Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Joss Wheddon and Mutant Enemy. The story has no commercial purpose.

Summary: Two points of view on the aftermath of Season 6.

Guilt

by Josephine Martin

It's a funny thing, guilt. It sort of creeps up on you when you don't expect it. I'm not sure when it started, it was so gradual. I just know that there's so much of it now that I'm drowning in it. The memory of a body, bruised and hurt. The recollection of a face, hurt etched in every line. I would do anything to be rid of this feeling - to make amends somehow, but I can't. I can never really make amends for what I did. I understand that now.

There was an ordeal. You know the sort of thing, fight to the death. It was nothing I hadn't handled before. And afterwards, there was hope. For a while, I actually thought everything would be ok. I thought things would work out the way they should. For a while, I managed not to notice the feeling that was starting to eat away at me. There was so much else to take in. So many new feelings, so many ideas.

But a face haunted my dreams. The face that taunts me with my failings. I see it every night, and waken, my pillow tear-soaked. Memories so clear, it's like I'm living the time again. I haven't talked about it. I haven't told anyone. Maybe it would be easier to share, but I worry that I'll lose what little contact I have with the human race. Or worse, they'll tell me I have nothing to be guilty for, that my actions were justified in some perverse way. I won't accept that, I can't, not any more.

I wonder how I'll feel if I ever see that face again. It took so long to realise I loved the person behind the face. Like the guilt, it crept up on me when I wasn't paying attention. It's funny when you realise that someone who had been part of your life for so long suddenly becomes so much more important - suddenly becomes your everything. It took some major events before I realised. Maybe if I'd realised sooner, I could have done something about it, stopped it from going so wrong. I don't know.

What would I give to be able to wipe the pain off that face? To see it cleansed and become the face I love so much, the face I wish I could see in my dreams. I would give everything. I would give everything I am to undo the damage I did, but I can't. How many people over the history of the earth have wished they could turn the clock back? I'm not special, I know that. That doesn't make it hurt less.

I've tried, so hard, to see the positive side of life. I promised someone I would try, and I do. I hope my despair isn't obvious, isn't dragging others into the pit I inhabit. Hope. It's a funny word. I use it, I say I hope, but I don't any more - not about the important things. I can't hope for forgiveness, because I don't deserve it. I thought I was right, I thought I was good. How wrong could I be? In the name of goodness, I destroyed. In the name of right, I maimed. I took something with potential, and I pulled it down.

The thoughts start to cycle through again. I see the face, remember what I did to paint the pain on it. It'll keep on going around until it's time to get up. There's only one cure, only one way I'll feel secure enough to sleep.

I open my gritty eyes and check the clock. It's only three, not yet time to get up. I get out of bed and walk to the wardrobe. It's hanging there, where I left it when I got up to start another day. Every night I try to sleep without it. I don't deserve the security I derive from it. I pull it back to the bed, wrapping it around me, burying my face in the fragrance of the soft leather. The smell is fading. Each time, it requires a deeper breath to get enough of the fragrance to work its magic. The scent calms me instantly. The guilt is still there, but somehow it's lessened by the comfort. I can pretend the scent comes from the owner, and not from the coat. I can pretend I'm safe and I'm loved. I can pretend I've been forgiven. It's enough, and my eyes close. Sleep will come soon.

I sit in the tree outside her room. She can't sense me. I knew she wouldn't be able to. She told me once, that her Slayer sense didn't recognise Angel while he had his soul. I've got one too - just like him. The difference is I went looking for it. I watch her, not understanding. She wakens, and wipes tears from her cheeks. A bad dream, I think, but it's more than that. She's tossing and turning. Her heart's beating too fast for someone in bed. She looks ill. There are shadows under her eyes I've never seen before. I realise this sleepless night isn't isolated. I wonder at her sadness.

I know the reason. I know about Tara and Willow. I know Giles has gone. She's alone, carrying the burden of the world on her shoulders. I want to help. I want to hold her and make her know that she's not alone. But the truth is, she's better off alone. It's better that she is miserable alone than bolstered by one like me.

I start to realise this wasn't a good idea. I thought I'd watch her one last time. It's the one thing that kept me going, kept me fighting the pain during the ordeal and afterwards. I promised myself one last look at her.

Funny, before I got the soul, I thought it would make everything simpler. I hated myself. I hated what I'd done to her. I thought it'd be easier to understand, easier to see where I belong.

I still don't understand. I was a Christian once. Went to church - even listened sometimes. They said that love was the force for good in this world. They said God is Love. But if love is so good, how did I use it to hurt her? I love her with everything I have, and that hurt her. I hurt her. I thought the soul would mean I couldn't hurt her any more, but once I had it, I knew better.

I'm still not worthy of her. It hit me then. I know how Angel felt. He knew. That's why he left. The other things - the reasons he gave, they were red herrings. The bottom line was that he knew he didn't deserve her. There was nothing he could do to blot out the evil that was in him.

She's moving again, I can see tears on her cheek. Her eyes are still closed tight, screwed tight against a pain I can only imagine. I thought I had known pain. Physical pain, emotional pain – both so familiar in my existence. But nothing could have prepared me for the pain I feel seeing her cry. It cuts like a blunt knife, tearing me apart. It burns like holy water, searing me.

Something wet lands on my hand, and I notice that I'm crying too. I'm crying for her pain, for the hurt that I caused her. For all the pain she has borne in her short life.

I'm going to leave soon. I had intended to sit here, drinking in her appearance until the sun rose. I wanted her, alive and happy, to be my last sight. But I've damaged her more than I knew. I've destroyed what I love, and I just hope that when she knows finally that I'm gone, she can rebuild herself.

She's turning over, facing away from the window. She's sitting up, looking at the clock. I shrink back, further into the shadows of the tree, in case she looks around. She walks to her wardrobe and pulls something out. I start at the sight of it, and almost fall out of the tree. She pulls out my leather coat and drags it back to her bed. She wraps herself in it, and sighs deeply. I hear her heart rate drop as she prepares for sleep.

My thoughts are a maelstrom. I stare at what I see, unable to comprehend, yet understanding so easily. She's taking comfort from my coat. She's taking comfort from me, the man who hurt her, who betrayed her trust. It can't be true, yet it is.

This is the sight I came to see. This is my Slayer, sleeping peacefully and deeply. This should have been my last vision, but my resolve is fading. I climb to the ground, surprised that my legs seem unable to support my weight as I land. I squat were I fell for a few seconds, a steadying hand on the tree trunk. I get up, and go to find shelter.

I came here to end my existence, to bask one more time in the sunlight that is the Slayer. I leave confused, irresolute. I no longer know what I should do. I should talk to someone, but who would listen? Who would understand? I remember my human life. The answer to both questions would be to pray. I don't think I can pray any more. Even with my soul, the idea of praying seems wrong. I need to understand how to undo the evil and the hurt.

I'm tired. I need to sleep. Perhaps, after a day of haunted dreams, I can make sense of what I have seen tonight. Perhaps that is the answer. Maybe I need to just take little steps towards understanding. No grand gestures. No elaborate promises. After all, I have forever.