Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns them
Rating: This whole fic will be mature in nature, so I'm going to give it a general rating of R.
Author's Notes: Wow, a fic after "Spinning on the Edge" and so soon? Colour me stunned. I actually didn't think I was going to write for a loooong time, but then I was reading "Go Ask Alice" and got this idea and well.many sleepless night later.
AN2: Many people will not like this fic.that's fine, but I really don't want to hear about it, so please no flaming
Thanks for all the responses to my questions. I started writing it in third person, but it really royally SUCKED so I started over. And the storyline fit more for NYC.
Timeline: seven years in the future. Buffy is now twenty-seven
Feedback: please. This is gonna be a departure of sorts for me, so I'd like to know what you all think:
Dedication: to.all my great friends who don't even know I write fanfic.LOL
Muzak: "Are you Sad" Our Lady Peace

It's night and my whole body aches. Twisting around in the arms of my boyfriend, I ignore the leering looks of his many friends seated around us. My stomach is rolling and I feel sick. Rubbing my bandaged arms, I peek up at his face, hoping he won't be angry at me for speaking. "Johnny."

He ignores me. I should have figured that. We're with famous people now, and as he told me, "No one wants to hear what a little nothing like you has to say." But I also know that he wouldn't want me throwing up in front of all these stars, so I tug on his shirt.

He looks down at me, and only I can see the glitter in his eyes. "What?" he asks impatiently.

"I feel sick," I whisper and he shrugs me off him.

"Go then, Lizzie."

I hate when he calls me that. But I get up and walk away from the little gathering of people in the far corner. The dim interior of the New York City nightclub is smoky and my eyes burn. We've never gone to this one before, and I don't know my way around. That makes me feel nervous. It's a huge place and is packed with small tables where people sit and drink their champagne and their tequila, trying to add meaning to their lives.

I've found that New York is an empty place. Never mind that it's packed with people. It's just a shell. Picking my way through the tables and sweaty bodies, I find the bar and pull my skinny self up onto one of the padded stools. I don't know if I should get a drink. I always carry the money, cause Johnny doesn't like to. For one wild moment I imagine spinning around and walking out the door. I could get a new place. I could move away. But that's just a dream burning behind my eyelids.

"Can I help you?"

The bartender. I hang my head and then say, "Yeah, can I have a shot of tequila please?"

He sets it down and I give him the money. It burns the back of my throat and I toss back my head, my blonde hair flowing down my bony shoulders and the hollows of my back. I really should eat. But there's no appetite left in my body. "Another," I croak to the guy. It's so dark in here I can barely see his face. Or maybe it's just the fact that my head feels muzzy. My stomach seems to have calmed down though, and I figure it must be the alcohol.

The tiny shot glass lands in front of me and the drink slides down my throat like liquid silk. He's staring at me. The bartender. I wonder why. "What?" I pant and lean my elbows on the counter. "Think I'm having too many?"

He clears his throat and for a moment I think the sound is familiar. "No," he answers. "You." he trails off. "You remind me of someone."

"Who?" I laugh, taking another shot. "Lemme guess.some girl you used to know. Oh.and you used to sleep with her.so you wanna fuck me now? Is that it?" It's the same old story. I sway in my seat and feel his hand reach across and steady me. His fingers are reassuring.

"Yeah.actually you do remind me of a girl I used to know," he responds and his hand leaves my skin.

"Oh.so your room or mine?" I giggle and lay my head on the counter. I'm going to throw up. I try and focus on him, but everything's blurry.

"No one's room," he replies and sets down the bottle of tequila. "I'm getting one of the waitresses to take you to the bathroom."

"Nooo..nooo." I moan. "I can't go anywhere. My boyfriend-he'll be mad."

I hear him sigh. Oh, so I guess I'm just an inconvenience for everyone these days. What happened to the time when I was the saviour, the Slayer, the girl who would and could kick anyone's ass? "You know what, forget it!" I say, and manage to make my voice clear, and for one moment I recognize myself. The girl I used to be. "I can find my own way and don't need to take anyone along with."

He goes still, and I almost laugh. Finally, a reaction from someone. Maybe I am still a force to be reckoned with. Then his voice.confused.familiar. "Buffy?"

I can feel my stomach bottom out and fall. I can hear the roar in my ears and feel my eyes watering and everything going fuzzy. My feet are uncertain and I sway, staring at the dim figure behind the counter. "My name's Elizabeth. Never heard of Buffy," I respond, but my voice is trembling.

"Buffy." Oh no, he's not convinced. "It's me."

Doesn't he think I know who he is? And that's why I'm trying to run away? I can't do this. I have to go, I have to run. But my legs are so bony I doubt they would be much use right now. I've let them get too little, all angles and hollows. No softness. I want to cry. "I'm sorry, I don't know you," I pant and feel my chest heave.

"You don't know me," he repeats and his voice is almost mocking. "So you don't remember that we've known each other since you were sixteen.that I know everything about you.you don't remember that?"

"I don't know you," I cry out and ignore the looks I'm getting. My arms flail out as I gesture emphatically. "I'm no one.please leave me alone."

Trying to walk away, I only get as far as the door when he catches me and his hands aren't reassuring this time. They're choking me. "Please.no." I moan helplessly and he grasps me tighter.

"Why are you trying to run away?"

"I'm not." I groan and look up at him. "I swear, I'm not. I have to get back to my boyfriend. He'll be looking for me."

"Your boyfriend," he reaches up and touches the purplish yellow bruise blanketing my upper cheekbone. "Is he the one that gave you this? What happened to you out here Buffy?"

"Nothing." My voice is little and sullen. I didn't want to be found. Certainly not by him or anyone else. "Please Xander, just leave me alone."

"So you do know me," he pounces and I sigh, shaking my head.

"Of course I know who you are. I gotta go."

"You think I'm gonna let you go?" he asks incredulously. "No way. We've been wondering where you got to for all these years, no way am I letting you go now."

His hand grips my arm tight as we leave the club. There's no way I can get away. He has more muscles than I remember as he hustles me into a cab and I see them ripple underneath his T-shirt. Xander Harris, all grown up. His hair is still rumpled and longish, brushing and curling around his collar in a manly disarray. His eyes don't look at me, but I know they are still that brown but.wise, none of the goofiness from earlier years.

"Where are we going?" I inquire almost politely. He fixes me with a look.

"To someone who can look after you. I can't. Shani works late and she's always tired. I don't want her sleep interrupted."

"Shani's your wife?" I ask, and he shakes his head.

"Girlfriend."

The word is curt. He's not pretending to feel for her what he felt for Anya. Anya who's been dead for six years. She and the others enter my dreams at night. I can't chase their ghosts away no matter how hard I try. They curl around at the edges of my sleep, screaming at me, asking why didn't I save them. But I don't have the answers.

The cab smells of sweat and old coffee, but I barely notice it. Lights flash by us as we drive through Manhattan, the roads clogged with taxis and people, all thinking they have the right of way. I don't know where we're going, but dimly I recognize the charming streets of Tribeca. Mostly rich people live here. I know John Kennedy Jr and his wife did before they died. Died.my head hurts as I press it against the seat, rubbing my sore stomach.

"Are you sick?" Xander inquires softly, and I see his gaze becoming gentle. He can't stay mad at me for long, because he remembers the girl I used to be.

I ignore his question and ask, "When did you realize it was me?"

He smiles. "When you told me off. It was vintage Buffy."

I don't answer and instead go back to staring out of the window. A tremor goes through me, and my eyes fix on the blur of the buildings as they go by. A mess of brownstone and grey and splashes of glass as we pass shops and closed markets, newsstands and hot dog vendors. A part of me wants to know where he's taking me, but an equally large part doesn't care and I suspect that's sad.

The cab pulls beside the curb and Xander handles me more tenderly as he takes me out of the car and pays the driver. We're standing in front of the usual apartment building in New York. But it's considerably expensive, that I can tell. My head is jumbled, and I feel another tremor go through me like a sheet of glass slicing into my organs. I don't need this right now. I hope it's not starting. His fingers encircle mine and the doorman lets him go in, obviously knows him. Maybe this is Xander's building though I'm doubting a bartender could afford to live here.

We go up in the elevator and I feel the shivering starting. No, no, not now. I control it as best as I can and we walk out, to the sixth floor. Xander goes to apartment 612 and knocks. I stare at the brass numbers on the door and concentrate on not throwing up. My head hangs as the door opens. I catch sight of bare feet, and bare legs. Then the edge of boxers and a flat belly. My eyes keep going until I hear a husky, "Oh my God."

Xander stops me when I would've run away. "Stay here, Buffy. He's the only one I could bring you to."

I glance up at him, my eyes pleading. "No, please, Xander."

Angel stares at me as he leaves the shirt he was pulling on, half-unbuttoned. His eyes are dark and wary, and he takes me in, all the milky paleness and bony angles. I feel ratty and not at all pretty and stare back. He finally speaks to Xander. "What happened?"

"I found her at the club where I work," he responds and yanks on my hand, pulling me with him as he walks inside. My arm brushes Angel and I cringe. My body is tingling. "I need you to look after her, cause I gotta get back and be there for Shani when she gets in."

Angel nods. "Of course. where has she been?"

My eyes flash. "She can speak for herself."

He turns to me and it looks like it hurts him to do. Maybe he hates the sight of me. "Where have you been all these years, Buffy?"

"Like you care," I respond coldly. "Where's the wife?"

Angel strokes his forehead with fingers that shake. "We're divorced. She's probably back in California, living the good life."

"Oh," I answer, feeling like maybe I should be gloating or happy over that revelation, but my eyes are starting to water.

Xander lets go of me. "I really have to go," he says and starts for the door. "Is this all right?" he asks Angel, who nods.

"I'm glad you brought her here," he responds and sees him out. Xander doesn't say Goodbye to me, and I don't care at all, because my stomach is boiling round and round in a sick mess. Stumbling slightly, I glance at the walls, and feel like they are closing in on me. Angel comes back, and his fingers reach out. He smells of sleep and warm blankets. Gasping, I try and evade him, my ribs caving in on me, clamping down until I feel like I can't breathe. Cold sweat drips down my breast bone and I can see Angel's concerned face.

"What's wrong?" he asks and I would laugh if I didn't want to weep so much. He wants to know what's wrong. Oh, what could possibly be wrong with this situation?

