warning. Okay, so this is actually based on a spoiler, which is why I'll put a nice big spoiler space in between this and the story. If you don't want to be spoiled, then don't read!! But it was just inspired by the spoiler, and I honestly don't think the spoiler is actually going to happen (well, at least half of it) but anyway, hope you read it cuz I *luv* feedback.
note. anything in between a ( and a ) means thought, and a nice little * and a * is basically the substitute for italics. =)
another note. (don't you just love these things?) I'm going to make this into a series. This is Buffy, and next one is Angel. and it goes from there. You'll see.
summary. (I know, you're thinking *finally* after all that *crap*) uhh..to make it as dramatic as possible, "Buffy Summers is deep in depression after a horrible happening. Who can possible save her???" Or not.... to put it simple, Angel comes and comforts her, the only way he knows how. It's uhh...angsty folks, but fluff in a round about way...well think of it this way...compare it to the *show*....there ya go...=) timeline. uhh.... let's just say *after* Crush and Thin Dead Line (i *believe* that's the eppy title....)
feedback. Like it, Love it, NEED IT!

She was aware of two things.

The first being the cold, hard ground.

The rain had long since soaked deep into the earth, turning ashy dust into dark mud that slipped through her fingers when she leaned into the ground. Her knees were pressed into the grass and mud, the brown water spreading up her thighs and down her calves. She watched the rain through her hair, but couldn't feel it flow softly, almost a trickle down her back and shoulders, drench her hair, and sink into her eyes and over her cheeks.

The second was the fact that she was going to die.

Not literally of course. No, because Death at that particular moment, would be a mercy. No complications. No weakness. No strength. No worries or fears or angers or even passions. Nothing. Especially not the pain. Her soul would pull free from it, like a winter bird shaking off the night's layer of icy snow.

But that was too easy.

Death was too simple.

She couldn't raise a knife to her throat when the image of her sister, alone and scared surfaced in her mind, reminding her of responsibilities. Family. Dawn was the only family she had left.

She sank down further, feeling the contour of the earth beneath her cheek. It was cold and hard. Completely without heat, solid against her weary body.

Four days.

It had only been four days.

Not enough time. She'd only had 20 years with her mother, and it didn't feel like enough.

Her mind had shut down. Thought had been cancelled like a magazine subscription you can't afford anymore.

There was only pain. Only reaction, only instinct.

She couldn't cry.

Maybe it was shock. (Shock faded three minutes after Glory threw that knife--)

Maybe it was a sort of self-protection. (I *need* to cry, it's only making it hurt more.)

She had a whole list of maybes, and enough contradictions and retorts to last her till New Years.

Daylight had faded. Hope had faded.

The funeral had been beautiful. Perfect white flowers had literally littered the ground. Their perfect tiny petals now lay waterlogged and trampled, spread out around the grave. She had watched it silently, never speaking a word, never letting her eyes stray from the words "Beloved Mother." She knew they'd all left by now. Slowly faded away, back to their homes, back to a semblance of safety. The funeral had been at 3, by now the sun had set and her knees had buckled. She was just glad her sister wasn't around to see big sister Slayer have a nervous break down.

And still, she couldn't take her eyes off the words, the only thing left of her mother besides an oak casket with a body that was nothing compared to the soul.

Too many had died.

Too many had been lost.

(All my fault.)

Too many self-inflicted scars that covered her arms and legs. Too many wounds that trickled crimson. Too many long, wicked scratches that burned throughout the day. Too many tendrils of blood that snaked their way past the curve of her thighs and breasts. Too many. And she could remember each one, with high-voltage sound and in that bright, vibrant, dangerous Technicolor.

She could remember hearing sirens. The sight of her Watcher's enraged eyes as he tried to avenge the woman he loved. She could see the emptiness of Kendra's eyes in the puddles of mud. The cold stone that marked her mother's life reminded her of the color of pavement, the place where the people she couldn't save met their death. And a single, crushed petal brought to mind the broken body of her sister Slayer, now in jail, paying for her crimes. And the wind, harsh and whistling through the trees like ghosts in their eternal limbo, the wind brought back memories of a helicopter and of trying to defend her own crimes.

