Coping With DisasterBy Queen C
Angel POV
She's screaming again. I can hear her from my seat on the couch two rooms away. Calmly, I close my book, rise to my feet, and go to her. Sitting on the edge of the queen size bed I pull her into my arms and whisper words of comfort and encouragement into the darkness.
After a while, her screams turn to sobs and she clings to me, wetting the front of my shirt with her tears. I continue to hold her, brushing her damp hair away from her face, murmuring repeatedly that it's going to be okay, that we're going to get through the pain and be better for it.
I wish I believed what I said.
I'm not sure how much time passes before she finally goes silent. Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes only minutes. All I know is, by the time she has calmed down, I'm emotionally drained. Closing my eyes, I sigh deeply. Slowly, I lie back on the bed, never releasing her.
She curves around me, resting her head on my chest, her legs tangling with my own. Her chestnut colored hair tickles my nose, but I make no attempt to move it. Instead, I inhale her scent, strawberries and coconuts, and stare at the cracked ceiling, willing my mind to shut down long enough to fall asleep.
Of course, I don't know why I bother trying to use sleep as an escape. It never works. As soon as my subconscious takes over, I'm there again, reliving 'That Night'.
That's how I refer to it, you know. 'That Night'. The night that my entire world came crashing down with a force I've never known before. The night that everyone and everything I've ever cared about was destroyed.
The night my son was murdered right before my eyes.
As soon as that thought goes through my head, I feel my demon begin rattling his cage again. Sighing, I force back the growl that threatens to erupt from deep within me, not wanting to disturb the young woman who is finally asleep beside me. Instinctively, I tighten my hold on her, almost to the point of pain.
I know that I should feel guilty for not releasing her immediately when she begins to whimper and threatens to wake. But, I don't. Instead, I revel in the knowledge that I'm able to at least return a fraction of the pain that she's caused me.
You see, she's the one that killed my only child.
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't blame her completely for what she did. After all, I was there. I know that she was acting out of a sense of self-preservation. And, I also realize that, had she not stabbed him, I would most likely be dust right now. However, just because I can understand doesn't mean that I can approve.
Nor can I forgive.
Still, as angry as I am at her for her actions, I can't help but think about all she has lost, as well. That's when the urge to protect her returns and I cease my assault. Sighing, I force the demon further into his cage, close my eyes, and try to picture a time when I was happy, before this twisted parody of a relationship began, before 'That Night'.
Before Dawn Summers.
No, that's not entirely true. The Dawn I remember was nothing like the woman lying in my arms. That Dawn was bright eyed, full of life, and so much like Buffy, it was almost eerie. The way she carried herself, the way she acted, the way she fought...everything about her emulated the first woman I ever truly loved. This Dawn is nothing like that.
Her blue eyes, which once shone with all of the promises of tomorrow, are now dull. Except, of course, for moments when they are pain-filled and guilt-ridden. Actually, it's at those times when I almost think I can see a spark of Buffy still there. Because, just like her sister, no matter how much anguish she's in, Dawn refuses to give up. And, I respect her for that.
I just wish I could show her.
Maybe someday, I will. Someday, when the pain isn't as fresh and the anger isn't as strong. However, until that day comes, I'm content to offer whatever peace I can, and hopefully find some of my own.
Slowly, I feel myself beginning to drift off to sleep. My head becomes light and my body begins to feel almost weightless. However, before I can fully succumb, Dawn jerks beside me, a heartbreaking whimper escaping her partially parted lips.
It looks like it's going to be another sleepless night.
Opening my eyes, I begin to gently run my hand up and down the small of her back, my fingers tracing light designs on the small patch of skin that's exposed from where her tank top has ridden up. Her skin always captivates me. It's so soft, and smooth, the skin of the youth.
After a moment, her cries begin to change, from soul-wrenching pain and loss to pleasure and longing. Slowly, she moves upwards, until her mouth is inches from my neck, pausing where my pulse point used to be. She begins pressing her body harder against mine, running her hands up and down my chest, her breath hot against my skin.
Every muscle in my body begins to tense in anticipation of what I know is going to come next. I feel my demon begin to stir again, demanding I take the opportunity to let him out of his cage so he can properly punish her for what she did, for the pain she's caused. However, I ignore him. Because, this isn't about retribution. It isn't about love, or tenderness, or any emotion, really. It just is.
Okay, I know what you're probably thinking. Where's the remorse? The guilt? The hours upon hours of brooding that has to be done before and after? Well, I don't feel it.