Finally his hands land on me, gripping my lower arms. His thumbs brush against my flesh and I hear his startled sound. He pulls me into the light of the window and looks down at my arms. His finger runs down the insides and roughly he yanks off the bandages. I know what's there. I see them all the time. The needle holes, the thin flesh, the redness, the swelling, the bloodless areas.the mottled mess that are my inner elbows.

"Buffy." he breathes and our eyes lock.

~ you're life has been so hard, its dried up angels can't keep going
I'm trying to reach your hand, but I'm on fire
I never meant to fade away.~

"Buffy," he breathes and our eyes lock.

"What?" I inquire lightly and pull free, his fingers dragging along my arms as I do. It hurts and I bite my lips until I feel a bead of blood swell from the torn flesh. Moonlight washes over me from the window and I think I must look like a wraith from the streets. I guess that's what I am now. Someone from the proverbial gutter. I remember once when Johnny and I had a big fight and he threw me out on the streets after hitting me a few times in the face with his huge fist. There I was, in a torn dress with blood streaming from my nose, sitting on the curb of a dirty street. I didn't cry, just kept wiping my face and trying to keep from getting hit by the taxis whizzing by. No one looked at me. I was just another battered girlfriend with broken teeth and a skinny body.

Angel stares at me. I can tell he's wondering what to say. I can still read his moods, his thoughts, his actions. That thought makes my chest squeeze down on my ribs and I falter a little, sitting on the edge of a worn leather chair. It's big in here, and I know he must be doing well. Apartments in New York like this would go for five grand a month.

"You're doing drugs," he finally says flatly and almost collapses onto the couch. His hands are trembling as he runs them through his spiky hair.

"Yes," I respond with equal blankness, my eyes surveying the room again. "And I really should get going. I left the club without his permission. I gotta get back."

He almost laughs and then his eyes narrow. "You think I'm letting you out of here? Back to whoever got you hooked on these drugs? No way, Buffy."

No one's called me that in a long time. Johnny calls me Lizzie. He has a lot of other charming names for me when he's high and furious, but they're not worth repeating. Buffy.who is that? Standing up, I make for the door. "I really have to go, thanks anyway."

He grabs onto my arm and I wonder why it doesn't snap, he yanks so hard. My bones are little and have gotten thin over the years. Gentling for a moment, he looks down at me, "Buffy, you're not going. I'm cleaning you up."

"Oh great," I snarl. "What is this? Intervention? Really, I don't need this."

He fixes me with a look. "You saved me more times than I can count. I'm not letting you go back there."

No, no, this is making me want to scream. Doesn't he realize if I don't go back, Johnny will find me and kill me? He'll slice me up with one of his many knives that he's so proud of and leave me in an ally somewhere. I'll become just another statistic, lying in a pool of blood and dirt. The doctors will label me "Jane Doe" and I'll be buried in an unmarked grave. I have to go back.damnit, why won't he let me go? He did all those years ago, and he should now.I pull with all my strength, but his muscles are bigger and he picks me up, carrying me into the bathroom.

It's white and gleaming. He must have someone clean it. "Please." I whimper and a tremor goes through me.

He shakes his head and for a moment I see despair in his eyes. But there's something else there that chills me to the bone. Resolve. Steely resolve. He's not letting me go. He turns on the shower and a cold sweat breaks out over my skin. I'm trying to struggle but its not working. His hands take off my black cotton dress and slide my underwear down my legs. He doesn't look at my body, I know its ugly and that my hipbones protrude, and I feel like a shell of my former self. With firm but careful hands he puts me under the pounding jet of hot water.

It streams in a gush over my face and back, running in rivulets over my skin. I'm shivering, and I can tell what's coming. "Why are you doing this?" I moan, and he looks at me, his eyes dark and ancient, even though I know he's human now.

"Because its you," he answers quietly.

No, its not me. I'm not her anymore, he has to realize that. Toweling me off, he wraps me up and lifts me in his arms like I weigh nothing. An ache in my breastbone alerts me to the fact that I want something. I need something. Its been hours since I last shot up, and I know that Angel's not going to run down to the corner to get me some. People might think I like being a 'so-called' addict. That heroin brings me pleasure. They have no idea.

The skin inside my elbows starts to burn for the prick of the needle. Angel is drying me off with tender fingers. I can feel the sweat beneath my pores. I've been through withdrawal once before. I tried to quit once without telling Johnny. I only lasted a day before the pain sent me to his pusher for a hit. Hating myself even as I did it, I still pushed the needle into my flesh and waited for the peace.

He dresses me in a pair of his sweatpants which look ridiculous because they are way too big and a T-shirt that hangs over me like a tent. My hair flows down my hollowed back, silky and clean. He's looking at me. "You look so young," he says softly, and cocks his head to the side.

"I'm twenty seven," I remind him and stand up, ignoring the tremors that are wracking me just underneath the surface.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asks, and the thought makes me want to throw up.

"No," I shake my head and walk past him. "It must be quite a shock for you," I begin, and he follows, his hands on my shoulders. They burn and my whole being wants to shrug him off. "You know, me , addicted to drugs.no longer your Golden Girl, huh? What would people say?"

He remains quiet for a moment, sitting across from me. "It's not going to work," he finally replies almost conversationally. "You're not going to piss me off to the point where I throw you out, Buffy."

Would he stop calling me that? I hate him so much at this second and wish I could scratch his eyes out. "I wonder what everyone would say," I remark. "Willow and Dawn.Faith."

It's been so long since I even let myself think those names, let alone say them aloud. I see Angel's pain, but it makes me feel better. So, someone else remembers them to, feels guilt over them. Someone else misses them. "They would be shocked."

"Willow most of all," he answers with a wealth of tenderness in his voice for my dead friend.

"Yeah," I swallow against the bile welling in my sore throat. Willow. God, I miss her. I would give anything to see her red hair and hear her voice right now. My Willow, my best friend.no, the tears are burning in my eyes and they feel like red hot lava. I have no right to cry over her. I should have saved her. Should have done something. She would have been twenty seven now to. Probably married, maybe to Tara. Tara.I don't even know where she is now. She disappeared after the funeral. I don't want these thoughts.

"What happened to Riley?" he asks and I shrug, laughing without any humour whatsoever.

"How should I know? After divorced, he went to Iowa again. I would imagine he's married to some farm girl who won't talk back."

"Why did you marry him Buffy?" he inquires lightly, and it makes me feel a little like getting up, walking over to him and slapping him across his blank face. That face. It hasn't been in my dreams for a long time, just like I wanted.

"Because I was stupid. Because I was mourning. Because I was lonely. Take your pick," I pause and then snap, "Why did you marry..what's her name?"

I know perfectly well what her name is. It's been emblazoned in my brain ever since I heard the news. His hands trace a pattern on the material of the couch. "I married Katherine because I thought I had to move on," he answers, his voice low. "Because I didn't want to spend my days as a human, alone."

"Okay," I murmur. "Now, tell me why you really did."

He looks startled and then mutters, "Because she didn't know you. She didn't know my past and she didn't look like you, or talk like you, or resemble you in any way. I wanted to forget."

I bite down on my lip and feel the blood again. My teeth are sharp, I had forgotten that. My whole body is soaked with cold sweat, the liquid coming from my pores, hungry and unforgiving. My skin is tingling and it aches. God, I want a needle. I want the powder, I want the feeling as it goes in and infects my blood stream. My bones are anaemic and they're pressing together in my body, uncomfortable, needing nourishment that can't be bought at the store. If only I could get past him some way. If only I could find a way to run. I need to get home. Maybe Johnny was so high that he didn't notice I was gone. Maybe I can get back to the apartment and only receive a slap for this. If I wait too long there isn't going to be anything left of me once he's done.

"I need to go," I plead with him. "You really don't understand.my boyfriend-" Where had that come from? I hadn't planned on mentioning Johnny to Angel. His eyes darken and I see his anger.

"You think I care about your boyfriend?" he asks with fury etched in the curves of his face. "Is he the one that gave you those bruises?"

Maybe I shouldn't answer, but I do. "Yes," I respond quietly.

Angel mutters something under his breath and from here I feel his rage. "You're not going back to him. If he touches you again, I'll kill him. Buffy," he gets down on his knees in front of me and I see the tears in his eyes. Don't cry for me, I want to say, but my vocal cords won't work. "You're safe here."

Safe? That's a laugh. There's nowhere in all of this godforsaken city that I'm safe. I should know. How many times have I tried to escape now? He finds me every time. He finds me and gives me drugs that I couldn't afford to buy. At least he gives me the heroin.

"You can't fight him," I choke out, "Angel." I realize that's the first time I've said his name since I arrived and from his expression, its clear he recognizes it to.

"Did you know the Powers let me keep my strength?" he informs me gently. "It's all right. I'll be fine, don't worry about me. Buffy, you should eat something."

"I can't," I moan and my stomach rolls at the mention of food. "You don't understand.no appetite left in me."

He leaves me and I hear him in the kitchen. The tremors are coming now, faster and they go deeper. My whole body is wracked with them. A deep shooting pain cuts into my bones and makes me feel like I can't breathe. God. I hate this. Are you even out there, God? The ceiling looks so far away. My hands tremble as I wrap them around my body. The bones of my ribs poke out against my palms and I wonder if I could push them back in. I remember a time when my frame was covered with a layer of good, tanned skin that glowed and was healthy. I remember a time when I had a sister and friends, when I didn't fear a crack in the face for making soup the wrong way.

I remember a time when I knew who I was.

Angel comes back with a cup of tea. He brings it to my mouth. Tears press against my eye lids and fall in a salty gush down my cheeks. He forces me to take a sip and I gag against the sugar and milk. Rubbing my stomach soothingly, he lets more and more liquid drip down my throat and I swallow because I don't want to choke. But I don't want tea. I want the peace of a needle filled with powdered high.

"Angel." I whimper helplessly and he takes my hands.

"We're going to do this," he tells me firmly, his voice wavering with tears. "Don't expect me to stop, Buffy. I won't let you go this time."

I know he's referring to my wedding. When he stood by and let me get married to another man. When he gave me away to someone else. "What if I can't do it?" I moan and he forces another sip past my teeth and red lips and the tisane is bitter even with all the things added.

