Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Everything else belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB.
Finished: April 7, 2001
~~ Is This The End? ~~
There's a sudden knock at the door and I hear Angel's voice calling my name. I look down at my hand holding the razor. I feel disgusted with myself. Here I am, in Angel's bathroom, about to slit my wrists. I don't want him to find me like this. He calls again; sounding more worried and tries to turn the doorknob.
Dropping the razor, I open the door and I throw myself into his arms, tears returning to my tired eyes. I whisper apologies as I begin to cry and beg him not to leave me.
He hugs me and pulls me toward the bed. We sit down on the edge and he has an arm around my shoulder, holding me close to him. He coaxes me gently to tell him what happened in Sunnydale after I stop crying.
I explain how everybody left me because I couldn't help them in time. He's not sure what I mean by 'left' so I tell him that everyone died because of me.
I tell him how I was upset with Dawn because she had borrowed my shirt the day before and spilled ketchup on it. I had told her to come to the shop. She was hit on the way.
Angel hugs me closer telling me it wasn't my fault and I didn't know it was going to happen. I continue on to tell him about Xander, Anya, Tara, Willow, and Giles, how I could've helped them.
I tell him how I could've stopped Xander from patrolling with me, which would have saved Anya from her depression as well. I know Angel doesn't understand the whole story, but I continue anyway. I tell him how Willow and Tara wouldn't have been possessed if I'd convinced them that the spell was dangerous and how if they had lived, so would have Giles.
He asks why I tried to kill myself and I explain how I couldn't take it anymore. I just wanted the pain to be over. How I didn't want to be a Slayer anymore. I had nothing to live for, no one was left. Angel asks about himself, feeling slightly hurt I guess.
I tell him that it was the worst part of all. I wanted to come here and see him, but I thought he'd turn me away. I tell him that I don't know what made him save me and bring me here and that I should go.
He insists that he won't let me go. I smile slightly. The first real smile in a long time. He's always been so stubborn. I tell him I have to and stand up. I confess to him that I still love him, but we can't be together and I don't want to interfere with his life here. This time it's my turn to decide.
He says his life needs interference and that he won't let me leave in my fragile condition, or in the towel I'm still wearing.
I ask him what I'm supposed to do, pointedly ignoring his joke. I can't live with 'what if' thoughts.
He promises me I'll get through it and that he'll help me like I helped him.
I look down at him looking up at me. My eyes scan the room and land on a mirror. I stand quietly and look at myself in the towel, my hair dripping onto the carpet, my red skin slowly trying to heal itself, while Angel sits on the bed. I whisper his name in disbelief. He looks over in the mirror and realizes I can see his reflection. I look back at him as he stands up and takes my hands in his. I pull one from his grip and rest it over his heart. The hypnotic thumping makes me smile and I look in his eyes for answers.
He tells me he's been alive for the past two weeks but didn't want to interrupt my life. He says he wanted to call but chickened out while dialing my number.
I ask if that's why he came back to Sunnydale...came back for me.
He explains how Cordelia had a vision of me and he came to get me. He would have found me sooner if he hadn't had to check every crypt in the cemetery.
I step into his arms and hug him again, telling him how much I love him.
He echoes my confession and I lean up to kiss him. He puts his hands around my back. I haven't been hugged or held in a week and it's so...comforting, especially because it's Angel.
He pulls away from me and rests his forehead against mine, expressing how glad he is that I'm safe with a smile. I smile back briefly, then continue to kiss him. I successfully bring his shirt over his head without breaking the kiss for more than three seconds. Angel steps away from me as my hands start to explore his muscled chest and back. He says my name, panting slightly, and tells me this isn't what I need.
I tell him it is. I need him to help me forget the pain and guilt for a while. I step toward him again and he takes equal steps back, suggesting we should get something to eat. My heart is crushed. Doesn't Angel want me as much as I want him? He asks me if I'm hungry and I nod blindly.
I slip on the nightgown as Angel puts his shirt back on. My hair is still wet and I begin to shiver. Angel notices and hands me a shirt out of his closet to wear. It's black, of course, and I gladly accept it, mainly because it smells like him.
We head downstairs and into the kitchen. It's pretty big, but then again, it is a hotel. Angel opens the fridge and takes out a variety of things to eat, offering to make me whatever I want. I tell him I'll have whatever he's having so he makes us sandwiches and salad, then we return to his room and eat while sitting on the bed. Well, Angel eats; I slowly pick away at my food while I watch him. He's the one thing left in my life. He's alive, he loves me, and he also carries his guilt on his broad shoulders. He'll help me through this. I know he will. But can I help myself?
