Fallen AngelsBy Kristi
So Far Down
@--Buffy--@
I wake up sick again. I’ve never understood how a person can throw up when there isn’t anything in their stomach to throw up. I don’t remember the last time I ate. I remember the last time I had heroin. Before I went to the club I had shot up a bunch. I was just going to ask Mike for some more when Angel ran into me. I hurt. I need the drugs, anything will do at this point. The pain is twisting my bones and flailing my skin from them a little at a time. I beg Angel for them once more. He’s as silent and stalwart as before.
“You don’t understand! You’ve never been addicted to anything!” I scream at him. “It hurts, Angel! It hurts so much it feels like I’m going to lose my mind.” The last is more of a whimper then a scream. He tries to touch me, to hold me. I bat his hands away. Even the slight pressure of those beautiful, cool hands hurts. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare touch me! You lost that right when you left me, or don’t you remember!” I’m screaming again. I want to hurt him. I want anyone to feel as much pain as I do right now. I don’t want to be alone in my pain. I don’t want to be alone anymore.
@--Angel--@
I don’t know how I continue to hurt. She has ripped everything out of me. There should be nothing left to feel pain. She screams that I don’t know what it’s like to be addicted. She’s wrong. I know exactly how she feels. I was once addicted to her like this. I could easily be again. I thought I would die coming to LA. I thought I would die being away from her, without her touch, without her scent, without her smile, without the mere sight of her. I won’t even delve into the discussion of my addiction to human blood, or the difference between human blood and animal blood.
*@--Buffy--@
I don’t know how much time has passed since he found me. When I first came back from Heaven, when I first got lost, I measured time in sunrises and sunsets, hoping the sunsets would bring him back. After the heroin I started measuring time in between shots. At some point time seemed to fade away. I’m not even sure how long I’ve been gone. It might have been months, it could have been years. It occurs to me I don’t remember how old I am. Angel looks the same as he did when I first met him, so he’s no help.I claw at my skin. I have to get it off. It’s too tight. It itches. I don’t stop even when I draw blood. Angel holds my hands between his. I had forgotten how big his hands were, or how tiny mine were. He holds our hands underneath his chin as if he were in prayer.
“I used to pray for you.” I blurt out. I don’t know where that came from. I try to tug my hands away. He holds them there as if it is nothing.
He nods. “I thanked God when you came back from Heaven.” His voice breaks on the word Heaven. It hurts him to know I was there and now I’m here, like this. “And then when you disappeared, I prayed every night to a God that hates me that you would come back.”
I soften and for a moment I forget about my too tight skin. I shake my head. “God doesn’t hate you, Angel. He hates the demon inside of you but he doesn’t hate you.” Angel nods. I’m not sure if he believes me and he’s trying to process it or he’s just nodding because he doesn’t know what to say to the crazy woman sitting on his bed. We are both quiet for a little while. The silence is comfortable and welcoming.
“Do you think you could eat something? Maybe have a little bit of hot tea?” He finally asks. I wonder when the last time someone told me I needed to eat was. I vaguely recall that was one of the things I was running away from, however long ago it was. Giles used to make me tea with milk. I remember. I always added lots of sugar. He always told me one day I’d learn to drink tea properly, without sugar.
I nod and my voice cracks when I answer. “I’ll try, a little anyway.”
“Do you want me to bring it up here or would you like to come downstairs?” he asks.
“Here is good.” I don’t tell him I’m scared of anything beyond this room. Once upon a time I wasn’t scared of anything, not a hell god, not even death. He releases my hands and looks deep into my eyes. I look away. I don’t want him to see what’s inside of me.
“Buffy, I’ll be right back. I promise.” He reassures me. He seems to know I need that reassurance right now. He always did know exactly what I needed, right up until the day he left me. That’s not fair, not really. He still knew when I needed him. He came back to apologize after the Faith incident in LA. He came back for my Mom’s funeral and he came to me when I was ripped out of Heaven. Angel has always known when I needed him, and just how to make it all better, at least for a little while.
@--Angel--@
“Nice of you to come out of the bat cave.”
I look up, but I know there is only one person that sharp wit can belong to. Cordy is sitting at her desk
“I’m not going to ask, but you should know I have a water gun full of holy water under my desk and Wes is in his office with a loaded crossbow.”
I snarl. How can she think I could even come close to achieving anything near perfect happiness with Buffy in the condition she is in. “I thought I told you and Wes to take the week off.”
Cordy shrugged. “Tell the Powers that Be not to give me anymore visions then. You may have given up the mission to find Blondie up there, but we haven’t.”
I know I should care that she had a vision. I know I should be out there trying to help. I can’t bring myself to leave Buffy. I don’t even like being away from her right now. I walk through the lobby without another word to Cordy and into the kitchen. I fill up the tea kettle with water and start rummaging through the cabinets. Wes walks in and begins to prepare the teapot.
“I can do that, Wes.”
“I know, but I’d like to help. I was her watcher once, a pitiful excuse for one, but none the less. How is she?”He sounds sincere.
“I don’t want Giles knowing yet.” I clarify before I say anything. Wes nods. I get crackers out of the cabinet and start spreading extra crunchy peanut butter on them. I have never forgotten. I know I never will. “She’s-“ My voice breaks. I take several breaths trying to continue, trying not to break down completely. Wes knows she was in Heaven. I had to tell someone when I came back from seeing her, when she disappeared. Cordy certainly hadn’t wanted to hear it. “She’s not doing well. She’s addicted to heroin and who knows what else. She’s so weak.” Somehow that bothers me more then anything. She was once so strong, so beautiful. It was more then physical strength. Her heart was strong, her spirit was strong. There was never a time she would have allowed that creep, Mike, to talk to her, or anyone else like he had. She would have never allowed him to hit her and from all appearances it looked like he had been beating her. I continue to speak, even though I didn’t really intend to tell Wes all this. “She has bruises and track marks all over her body. She’s so skinny. I doubt she weighs more then seventy five pounds. She doesn’t want to live. It’s a miracle she hasn’t found a way to kill herself with drugs before this.” I can’t help it. I break down. The more I try to get a hold of myself the worse it gets. I end up in the corner of the kitchen on the floor, crying like a child. Wes in all his Bristishness is sitting beside me, a cup of tea growing cold in his hand, unsure of exactly what to do.
After a time, I gather my emotions again and stand up. “I’m sorry.” I feel the need to apologize to Wes.
Wes shakes his head and pats my shoulder. “Angel, you needed someone to talk to, anyone would. I’m glad I could be there for you.”
He finishes preparing a tea tray and I finish making the peanut butter crackers. I take the bottle of brandy down from the cabinet and pour a bit in the tea pot. I hope it will ease some of the withdrawal symptoms she’s going through. He tells me if there is anything else he can do to let him know. I nod in acceptance. I need to get back to her. She’ll wonder where I’ve gone. As I begin to climb the stairs, I turn back to the lobby. Cordy is still there, typing on the computer.
“Cordy, when did I bring Buffy back?”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I think perhaps she is right. “Last night.” She responds.
Last night. I climb the stairs wearily. I wonder, just how far can angels really fall.