He doesn't reply, instead covers me with a blanket. Chills ripple over my flesh and I shiver, tears still streaming from my watery eyes. Aching pains slice through my belly, like knives stabbing and ripping me apart. It's the ache behind my breastbone that makes me want to scream the most. It's constant, pain, pain, pain, travelling into my chest like a cancer, down to my elbows and making them swell with anger. Where are my drugs? Where is the peace? "Oh God." I'm whimpering incoherently, shuddering under the blankets. "Please, Angel.get me something.please."

He shakes his head, his hands stroking my hair, and I writhe against him, trying to get away. But he presses me to the back of the couch and keeps on caressing my forehead and ignoring my pleas, his eyes fixed somewhere across the room. "I'm going to throw up." I groan and he picks me up, carrying me into the bathroom. With unsteady hands, I fall to the cool tiled floor and everything in my stomach comes up into the toilet. Angel holds my hair back and rubs my belly. I feel the blood between my teeth and my whole body shakes with sobs so great I think they will tear me apart.

The heaves stop after long moments, and I collapse against him. He takes a cool washcloth and wipes down my face and mouth, pressing some toothpaste against my teeth to clean them and remove the bitter acrid taste from my tongue. With weary eyes, I stare at the wall across from us as he rocks me gently on the floor.

I wonder if he's crying. I wonder if I'm crying. "I missed you." I whisper listlessly, my voice barely recognizable, so small and strained.

His fingers stroke my sore and raw stomach tenderly. "I'll always miss you, Buffy," he murmurs and I know what he means. I'm still not me, and he doesn't know if I ever will be again.

~ offered is advice to you, you left but I don't blame you
we're digging up the past to bury it one last time
I know there's pain inside, that truth, you just have to face it~

I'm lying here shivering. I know he turned the heat on, but my body is wracked with tremors and chills so powerful no amount of blankets have been able to ward them off. The aches crawl up my belly, pinching my ribs with claws like knives. I can't breathe.

"Angel?" is that me? My voice is reedy, small.

He lies on the floor, by the bed, staying with me. "Yes?" he asks immediately and sits up, his face shadowed in the early morning dawn. I look outside. We're high up enough that I can see the sky behind the mess of skyscrapers and apartment buildings. It's pink and golden. A new day.

"I can't stand this anymore." I moan, and am ashamed to do it. "Please.get me something.please."

He's beside me, his arms going around me. No, no.I don't want him. I want a needle. I want a blackened spoon and a flame. I want powder that I know will go down easy. His arms hurt me. Struggling, my body wrestles with his and I know my eyes burn with hatred. He doesn't look, just holds me, soothing me with words that mean nothing.

"Buffy, Buffy." he murmurs and I hate it even more than the pain. I hate him more than the pain.

Fiery lava clamps down on my stomach and chest. Choking, I writhe against him. It's too much.too much. I bring a hand to my mouth. "Going to." He's lifting me up, carrying me into the bathroom. Vomit covers us both. I'm crying, gagging, and he sets me before the toilet, holding me still. Everything wrenches inside me as my innards spew out into the basin, and it's so horrible I'm convinced I'm going to die.

~Death would be better than this~

My head cracks against the tiled floor as I flop back, panting, my sore midsection stretched with every breath. Angel wipes my face with a damp washcloth and strokes my hair. The tears pool beside my head, as the blood trickles between my teeth. "Are you ok, love?" he whispers, his voice exhausted to the point where it is unrecognisable.

"No."

My throat hurts and I know it's bleeding. He takes off his stained shirt and leans against the wall, helping me remove my T-shirt. I hear his breathing get deep and ragged. He's asleep. Shaking, I turn over and get on my bony hands and knees, wobbling and trembling as I crawl over to his prone figure. My hands slip on the blood stained floor, my cheeks running with tears. Bending down, I curl up and lay my aching head on his knee.

He smells warm and like home. Even with all the blood, tears, vomit, sorrow that wracks this little room, he smells like sweet sunshine and rain. I close my eyes and sleep.

~

I dream of my past. I haven't done so in a long time. The drugs keep me from feeling the terror of memories. But now, with my brain clear, they come rushing back in torrents and gushes I can't stop.

~remember.remember.remember~

I remember Willow. When she died in my arms during the End of Days fight. The look in her eyes as the blood left her torn chest in a pulpy stream. It was so red against her pale skin. Tara was trying to fight her way towards us, using her spells, her legs, arms, anything to get there in time. Willow's gaze was clear and she touched my face. "I don't blame you, Buffy" she whispered.

What could I say? Don't leave me, Will. Please, you're my best friend.

I just pressed a salty kiss to her brow. "I love you, Will," I murmured, and held her. Tara and Oz never got to say Goodbye. Yeah, I blame myself for that to.

Anya comes in my dreams. She tells me she misses Xander, but she's waiting for him. That makes me weep. She looks older, her hair brilliant and her skin shadowed. I ask her if she watches him, and she says yes she does. She says she holds him during the night, but he doesn't feel her. I say sorry but I don't think she hears me.

And I remember my wedding day. I wore white, what a joke. My mother insisted. I told her I should be wearing black. She looked bruised from the loss of Dawn and just smiled absently at me. Riley pretended I was marrying him for love. He didn't wonder why I wanted to tie the knot so soon after the funerals or why my eyes looked purple and full of thorns. Angel came, and stood with Cordy and Wes. I remember him showing no expression. His stare was blank. Just empty. As I said the vows, my gaze fled to him, but he was apathetic. I found out at the reception that he was human. Over a bite of white frosted cake with Cordy. And I remember the way it turned to ashes in my mouth and my hands started to shake as I stared at her. She didn't have any sympathy. I don't suppose I expected any.

~

I wake up to a soft duvet, and the cool scent of fabric softener. Angel sits on the bed next to me, reading. My bones hurt too much to turn over. "Hi." My voice is scratchy and raw. He looks down at me and smiles softly.

"Hey."

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Afternoon, I don't know," he responds and straightens up, getting up to walk into the kitchen. "I'm gonna get you some food ok? Just little something. You need to eat, Buffy."

Protesting isn't worth it. The mere mention of food is enough to make me want to run away. But I can't. He returns with a cup of tea and a slice of apple and cheese. Oh, Angel. Parts of me want to smile. He manages to cram nutrients, protein and fat into a little meal. Plus, sugar and milk. "What I could really use is a drink," I rasp and he smiles.

"I put a little in the tea."

He feeds me with gentle care and even though the bites of food don't go down as easily as powder would, I swallow them and he strokes my hair. The burn of the sweet alcohol in the tea sweeps into my pores.

"Angel.were you with Faith when she died?" I ask suddenly. He stiffens and sits back, after settling me comfortably in the crook of his arm. I'm so tiny I fit against him perfectly.

"Why do you ask that?" he queries and I know he doesn't like talking about her. The girl he couldn't save. I don't answer and he sighs. "I wasn't with her.she died alone. I saw her right before. She was fighting the snake. As far as I know it snapped her in two.that's what it seemed like when we found her body."

"Do you." I pause and ignore the throb in my chest, "ever feel guilty?"

"Yes," he responds and I feel the beat of his heart against my back. It's so strange that for a second I forget who I'm sitting with. This can't be Angel. This man is warm, his chest rises and falls, he's.alive. His flesh isn't dead. "Sometimes I see them at night.I remember their faces at the funerals. I remember your face at your wedding."

Swallowing, I shift, my skin starting to hurt from being stretched across my yawning anaemic bones. "Why did you come?"

"I guess I wanted to let you know I was happy you had moved on," he replies without any inflection in his tone. "You could have come to my wedding and shown the same thing."

"How could I?" I ask bitterly. "I wasn't glad you moved on. I was so angry I couldn't see straight.you weren't supposed to be happy without me. Don't you get that? I never thought you'd find anyone you loved like you loved me."

His arms tighten and his fingers are grasping one side of the duvet. "I didn't love Katharine like that." his tone is harsh and angry, full of pent up frustration that has been allowed to simmer. "Do you think I *like* looking after you now? Seeing what you've done to yourself.God Buffy, why didn't you try and get help? Why did you do this to yourself?"

Wrenching away from him, I force my creaking body to turn and face his flashing eyes and torment. "You mean I'm not allowed this human weakness?" I screech at him, coughing as I do so. "Not allowed to be imperfect? How many times did you think I could watch someone I love die and not go crazy? Did you think I was going to hear about you marrying another woman and be overjoyed? Wow, gee, glad Angel's moved on."

He grabs my arms and looks me straight in the eyes. "I thought you might understand.given that you married someone else."

"I married Riley because I thought I couldn't have you." I cry hoarsely and feel the tears against my teeth. "Why do I do anything in my life? Because of you.always you, only you." my sobs come slow and deep, heaving at my chest as if they're trying to pull it apart, break my ribs and spurt blood. "Angel.I have done so many stupid things in my life.but knocking you on your back was the stupidest.that really takes that proverbial cake." The aching gets worse as I yell, but my rage is boiling over and its like I can't stop. "I should never have fallen for you.never should have fucked you.you know, I used to wonder, after you left.if maybe you'd still write. Maybe a courtesy letter here and there.sorry for stomping on you heart.sorry for everyone I killed. Sorry for drinking you and then spinning off to LA. Maybe even a Birthday card.I can see it now.on this anniversary of the night I first screwed you."

He turns away, and I leap at him, clawing at his neck with my nails. He yanks me against him, stopping my frantic scratching and I see the tears on his face. I continue, softer, quieter, "And I would have liked a card after your wedding.sorry I got married, Buffy. Sorry I broke my promise to you.sorry I told you, you were the only person in this world that I ever loved."

"You are the only person I've ever loved." he whispers, tears dripping over his lips. I don't know if they're his or mine. Salt tastes the same.

Leaning close, I bury my face in his neck. "I'm sorry I killed you back then."

He breathes in deeply and curls me against him, his hands caressing my little back. "I never blamed you." he answers quietly, and my sobs soak his shirt.

"But I blamed myself," I whisper.

~Chances are you'll find me, somewhere on your road tonight
Seems I always end up driving by
Ever since I've known you, it just seems you're on the way
All the rules of logic don't apply
I long to see you, in the night, be with you till morning
light~

It takes a week for the withdrawal to lessen. A week full of vomit and blood. Full of sweat and screams and whispered words. Full of my raspy voice, of my bony knees trying to crawl, and full of such stabbing pain that I wanted to die a thousand times.

On the eighth day, I wake up and turn my head to look for Angel. He's standing at the window, watching the sun rise over the City. The duvet covers me and smells like him and fabric softener. With help from my elbows, I sit up and say, "Can we go out today?"