Finished: April 7, 2001
~~ Is This The End? ~~
There's a sudden knock at the door and I hear Angel's voice calling my name. I look down at my hand holding the razor. I feel disgusted with myself. Here I am, in Angel's bathroom, about to slit my wrists. I don't want him to find me like this. He calls again; sounding more worried and tries to turn the doorknob.
Dropping the razor, I open the door and I throw myself into his arms, tears returning to my tired eyes. I whisper apologies as I begin to cry and beg him not to leave me.
He hugs me and pulls me toward the bed. We sit down on the edge and he has an arm around my shoulder, holding me close to him. He coaxes me gently to tell him what happened in Sunnydale after I stop crying.
I explain how everybody left me because I couldn't help them in time. He's not sure what I mean by 'left' so I tell him that everyone died because of me.
I tell him how I was upset with Dawn because she had borrowed my shirt the day before and spilled ketchup on it. I had told her to come to the shop. She was hit on the way.
Angel hugs me closer telling me it wasn't my fault and I didn't know it was going to happen. I continue on to tell him about Xander, Anya, Tara, Willow, and Giles, how I could've helped them.
I tell him how I could've stopped Xander from patrolling with me, which would have saved Anya from her depression as well. I know Angel doesn't understand the whole story, but I continue anyway. I tell him how Willow and Tara wouldn't have been possessed if I'd convinced them that the spell was dangerous and how if they had lived, so would have Giles.
He asks why I tried to kill myself and I explain how I couldn't take it anymore. I just wanted the pain to be over. How I didn't want to be a Slayer anymore. I had nothing to live for, no one was left. Angel asks about himself, feeling slightly hurt I guess.
I tell him that it was the worst part of all. I wanted to come here and see him, but I thought he'd turn me away. I tell him that I don't know what made him save me and bring me here and that I should go.
He insists that he won't let me go. I smile slightly. The first real smile in a long time. He's always been so stubborn. I tell him I have to and stand up. I confess to him that I still love him, but we can't be together and I don't want to interfere with his life here. This time it's my turn to decide.
He says his life needs interference and that he won't let me leave in my fragile condition, or in the towel I'm still wearing.
I ask him what I'm supposed to do, pointedly ignoring his joke. I can't live with 'what if' thoughts.
He promises me I'll get through it and that he'll help me like I helped him.
I look down at him looking up at me. My eyes scan the room and land on a mirror. I stand quietly and look at myself in the towel, my hair dripping onto the carpet, my red skin slowly trying to heal itself, while Angel sits on the bed. I whisper his name in disbelief. He looks over in the mirror and realizes I can see his reflection. I look back at him as he stands up and takes my hands in his. I pull one from his grip and rest it over his heart. The hypnotic thumping makes me smile and I look in his eyes for answers.
He tells me he's been alive for the past two weeks but didn't want to interrupt my life. He says he wanted to call but chickened out while dialing my number.
I ask if that's why he came back to Sunnydale...came back for me.
He explains how Cordelia had a vision of me and he came to get me. He would have found me sooner if he hadn't had to check every crypt in the cemetery.
I step into his arms and hug him again, telling him how much I love him.
He echoes my confession and I lean up to kiss him. He puts his hands around my back. I haven't been hugged or held in a week and it's so...comforting, especially because it's Angel.
He pulls away from me and rests his forehead against mine, expressing how glad he is that I'm safe with a smile. I smile back briefly, then continue to kiss him. I successfully bring his shirt over his head without breaking the kiss for more than three seconds. Angel steps away from me as my hands start to explore his muscled chest and back. He says my name, panting slightly, and tells me this isn't what I need.
I tell him it is. I need him to help me forget the pain and guilt for a while. I step toward him again and he takes equal steps back, suggesting we should get something to eat. My heart is crushed. Doesn't Angel want me as much as I want him? He asks me if I'm hungry and I nod blindly.
I slip on the nightgown as Angel puts his shirt back on. My hair is still wet and I begin to shiver. Angel notices and hands me a shirt out of his closet to wear. It's black, of course, and I gladly accept it, mainly because it smells like him.
We head downstairs and into the kitchen. It's pretty big, but then again, it is a hotel. Angel opens the fridge and takes out a variety of things to eat, offering to make me whatever I want. I tell him I'll have whatever he's having so he makes us sandwiches and salad, then we return to his room and eat while sitting on the bed. Well, Angel eats; I slowly pick away at my food while I watch him. He's the one thing left in my life. He's alive, he loves me, and he also carries his guilt on his broad shoulders. He'll help me through this. I know he will. But can I help myself?