I used to. I used to analyze every aspect of our relationship, if that's what you can even call it. I would spend days wondering if I was doing the right thing, if I was taking advantage of her, if I was allowing my emotions to rule me. Yeah, I used to do all of those things, and more.
But, not anymore.
Now, I just accept this for what it is. Two people, with nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to, helping one another through unimaginable loss by whatever means necessary.
I sometimes wonder if it means anything more to her, if I mean something more than just a source of comfort, or if I'm just another way for her to identify with her sister. Then, her blunt teeth bite into my skin, and all thinking ceases.
Growling softly, I arch towards her, my eyes closed in pleasure, my hands running up and down her body, pulling at clothing that is suddenly in the way. I feel her nimble fingers begin to unbutton my shirt and I force my hands to help. Because, the sooner we can get undressed, the sooner we can be together.
The sooner I can forget the past, if only for a moment.
It's only after my shirt is undone that she pulls away from my neck, straddling my hips so I can sit up and pull the material away. I open my eyes and peer into her face as I do this, trying to see into her soul so I can know, once and for all, how she feels.
I guess it would be easier if I would just ask her. But, I don't. Partly because I'm afraid of what her answer would be and partly because I'm afraid she'll return the question. Mostly, though, it's because I don't want to hear her voice. Because, to hear her speak would remind me of what it is I'm trying to desperately to forget.
So, I remain silent, instead focusing on the physical sensations, rather than emotions.
Once my shirt is removed, I pause, my brown eyes still gazing into her lifeless blue ones. Slowly, I move my hand to the side of her face, running my fingers along her cheekbone. She closes her eyes and presses into my touch, moaning softly.
Quickly, I twist our bodies, so she is lying on her back, with me nestled securely between her thighs. She gasps at the sudden movement, her eyes opening for a fraction of a second. She frowns, peering into my face, and I force myself to smile at her, assuring her that I'm still in control of my body.
Once she sees that she's in no danger, she closes her eyes again, simply enjoying the sensations that are coursing through her body. I lower my head, dropping kisses along her flushed skin, pulling her clothes off as I go and allowing her moans and sighs to guide me.
It's amazing, really. We don't speak often during these times. We've never discussed our feelings, or the ramifications of what we're doing. We in no way talk about what our lost loves would think of us, if they would be disappointed and disgusted, or understanding and forgiving. However, even though we don't speak, we still communicate.
After a few moments, I stand, divesting myself of the remainder of my clothing. I make no show of my nudity, instead immediately re-joining her on the bed. Grabbing her waist, I gently urge her onto her stomach. Then, spreading her legs, I position myself at her entrance and roughly push forward.
Her gasp is a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and pain and, resting my forehead against her back, I smirk, enjoying the sound. However, rather than pause and give her time to adjust, I immediately begin moving within her.
It's at times like this, when I'm surrounded by her heat, with my forehead resting against her back and my hands digging into her hips, that I'm finally able to forget.
I keep my eyes closed, not allowing myself to truly think about who it is I'm with. Instead, I allow my mind to pull up other images. Images of blond hair, an upturned nose, and more power than I've ever seen.
Part of me wishes that I could picture someone else. Particularly a former May Queen with an enormous heart and quick wit to match. But, I can't. Not after what happened to her. Not after 'That Night'.
So, I stick with the fantasy that will always work, no matter what. Buffy. The way she gave her heart so freely, the way she moved against me, the way she found pleasure in whatever she could because she knew that her time on Earth was limited.
I feel Dawn tense beneath me, her entire body going rigid. Then, she begins screaming, her fingers digging into the sheets, her muscles tightening. Instantly, I follow her, finding my own release.
Afterwards, we lay together; each lost in our own thoughts. We don't bother with the sweet kisses and caresses that normal couples do. We aren't normal, so why bother?
Closing my eyes, it's now that the picture of Cordelia comes to mind, what she felt like lying in my arms, her breathing still rapid from the passion we had shared.
Idly, I wonder if Dawn does the same as me. Does she picture my son when we're together? Wish is was he that was inside of her, holding her, pleasuring her? Then, as quickly as the thought appears, it's gone, forced away by a part of me that doesn't want to know.
Normally, this is when we fall asleep, temporarily free from the pain and too exhausted to dream. However, this time is different. Instead of relaxing against my body, Dawn raises her head, peering into my face. Then, she does something that neither of us had dared to do.
She breaks the silence.
"Angel, I want to go see the Oracles."