He looks at me with his dark eyes and raised eyebrows. "Where do you want to go?"

"To the park," I answer softly, thinking of the lush grass. My skin hurts and there is an immediate throb behind my chest. Bearing it, I stand up on shaky legs and go into the bathroom. Choking back the urge to throw up, I brush my teeth and fix my hair. My face is hollowed out and I look like death. But at least I'm not dead. That's what I keep thinking.

Angel helps me dress with tender fingers, in jeans and a sweater that he bought me a couple days previously. Parts of me want to hide the bandages on my arms, the visible jut of my collar bone, the slenderness of my calves. So I don the clothes like armour and take Angel's hand.

We take a taxi to Central Park. It's Autumn and the sun hurts my eyes. But the greenness of the park is a welcome contrast to the grey City and as we enter, I am caught up in the smell of leaves and raked grass. We could be any normal couple, walking amongst the trees and surrounding skyscrapers. "Are you feeling a little better today?" he inquires finally, breaking the tenuous silence.

"A little," I respond and scuff my feet in the dirt, inhaling the sunshine and earth smell of the fall, my footfalls light and careful. His fingers embrace mine and I can feel the tiny reassurance of his pulse against my wrist. "I just needed to get out for a while."

We sit at a fountain and watch the way the water trickles against the stone. "Angel.do you think I could have saved Dawn?" I inquire quietly and if he's surprised he doesn't show it.

"No," he responds firmly. "She was a key to something we didn't even understand Buffy.I don't think she could have been saved. Besides, I'm not sure that she could have lived after the End of Days anyhow."

I trail my fingers in the water and look at the blue veins underneath my skin. Dawn once asked me if what was inside her was blood. I replied that it was the same as mine. "Summers blood." She doesn't have blood anymore. But then again, mine is so diseased maybe I don't either. I've pumped so much into it that its riddled with alien matter. The water of the fountain is cold. I watch as my flesh begins to tinge with cool silver. Angel isn't looking at me.

"Is that why you got hooked on drugs?" he asks me softly, his eyes scanning the park blankly. "Because you felt guilty?"

"Guilty?" I muster, almost laughing. "Guilt doesn't describe it.you couldn't understand-"

He cuts me off quickly with a slash of his hand in the air. The glint of silver rings flashes across my face as he snaps, "You think I wouldn't understand guilt? I killed more people than all the serial killers in this country combined."

"It's not the same," I reply and ignore the anger in his eyes. "I should have saved them.don't you understand that? It was my job.my job as the Slayer. I had been training for half my life for the End of Days and I failed.how do you think that made me feel?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think it made you turn to drugs."

"It made me marry Riley," I shrug and press a shaky hand to my throbbing chest. I realize that my fingers are wet from the water and they leave a stain on the soft material of the sweater. My elbows ache under the thick bandage and I can feel my eyes tearing up. God I want to shoot up. "It made me actually think I could lose myself in him. It made me forget myself." I pause for a moment. "Tell me about Katharine."

"Why?" he inquires in disbelief.

"Just tell me."

His voice is hesitant. "I met her after I received my Shanshu. She worked at a restaurant Cordy and I went to often. When you.married Riley, I asked her out on a date. Cordy sort of forced me. She told me it was time for me to move on.whatever that means." He looks almost embarrassed and his gaze his lost. I know he is remembering her and that makes the pulsing need clamp down on my chest and squeeze. Escape is all the bliss I need right now.all the forgetfulness. "We dated for a while. And I asked her to marry me because she was a change from everything else. She was so new, and she didn't know anything about my past. I guess I thought we would be able to start fresh together. I married her and it turned out I was wrong."

"What was wrong with her?" I ask him, my voice unsteady.

He looks pensively at the water spouting from the angel's mouth in the fountain. "She wasn't you. She could never be you."

There's no answer to that. So I sit still and wonder how soon winter will come this year.

~

He tries to get me to eat dinner. Potatoes and corn and a piece of bread. I manage the bread. But my hands keep trembling and I can barely chew. Smoothing away my frustrated tears, he picks up my body that has nothing to offer but bony limbs and fragile skin and carries me into the darkened living room. Turning on the CD player, he sits down in one corner on the plush carpet and sets me between his legs. Leaning back against his strong chest, I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing with my sore chest and stomach.

John Lennon croons to us from the grave.

~ Imagine there's no heaven, its easy if you try
No hell below us, above us only sky
Imagine all the people, living for today
Imagine there's no countries, it isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for~

"I always liked this song," I tell Angel and I can feel him smile. I can imagine it.

"It's idealistic," he responds and I shrug.

"Yeah, well everyone is to some degree."

We sit in silence for a moment, the shadows of the room melting and moving languidly with the melody. "What's going to happen when this is over?" I ask him quietly.

"When what's over?" he responds, and I know he's trying to figure out an answer to my question so I don't say anything. He sighs. "I suppose we'll just go on, as we always do. Isn't that what our lives have been about? Going on? What did you expect to happen?"

"I don't know," I comment without any inflection. "Maybe for something to change. Evolve. Don't you feel like we're stuck?"

"With each other?"

"Yeah.its like ever since I knocked you flat on your back in that ally behind the Bronze we've been entangled. Never really apart, never over. we're stuck. It's like we fell into a trap or something.we sealed something."

I remember that night we first met. He gave me that beautiful cross and sparred with me. He inflamed me even then. His dark eyes drowned me from the beginning. I never could hold my head above water when it came to him. Never could see straight. I tried to annoy him. He told me he wasn't my friend. I wanted more, so that was fine. His grin when I kept him pinned to the ground with my booted foot. The whisper, "I don't bite."

Now I look back and think that I didn't have a clue. Not a clue what was coming. He was a hot guy to me.someone cryptic. Someone to obsess over with Will. I didn't know I would give myself completely to him. Didn't know he would fall for me, and fuck me and fill me and feed off me. Didn't know I would kill him to save the planet. Didn't know that I would wish for my own death after that. I had no idea what was to come. I still remember the night I gave my blood to save him. When I pulled back the neck of my top and felt his fangs pierce my tender skin. He left me high and dry, unfilled, unsated.

"I know what you mean," he answers after long moments and his fingers rub my belly with lazy movements. My skin is comforted by his familiar touch. The scars and pain run too deep right now for me to want him. For me to crave his skin and his strength within me like I used to. But I know that could change. He presses a kiss to the top of my head.

"Angel.did you ever think of me when you were with Katharine?"

He doesn't answer for a second. His hands tighten around my waist and the music winds around us. "No. The only time I thought about you was at night. You came into my dreams. I tried to stop it.but that's the time that I couldn't fight it."

Closing my eyes, I relax against him and he smoothes my cheek. I think I will dream of him and he will dream of me. Because that's the way it is and I wonder why we ever tried to change it.

~I think about you all the time
Well I don't need the same
Its lonely where you are
Come back down
I won't tell them your name~

I'm in bed when it happens. It's dark and heavy in the room, the curtains drawn, and I'm in that place between sleep and wake. Drowsily, I sit up and crane my ears. It's the phone. Who could be calling? The only person I told that I was here was my friend Valentia. She sometimes stays with Johnny and I and I figured I should tell her where I was.

Angel's out getting groceries. My bones creak as I get up and place my feet onto the cold, unforgiving floor. The shrill ring keeps on and there's a chill of foreboding in the air. With tense fingers, I pick it up and say a raspy, "Hello?"

"Lizzie!" It's Valentia. Her tone is frantic. It startles me. For a while I had forgotten that she thinks my name is Elizabeth.

"What is it Val?" I ask, sinking down onto the plush chair beside the phone. My heart slams against my ribs as I listen to her voice.

"It's Johnny," she continues. "He had an overdose, baby. Oh God.he's.he's dead.he's.crack cocaine.Lizzie."

I can't breathe. Images of Johnny flash before my eyes. Him standing over me, his fist raised while my mouth was open with terror and blood was dripping from between my teeth.his wild stare, his smile as he hit me. The feel of his hands on my belly as I threw up after a drunken binge. His face as he had sex with me and I lay under him, doped up and glassy-eyed so I wouldn't have to face my reality. Pressing a hand to my lips, I gasp into the phone, "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know.he just took too much baby.he was foaming at the mouth.it was horrible. They took him to the morgue.I don't even know who his parents are.shit, do you?"

Staring at the walls blankly, I shake my head and then realize she can't see me. "No.I have no idea."

"You have to come down to the apartment, get your stuff.I mean, there's no reason to stay away now.and besides, Gino and the boys will be coming by later. Probably to steal everything."

I'm just sitting still, trying to talk. But nothing's coming out besides, "Sure, ok". My elbows tremble and start to ache. Oh, no. Not now. I don't want to want this now. No, I need Angel. Thinking of him makes me wild for something, anything to fill me up and make me feel whole. I need his skin and his fingers, his voice and his smell. Angel.where is he? I hang up the phone with Val, rocking myself back and forth.

Johnny's dead, he's dead. I feel free. I feel horrible. Maybe it's guilt. Maybe I feel like I should've been there. To help him. To hold his hand as he died?? To hold the hand that hit me? The hand with the rings that would cut into my cheeks as he rammed it into them in his drug-induced rages? Could I ever caress that hand.

A sound from the front of the apartment makes me look up. Angel comes through the door, his arms full of bags, his hair rumpled. As he sees me, he sets the bags down and comes forward, his eyes concerned, sweet. "Love, what are you doing? I thought you were sleeping?"

It all breaks. I see him, take all of him in and he becomes my whole world for that quick second. Angel, Angel, Angel. standing up, I sob brokenly and fling myself against him with crushing force. His arms grab me and embrace me and crying, sniffing, I rub my cheeks against his neck, where I can feel bare, warm skin. Angel soothes my back with strokes from his fingers, murmuring things to me. "What is it, love?" he asks, his voice tinged with fear. "What happened?"

I'm crying and trying to talk, but all that is coming out is gibberish. He sits down on the chair where I learned the news and cradles me on his lap. He probably thinks that I had a relapse. Maybe snuck some drugs into the house. Maybe he thinks I inhaled that powdered pain and let it stream through my blood like liquidated fire. But he's wrong. I didn't do that. I'm just going crazy.

The sound of his voice reaches my ears finally. He's whispering and holding me close, his whole body around mine. It's making me feel better, and slowly I raise my tear-stained face to look at him. His fingers brush the hair off my wet cheeks. His eyes are soft, worried.loving. "Angel." I murmur wonderingly, almost questioningly.

