I have faith that you're out there
Living high up in the vast
Somewhere in eternity
And you're never gonna leave
Have I been telling lies to myself?
Hold me now you know I am so afraid to be at all
Have I been telling lies to myself?
Hold me now you know I am so afraid to love at all
Vast - "Here"

****

The Slayer wrapped her arms around her middle and closed her eyes, raising her face to the Heaven and inhaling a sigh. The slight ocean breeze caressed her skin, leaving after it fleeting traces of goose bumps. It wasn't really cold, she acknowledged. Well, perhaps colder than usual for a typical Californian morning, but… the cold still seemed to be coming from the inside.

A slight chill crept through her bones as two strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. She stilled for a moment, just a moment, taking it to accustom to him all over again. The cold of his touch, the silence of his heart against her back, the lack of his breath on her rear…they were all so familiar, and at the same time, so quaint. Up to the point it sometimes scared her, when she wasn't sure if she wasn't the one to intentionally suppress them. And probably, she was. After all, it was so much easier than remembering…especially after what she had done.

"You always find me," she observed, not really addressing it to the man…vampire behind her, more to her own inner self. She cast her eyes down on her hands, realizing they were trembling a little. Buffy attempted to steady them, but they wouldn't collaborate.

Angel eyed her hands for a short spell, then removed his arms from around her waist, and gently gathered them in his own. "You're afraid of me," he observed what she was so afraid to recognize, or maybe, deep inside, already had.

She gulped. "Shouldn't I be?"

"You think I would ever hurt you?" he inquired, his voice colored with surprise. Or was there mockery as well? Buffy wasn't sure which of the two had her ears perceived.

"I swore I would never hurt *you*," she remarked, her voice a tad above whisper.

"But you did," he said, his voice frighteningly formal. Emotionless, stating out facts.

The blonde shivered, and disentangled her hands from his, clasping them together on her chest, and taking a hesitant step forward.

"You're not afraid of me," Angel stated, seemingly not moving to follow her.

"Oh, really?" Buffy retorted, a bit peevishly, her voice wavering.

"You're afraid of yourself," he added, warmly this time, as he reached out one hand to her arm and slowly turned her around, allowing her to willingly perform the move, instead of him forcing it on her. "Look at me," he prompted.

Buffy struggled against her tears for all she was worth. "No," she mumbled, averting her gaze, but not once trying to free her arm.

"Look at me!" the drastic change in his voice almost made her jump out of her skin.

She swallowed hard, and finally dared to look up, focusing on his brown eyes. These orbs weren't soft anymore, they weren't warm…not even tortured or lost. They were imperturbable, dark, cold…she squeezed her eyelids shut, when a wave of pain brought with it the image of those deepest pools of emotion, the very instant she had thrust the sword through his stomach. When she reopened her eyes, she was panting, her orbs frantically darting in every direction, avoiding Angel's.

"You didn't kill me," she heard him speak again, his voice more tranquil this time, almost touched with feeling.

She even dared to allow her eyes come across his again.

"You killed yourself."

****

Buffy's eyes flew open, as the dreamscape gradually dissolved into the murkiness of her tiny apartment.

She pushed herself up from the bed, and brought her knees to her chest, encircling her legs with her arms.

Her eyes fell on the shirt she was wearing. She had fallen asleep in his shirt again. Buffy let out a bitter chuckle and sniffled back tears, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. The little girl in her insisted on believing she only had dreams about him when she was falling asleep wearing his shirt. She had stolen one of them from his apartment months ago. She had never told them though. They wouldn't understand. They never could…never did? It was part of the reason she…

Buffy shook her head. She hated it when her thoughts were drifting back to Sunnydale. It was happening a lot lately, and she hated it. It confused her, as if she hadn't been thrown already. She hated making decisions. Too much depended on her, on her decisions. She hated making them, hated what drove her to make them, hated who she was… It was the cost of too many things. Too many things she had lost. Angel…

The Slayer tightened the shirt around her small body. She had lost too much weight over the past months, she admitted to herself. She should have taken better care of herself. If she were home…

Buffy shook her head again. She wasn't sure when exactly had the true definition of the word skipped past her. She wasn't quite aware of the state she had been slipping into ever since she had left Sunnydale, but nothing and no one had ever given her a sound reason to pull herself back together. Moreover, the less she cared, the less it hurt. And when it didn't hurt…it was good. It was what she had been trying to run from. Pain. When there was no pain, it was all suddenly worth it. And when it was worth it, it was a reason to stay one more day. And another, and another…

"Nice dump you've got here, Slayer," she heard a voice, and recognized it at once. Her head shot up, her eyes roaming the darkness in search for the face.

Whistler stepped out of the shadows and started in her direction.

No muscle in the Slayer's body seemed to budge, as she indifferently remained sitting on her bed. However, the tone of her voice gave away her true intentions. "Make one more step, it will be your last," she warned him.

"Coming from you, it's not much of a threat," the demon lightheartedly dismissed her intimidation. "When was the last time you looked in the mirror, kid?"

"What the Hell do you want?" she got right to the point.

