Disclaimer: Joss is the rightful owner of all things Buffy
Rating: PG 15
Author's Notes: don't even ask me about "Past". *sob* I may have to put that on hold for a while
Credit: Drusilla and I both came up with this idea-- but mine was a little different so the plotline is based on some ideas she gave me. She planted the seeds and here's the finished product! Thanks babe!

She knew she had to get to him.

That was the only thing she had to do.

Dragging herself down the road to the hotel, she choked on the blood colliding with her teeth and bit her lip, splitting it in two. Smoke bellowed across the sky and it's grey tentacles enveloped her in a sickly cloud of dust. Her belly hurt but she couldn't scream and her lungs were stinging but there was no time to cough.

Her legs dragged across the concrete as she got on her knees and crawled, tearing her midsection which each small movement, but not caring, because as long as she could tell him goodbye then her little life was ok. Maybe it meant something. She wasn't sure. Did Slayers really make an impact? No. they made small waves and then died, because death was their art and she knew her mind was whirling into a mess of sky blue swirls, and she managed to get up the steps and felt her body slap against the marble floor as she collapsed.

It was a high ceiling and she couldn't reach it with her fingertips. Patting her flesh with clumsy fingers, she felt the squishiness of her chest and tried to breathe. Blood gurgled into the blackness of her lungs and she moaned, wanting to cry out- cry his Angel name- because he always heard her-and maybe then she could have her good night kiss. Just a quick brush of the lips would be like a drug and she wouldn't feel anymore of this rasping pain from the swords that went sliding through her like she was Faith.

I'm not Faith, she thought with a decisiveness that momentarily confused her. Was Faith dead to? She couldn't remember. All she could recall was the grey of the battlefield and the green eyes of the demon who stole her own sword and rammed it through her stomach. It had felt weird going in- cold- like steel should feel- and then hot, as if she was burning from the inside out. As if all her cells had gone malignant and were tearing through her angrily- multiplying like cancer or something equally alien.

She wondered for a moment whether she deserved this. If maybe a Slayer was supposed to die by her own sword- sort of like some twisted justice. the last wounded cry she heard was her own-but wait-she hadn't cried out. It had been more of a gasp. A choked stunned gasp-and then a sigh as she fell to the ground and pulled out the sword and wondered-what do I have left to live for? What do I make an effort for?

The answer was simple and she knew it instantly.

Angel.

And so here she was on the cold floor of the Hyperion, her blood spilling around her like a red cape-and there was no one and she thought, maybe I'm going to die alone. She started to laugh then, and it was a quiet laugh, and it hurt but she couldn't stop. A glow behind her eyelids reminded her that maybe she was going to see her mother soon. That thought sent peace down to her torn heart and she thought she heard voices.

"Mommy?" she whispered, and it was a lost sound and it was hopeful.

"Buffy!" It was a shout and it wasn't her mother.

His Angel eyes stared into hers, and she looked up, her fingers wet with a redness she couldn't quite recognize as she touched his cheek. "I'm. I'm dying," she murmured and smiled.

He looked pained and then agonized and it stung her to see it so she closed her eyes and he cried out in a hoarse tone, "No, GOD NO! Don't leave me NOW, Buffy! Not now."

She opened her eyes again and shifted, feeling the wounds open up even more, and the heat course down her sides. She assumed it was blood. She wasn't sure. She felt dizzy. "Why not now?" she asked him and felt his rough touch on her hair, then the gentleness of his hand on her cheek. She started to cry because she remembered why she loved him.

"Because." he said and leaned down, his lips kissing her bloody and bruised mouth. "Because I haven't had time. time with you, Buffy. not enough."

"Light," she murmured and turned her head, her ear knocking against the hardness of the floor. "I think I can see light."

"No." he muttered, and grasped her chin, bringing her face back to his as he covered the gaping holes in her stomach with his coat and pressed to stop everything from pouring out. "NO. Look at me."

She looked at him and her eyes started to spurt tears. "Did you know. that you had me from the beginning?"

He wept against her cheek and she felt the saltiness, the burning.

He kissed her and it was all they had left. The breath and the lips and the blood and the taste. "You told me that already, love," he reminded her and reached for her hand, holding it up. "Remember. on our wedding day?"

She remembered suddenly...the white roses in her hair and the golden sheen of his skin and the feel of the sand beneath her bare feet. "Did I tell you." she coughed and he tried to help her, but she felt the blood on her neck and knew it was no use. "Did I tell you-that I'd love you. even beyond death?"

He smiled and wept and she knew he was dead already and so was she. With trembling fingers, she reached up and caressed his cheek, felt his tears. "Don't. Just kiss me."

He leaned down and covered her mouth with his. He kissed his wife, his Buffy.

.and the last breath she exhaled, was into his lungs.

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