Title: She Sleeps (1/1)

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR "The Gift" TURN AROUND NOW if you're remaining unspoiled

Author: Trixie trixiefirecra16@hotmail.com

My sites: http://www.geocities.com/trixie_alwayshisgirl &

http://www.geocities.com/trixie_tothestars

Disclaimer: Joss owns, the bastard! He’d probably take that as a

compliment;)

Rating: PG

Author’s Notes: Ok, I haven’t see “The Gift” yet, but I’m spoiled so yeah…

the thought of the episode makes me cry, so you can imagine how I felt

writing this. My beloved Buffy… Joss is going DOWN if he doesn’t fix this. I

did see Angel though… and bawled at the last scene

Summary: Angel says goodbye

She Sleeps

He stared at the grave and wondered who tended it. The grass shone a dark

green in the moonlight, like pine needles. With the tip of his boot, he

grazed the rich dirt which covered her and the masses of white roses

adorning the cold stone.

In his hand was a bouquet of wildflowers. They were her favorites. He

didn’t want to put them down yet. His fingers felt like crushing them, but

as he resisted, he stared at the letters forming her name.

B. U. F. F. Y.

S. U. M. M. E. R. S.

It was like the scream he had let out. Just one. A few hours after Willow

had called and he had sent Cordy and Wes and Gunn and every single person he

knew away- so he could go to the roof and stare at the unforgiving stars.

They had burned coldly as he gazed… and as wailed that name- punched from

his lungs- that name. Her name.

He wasn’t letting himself understand the full truth of what had happened.

She was gone, yes, he believed it. But he didn’t understand it. If he dared

to pull apart everything… get to the guts, he knew he would do more than

scream her name. He knew… his ribs would explode, his heart would expand

with his lungs and his throat would cave. Angel wasn’t stupid, he knew that

Buffy was dead. He was standing in front of her grave- above her- and he

could say it- almost easily “Buffy’s dead. Yes, she’s dead. I’m sorry, but

she is gone.” The words meant nothing to him, as they slid off his tongue.

He had practiced them one night, and it was as if they were gibberish.

He hadn’t dreamt of her yet. At first he had looked forward to the time he

spent sleeping- sure that she would join him in the realm of dreams and he’d

be able to touch the glinting blonde of her hair, feel the warmth of her

skin… feel her. Feel her safe. But she hadn’t come, and he felt like

Heathcliff moaning over Cathy’s dead body—Haunt me, drive me mad… just do

not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you!

His ears roared with voices. Hers. His. They melted together… times of the

past, and never seemed to make sense. Sometimes he caught fractions of the

conversations they had in his head… the blonde girl and the vampire. The

Buffy and Angel of yesterday- their ghosts had been drifting around him for

days. He could see them behind his eyelids.

(Let’s just say I’m a friend…)

(Is this really happening?)

Yes, love, I’m sorry but it is. I’m so sorry, more sorry than you’ll ever

know.

Pressing a hand to his forehead, he dropped to his knees before her, and

felt as if he was praying. He wasn’t—although he wanted to. (Please, God,

keep her safe) Actually what he wanted to do was break down, grasp the dirt

that was choking her, and weep until he drowned. She wouldn’t want that. He

kept hearing her voice- “Look after Dawn for me, Angel. She’s all I had…

she’s what I died for. Please…” He wasn’t sure if it was his conscience or

his lost lover talking, but he had remained true to what she wanted.

He was staying at the mansion now, and slaying and becoming someone he

didn’t like. Someone with black eyes and a blank voice. All he could do was

remember. Just remember. Her eyes. Her skin. The lilt of her voice when she

said his voice. The feel of her body against him when they last saw each

other. Her lips… her mouth… her kiss…that kiss that was an end in itself.

His ghost Buffy.

“All that brooding is going to give you a headache.”

His head snapped up and caught the flash of gold as he saw her hair.

“Buffy?”

She grinned tenderly, gently, “It’s me.”

Struggling to get up, he tripped and fell to his knees before her. She sat

perched on the gravestone, which bore her name, and her hand came out to

brush his shoulder. “I was wondering when you were coming to see me.”