"Ow," Whistler shrunk back playfully. "Ticked off much?" He perched down on the bed next to Buffy, who drew away from him as far as said bed allowed. But the second he reached his hand to a drawer's handle, hers grabbed it with an almost lightning speed, hindering him from opening the drawer. The demon's eyes traveled to the Slayer's small hand, secured in an iron grip around his wrist, and Buffy slowly, reluctantly, unclasped her fingers.

Whistler pulled the drawer open, and fished with his hand for the only thing in it; a silver chain, with a silver ring suspending from it. He hung it on the edge his forefinger for several moments, dangling it from side to side for no apparent reason, his orbs following the small Claddagh ring as if he were hypnotized.

"Stop," the blonde asked him, her voice somewhat pleading.

For the first time ever since he had appeared in her apartment, something similar to remorse sneaked into Whistler's gaze. "You all think you're so smart," he finally spoke, but not before letting the ring with the chain hit his open palm and remain tightly clasped there, concealed from the Slayer's gaze.

"Who's we?" she inquired, growing a bit more comfortable with his presence, as strange as it was. All the while, not really knowing if she should divulge any interest at all in what he was saying.

But he chose to disregard her question anyway. "A guy tries to be nice, tries to help you out, more than he's allowed to…but who are you to care? With you, it's only 'do first, think later'. Well, how about ''think first', for a change?" he fully turned to look at the Slayer, clearly discerning in her eyes she had grasped exactly what he was referring to. "If you only knew how many times I put my ass on the line for the two of you," he shook his head. "The Powers that Be ain't picnic. They're not someone you go around messing with, you *don't* go asking them for favors, unless, of course, you're suicidal," he swiftly gesticulated at himself.

They were both silent for a few moments, until Buffy put an end to it. She moistened her dry lips and took a deep breath, facing the demon. "I don't get it," she confessed, exhaling the air stored in her lungs. "What are you doing here? Are you here to rub my nose in it, or are you here to give away a yet another cryptic massage? Since whatever you had to tell me last time around did nothing but damage, I think I'll pass," she smirked. "On second thought, I don't really need your help with option number one as well. I've got that part covered, so why don't you just…" she never finished what she had meant to say, however.

"'Thank you' really isn't a part of your vocabulary you overuse, is it?" he cut her short.

"Thank you?!" the blonde's eyes widened. "You want me to thank you? By all means, thank you!" she threw her hands in the air, tears forming in her eyes. "*Thank you* for teaching me how to use the sword!"

"I didn't teach you how to use it," Whistler shook his head in protest. "I told you, you had to know how to use it. Obviously, you did," he cast his eyes to the floor, while uttering the latter phrase.

"I was expected to do that," she whispered, her voice hoarse with impending sobs. "They would never let him..." she stuttered, "even if I only took a little…they would never," she obstructed a sob with the back of her palm, swallowing hard to regain composure.

"*Why* is it always about *them*?" the demon inquired. "What about *you*? What about *him*?"

"I don't know!" she cried. "I don't know if what I did was right, I don't know! All I know," her voice softened, together with her demeanor, as she averted her eyes from him. "All I know, is that I should have told him I loved him. He didn't know," she shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment against the tears spilling from them.

"You still can," Whistler's words pierced through her already broken heart. He didn't continue before having her full attention. "I made a deal," he imparted with a sigh.

"What…deal?" the Slayer uttered each word slowly, cautiously, as if buying time to let it sink in.

"The old-fashioned kind," he shrugged, "'you give me, I give you'. If you two flunk this chance, too, you can kiss me goodbye…" he almost choked on the last word, when Buffy abruptly grabbed the collar of his shirt, giving him a shake, and with her eyes only, demanding to go on.

"*Alright*," he removed her hands from him, straightening his wrinkled shirt. "A word of advice, work on expressing your gratitude some more." When Whistler was done, he inspected his appearance, and seeming playfully satisfied with it, looked back at the Slayer. The moment his eyes met hers, every trace of amusement vanished from them. "I made a deal," he explained, "another deal, with the Powers that Be."

"Who are they?" Buffy didn't understand.

"It really isn't the point, or do you want me to get sidetracked? Because I can…"

"Get to it."

"Figured," he flashed her a typical grin. "So here's is the drill; you'll get another chance…" he trailed off, as if expecting her to ask…

"What's the but?"

Again, that same devilish grin. "You're the but," he gestured at Buffy. "Forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" the Slayer echoed the word.

The demon approved it with a nod. "He needs that to come back. He needs forgiveness, and you," he opened his clutched fist, lifting the ring by its chain and holding it up right before Buffy's eyes. After a second, the Slayer followed his silent indication and took it from him, clasping it in her hand. "Forgive him," Whistler continued, his voice softer than before, "forgive yourself. Until you do that…" he rose to his feet, without even bothering to finish the sentence, and headed towards the door.

When he reached it, he suddenly stopped with his hand on the knob. "Go home, kid," he advised the Slayer, who still remained unmoving on her bed, without turning around. "You never belonged here."

Buffy swallowed, and nervously chewed on her lower lip, while her green orbs followed the demon's form until he shut the door behind him.

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