't you?"

"Mmm . . ." She grinned and winked at Gunn.

"You go right on whistling. It's refreshing. Everyone keeps staring at me like I've come back from the dead or something. How many times do I have to say I was only in outer space?"

I called Giles to make sure it was real, while Buffy perched on the edge of the table, hummed off-key and studied her nails.

"Buffy's here," I said, after identifying myself.

"Ah, yes, I . . . I thought she might go visit you."

"So it's really her?"

"Oh yes, indeed. She's quite real. It seems she was preserved in the portal. Some demons trying to open the Hellmouth accidentally released her in the process. She claims she was . . ."

"In the stars," I finished. "So she told me."

"Well, it may be true. At least, to the extent she or any of us can understand it. I believe you'll find that she's . . . a bit different. But not, in any case, for the worse."

I watched the glowing, golden apparition perched nearby and shook my head. "No, not for the worse."

Tell me did you sail across the sun
Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated

"Do you believe me now?" she asked when I hung up the phone and sat there, watching her.

"I believe Giles," I replied, avoiding her question. The truth was, I didn't know. Where had she been? No one could say, no one but her; and maybe not even her.

She slid off the table, stood there with the light glinting in the jewels in her hair. "You want to believe," she said, gazing at me, "but you're afraid. You're afraid that you will, and it will turn out to be a lie after all. You're afraid you'll believe and I'll be gone again, and it will hurt again, even worse this time, because you had hope and you lost it."

That was, I admit, exactly what I was thinking. Could she read my mind? Did that mean it wasn't true, she wasn't human? I didn't say anything, but she answered my unspoken questions anyway.

"It's not that I can read your mind," she said gently, "but I know what you're thinking because I thought it too. And Giles, and Willow and Dawn . . . everyone's afraid to lose. But sometimes you have to have faith. That's what I learned on the moon."

I had a sudden mental picture of Buffy in her peach dress on the moon, twirling in a canyon . . .

"Do you want to know what I learned on Mars?" Buffy asked, walking over to me. Her scent filled my unused lungs, she filled up my vision, my heart, welled over . . . One of her hands fastened on my shirt and pulled me to my feet, so I was inches away, held in place.

"What?" I asked, unable to help myself.

"There's all the time in the world to find that faith." And before I could say a word she was gone, gone again, but her starry scent remained . . .

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star
One without a permanent scar
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there

Amazingly, she came back. The next Saturday I came downstairs a little after noon and found her gossiping with Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley watching with amused interest, nibbling on little sandwiches. Handmade, I thought incongruously. She looked up when I walked down the steps and smiled.

"I thought you'd never get up," she scolded gently, slipping off her chair and coming over to pull me towards the counter. She fed me a miniature sandwich. "What do you think? I know you have some taste buds . . ."

"S'good," I managed around the edges. She smiled happily at me.

"I forgot you slept during the day. I would have slept in."

"I didn't know you were coming," I mumbled in apology, and belated realized there must be a reason for her visit. "Is everything . . . I mean, can I help you?"

"Everything's fine," she told me gently, shaking her head. "I just came by to say hello."

Cordelia apparently took that as a hint, and reminded Gunn and Wesley loudly of all the work they had to do. Buffy laughed at them and waved at her to stop. "Don't worry about it, we'll go elsewhere. Enjoy the food." She grabbed my hand - hers was warm, solid, real - and dragged me out the back door, to the sheltered courtyard of the hotel.

"What . . . what brings you here?" I asked, still a bit confused by her presence, the light in her eyes, her playful manner. What happened to her in those months she was gone? What did she find wherever she had gone?

She swung a leg over a bench and straddled it, facing me, her head cocked. "I wanted to see if you'd found that faith we talked about. Or if you needed a little more convincing." She hesitated, seeming unsure for the first time since her return. "And . . . and I missed you, while I was . . . gone. I wanted to see you." She glanced up at me, as if asking for reassurance, questioning whether I returned the sentiment.

Missed her? It didn't begin to describe it . . .

I sat on the bench beside her, and took one of her hands gently, sighing. "Convince me Buffy. Tell me what happened."

Now that she's back from that soul vacation
Tracing her way through the constellation, hey, hey
She checks out Mozart while she does tae-bo
Reminds me that there's time to grow, hey, hey

We talked all afternoon and into the evening. Once the sun descended Buffy pulled me out to her car, turned on Mozart and drove us to a park where she lit candles on the grass.

"I wanted it to be over," she told me, sitting on the bench in my courtyard. "Not . . . not totally. I was scared. But it was kind of . . . the easy-way out for me. I didn't have to deal with the aftermath. Didn't have to go on without my mom, or Dawn or . . . or you. I guess I thought it would just be easier."