He's agonized. But his lips are touching mine, so lightly, so quietly.it's like a whisper. Like imagination. I whimper and press closer, as his mouth covers mine and it's like falling. But his arms are still around me so I know I'm not on the floor, although it feels like it. It's as if I'm lying down, the ceiling rushing across me as all the blood goes to my head. Kissing Angel, his tongue drowning in my mouth, is too good. It makes me moan.

"Buffy." he mutters and pulls back, his eyes studying my face. He knows something is wrong.

"Johnny's dead," I utter without inflection, leaning my head on his shoulder, hearing his intake of breath. "He over dosed on crack cocaine.he just died. Valentia, my friend, called me.I have to go over there and get my stuff or else his pusher will be over to take it all."

"I'll go with you," he says and grabs a Kleenex, wiping my face free of salt.

I don't protest. I need him with me. I always did.

~

As we enter the apartment where I used to live, I half expect to see Johnny coming out from the kitchen, his fist raised, his eyes shot with blood, asking where the hell I've been. But he doesn't. The walls are still and silent. I guess I thought it would be alive in here, with ghosts. But it's dead. It's peaceful. Maybe this place knows there will be no more screams. My cheekbone hurts where he used to hit me. Touching it lightly, I go into our room. Angel doesn't say anything, but he follows me because I'm holding onto his hand.

The bed is messy just like we left it before going to that club. He obviously hadn't made it since then, or didn't even really come home. Grabbing my clothes, I hauled them into a garbage bag and decided right then and there to take them to the Salvation Army. I didn't need them. They were like an old skin that needed to be shed.

Angel sat down on the chair in the corner, his figure in the sun reminding me of nothing I had ever seen before. Angel was always someone caught in the shadows of my memory. In the darkness, teeming with cemeteries and the muskiness of the mansion. Not in the light. Never glowing. I smile at him and lean against the wall. "A lot's changed hasn't it?"

He nods. "Yeah, it has. I didn't think we'd end up here, that's for sure."

A sudden thought strikes me. "Angel, what do you do? For a job?"

He half smiles. "I'm a photographer. I do editorial work and portraits for celebrities. It's good money. And I can take long breaks. Like when I need to help an old friend."

Something catches in my throat. A sob, a tear, a sigh. I'm not sure what. But as I stare at him, I suddenly realize he is saying Goodbye. "Must be nice. The freedom."

"It is," he admits, and stands up, rubbing his shoulder, looking out the window to the busy New York Street.

"I want to thank you for your help," I offer, my fingers playing with my silky hair, the blonde strands winding around my thumbs like bolts of thread.

Angel turns, and his half smile is like a balm to my bruises. "Your Welcome."

I feel like I should shake his hand or something. Like we completed a transaction. Nodding mechanically, I push my shoulders back and try and stand tall. Maybe I can be that Buffy again. Or maybe I can just be someone that is strong. Someone that doesn't run away. It's going to be hard. Already the ache behind my breastbone reminds me that I want a fix. Bearing it, I gaze at my old lover and grin at him. "I have to go.I'm gonna stay with Valentia. Until I can find a place, you know."

"Buffy." he murmurs, reaching out a hand. My fingers interlock with his. He draws me towards him and I drop my hand onto his chest, my ear against his beating heart. "I will come back to you.whenever you need help. You know it's never over."

I stare up at him, my eyes brimming. But clear, strong. I can do this. "I know. I know, Angel."

He holds me and for a moment, I let myself cling, inhaling his smell, his breath, his heartbeat. I feel him in all his throbbing, hot life and almost grappling with his shirt, press myself into him one last time. He leans down, tipping my chin up and kissing my lips gently. He tastes like the rain.

And then I do the one thing I never let myself do. I let him go. It's not over. It might never be. But I have to be on my own, prove that life isn't too much of a struggle for me. Prove that there might be some Slayer in this skin somewhere. Angel can't do this for me. He was there as he always is, to pick me up and save me, and hold me close in the night. But when it comes down to it.I know it's on me.

"Goodbye," I say and pick up my bags, absorbing the weight of them with muscles I didn't know I still possessed.

He touches my cheek. "Goodbye, Buffy."

That hurts, to hear him say it. He never could before. But I turn away, tearing my eyes from his and walking out of the room I experienced so much terror in. It's cold outside. Winter's coming and I don't have a roof over my head, or food to eat. No drugs to calm me, or boyfriend to keep me in line. Looking up at the sky, I imagine this life I have ahead of me and feel so alone.

I start walking, and don't stop until I reach Valentia's place. I don't look back.

I'm lying here trying to sleep. But this is a strange couch. I hadn't realized how used I'd become to his apartment, his bed, the softness of the sheets and the smell of him on the pillows. The ceiling in Valentia's loft is so high it might as well be the sky. My eyes are streaming salt and the tears burn as they drip down my neck. I can't believe he said Goodbye to me. I can't believe I said goodbye to him. Breathing's hard. Sniffling, I turn over and press my hands to my sore belly. It's stretched and aching with the effort of drawing air into my body. A throb behind my breasts reminds me that I still want a fix.

The material of the couch scratches my face as I pant and gasp against the tears. I don't want Val to hear me. She's high and would be no help. Finally I drift, sleep claiming me.

I'm dreaming. High in the clouds, the whipped cream whiteness of them enfolding me like wings. Willow appears. She wears her normal clothes, strange orange pants and a red T-shirt. Her hair is bright and her eyes wide. She smiles at me. With hands that shake, I touch her. "Will," I breathe quietly, joyously.

"Buffy," she says clearly. "Hi."

Her voice. I had forgotten it. "I miss you," I tell her softly and she grins.

"Why?"

"Because you died," I remind her and she looks surprised.

"But you have your memories of me," she remarks as if that should be enough. But it can never be.

"But I need you, Willow."

She touches my arm. "You never needed anyone, Buffy. You were always the strongest of any of us. I couldn't deal when Oz left, but you were so great when Angel did. You picked up and went on. I always envied that about you."

I feel bitter. Didn't she realize I died inside when he left me? I guess no one did. I guess maybe I hid it well enough. "I should have saved you, Will," I whimper as I stare at her. She smiles sadly.

"You couldn't 've.you realize that when you die. No one could have saved you. If it's your time to go, it's your time to go. And besides, Buffy, I always wanted to die heroically. I was proud about how I went. Saving the world. Helping you. That's all I ever wanted to do, was help you. Help people. You gave me so much, Buffy."

I feel the tears drip down my lips and I lick them absently. "I didn't save you at that moment you needed me most, Will. I didn't help Dawn or Faith. Or Anya. What was I thinking?"

She grins, and her teeth show. "You were being you. Trying to save everyone. You just couldn't, Buffy." She frowns. "And shame on you for marrying Riley afterwards."

I bow my head and laugh. "I always thought you liked him."

She laughs to. "I did. But not as a husband.and besides, Buffy, we were all blind. We didn't see what was right in front of us that whole time."

"And what's that?" I ask her and she cocks her head to the side, regarding me seriously.

"That Angel was your future. I guess all of us were almost scared at how much he was of your life. We didn't think you could control your love for him and me, being all scientifically minded.I just didn't get it. We were all happy when he left. We barely talked about him after that. And you were so great about it that I guess I assumed that you had moved on. And that made me glad. I'm so sorry Buffy. I should've seen that you were always going to love Angel."

I touch her arm. "It's ok. I don't think I even realized it. But he's moved on, I think."

She smiles strangely and shakes her red head. Her hair looks like brilliant fire and I think she's beautiful. "Buffy.you haven't figured out that he loves you and always will, yet, have you? You two have to work this out."

She's fading away and I realize I must be waking up. Reaching out desperately, I try and hug her but she's gone and my eyes open to sunshine. A new day. My face is sticky and stained. Valentia is passed out in the bathroom. Her hair is lank and frizzy and her skin pale. She lies on the tiled floor; her face slack and her mouth purpled.

I wonder if I used to look like that. Dead. But still alive. I take a shower and make some coffee. She's going to have a headache when she wakes up. Setting a glass of water and some aspirin on the floor next to her, I get dressed and walk down to the corner to get a newspaper. It's time to look of a job.

~

I like walking to work. Well, at least I like walking to the subway. My heels click against the pavement and I keep to the right side of the street. Under my arm is a fashion magazine to read on the train. In my hand is a hot coffee with milk and sugar. I don't eat in the morning. Usually my hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail. I wear a suit. Black. Sexy and yet elegant.

Working at Bloomingdales is a dream come true. It really is. When I went looking for a job, I started out delivering sandwiches for a deli in the daytime and working as a waitress at night. But soon as I looked and looked, I found out that the legendary department store was hiring in their personal shopping section.

I blew all my money on a suit. I cleaned up and was capable and confident and I nailed the interview. They gave me the job. I shop for people. It's not intellectually stimulating, but it's work and it pays. I did it. I actually make money and I was able to get another apartment for myself. Trying to get Val to move was useless. She wouldn't.

I like walking to work. I feel like I have a place in this huge city. It swallowed me up before, but now, I'm a part of it. I'm not overwhelmed by it. It took six months, but maybe I've made it.

~

My Boss says a crisp hello as I enter. I smile at her and go into my office. Files are piled on my desk. Keeping track of all the clients is a tough job. Sometimes it makes me sweat and for a moment I wonder if I can do it all. If I can be that girl on top of everything. Then I remember Angel and I know I can.

Sitting down at my desk, I think of him. It's been a while since I let myself. I haven't seen him since that day he left me again. Or I left him. I'm not sure which. It's been over half a year since I touched drugs and I feel like my blood might finally run clear. Like there's no disease left. In the heaviness of the night I still crave it. My hands sometimes shake and that ache behind my breasts sounds like a dark bell. But bearing it becomes easier and easier. Someday I'll be cured. Not just yet, though.

"Hey Buffy."

Oh great. Maggie Rizer comes into my office with a grin on her freckled face. She's a supermodel and they're the ones I hate dressing the most. Pasting the smile of professionalism on my face, I rise and shake her hand casually. "Hey Maggie."

She flops down on the chair in front of my desk, one long leg slung over the side. Her arms are depressingly bony. I've put on a little weight over the last few months and feel much better. Seeing skin stretched over someone's frame like hers, scares me.

