Title: Drowning
Series: Cry
Author: Sarah K.
Email: TwirlGirl2008@bolt.com
Disclaimer: Joss's
Timeline: After Becoming pt 2, kind of an alternate Anne
Spoilers: Up to Becoming 2
Summary: Buffy's in really bad shape after Becoming part 2, living in LA,
when suddenly Angel shows up.
Distribution: Want it? Take it. Just email me.
Feedback: PLEEEEEEEEASSEEEE!
Rating: R
I woke up freezing cold, still trembling. That was also something that never stopped. Trembling must have been Tears' best friend that had gotten invited along for the whole party. I missed being still and sure. But unless I could be still and sure to stroke his cheek, I didn't really want to be still and sure.
I sighed and shakily got out of bed. I started cleaning up my mess from last night, making faces at the smell and probably ruined carpet. The landlord would make me pay extra for 'trashing' the room - and *anything* was trashing it to him. Walking on the rug was trashing it in his book.
Not that it was a great place that had to be taken care of anyway. The whole place was a dump. I belonged in a dump. It didn't matter. I was too poor to pay for anything else, anyway.
I soaked the rug in some kind of cleaner I had found in the cabinet - the only cleaner there was. Whatever. I'd let it soak until I came home. It would stop smelling by then, I hoped.
Mom would have been able to get it out. Mom was great with that stuff. I let myself have a small smile through the light tears that were endlessly streaming down my face, even if I wasn't sobbing. Mom. I missed her so much. Yeah, she annoyed me all the time. Sure, she handled me telling her that I was the Slayer badly. Yeah, we weren't the closest we could be. But I still loved her. It wasn't like the love I felt - feel - for Angel. That love is complete, full, everything. This love is cozy, older, but also forever. Even when I'm feeling my most love for Mom, I can still breathe.
Cozy, older, yet forever. Yeah, forever until two months ago. Then my life - and Angel (I gave a shudder and a sob)- went to Hell. Mom found out about the whole Slayer deal and really wigged. I don't mean had a small problem. I mean really, completely, totally, wigged. Kicked-me-out-of-the- house-wigged.
Not that I could blame her. Why would someone ever love me? I sighed again and tried to wipe some of the tears off of my face. I slipped out of my oversized T-shirt and into my work uniform, not bothering to shower. I threw my hair into a messy up-do and headed to work. Nothing mattered anymore. Not even my hair.
******
When I first got the job at the Diner, a lot of people noticed the silent tears constantly streaming down my face. People were concerned. They wanted stories, answers that I wouldn't ever be able to give. So I built a little self control at work. It was hard. But eventually I made sure to keep the tears minimal, crashing down only when I was on break. Tears always formed behind my eyes, no matter what. But I tried to keep them from falling.
As long as they weren't really heavy, nobody bothered anymore. To them, I was anti-social. The quiet type. If only they knew. Before I practically died and ran away, I was Ms. Social Butterfly. Especially in L.A. Then in Sunnydale, I was kind of the loser-type. I could have done so much better, but slaying took up most of my time. Besides, I'd rather hang with Willow and Xander than the Cordettes.
Willow and Xander brought bittersweet memories. But I wouldn't let the memories get to me. Not at work.
After my 8 AM - 11 PM shift, I was emotionally and physically drained, ready to collapse. I hadn't really eaten since before everything happened. I'd had nibbles, maybe bites, enough to keep me alive. I noticed how thin I was. Too thin. Unhealthy thin. The bags under my eyes were getting worse and worse. I hadn't had a shower in a few days, either. I felt sick. Too sick to make it home.
But I did. I always made it home. If you could call it home. To me, it was just a place. 1630 Revello Drive was my home. The Library was my home. And Willow's, and Xander's. The Bronze. Angel's apartment. Sunnydale. Sunnydale was my home.
I fell into bed and immediately started sobbing, but I was too sick and tired of crying to stay awake for long. In a few minutes, I was completely unaware of everything around me.
Maybe if I wasn't so unaware, I would have noticed.
******
"A-Angel?" I whispered timidly. "You're - here?" My voice cracked.
He smiled warmly at me. "I'm here."
Some part in the back of my head was screaming at me. It's a dream. You're going to wake up and hurt like hell. It's going to be the same thing. Cry. Work. Sleep. Cry. But the rest of me was SO not listening. I could see him. He was right there, I could touch him.
