Disclaimer: Not mine. You don't want me to own them probably after this one.
Spoilers: General ones up to S4 Buffy, S1 Angel.
Summary: Buffy mourns Angel's death.
Distribution: If you have any of my others, take it. If not, ask.
Rating: PG--13 for a depressing situation.
Feedback: Don't bother telling me you want to kill me for writing this. I feel like crap already. I just found out that I can't go see Valentine tomorrow, and I'm in an incredibly depressing mood. Thus, a depressing fic.

Just a few moments longer.

Then it would be over.

It was already over for him. The one she wanted to be with.

The Powers would never let it happen, she realized now, as her death approached.

For whatever reason, twisted ideas of amusement, a prophecy that spelled doom if they were together, or even just as a fluke.

She'd die for him, like he'd died for her.

Two nights ago.

Cordelia and Wesley had arrived in Sunnydale, and gone to the bookshop.

Everyone was there, Buffy remembered. Willow, Xander, Giles, Spike... everyone.

Even Riley.

Cordelia's face had been tear-streaked, horror filled.

Buffy had refused to believe it.

Wesley had been quiet, telling everyone the story.

He'd died to save her.

To save the girl who he'd once loved with all his heart.

Who he still had loved, almost two years after he'd left her.

Cordelia had told her that, bitter and angry.

Riley had been standing right next to her for the whole thing. He'd been cautiously friendly until he'd realized who they worked for.

Cordelia had glared at him.

"Don't worry," she'd said coldly. "Angel's not gonna show up and take Buffy back." Her eyes had filled with tears. "He's dead."

A long silence had gone through the room.

Buffy had looked up at Cordelia, sure she'd misunderstood. "He's been dead for two hundred years."

They all looked at her, saw the denial on her face. She knew exactly what Cordelia had meant. She wouldn't accept it.

Cordelia hadn't cared for Buffy's reaction. She'd jumped up, getting right in the Slayer's face. "He died for you!" she screamed, tears falling. "He gave up his life... everything for you! And you don't even know it!"

Wesley had tried to calm Cordelia down, but she'd pushed him back, glaring at everyone in the room.

Buffy had stayed motionless, her face calm and accepting.

Cordelia had stared at her for a long moment before beginning the story.

She'd gotten a vision of Buffy. In LA for whatever reason.

Angel had gone to the address, armed and prepared to fight for his ex-girlfriend's life.

Only to find that it had been a trap.

Somehow, a group of demons had managed to send a fake vision to Cordelia.

They'd captured Angel, beat him.

He'd fought back, especially after he'd heard them plotting to go after her, Buffy, once they were finished with him.

Cordelia and Wesley had arrived at the address just in time to see the demons shove him out into the daylight.

To burn in the bright hot sun that had shone down on LA.

The only thing they'd been able to do was kill the demons. Search the place in a desperate attempt to find Angel.

He couldn't have died.

The PTB's wouldn't do that.

They couldn't be without their friend.

Slowly, the facts had sunk in.

And then the mourning had started.

That had been two days ago.

Buffy had left the shop, no emotion having been shown. She'd left Riley to deal with the others and she'd gone to the mansion, and stared at the door.

Trembling, she'd opened the doors to the place and entered.

The place where so much had happened to her and Angel.

Who was dead.

It was almost confusing.

Dead.

Hadn't he been dead for two hundred years?

Without life, without the ability to breath, to eat, to... live.

But now, he was dead again.

Buffy had moved into the garden area of the mansion, looked around it for a long moment. Then she'd gone back in, towards his bedroom.

It was dark and dusty.

No one had been in it for two years.

She'd touched the coverlet that was still on the bed.

Dusty.

She'd run her fingers over the dresser.

Dusty.

Everything had dust on it.

Was that how they all ended up? Dust?

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.

Would she someday grace someone's dresser, even as they prepared to go out and party? Prepared to go out and be with their lover?

Angel was dust.

Dust.

Buffy had walked over to the curtain, and stared at it for a moment. Then she'd yanked it down, ignoring the loud rip that came with it.

Dust particles flew up, making her sneeze.

Sunlight came in through the window, hurting her eyes.

But she'd looked out the window, at the sunlight. At the church she could make out in the distance.

He was gone.

Truly and completely gone.

He'd never be there to hold her.

Never be there to kiss her.

Never be there to love her, to listen to her, to be listened to, to be loved.

Because he'd wanted to protect her one last time.

With this thought in mind, she'd crumpled to the ground, her shoulder's shaking as she wept, and wept more.

She hadn't' told him she still loved him.

She hadn't really realized it until that moment.

And now she couldn't.

She would never be able to see his face, his beautiful face looking down at her.

Strange how these feelings came now, now that he was dead.

She'd been without him since Prom.

But the true belief that he was gone had never really settled in.

She'd forced herself to stand, and gone into the foyer/front room. She'd sat down in one of the huge chairs that she'd often found him reading in.

She hadn't moved from the mansion since.

No one had come looking for her.

Was that supposed to be a surprise?

It did surprise her.

But she couldn't bring herself to care.

She'd gone into his bedroom again, exactly forty eight hours after Cordelia had informed her that she'd killed Angel.

She'd found one of his shirts in the closet, and slipped it on.

And she'd gone outside, towards the cemetery.

Where she'd kissed him, too many times to count.

And she'd stood there, in a pair of black pants and Angel's shirt.

And she'd waited for demon to pass by, probably on his way to murder someone.

And then she'd angered it, calling it names and hitting it, not to kill it oreven hurt it, but to piss him off.

And then he'd beat the shit out of her.

She was getting what she wanted now.

The demon towered over her, enraged. It kicked her again, and she closed hereyes, her face scrunching up from the pain.

I wonder if he knows why he's killing me, Buffy thought calmly.

She opened her eyes again, and watched, strangely clear-headed as the demon snarled at her.

I love you Angel.

I'm sorry Mom.

Willow.

Xander.

Giles.

I love you Angel.

The demon grabbed her neck.

Angel.

He jerked her up, and pain went through her.

Angel.

And the last thing she saw was the demon starting to shift to break her neck.

Ashes to Ashes.

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