“I couldn’t…” he murmured, “for the first while…”

She breathed out and he could almost see her slight smile, “I know…” she

paused, “how is Dawn? I haven’t been to check on her yet. It hurts right

now.”

This was too much. He couldn’t breathe. “I…” he choked, “I… she’s not doing

well. But she’ll survive, Buffy.”

Her fingers touched his bare neck and he felt it, although he knew this

couldn’t be real… he felt it. He felt her. Felt her safe and in front of

him.

“I know she will,” she answered and then tilted his chin up. “What about

you?”

His hand cupped her cheek and he almost sobbed at the texture of her skin,

at the bright glowing orbs of her eyes... she was so beautiful, she was so

real… “I’ll…” he sighed. “I’ll survive to.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly and then looked around. “I thought death would be

different than this, you know.”

“How do you mean?”

“I thought it would be so peaceful. I guess I thought I’d be relieved of

everything… but it’s strange, I’m not. Sure, there’s big peace. But there’s

also so much loneliness. I want to be back with everyone… I want to be with

my sister.” She looked down and played with the collar of his shirt. He

watched her. Why did he waste all that time, they could have had together?

It was something he could never answer. He supposed in the back of his mind,

in his heart of hearts, he had always seen his Shanshu in the future… and

just known… one day, he’d come back for her. He’d sweep into town on his

white steed, and kiss her breathless, and they’d live happily ever after.

It broke his fucking weak little heart that he hadn’t come back sooner. That

he’d been living the shiny happy life while she suffered in this town which

straddled the Hellmouth. A bitter acrid taste cramped his mouth as he gazed

up at her, mud squeezing between his fingers. “Buffy…” he murmured, “I’m

sorry I didn’t… I’m sorry I left you.”

Her eyes were vacant. “Did you? I forget now.”

He buried his face against her knees, which were covered in khaki pants.

They smelled like her. Vanilla and sunshine, a hint of dust and blood. His

breath hitched as he felt tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, love,”

he moaned.

She stirred and he felt her hands holding his head, bringing his face up so

she could lock eyes with him. Hers were bleak. “Do you know how much I

missed you? I used to walk by the mansion at night, you know.” She laughed

harshly. “I would have died if anyone found out. And people brought up your

name like you didn’t mean anything, do you know that? I had to grieve alone.

They forgot what you meant to me… what you were, and are, and I had to…” she

shuddered and he caught her hands in his. “I had to pretend… I started to

hate you. And now… now I just miss you.”

Her eyes burned him. “I know,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to… I just wanted

to get you out of me. I wanted to bleed you out.”

“They bled Dawn,” she uttered without inflection. “They cut her stomach

until she was covered in red…” pressing hands to her forehead, she fell into

him, and he had her in his arms, his Buffy. “I had to do it. I had to save

her… how could I have killed my own sister?”

He nodded, he understood, and he stroked her hair. “You couldn’t.”

“But I killed you,” she said bluntly, and then sat up again. “Did you

forgive me for that?”

He nodded helplessly. “Yes, Buffy. You know I would never… hold that against

you. You were just doing your duty.”

“But you wish I had killed Dawnie,” she said blankly. “I know you do.”

Softly, she brushed the spikes of his hair. “I don’t mind, you know. That

you wish that… that you wish I was still here. I’m glad you miss me.”

She stood and he gazed up at her, her hair falling around her face as she

bent and pressed her lips to his forehead so briefly, it felt like

imagination. “You’ll remember me every once and a while, won’t you?”

He grabbed her hand and his lips sought her palm. “With every breath. I love

you, Buffy.”

She smiled sadly, “If only we’d let that be enough.”

As she faded into the night, and Angel was left on the muddy grave, with the

cold stars burning above him, he reached out a hand to her. Like he had

after she’d slammed the sword into his belly. He could never let her go on

without him.

Laying his cheek against the stone, he traced the lines of her name with a

shaking thumb. Buffy Summers… Buffy Summers…

So this was the ever after. This was the end.

She was sleeping. A deep, deep sleep.

He just wished he could wake her with a kiss.

He stayed there, with her, until the sun began to rise.

End.

Once upon a time

The fairest of them all

A heart full of longing

A deep, deep sleep

- from “Life” magazine, in an article after Princess Diana was killed