So what the heck? I did. I reached out and traced his cheek. Electricity sparked between us and I immediately fell into his arms. He held me gently, so gently, as if I would break. As if I was fragile and precious. He smiled and stroked my hair and whispered words of love in my ear.
And me? I cried. I sobbed. I apologized and told him how awful everything was. How sorry I was. How I didn't deserve anything at all, I didn't deserve him. And everytime I said something, he shushed me, forgiving me, reassuring me.
And I loved him all over again.
I loved him so much. My heart filled with Angel and I was content to be held in - well, I don't actually know where we were. Blackness, all around, infinite, an abyss. But light radiated off of Angel. He was my strength and my safeness and my light. He always would be.
"I love you." I whispered.
"You do?" his eyes suddenly turned quizzical.
"Of course. It's not even a question."
"Well ... well then ... how could you do ... do this?" He dropped me, his eyes and demeanor grew cold and harsh. He pointed to the sword stuck in his gut, and I died again. I felt so awful. So guilty. I would have gladly died a million deaths right there if his pain could be eased.
"I love you, I love you, Angel, God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. Please forgive me! You have to, I - Angel! I love you!"
Then I woke up.
******
I felt terrible the next morning. Worse than I'd ever felt. Not just because of the guilt and pain. Because I hadn't eaten or showered or slept. I was really, really sick.
Nevertheless I dragged myself out of bed and shook more than walked to work. One day of missing it and I wouldn't be able to pay rent at the end of the month.
Work was Hell as usual. Worse, even, because I was so sick. 11 o'clock couldn't have come faster. But it finally did. I left as soon as possible and started on the way to the apartment. I was shaking so bad. Shaking like a leaf. The memory sprang fresh tears to my eyes. God, I loved him so much.
Lost in my thoughts, I bumped into someone. I mumbled a hurried sorry and kept going, but only until I realized the person had stopped and was staring back at me. I turned around and started to snap at him, until I fainted.
I couldn't help it.
******
I awoke a few minutes later in Angel's arms. It was a dream. It had to be. But whatever. It felt nice.
He smoothed the hair off of my face and felt my forehead. I noticed him shake his head grimly. He gathered me up and carried me somewhere. I was too groggy to notice where.
He laid me on a bed. Probably the one in my apartment. He took my coat and shoes off but then hesitated.
"Bu-Buffy?"
Oh God. His voice. Angel's voice. The sound washed over me, the deep, rich tones. I loved his voice so much. The way it caressed me as if it was a touch, the way he was always careful not to yell or upset.
"Buffy?" He asked softly again.
"Angel?" I whispered back.
"Is ... Is it okay if ... I ... Change your, um, clothes?" He asked, clearly embarrassed.
I nodded my head yes, too tired to respond. He undid my shirt and then hesitated again before undoing my bra. Ever the gentleman, My Angel. I could feel him staring at my breasts. Not in a bad way ... I hoped. He had seen them before. I didn't think he was repulsed or anything by them ... What if he was?! My eyes opened as quickly as they could in my sleepy state.
I saw him looking at me with complete adoration in his eyes. He was slightly smiling. He apprehensively reached a hand out and brushed it across my left breast. He drew in a little sigh and smiled again, and then got another shirt out of the chest of drawers by the wall.
I cringed at the thought. I hadn't washed or cleaned anything in a long time. He must have thought I was some kind of bum. But he didn't seem to notice or care.
He slipped a cleaner bra and shirt on me, and then took my skirt off. He left my underwear on, not wanting to intrude that far. Ever, ever the gentleman. When I was changed, he tenderly tucked me in. By now I was fighting to stay awake. I didn't want to miss a second of this.
I felt him get up and start to walk away, and I let out a whimper.
"Angel?"
"Yes?"
"Please, don't leave me. Please." I begged. Then I realized how immature I was being. He had a right to leave. "I mean, that is ... if you want to, go ahead, I ..." My voice died out and my eyes fluttered shut. Too much. They were too heavy to keep open.
I felt him approach the bed and take my hand. I was happy with that. Anything. As long as he was there.
"I was going to get you something to eat. You look starved. But I guess ... If you really want me to ..."
I was too tired to respond.
He kicked off his shoes and lay down beside me, even daring to come under the covers. He took me into his arms and I visibly shivered at his touch.
He immediately let go. "Am ... Am I too cold?"
"No." came my muffled reply. I crawled my way back into his arms. I had only shivered because I felt too happy, too complete. That and the sickness in my stomach.