And if she was really honest with her self, the rain reminded her of another night. When rain had dashed against the window, a chorus celebrating love and change. When he gave himself to her, and she gave herself to him. And then when he threw it back at her, and took her tears instead.

(Beloved Mother)

A mother who hadn't always been there for her. A mother who had been dense and played dumb at times. A mother who didn't approve of the man she loved because she could only see in black and white. A mother who couldn't accept her daughter's destiny until that daughter ran away from home and saved the world. And even then, she blamed someone else for the path of destiny, so she wouldn't have to blame herself, the *mother.*

But she'd been the best mother in the world.

Because she'd been *hers.*

She loved her mother, and no matter what, her mother loved her.

But now...All that was left was a cold stone and a fresh grave. A daughter who couldn't cry.

(Spend too much time in cemeteries.)

She was barely aware, barely alive. Which was why she didn't recognize the pang in her stomach and heart that was his heralding. Which was why she didn't even see him coming until his hand fell on her shoulder.

She took in a sharp breath at the contact, and strangely it hurt, like she hadn't been breathing for awhile. She turned to look at the pale hand that dared to make its way to her stiff shoulder, and offer comfort she couldn't stand. But he was merciless, taking her other shoulder in his impossibly strong grip, and pulling her around to face eyes that were too intense.

She couldn't bear to look at him, stubbornly staring at his black clad chest, ignoring the hint of tears that pricked her eyes. (It's the rain.) He didn't move again, didn't pull her close or demand for her to speak. He was too smart, knew her too well, even after all this time. No matter how hard she tried to submerge herself in sunlight, something always ripped it away. It seemed so much easier when she'd had her friends and school for hope and fun, and him for love and cool night's embrace.

She swallowed hard, almost choking.

"It's too hard."

Her words, out of her mouth. She knew that, but she couldn't stop the surprise.

"I know."

His words were too heavy, laced with pain and wisdom, things no one should ever have to hold so close. She finally looked up at him, and into those achingly familiar eyes. They had turned black, deeper than the cloudy night sky, deeper than she thought possible.

"Angel?" A voice too timid to be her own. Too needy. It belonged to her pain, her loss.

He didn't respond, just waited.

When she felt the first tear escape her grasp she finished the half embrace. She was free to fall into his arms and held onto him so tightly. His arms slowly wrapped themselves around her thin, shaking shoulders. A hand coming up to cradle her head, stroke her hair. He closed his eyes, and at that moment she felt like he was absorbing her pain.

"I'm sorry."

She wasn't sure who said it. It could have been him, for obvious reasons. It could have been her, for reasons she didn't completely comprehend.

But it didn't matter because he was so solid, so cool, so unlike the unforgiving ground because he could return the hug. Because he could offer her solace, an invitation to silence. Peace, for just an instant.

He started to pull away, and she grasped him tighter, hard enough that if he'd been a normal man, his ribs would have been crushed.

"Please, don't. I--"

"Sh..." He soothed, and she realized his lips were pressed against her head, his cheek held tight against her hair, his own tears mingling with wet strands. "Don't speak."

(He smells so good)

He understood, without saying.

It was silent for a long, long time.

Silent, no words needed, no wild blabbering, no ridiculous rave of his or hers, no sound. Just silence. Just him and her, the wind and rain, the petals and grave.

And slowly, it all blurred, becoming a myriad of colors. Blue had mixed with red, yellow with green, until there was nothing left but a bleak darkness that promised a different kind of silence.

When she awoke, she would dimly recall leaving in a car, hands entwined because she still wouldn't completely break contact. She would remember entering her own bed with a hard pillow she sometimes called Angel.

She would *not,* however, remember the single kiss he had left on her lips before he'd left her. Just before daybreak, right after he'd awoke to find himself tangled in her embrace and remembering how it felt to be there for somebody he *loved.* She would never remember the words he'd uttered, or the murmured reply that had shattered his heart.

But when she woke up, she would remember feeling again. She would remember the warmth of sunlight, and the worried shouts of her friends. And she would think, ponder, and finally push away the memories of the night before, because she had a life and a sister to handle.

A thought would haunt her though.

(Denial is good for me too.)

(Because I love you.)

:::looks scared:::

what do you think?

:::runs to bed because she's tired and still kinda sick, although very happy that she's finally written something since "His Sword" =):::

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