A.N. – This is
a short Angel fic set after Parting Gifts (episode 1.10). Don't know what I was thinking when I wrote
it (almost a year ago! whew!), but I do
remember it was 2:30ish a.m. J C&C more than welcome, too! BTW: I don't own 'em, and they're totally used without permission!
It's Easier
She stared out the
window, searching for something that made sense. It had been months since he left her, left them, but she still
wasn't able to get over the loss. What
was moving on anyway?
He had it
easier now. There was nothing wherever
he was to remind him of her, of his former life, of everything he was working
for here. That work was why he was
gone. He said he didn't want to be
involved. But he couldn't stay out of
it. He believed in what they were doing
too much. It was simply a part of who
he was, just like it was now a part of who she was.
She didn't have
to look away from the stars to know the picture frame was still there. It represented what they shared, and she
made sure it wasn't lost. A single tear
ran down her face as she thought about all they had gone through.
She wished she
had his courage, that she had been able to do something besides watch! Then maybe he wouldn't be wherever he was
now. She wouldn't be here grieving for
a friend and teammate. She thought
about him.
It's so much easier,
she thought, to be the one who dies.
***
He watched
her. She didn't know it, she never
did. Ever since that night, he never
left her. One of his was already lost,
and he'd be damned if he was going to let it happen again.
He knew what
she was thinking. Hell, he'd be
thinking the same thing if he were in her shoes. He was a little bit older, a little bit wiser, and a lot more
cynical. The world was not a nice
place. Even she knew that, but she had
never understood it as he did. Well,
innocence never lasts forever.
He thought back
to the night that had changed the way she viewed the world. A tear threatened, but he held it back. He was good at hiding things he didn't want the
others to see.
That night
changed their lives in a lot of ways, starting with the sketch framed in the
other room.
He saw her wipe
the tear from her cheek. There was
nothing he could do. There never was. Helpless was not the way he wanted to
feel. Ever since that night, he had become
a control freak. She commented on it
some, but generally left him alone. She
seemed to understand that he couldn't just "let it out." She wanted him to but accepted when he
couldn't. The grief and the guilt were
two things they shared.
Maybe her way
of thinking wasn't so wrong. He had died,
but it was different. He still had a
physical body. Maybe death was
different when you really died. Yes, it
had to be. In his case, he could see
his family, his friends, everyone. He
could see what happened to them, and he could feel the demon rejoicing in every
second of their pain. Their friend
wouldn't have that holding him to this earth. He would be in another place, one where he wouldn't be sorry, where he
couldn't hurt...
It is easier,
he agreed, to be the one who dies.
***
He sat on the
steps outside the office, waiting for her to come out. He knew she was thinking of him. They both were. The other man thought they didn't know that he watched over the
girl to ensure her safety, but they did. He, for one, was glad for it. Still, the other man needed a break, and he would offer to watch her
make her way home tonight.
He knew who
they were thinking about; he had never met the man. He only knew of him through the slips they would occasionally make
and through the story of the sheet of yellow lined paper hanging framed in the
outer office. Physically, he was
separated from them by a brick wall. The same was also true in a less literal sense. Of course there was a window so he could
peer into their lives, but he didn't really belong. To others it may appear as though he were part, but their
suffering tied them together in a way he would never be able to break into. He was simply an adopted child into this
family, wanted perhaps, but not truly a part.
He watched
their suffering in silence, allowing them to reminisce. Leaving them alone was the only way he knew
to help his friends. A thought inserted
itself into his mind, one so odd he wasn't sure where it had come from. He couldn't deny it, but he also couldn't
agree with it. It provoked an
interesting question.
Is it really
easier, he pondered, to be the one who dies?
***
He thought
about the things he had done. He
couldn't do things any more. Having no
body sucked. He was in a beautiful
place, one where he could rest after the pain receded.
Yeah, the
pain. The pain was awful. No one knew just how much he hurt. And then he felt his body being disintegrated
or whatever by that light. And there
was the pain inside, the pain that wasn't directly caused by the light. The worst migraine from the most horrific
vision had never hurt as much as leaving.
Oh, man. The visions. What were they going to do without those? They needed him, but he left them. Would they ever forgive him for being so
selfish? He was the only one who could
have done it, he knew, but his connection was important to the cause.
Fight the good
fight. Those were the words he chose to
leave them with. They were true, a
symbol of everything his life had come to stand for in his last few months.
He wasn't
really worried or sad or unhappy, however. It was impossible to be things here. He could think, though, of the people he left and remember how much they
meant to him, how much he loved them, even how annoying she could be... When he tried to picture them now, he saw
things he didn't remember. There was a
fuzzy picture of another man and a clear picture of what appeared to be a
yellow sheet of paper with a pencil sketch of a blob on it. Somehow those unfamiliar things gave him the
greatest sense of comfort he'd had since he'd gotten here.
He knew they
thought of him. Everyone thinks of
someone who died like that occasionally. He only wondered if they missed him or if they replaced him. He didn't like not knowing. Dislike was a feeling he could have here,
and it was one he experienced frequently. He disliked leaving them. He
disliked not knowing if they were ok. He disliked not being able to be with them in case something
happened. He disliked the reason he was
here.
It is never
easier, he decided, to be the one who dies.