It's June and smoggy. I still wear suits, but I wear a tank under them to ward off the heat. Thank God there's an a/c in here. Maggie fans herself and complains that she's never been hotter. "Need some summer clothes?" I ask her, pen poised to take down anything she might throw at me.

"Sort of," she drawls and scratches her blonde scalp with one long nail. "I'm going away on a shoot to Bermuda and I want some bikinis, that sort of thing. I want to impress the photographer."

"Maggie," I say, trying to keep the chiding note out of my voice. "You always made it your rule never to get with the photographers."

"I know," she whines. "But he is so good-looking. God's gift to women, I'm sure."

I smile tolerantly and mark down some bikinis in the catalogue that I think she would like. "Anyone I know?"

"Maybe," she responds, filing away at her nails with a rapt expression. "Angel something? I don't know his last name."

My pen almost slips but I catch myself and bite my lip. "Angel? Nope.don't- don't know him."

"He's so nice to," Maggie sighs and wrinkles her nose. "Such a gentleman, which isn't great for me."

"Do these look ok?" I ask, pointing to the suits I picked out and thankfully she is distracted from the subject of my former lover.

~

Usually I eat lunch at my desk. A salad and some iced tea. But today the office is choking me and I grab my bag, going outside into the musky summer day. The smell of car exhaust and coffee reaches my nose, mixing in with the scent of hundreds of different restaurants all crammed together along the street. Chinese, Thai, Mexican.it all whirls together. Feeling light-headed, I start to walk and slowly everything clears and I can see normally. I take off my suit jacket and rub my thin arms.

Taking a cab to Dean and DeLuca in Soho, I get out and walk into the crowded food emporium, my mouth aching for he taste of hot coffee. The counter is shiny and smooth under my fingertips. Setting the change down, I order a coffee and a sandwich.

"Buffy?"

His voice. Turning, I'm faced with Angel. He's sweaty and looks absolutely wonderful. He enfolds me in his arms. Oh God. He smells so good that I want to taste his flesh. Tearing myself away from him, I smile and he says, "Hey."

"Hey yourself," I answer. It hurts to look at him.

"How's.the withdrawal?" he asks and I bow my head.

"It's actually better. Still a little hard at night, but I think soon I'll be totally done with the sick thing."

He smiles and indicates my suit and briefcase, "Very professional."

"Yeah, well, got the job now," I remark and lean against the counter as the man hands me my coffee and goes to make the sandwich. Angel nods and grins.

"Where do you work?"

"Bloomies," I respond with a shrug and the coffee burns my mouth as I gulp it. "I work in personal shopping. Shopping for a living sort of thing. Too bad I didn't have this job as a teen instead of being a Slayer. I would've excelled."

He laughs softly. "You would have excelled at anything. You still do."

That makes me smile. He always knows what to say. "Thanks, Angel.so how are you lately?"

"Fine," he answers and sips his tea hastily. "Busy. I've been doing a lot of work. Listen.Buffy, do you want to have some dinner tonight? Catch up?"

Looking away, I glance down at the floor and it appears blurry. "I thought you were going to Bermuda?"

I can hear it in his voice, he's startled. "What? How did you know that?"

"Oh, a model that's coming with you.for the shoot. Maggie Rizer? She came into my office today and told me." I swallow and gaze at him, and force a smile to my face. I realize my eyes are brimming with tears. "She likes you."

He regards me seriously and contemplatively for a moment as I pay for my sandwich, my eyes still locked with his. "She's a nice girl," he says finally. "But I'm not looking for anyone like that."

"Like what?" I ask, and my voice is snappish but I can't help it. "Like a model? Like beautiful?"

"Like anyone that's not you," he cuts me off and his tone is tender and gentle and all the anger in me flows away. My smile is involuntary as I gaze at him in the middle of Dean and DeLuca, people all around us. He reaches out and his hand embraces mine. His fingers squeeze my hand and his thumb rubs the outside flesh. I close my eyes and just feel the sensation of Angel.Angel close. Angel with me. Oh, Angel.I love you.

I open my eyes and he's staring at me like he always did. Like there was no one else in the world he wanted to fix his gaze upon. "Come to Bermuda with me," he says suddenly and I laugh, startled.

"What?"

He's serious. "It would be good for you.and I want.I don't know, Buffy. I want us to get to know each other again. Without drugs or Sunnydale or vampires.or anything in the way.you need this anyway. A trip would put you one step closer on the road to recovery, I know it would."

"You're babbling," I say absently and run my hand down my arm. My elbows are sharp and still I can feel the outline of my bones. Looking down I realize how skinny I still am. How pale. I still look dead. But I'm alive.

Or am I? Maybe I'm not healed yet.

I look up and feel Angel take my hand again. His eyes are pleading and I open my mouth to answer.

I open my mouth to answer, knowing what I'm going to say. "I can't," I respond, and watch his expression. "I've just started this job.and I can't miss work."

He nods tightly, and smiles. "I know. I realize that.it was just a spur of the moment thing."

"I know," I laugh and grab my sandwich, which I have no desire to eat. He stares at me with his drowning eyes and I feel my stomach hollow out with the bitterest longing. My head hurts. "I have to go. Eat. You know, duty calls."

He nods again and sips his coffee. The liquid stains his lips, making them look slightly wet. "I know. We.should get together some time. Talk."

Oh God. This is worse than when he came back from Hell and I pretended I was just looking after him and he pretended he really needed help. He's grasping at straws and I'm running away and I wonder if it'll always be this way. "Maybe," I leave it open and smile at him. He looks pained and stares at my lips and teeth and the happiness I've pasted on to fool him. He's not convinced, I can tell. I never could hide from his eyes.

"See you, Buffy."

"See ya Angel."

~

The office is bustling when I enter. I walked around SoHo for a half hour before I remembered that I had to get back to work. By that time my coffee was lukewarm, my sandwich inedible and my skin sweating from the smoggy sun. Fleeing for the bathroom, I wash my slick flesh and comb out the tangles of my hair with desperate fingers. I have to look put together. That's the only way people know me here.

"Buffy!"

Maggie. What's she doing here again? Her bright blonde hair glistens with health as she says hello to me, all freckles and white cotton. Suddenly I feel old and dreary in my black clothes and fragile skin. Shaking her hand again I watch her walk over to the large picture window with coltish legs, her knees poking out like spears. Her giggle is devilish as she whirls to face my desk. "I asked the bosses to let you come with me to Bermuda," she informs me.

I stare at her dumbly, my mouth open. "What?"

She laughs and takes my hands. Her skin is cool. "Well, I decided I need you. Seriously, Buffy, no one dresses me better. Besides, they said you could come. I'll pay you double your salary for the week. I need to be impressive. Do you know how many rich people live there?"

"Not really," I answer without inflection, sitting down and focusing my eyes on the creamy walls. Their brilliance calms me momentarily. "Maggie.couldn't you take someone else? I mean, I have so many clients."

She waves a hand around in only the way the supermodels can. "Oh, yeah, they said Clara can deal with them.she's never busy. Don't worry, Buff, c'mon, it'll be a couple weeks of fun in the sun to use that tired expression. Besides, I desperately need you to dress me. How am I going to survive without you?"

My mind spins round and round sickeningly, trying to think of a way out. The truth is that I really can't. Maggie buys the most out of any of our clients. And if my bosses think I should go, that probably means they want me to, to secure her business and make her happy. My stomach lurches and pressing a shaky hand to the small swell of it, I try and remember when I ate last. "You couldn't survive without me, of course," I say without enthusiasm. "When are we leaving?"

"In a week.we need to get started on the clothes immediately," she cries happily, picking up the catalogue with vigour, and scanning the selections. "I'm thinking small bikinis and everything. I mean, its gonna be hot there."

"Of course," I answer and settle in for a long day full of clothes.

~

I don't sleep for a week. It sounds dramatic. It sounds stupid. Actually it's just a wicked case of insomnia. I don't tell Angel I'm coming. I figure he can find out at the airport. My days are spent with Maggie, picking out dozens of outfits for her. My Bosses look on approvingly and I can see my job secured with little pink ribbons around it. I don't care.

At night I lie on my window seat and stare up at the lights of the skyscrapers surrounding my building in a chokehold. Pinks and yellows and oranges play across my skin the lights shift and blend, moving with the languid pace so alien in New York. One night I haul out an old letter from him that I kept with my diaries, creased like an withered flower one might find pressed between the pages of a book. The writing is spidery and light, but I can make out the words in faint ink. His handwriting was never hard to decipher. I just knew it.

He wrote of love and sweet words. He wrote about sunshine and myself, and he told me that I was beautiful. I remember reading it when I was flushed and young and naïve. Then I didn't understand the words. I never understood how much he loved me. Or why he did. Or.anything. As I touch the paper, my eyes squeeze shut as pain lances through my belly. It's sore. From breathing and food and the fact that I haven't shot up in months. I used to need it so bad. Sometimes I think I still do.

Curling up with the letter against my breast, I finally sleep.

~

The airport is so busy I can barely see ahead of me. Everyone wants to get away from the New York heat wave. Maggie arrived in a taxi a couple of minutes ago, looking fresh and clean in a white dress and sunglasses. She gets paid to look good. I suppose I'm allowed to look wilted. My capris and black sleeveless top make me look thinner than normal, but it's too hot to worry.

Lifting the weight of my hair off my neck, I glance around and finally see the troupe of people coming along. Mangers, publicists, her assistant, the people in charge for whatever company does the bathing suits she'll be modeling, and numerous photographers. I don't see Angel.

"C'mon Buff," Maggie calls to me and obediently I head over and register with the airline, tagging my luggage and sending it off on the ramp. I shake hands, meeting everyone. No one's really smiling. This is business. When we get to Bermuda it'll be a different story.

Maggie flips open a fashion magazine and grins. "I'm going to be so bored on this flight. Think they'll show a good movie?"

"You know, I hope so," I reply, smiling slightly.

"Buffy?"

I turn, and gaze at Angel. He's holding a bag full of cold drinks, apparently to distribute to the rest of the entourage. His eyes scan over me in astonishment. "Hey," I answer cheerfully, but my voice almost cracks. "Maggie hired me to come along and be her personal shopper for the trip."

His eyes lighten and he half-smiles. "Oh. I thought maybe you had changed your mind."