I relaxed in that spot, ready to never leave it.
When my breathing became even and he thought I was fully asleep, I felt him get up and walk out of the room.
I didn't think I had woken up from a dream. Even if I hadn't, he was gone. I was alone.
I started to drown myself in tears again.
I woke up freezing cold, still trembling. That was also something that never stopped. Trembling must have been Tears' best friend that had gotten invited along for the whole party. I missed being still and sure. But unless I could be still and sure to stroke his cheek, I didn't really want to be still and sure.
I sighed and shakily got out of bed. I started cleaning up my mess from last night, making faces at the smell and probably ruined carpet. The landlord would make me pay extra for 'trashing' the room - and *anything* was trashing it to him. Walking on the rug was trashing it in his book.
Not that it was a great place that had to be taken care of anyway. The whole place was a dump. I belonged in a dump. It didn't matter. I was too poor to pay for anything else, anyway.
I soaked the rug in some kind of cleaner I had found in the cabinet - the only cleaner there was. Whatever. I'd let it soak until I came home. It would stop smelling by then, I hoped.
Mom would have been able to get it out. Mom was great with that stuff. I let myself have a small smile through the light tears that were endlessly streaming down my face, even if I wasn't sobbing. Mom. I missed her so much. Yeah, she annoyed me all the time. Sure, she handled me telling her that I was the Slayer badly. Yeah, we weren't the closest we could be. But I still loved her. It wasn't like the love I felt - feel - for Angel. That love is complete, full, everything. This love is cozy, older, but also forever. Even when I'm feeling my most love for Mom, I can still breathe.
Cozy, older, yet forever. Yeah, forever until two months ago. Then my life - and Angel (I gave a shudder and a sob)- went to Hell. Mom found out about the whole Slayer deal and really wigged. I don't mean had a small problem. I mean really, completely, totally, wigged. Kicked-me-out-of-the- house-wigged.
Not that I could blame her. Why would someone ever love me? I sighed again and tried to wipe some of the tears off of my face. I slipped out of my oversized T-shirt and into my work uniform, not bothering to shower. I threw my hair into a messy up-do and headed to work. Nothing mattered anymore. Not even my hair.
******
When I first got the job at the Diner, a lot of people noticed the silent tears constantly streaming down my face. People were concerned. They wanted stories, answers that I wouldn't ever be able to give. So I built a little self control at work. It was hard. But eventually I made sure to keep the tears minimal, crashing down only when I was on break. Tears always formed behind my eyes, no matter what. But I tried to keep them from falling.
As long as they weren't really heavy, nobody bothered anymore. To them, I was anti-social. The quiet type. If only they knew. Before I practically died and ran away, I was Ms. Social Butterfly. Especially in L.A. Then in Sunnydale, I was kind of the loser-type. I could have done so much better, but slaying took up most of my time. Besides, I'd rather hang with Willow and Xander than the Cordettes.
Willow and Xander brought bittersweet memories. But I wouldn't let the memories get to me. Not at work.
After my 8 AM - 11 PM shift, I was emotionally and physically drained, ready to collapse. I hadn't really eaten since before everything happened. I'd had nibbles, maybe bites, enough to keep me alive. I noticed how thin I was. Too thin. Unhealthy thin. The bags under my eyes were getting worse and worse. I hadn't had a shower in a few days, either. I felt sick. Too sick to make it home.
But I did. I always made it home. If you could call it home. To me, it was just a place. 1630 Revello Drive was my home. The Library was my home. And Willow's, and Xander's. The Bronze. Angel's apartment. Sunnydale. Sunnydale was my home.
I fell into bed and immediately started sobbing, but I was too sick and tired of crying to stay awake for long. In a few minutes, I was completely unaware of everything around me.
Maybe if I wasn't so unaware, I would have noticed.
******
"A-Angel?" I whispered timidly. "You're - here?" My voice cracked.
He smiled warmly at me. "I'm here."
Some part in the back of my head was screaming at me. It's a dream. You're going to wake up and hurt like hell. It's going to be the same thing. Cry. Work. Sleep. Cry. But the rest of me was SO not listening. I could see him. He was right there, I could touch him.
So what the heck? I did. I reached out and traced his cheek. Electricity sparked between us and I immediately fell into his arms. He held me gently, so gently, as if I would break. As if I was fragile and precious. He smiled and stroked my hair and whispered words of love in my ear.