"Was it?" I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer. I know I hadn't wanted to hear the statement at all. I'd felt that way enough times. My own guilt had held me back; I didn't deserve to die. What held her on this earth? What could keep her here if she wished to go?

What had brought her back?

"It was different," she replied finally, a smile touching the edge of her mouth, dancing into her eyes. It was a fey sort of thing, different than I'd ever seen from her.

"Better?"

"Overrated," she replied and I would have sighed in relief if I'd had any air to sigh with. Her smile broadened, her eyes laughed at me and the sun set in them. Off to the park we went.

Now that she's back in the atmosphere
I'm afraid that she might think of me as plain ol' Jane
Told a story about a man who is too afraid to fly so he never did land

"You say you were in the stars . . ."

I sat uneasily against a tree; she lay on her stomach, her head even with my knees, propped up on her elbows and shredding grass by the handful. Candlelight reflected off the golden strands of her hair and glowed on her skin.

"As far as I can figure it," she agreed.

"What was it like?"

"Big," she said equably.

"Big?"

"Big. Vast, even. It was the whole universe, and I was just this one little girl. I was . . . lost."

"Was it frightening?" She looked up at me, considering, and I reached over to tuck a daisy behind her ear, involuntarily. It sat there, half-cocked, playful and young.

"It should have been, but it wasn't. There was just . . . so much. So much space. So much light. So much dark. But all it did was make me find me. I was insignificant compared to everything around me, which made me all I had. There weren't any people to distract me, or bend me to their version of what I need to be. No one needed me at all. It wasn't frightening. It was . . . enlightening, I guess."

I could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice; she'd found a thing many people never found, or discovered far too late, when their time for living was almost over. She was so young, only a few years older than when I'd first seen her, coming out of her school, but new, different: or the same, recognizing herself. Knowing her own soul, what was inside of her. I've lived two hundred and forty years and only part of that light shines in my eyes.

What did she see in me, now? I'd always been the older one in our relationship, the adult, the self-aware, wise, responsible one. But here I was floundering, and she was so sure of herself, her surroundings . . .

"You don't have to die to find that, you know," she said softly, picking another piece of grass and tearing it neatly down the center with her luminescent, perfectly manicured nails, like half-moons.

"But you have to either do that or live," I countered quietly. "And both are more difficult than they should be."

Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back to the Milky Way
And tell me, did Venus blow your mind
Was it everything you wanted to find
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there

We stayed in the park until midnight, and then went to a hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese restaurant and ate fried noodles, picking off the same plate. Buffy told me about her return to Sunnydale, renting out a room in their house, dealing with the Watcher's Council, the clean-up from the second portal opening that had brought her home. We discussed her classes at school and politics and recipes for deep-fried chicken. At dawn she delivered me to my hotel and threw me a kiss as she drove away.

I assumed I wouldn't see her again, not until there was an emergency, or she got lonely, or I did. But the next Friday, same time, she showed up, and brought a picnic lunch which we ate in the courtyard.

"Why did you come back?" I asked. I'd been steeling myself to ask the question through the duration of her previous visit, but I never could bring myself to do it.

"Here?" she asked absently, even though I knew she knew I didn't mean that. She glanced up at me and I caught her eyes. "Oh. Here." I nodded in confirmation and she picked up a chicken wing, nibbling as she thought of how best to answer my question. At least, I assumed that was what she was thinking. She could have been considering why the sky was blue for all I really knew . . .

"According to Giles I didn't really have a choice," she said finally. "The portal just opened up and spit me back out."

"Is that true?"

"I don't . . . I don't think so. I remember a moment where I had a choice, or at least I thought I did. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it would have sent me out whether I wanted to go or not but . . . but I thought I had a choice."

"So why did you choose this way?" She finished her chicken wing and started on a cherry tomato. I've never seen someone so small eat so much.

"I thought about what I would miss if I didn't come back," she said thoughtfully, half-laying down so she was propped up on her side by one elbow. Her blue-green, starry gazy swept over the courtyard, the picnic basket, the food laid out, the sunshine a few safe feet away. "About this. And Dawn. And Willow, Xand . . . Giles. You. If I stayed there, I would have had galaxies, planets huge beyond imagination to run on. I had stars to laugh with, and moons to explore. But I didn't have mochas, or people that loved me, or phone calls or . . . or anything real. Up there, when I danced, it was always by myself. So I came back."

"Even though it's hard?" I asked, unable to help myself, frightened to question her decision as if it would make her reverse it. A smile crossed her previously serious face as she gazed up at me.

"It's not that hard," she told me, and for a moment I believed it.

Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken
Your best friend always sticking up for you even when I know you're wrong
Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance five-hour phone conversation
The best soy latte that you ever had . . . and me

She came to visit often after that; usually Friday afternoons, but sometimes other days, mornings, evenings, the middle of the night, depending on her schedule, or Dawn's, or whatever nasty happened to be in town at that moment. We talked, walked (if it was dark), went to museums, restaurants, parks, even clubs sometimes. She called me on the phone at odd hours, usually when I was helplessly awake and the rest of the world was asleep.

"I can't sleep," she said gaily, and told me about her day, or the dream that woke her up.

She was different than she had been before; more self-assured, older, but without the weight that usually comes with age. She had bad days, like everyone else, but she shrugged them off with ironic comments and a minimum of complaints. She was rarely in a bad mood. When asked she said that she hadn't time for them. She was still Buffy; still the wisecracking, courageous, refuse-to-be-defeated pop culture princess that I had fallen in love with, but there was more to her after her return. She savored every moment, and pretended they were all beautiful, even when they weren't.

She visited me. There was never a word about keeping our distance, about forgetting or moving on. I asked her once if she had a boyfriend and she laughed aloud at me. "Jealous Angel?" she inquired. I refused to answer. Her smile softened. "Don't worry, I'm over the boyfriend thing. I used to think I needed someone, a guy, to make me happy, to prove that I was attractive and worthwhile . . . But I'm okay with me now. Besides, I have this scary feeling you'd beat up the next one too." She winked at me, and I growled and she doubled over laughing, so infectious that I had to join her.

Her laughter was amazingly infectious after her return; her smiles, her winks, made me feel young, carefree . . . happy.

I never told her that I may someday become human. I suppose I didn't want to get her hopes up. I didn't want her to keep visiting because of that chance; I wanted her to come because she wanted to.

She wanted to. She'd been to the stars, to the heavens, and she chose to come and visit me.

Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back toward the Milky Way

I never thought anything could be more painful than losing her that summer. I was wrong, but only because she made me so. Because she visited, never let me get lost, never let whatever we had get lost . . . because of how much more I loved her than I ever had before, it hurt so much more this time. Hurts.

She visited me every week. I became, once again, part of her life. Not as much a part of it as I hoped to be, but still . . . there. We never again fought (besides minor squabbles that accompany every relationship). The only tension between us was physical, diffused by a well-placed witticism and laughter, a balm to my soul.

When she laughed, I heard the stars. She's there now, I hope, laughing still. That's where I look for her, up in those stars. I can see her there, twirling around and around, her hair flying in every direction, with those damned jewels she always wore in it, like teardrops, glinting with the light of a thousand suns.

The only thing more beautiful than my vision of her is the way she was, truly, alive.

Tell me did you sail across the sun
Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated

She did not choose her death this time, and I wonder, if it had come to that, if she would have. Knowing what death was, and what life was, would she have once again chosen peace? Or would she have stayed, where it was a struggle to smile every day, where she was needed, constantly, by her sister (though not as much since Dawn moved out), by her friends, her Watcher, the world . . . me.

At first every visit was a surprise, delightful, unpredictable, and I prayed that it would be followed by another. After a few years, I began to take them for granted. They lost none of their delight, none of their meaning . . . but they were a solid part of my life. Something I could count on. Something I could rely upon. Something I needed.

Did I need her too much? Would she have chosen the sky, and freedom? I like to think not, but then, there was no choice this time, and I am biased anyway.

Sometimes I believe she never really came back, that the last years - how many? Four years? Five? - were all a dream of mine. She came back into my life so bright, so beautiful and now is gone again, like a shooting star, fleeting, gorgeous, gone before you can truly soak in their light.

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star
One without a permanent scar
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself

She said there was no love for her there, before, but I hope that is not so now. She deserves to be loved, wholly, completely, for who she was, and what she accomplished. She never stopped fighting, in her soul, though she took breaks for the sake of her poor, tired, supernatural body. I hope someone, something out there loves her, because she deserves to be loved.

I hope she does not miss me. I miss her, every moment; I miss her in the lonely hours of the night, when she never calls anymore; I miss her on Friday afternoons, when I have no one to eat a picnic with; I miss her just after sunset, when she is not there to drag me out into the town; I miss her when the moon comes out, when the stars appear, when I can see Venus or Mars or Jupiter in the sky and wonder if she is there. I miss her, but I hope she does not miss me. I hope she is too busy dancing, or falling in love, or being loved. I hope she is too busy living, in death, to be lonely.

Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
Did you fall for a shooting star
Fall for a shooting star
And are you lonely looking for yourself out there

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