"Nope," I reply and I can see that hurts him but its not something I can care about. Maggie sidles up and we all talk. She doesn't seem surprised that we know each other, even though I had told her I didn't recognize the name Angel. She has a mind like a sieve, which I'm grateful for. Angel glances at me so many times I feel bruised and long to escape. His flesh is sweaty and he looks absolutely beautiful. Everything in me wants him.

We board two hours later. As I get on the plane, it for a moment looks like a long, steel death trap. I've never liked planes. Never liked flying. Maybe it was the time I watched a program on 'air disasters'. That's what I tell people. But no, I know it was when I was little. I looked up at the sky and saw a pinprick of light dotting the velvet night. When I asked my Dad what it was, he said, "A plane, honey." Then he picked me up and carried me inside. His arms had never felt so safe.

When I looked up and saw how the sky seemed to swallow planes, I started hating them. They were so tiny. So little. And the people in them, like ants waiting to be crushed.

Sitting down in my seat, I'm relieved to see that Angel is assigned somewhere far away. I need to sleep. I have an idea that this trip is going to require all my strength. My elbows ache and when I close my eyes I see a needle, glistening with blood, tinged with a white powder strong enough to burn. Shaking my head, I dispel the image and press my cheek to the cool window. The ground looks so far away.

~

Wind rushes by the plane as we land. Sunshine floods through the cotton clouds, streaking across a blue, blue sky and turquoise ocean. A wall of heat hits me as we disembark, but it's so pleasant that I lean back my head and let it flow over my neck. Breezes coming in from the near by sea caress my hair and make it dance around my face.

"Love it already," Maggie giggles and hops down next to me. Her arms are tanned next to mine.

Walking through the white arches to a tiled ramp going down into the interior of the airport, I breathe in and the smell of coconut oil, suntan lotion and palm trees seeps into my pores. Plants sway in the slight wind as we enter the balmy customs area and go through without difficulty. I pick up my luggage and wait for the rest of the group. Angel helps me without speaking. It seems this is strange for him as well. It feels almost as if we're on vacation together. Alone.

I chat with the British taxi driver as we wind through the streets, the ocean lapping close and motorcycles whizzing by. I'm told they are the customary mode of transport since the island is so small. My hair flapping around me in a halo of gold, I laugh and yell to Maggie that we have to try one. Angel's eyes meet mine and everything spins away. He stares at my mouth and skin and I feel as if I'm glowing from his gaze.

I flush and look away, taking in the pastel coloured buildings lining the ocean, the lush trees - their leaves glittering in the sunlight. We're staying at the St. George's Club, and as we drive up the steep road, I press my face to the window, looking out at the shining vista. A cruise ship is docked in the harbour, and people flock on the decks, waiting to get off.

The hotel staff takes our bags and say they will deliver them to our rooms later. It turns out Maggie has booked me into my own little cottage, with one bedroom, a living room, a kitchen and bathroom. That suits me just fine. She tells me its repayment for foisting the trip on me in such short notice.

I walk up the hill with my room key, stopping to ascend a slope by the side of it, and look around. The club is an array of white washed cottages spread out on the side of a hill with three pools and it overlooks the harbour. I stare at the gleaming white cruise ship, spreading my arms out as if to embrace the sun-washed sky. It's so beautiful here it almost hurts. Already I can feel the scars starting to mend. I wonder what it is that is therapeutic about a tropical climate.

"Hey," Angel says softly from beside me. His arm is warm against mine.

"Hey," I answer quietly and turn to gaze up at him. "I hope you don't mind that I didn't tell you I was coming.I just thought it would be better to you know, wing it."

"Whatever that means," he half smiles and brushes a lock of hair away from my forehead. I breathe in sharply as his fingers touch my skin. His eyes darken and I feel everything rushing away but us. His thumb slides down my cheek and touches my bottom lip. I imagine it as red, swollen. That's how it feels.

"Buffy." he almost moans, his voice low. He sounds so agonized and I know why. He can't understand the pull between us. Neither can I. All I know is that I want him and need him and love him in so many ways that I can't even understand them all. Giving into it for once, I take a step forward and feel myself crushed in his embrace, my cheek against the warm fabric covering his chest, his hands delving into my hair.

He holds me and we stand beneath a tree heavy with blossoms. I know we're uncertain. About tomorrow, about everything. But right now I'm in Angel's arms and I can't care about anything else but that.

I wake up the next morning to sunshine playing across my face. Inhaling the sweet scent of an air-conditioned room, I climb out from beneath the covers and pad across the floor to the tiled hallway between my bedroom and kitchen/living area.

Yawning, I grab a glass of orange juice and slide open the screen door. The balcony overlooks a grassy hill and beyond is the harbour. The wooden railing creaks beneath my fingers as I grip it and sip my drink; the pulpy fruit sliding down my parched throat.

As I shower I mentally pack what I will need for the day. I know we're going out on a shoot to the beach. Already my spirits are lifting. I can't help it. I'm in a tropical climate and life is good. It has to be good. Last night was the only night in a long while that visions of power filled needles didn't cloud my nightmares.

I dress in white capris and a rose pink tank top, avoiding the sight of my bony limbs in the mirror, and grabbing a cloth bag full of essentials. I walk down the path to the pool, my nose tickling with the smell of blossoms and freshly cut grass. Catching a turquoise sparkle over the hill, I sprint a little, licking a bead of sweat off my upper lip and making my way down the steps to the pool.

Stopping for a moment, I see Angel. He's sitting at a table shaded with an umbrella, reading the paper and sipping coffee. His skin glows in the light, his body encased in shorts and a black open necked shirt. He looks like he's my husband, waiting for me down by the pool so we can start our day. I should be going over and bending for a quick kiss. I should be asking him playfully to order me coffee. I should be doing so many things. But I'm not married and we're not together so my lips will stay unkissed this morning.

"Hey," I greet him and he looks up, his mouth curving in a half smile.

"Hey, sleep well?"

"Like a log," I respond and lower myself down onto one of the cushioned chairs, blinking against the sunlight. "You?"

"Pretty well." he answers. "Looks like we're the only ones up huh?"

"Looks like," I say quietly and order coffee from the waiter. This is so intimate. Too intimate. I know we're not going to talk about the way we held each other yesterday and I'm glad. My stomach aches as I gaze at him. His lips close over the rim of the mug as he sips the aromatic liquid and I watch him swallow. His throat works and I catch the tiny throb of his pulse. His pulse. His heart beats.

"So where are we going today?" I inquire.

"A place called Somerset Long Bay.it's very quiet. It'll give us the room to shoot with distractions."

"Great. It's so beautiful here," I comment, and he nods.

"Bermuda is gorgeous," he agrees. I gulp down my coffee when it arrives and glance over at the pool. It's sea-blue waters lap gently at the tiled sides. He follows my gaze. "Nice pool, huh?"

"Can't wait to try it out," I remark and think that I'm about to scream from the politeness between us.

"Buffy." he begins. "I don't want this trip to be awkward. I think we're beyond that at this point."

"Me too," I answer, relieved and he grins. It hurts me to look at him, my thighs tingle and I press them together, feeling as if I'd like to climb out of my body. The flesh of my elbows burn and unconsciously I rub the scars there, feel the rough skin beneath my fingertips.

"Are you still getting strong cravings?" he asks me and I look up, startled.

"Sort of. Just sometimes," I respond and see Maggie coming down the hill, resplendent in a white cotton jump suit, with her hair brushed and shining. Soon, everyone arrives and we order a shuttle to the beach.

~~

Somerset Long Bay is a crescent-shaped stretch of pink sand that lasts a quarter of a mile. As I look down it, standing on a swelling slope, I watch Maggie frolic at the waters edge, her body skinny in a tiny bikini. Angel moves around her, his camera whirring as he takes picture after picture. He looks beautiful when he works. I realize I think he looks beautiful when he does anything. Shaking my head, I turn the other way and start to walk, my feet sinking into the greedy beach.

Soaking up the sun, I throw back my head and feel it wash over my neck. Every sun is different. This one is healing. Unstrapping my flimsy sandals I leave them and splash in the warm water, feel the salt and sand stick between my toes. I sit down and watch the way the waves curl onto the shore. It's peaceful here and I feel like I'm a million miles away from the frenetic pace of New York City.

If only my friends could see this. I wish Will was here. Not so I could say I was sorry. Not anymore. No, I wish she could be able to enjoy this lush landscape. I wish she had gotten to see the world. But she lived and died in Sunnydale and there's nothing anyone can do about it now. I think of Dawn. Of my ghost sister. I think of the way she disappeared in the End of Days fight. She was just a mirage. Energy poured into skin. Skin that I loved, but I guess that didn't matter.

Faith wouldn't have liked it here. But New York, I can picture her there. Everything about her was gun-metal sharp, and I have a feeling she would have liked the pulsing beats of the clubs, the griminess of the back streets, the huge neon billboards. yeah, Faith would have felt at home in a place I had to take drugs to survive in. I know Angel still feels guilty about Faith. He always felt a kinship with her. I stopped feeling jealous of it long ago. I think it happened when our eyes met during the fight. I saw how lost hers were, I saw the way they softened when they met mine. And I saw how scared she was.

I saw Faith.

And I guess I forgave her.

I've forgiven a lot of people that couldn't reach me. They shouldn't have tried.

~

Riley and I went to Africa on our honeymoon. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure why. It was wild. And I remember loving it. The mother country. It had such an old spirit, an ancient feel that I instantly related to. I felt like I had been birthed there. With the lions and hot skies. I saw hunters with their spears and wondered if maybe I was like that to. Stalking the night with my stake.

Over the years the drugs have dulled my memories, but I remember crying every night we were there. Tears streaked my cheeks and wet the pillows and Riley didn't understand. He couldn't. He tried to hold me and I let him. That was before I began pushing him away.

I remember how scratchy the sheets were where we stayed. How hot it was at night. Sweat would soak me and usually I slept with nothing on. Sometimes I'd get up and look out the window into the African darkness and wish for a tiger to come and pounce on me. I'd wish for something to rip me apart. To take me away from my emptiness. I'd think of Angel and my eyes would burn.

Riley and I wore khaki during the day and took safaris. He was reassuring and normal and I guess I liked that. For a while. It took a few months for everything to sink in. Maybe I forgot that marriage was supposed to be forever. Maybe I forgot that I had pledged my life to Riley. Mostly I guess I forgot that I wanted someone else. And that that wasn't a good thing when you're married.