And me? I cried. I sobbed. I apologized and told him how awful everything was. How sorry I was. How I didn't deserve anything at all, I didn't deserve him. And everytime I said something, he shushed me, forgiving me, reassuring me.
And I loved him all over again.
I loved him so much. My heart filled with Angel and I was content to be held in - well, I don't actually know where we were. Blackness, all around, infinite, an abyss. But light radiated off of Angel. He was my strength and my safeness and my light. He always would be.
"I love you." I whispered.
"You do?" his eyes suddenly turned quizzical.
"Of course. It's not even a question."
"Well ... well then ... how could you do ... do this?" He dropped me, his eyes and demeanor grew cold and harsh. He pointed to the sword stuck in his gut, and I died again. I felt so awful. So guilty. I would have gladly died a million deaths right there if his pain could be eased.
"I love you, I love you, Angel, God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. Please forgive me! You have to, I - Angel! I love you!"
Then I woke up.
******
I felt terrible the next morning. Worse than I'd ever felt. Not just because of the guilt and pain. Because I hadn't eaten or showered or slept. I was really, really sick.
Nevertheless I dragged myself out of bed and shook more than walked to work. One day of missing it and I wouldn't be able to pay rent at the end of the month.
Work was Hell as usual. Worse, even, because I was so sick. 11 o'clock couldn't have come faster. But it finally did. I left as soon as possible and started on the way to the apartment. I was shaking so bad. Shaking like a leaf. The memory sprang fresh tears to my eyes. God, I loved him so much.
Lost in my thoughts, I bumped into someone. I mumbled a hurried sorry and kept going, but only until I realized the person had stopped and was staring back at me. I turned around and started to snap at him, until I fainted.
I couldn't help it.
******
I awoke a few minutes later in Angel's arms. It was a dream. It had to be. But whatever. It felt nice.
He smoothed the hair off of my face and felt my forehead. I noticed him shake his head grimly. He gathered me up and carried me somewhere. I was too groggy to notice where.
He laid me on a bed. Probably the one in my apartment. He took my coat and shoes off but then hesitated.
"Bu-Buffy?"
Oh God. His voice. Angel's voice. The sound washed over me, the deep, rich tones. I loved his voice so much. The way it caressed me as if it was a touch, the way he was always careful not to yell or upset.
"Buffy?" He asked softly again.
"Angel?" I whispered back.
"Is ... Is it okay if ... I ... Change your, um, clothes?" He asked, clearly embarrassed.
I nodded my head yes, too tired to respond. He undid my shirt and then hesitated again before undoing my bra. Ever the gentleman, My Angel. I could feel him staring at my breasts. Not in a bad way ... I hoped. He had seen them before. I didn't think he was repulsed or anything by them ... What if he was?! My eyes opened as quickly as they could in my sleepy state.
I saw him looking at me with complete adoration in his eyes. He was slightly smiling. He apprehensively reached a hand out and brushed it across my left breast. He drew in a little sigh and smiled again, and then got another shirt out of the chest of drawers by the wall.
I cringed at the thought. I hadn't washed or cleaned anything in a long time. He must have thought I was some kind of bum. But he didn't seem to notice or care.
He slipped a cleaner bra and shirt on me, and then took my skirt off. He left my underwear on, not wanting to intrude that far. Ever, ever the gentleman. When I was changed, he tenderly tucked me in. By now I was fighting to stay awake. I didn't want to miss a second of this.
I felt him get up and start to walk away, and I let out a whimper.
"Angel?"
"Yes?"
"Please, don't leave me. Please." I begged. Then I realized how immature I was being. He had a right to leave. "I mean, that is ... if you want to, go ahead, I ..." My voice died out and my eyes fluttered shut. Too much. They were too heavy to keep open.
I felt him approach the bed and take my hand. I was happy with that. Anything. As long as he was there.
"I was going to get you something to eat. You look starved. But I guess ... If you really want me to ..."
I was too tired to respond.
He kicked off his shoes and lay down beside me, even daring to come under the covers. He took me into his arms and I visibly shivered at his touch.
He immediately let go. "Am ... Am I too cold?"
"No." came my muffled reply. I crawled my way back into his arms. I had only shivered because I felt too happy, too complete. That and the sickness in my stomach.
I relaxed in that spot, ready to never leave it.
When my breathing became even and he thought I was fully asleep, I felt him get up and walk out of the room.
I didn't think I had woken up from a dream. Even if I hadn't, he was gone. I was alone.
I started to drown myself in tears again.