E-MAIL: kali_neba@hotmail.com
DISTRIBUTION: Ask first please.
SPOILERS: ***The Gift***, ***There's No Place like Plrtz Glrb***
RATING/CONTENT: G, Willow/Angel friendship, angst.
SUMMARY: The missing conversation between Willow and Angel after 'There's No Place like Plrtz Glrb'.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Joss's. Song is 'Full of Grace' by Sarah MacLachlan.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
the winter here's
cold, and bitter
it's chilled
us to the bone
we haven't seen
the sun for weeks
to long too far
from home
I feel just like
I'm sinking
and I claw for
solid ground
"It's Buffy."
All I can do is nod.
I can't even say yes or tell him what happened, because my voice won't work. And I'm crying again. I'm not sobbing, thankfully, not like at the construction site or at the funeral. Just crying, hot tears winding down my cheeks until the drip off my chin, and I think I can hear the drop hit the ground with a ping, but that's impossible.
"Willow? What's happened?" It's Wesley. Angel hasn't spoken again, he's just staring at me with tears running down my face, and I know he knows, and I don't have to stay and tell the story, I don't have to relive it. I can go home and go to bed and sleep until I die. And maybe, just maybe, I won't wake up ever again and I won't have to deal with this.
"She's gone." Angel this time, answering for me, tears in his own voice. But he's not crying, not yet. I don't think I've ever seen him cry. I don't think I want to.
"Who's Buffy?" New voice. Dark-haired girl in the back. Don't know her. Would it be wrong to use what little power I can muster now to force her to just stop talking?
"Fred, not now." Cordelia. Queen C to the rescue.
"I feel like I should know since everyone's all worked up, an--"
"Just. Shut. Up." Me. Haggard, my voice sounds strange muttering those words. There's no force there. Just tired. "Please." My tears have stopped, and I try not to look at anything other than the speck of glitter above Cordelia's belly button. If I look up, I'll start crying again, and I don't know if I'll be able to stop.
"Cordy." Angel, this time. The word's a command, and the Cordelia I knew would argue. But she's not. She turned to Wesley and Fred and the other guy and ushers them outside, pausing only slightly to touch Angel's arm.
The doors slam shut behind them with a bang, and that sound echoes through the hotel, wrapping around Angel and me as we stare at each other.
"I'm sorry." Angel breaks the silence first. "For Fred. She--" He doesn't finish, swallowing heavily and I can see the tears coming. The first one slips out and his face crumbles and his knees give out. He slides to the floor with an unearthly grace, sobs heaving through his body in waves.
For a second I'm afraid. Then I'm next to him, not even conscious of my movement and my hand is on his back, trying, unsuccessfully, to calm him, me, both of us. It doesn't work, but suddenly I'm wrapped in his arms, his face buried against my neck, his tears mingling with the faint trails of my own. I can hear a keening, starting softly at first then rising to a dull roar. And I think it's Angel, but it's both of us. And I'm sobbing along with him this time, clutching him tight to me, because he reminds me of her just as I'm his only line to her now too.
Hours pass. Or minutes, maybe. Neither of us can tell as we clutch each other desperately, but the tears have stopped for now, no more sobbing for a while. Bu we don't let each other go. We can't.
"How?" Angel, his voice soft, catching slightly. I fight the urge to giggle as his breath tickles my ear. Hysteria.
"She fell." I can feel the tears again. My throat's closing up, and I can't breath. I can't do this. Xander should have come or Spike or Giles. Anyone but me. "S-she fell." My voice hitches and I sob the next words. "She didn't get up. Why didn't she get up?" His arms tighten around me, his hands smoothing my hair, comforting even as he cries too.
He doesn't speak, and I'm glad because if I talk, I'll cry again. And I don't want to cry anymore. I just want it all to stop. It's not worth anything anymore.
"Willow? Angel?" Cordelia's voice, breaking into the silence. I glance up, and notice it's light outside again. We'd fallen asleep on the stairs, wrapped together.
"Cordelia," I greet, softly, pushing away from Angel. His arms dropped away but his hand grasped mine in a smaller, but no less desperate clutch.
"I made some tea," she states, smiling tightly and with effort. She's not wearing make-up and her eyes are bloodshot. She's been crying, too. "Do you want any?"
"Yeah," I whisper, rising to my feet. Angel drops my hand and rises.
"Cordy," he begins. She holds up a hand.
"I know. Please. Just don't explain." She holds a hand up to her eyes, trying, in vain, to prevent tears again. He nods, and she goes to the small kitchenette to get the tea.
"Thank you," he mutters, turning back to me, "For coming."
"We thought you should find out from one of us." Spike, actually, was the only one who thought of Angel. The rest of us were too busy crying to care. "No one deserves to find out over the phone or in the paper."
"When...." The funeral. He wants to know about the funeral. And I'm torn between the urge to cry again or laugh. Hysteria, again.
"Tomorrow. It's at dusk. So you and Spike...."
"Thank you." Cordy brings the tea, then, and we gather around the hotel front desk, each clutching the steaming cups for the warmth and slowing watching them cool.
None of us has much of an appetite, and none of us really has the urge to talk.
As we sit in silence, a clock somewhere in the hotel strikes eight, and I know I need to get back to Sunnydale.
There's still so much to do.
so it's better
this way, I said
having seen this
place before
where everything
we said and did
hurts us all
the more
It's just that
we stayed, too long
in the same old
sickly skin
The End