~

My face hurts. Reaching up to touch it I realize it's burned. Shit. Opening my eyes, I sit up and look down the beach. Angel is walking towards me. Soon his shadow looms and he seats himself next to me. "Buffy." he begins. "You didn't put on any sunscreen, did you?"

"Yeah I did," I answer defiantly. "SPF 15, thank you very much."

He raises his eyebrows and takes out a tube from his pocket. While squeezing some of the white thick cream on one palm, he says, "You need at least a thirty out here. Your face is beet red."

"Thanks Mr. Expert," I smirk at him, irritated. However as his fingers reach up and begin to smooth the sun lotion on my cheeks, all my breath leaves my body in a whoosh. His thumbs are tender as he spreads the cream, massaging it gently into my flesh. His eyes lock with mine and I feel lost suddenly.

"Ouch," I mutter inanely even though he hasn't hurt me at all. He looks distracted as he murmurs;

"What?"

We're getting closer. He slides across the sand and his calve brushes mine. The hair tickles my smooth skin. Oh God. His flesh is warm. His hand drops away from my face to curl around the back of my neck, no doubt getting sun tan lotion in my hair. I lean closer and our lips touch, softly, so softly, like the shadow of the moon. Suddenly we're kissing hungrily and he's pressing me back into the pink sands, his shirt falling open. My hands grip his neck and I feel his tongue drowning in my hot mouth. I'm dizzy and I can't see anything but his eyes and feel anything but his skin or taste anything but his lips. He surrounds me and his back is hot from the sun. My fingers grip his spine and I tug him closer, his legs between mine as he kisses my neck desperately. I must taste like sunscreen.

Or maybe like the ocean.

"Buffy." he groans and I whimper in response because his fingers are hot between my legs, inside me and filling me. My head drops back and I stare up at the sun with watery eyes. It's bigger and bigger and rushing around in sparkles of light. Someone is making sounds. Is that me?

My lips cover his shoulders with kisses. He tastes like warm salt and the night. We're lying out in the beach in the daytime and I don't care. No one is around and I wouldn't care if they were. My body is trembling and my thighs are open and sore.I feel so full. His fingers. burning, burning.everything explodes inside my eyes and they fly open. Angel kisses my swollen mouth and his arm is heavy against my stomach as he lies beside me.

"At least things.aren't awkward anymore." I half laugh, whispering in his ear. He kind of laughs and kisses my neck. A wave laps at my toes and then soaks my feet. I reach up and feel my face. It is sticky with the cream and his kisses and my hair is filled with sand and lotion. My legs are still shaking and between them feels wet. I almost smile and it's then that I realize I haven't feel so alive in years.

~~ sometimes it amazes me how strong the power of love can be
sometimes you just take my breath away~~As I dress for dinner, sliding a sleek silk black dress over my body, I glance in the mirror. My skin has been washed clean of the sun cream and sand; my hair is shiny and becoming thick after all the years of neglect. Shifting a little, I try and ignore the instant skein of desire, which flows through my belly. Between my legs is sore.full and open. I guess I'm still waiting. Sometimes I think I always will be.

I remember when Riley used to make love to me. His eyes wouldn't meet mine. Afterwards I would roll over and stare at the wall, unblinking, just staring. I would feel unsatisfied. Still aching for something. Empty. He could never fill me and he knew it.

Exiting the cottage, I breathe in and the clean, humid air fills my scarred lungs. The dress flows over my flesh like imagination and I walk down the path, to the steps and down to the town. I'm supposed to meet the others at a restaurant on the water. It's heavy out and I can hear the ocean lapping at the harbour as I step under the glow of the streetlights and read the names on the fronts of the buildings.

I find it easily, and as I enter, the maitre-d comes forward and leads me to the party. They are all seated in two tables right on the water. Strings of lanterns line the railings and they play over the faces of the people here, making it look like a rave. The thought causes me to smile and my eyes meet Maggie's. She's talking to one of the other photographers. Flirting and smiling. I think she got over her crush on Angel. Looking up, she waves at me, her body sleek in white satin.

"Hey," I say and as my steps take me closer, I see Angel and I breathe in because my stomach suddenly throbs. He wears black pants and an open-necked black shirt. He looks so painfully gorgeous that everything in me screams.

"Hey," he greets me huskily, and stands up. I can't help it. My lips soften into a smile of welcome. And of love. Because I love him and I always have. Maybe I denied it to save myself. Maybe I denied it so I could take those drugs and not feel like I was failing someone.

"Hey," I answer and sit down across from him. Our eyes burn.

I order a rum swizzle, which I'm told is the most popular drink in Bermuda. The waiter looks approving and brings it immediately. It slides sweet down my throat and I see him watching me. I feel restless. I look at his fingers and remember how hot they felt inside me. Shivering a little, I drink more. The rum is spicy, and flows down my insides like sweet forgetfulness. That's what I need right now. An escape from everything. Maggie giggles and is the center of attention. Her earrings look like Christmas trees, glittering under the moon.

"Did you have fun by yourself at the beach, Buff?" she asks me and I can feel my stomach hollow out as I look up.

"Um.yeah, fun was had," I reply and studiously avoid Angel. He must be smiling. He must be remembering. The way he kissed me and made me come and smoothed lotion over my reddened face. He must remember the way I tasted- like the ocean, like salt and sun and the way the sand was chafing our flesh. The way everything was so hot. Maybe its me that's remembering it.

Angel sips from his glass of wine. His throat works as he swallows. He's beautiful and I want to lean over and touch his cheek. I want to be able to feel his skin and not be embarrassed about it. There was a time I could, but those times have long past. Now his skin is his own. It's not mine. Sometimes I wonder if it ever was. Because he left so obviously he didn't need my fingers to survive. I think I needed his. Which is why I died when he left me. No one knew it. But I did.

Dinner arrives. I didn't even order, but apparently we got big platters of seafood and salads. That's fine. I don't even know if I could eat. Maggie chows down and I feel jealous as any woman does when they realize supermodels don't actually have eating disorders. Rubbing the back of my neck I drink more and ignore the clams on my plate. My belly is buzzing with awareness and hunger. But not for food.

I can feel his eyes on me. I look up involuntarily and our gazes lock. He gives me that half-smile and then I feel his foot touch mine underneath the table. It makes me grin. "Are you *actually* playing footsies with me?" I whisper across the table.

He arches a brow and leans in close. "Do you want me to?"

This is new. I'm not used to sexy Angel. Well, what I'm really not used to is Angel trying to turn me on. Way back in the day, we were trying so hard not to lose it and make love that he avoided flirting with me. He didn't want to make it harder I guess. He still drove me crazy. I remember waking up some nights sweating. Wet. Because I would dream of him inside me. Those were also the nights I cried.

Because I felt so empty.

I shrug. "You'll have to get a little better at it. You were kicking me."

He laughs and his teeth show. "Oh yeah? I don't think so, Buffy. You just don't appreciate my moves I guess."

"If I see any good moves, I'll let you know," I snap back and his leg is suddenly against mine. The fabric of his pants slips and slides against my bare skin. All these years, and he still makes me shake.

~~

I'm running on the beach and the wind is heavenly across my face. It whips my hair behind me in a golden bolt of fire. Seawater is soaking my dress and legs, but I don't care because my heart is pumping and for one moment I feel like the old me. The Buffy that was the Slayer.

Overhead the sky winks, the stars bright against their bed of black and I feel like Bermuda is on the edge of the world. Didn't people back in the day call this place the Isle of the Devils? I remember reading about this once. They believed that ships, which sailed too far west in this direction, fell over the edge and into a pit teeming with monsters. A chill strikes me suddenly but I keep my legs going and my lungs filling with the sweet night air.

Only as I reach the end of the beach do I stop and fall to the sand, panting, my chest heaving. Reaching up, I realize my face is streaked with tears. Why? I'm not sure. Maybe I feel like I'm letting go. Of Willow. Of Dawn and Faith and Anya. I don't know yet. But I do know that my life is becoming newer. It's as if I've been birthed once more. Given another chance to see things right. To make the right choices. It's cliché. It's corny. But sometimes the truest things and moments in life are.

With steadier legs, I walk back to the cottages, my feet leaving imprints in the sand as I go.

~

It's so dark up here that I can't see where I'm going. I'm not sure where the cottage is that I'm looking for. Finally I find it. Tucked away behind trees flowering with freesias and bushes that crawl over the road like vines. Gathering up my courage, I tread lightly up the tiled steps and knock on the door.

It opens and there he is. Angel. Sleepy and dressed in a robe. He rubs his eyes and looks at me. "Hey," he murmurs.

"Hi," I answer, suddenly feeling foolish. "Look.oh, I don't even know why I'm here. I should just go.really, I just had this impulse and-'

I feel his hand on my cheek. His fingers caress me and he says softly, "Does your burn hurt?"

How is that such a small question can fill me up with tenderness and love? Why does it make tears well in my eyes and cause my hands to tremble? "Oh Angel." I whisper and he smiles. I see the brief flash of gentle teeth in the night and then he draws me forward into his arms, into the heady darkness of his cottage.

I'm shaking as he holds me and kisses me. His lips are soft, like butterflies and the rasp of his whiskers against my cheeks makes me want to weep. With joy. Because this is Angel. His hands remove my dress and it falls with a whisper. Opening his robe, I press my body inside it and we are enveloped against each other, skin against skin, pulsing with life.

His bed is cool against my back and the whirr of the air conditioner sounds in the corner. Kissing me hungrily, his hands re-learn my body and I feel my way down his, his muscles rippling underneath my thumbs as I caress his back. His fingers are hot inside me and I can feel how wet I must be. "Buffy." he groans like a lament against my neck and it's a scream in the still night.

"Please." I whimper and he opens my legs and fills me with his strength and heat and it makes me cry out because I don't feel empty anymore. Our eyes lock and he kisses me, but our teeth bump because he's trembling so much and so am I. I know how bruised my mouth will look tomorrow. As we move, I taste his sweat with my tongue and kiss his shoulders and neck and try to get as close to him as I can. Sometimes I think I would climb inside him if I could.

I feel the burn of him inside me and I shudder and convulse, my legs tight around him, my head thrown back and my hair flowing over the side of the bed. His thumbs press into the hollows of my cheeks as he holds my face and buries his head against my neck.

"I love you." I whisper into the silence.

"I love you," he answers, his voice husky and muffled because his head is underneath my hair. But he heard me.

He always did. And I think right now before I close my eyes and fall asleep. that he always will.

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