Disclaimer: Not mine.

Part Three: Absence of Mind.
(Cordelia's POV.)

"In the words of some great philosopher, or another smart guy, grief can kill. I've seen it happen *way* too many times. Not necessarily to me, or to people I know, but hey. I watch Extra. Some famous person is always dying, and causing a huge stir in Tinsel Town. God, I never thought I'd see Angel grieve like this. Somebody once said grief is like a knife, with a really sharp edge. I guess for Angel, it's a really sharp stake. Whatever it is, it's killing him. And if something hurts him, it's gonna hurt us. Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm all sad about Buffy dying…but…it's scary seeing him act like this.
The last time this happened, Hurricane Buffy had arrived.
Kind of figures that it's always about her, huh? Well, anyway, I'd followed him here. To Shady Hill Cemetery, in Sunnydale California. Buffy's grave is really really nice, under a willow tree and all. If you saw how many flowers were on her grave, there'd be no doubt in your mind that she's loved. It's a little bit strange, though. Her grave is separated from everything else, and you have to snoop around a lot to find it. It's nowhere near her mother's. It took me a while to track it down, and once I finally arrive…he was there. Dressed in black, as usual, and holding roses in his arms. He towered over the gravestone like the goddamned empire state building, hair ruffled by the wind. I decided not to lay my hand on his shoulder. Intimate touch did not look like what he needed right now. In fact, what he needed was six feet under. Six feet under and encased in a wooden box. She was right in front of him, she was under him, and she was floating around in some alternate universe that he would never see.
I'd always wondered what would have happened if she'd only gotten there a few minutes earlier…if Demon Guy With Knife hadn't cut Dawn. Would she be okay? Would I still be standing here, watching my best friend's spirit die? Since this is Sunnydale, I probably would. Some demon would have kicked her ass for the final time, since you can't escape you fate. Try and change an element of it, and you'll end up with a whole new story line. I guess Buffy's destiny was laid out for her already. If one thing, Buffy really got jipped by destiny. She got the short end of the straw, or whatever.
And 'cause of that, 'cause she 'forgot' to call for help, we all get left to pick up the pieces of what once was Angel. And Giles, and Willow, and the rest of the Scooby Gang.
I really shouldn't be mad, though. I mean, I'm here. The world is still intact. And yet, she's not. She sacrificed her life—again—for everyone and didn't even think twice about it. Even though I hate saying this, I wish I could have her bravery. It gets old being the mean one after a while. When you lose all your so-called friends because of a guy, it begins to get old. When your parents lose all of their money, you get tired. And when you discover that you're not such a hit in Hollywood, the jig is most definitely up.
I think I've put in my two cents, though. You don't want to hear anything more about how much I adored my old life, huh?
To continue with the Angel Brooding saga, I decided there was a better way to make him come a little out of his shell. I emphasize on a little.
I spoke, and the only thing that came out was one dumb word, "Wow."
He flinched, and I almost regretted talking.
"Since when did you grave-sit?"
He almost turned then, but kept his eyes on Buffy's grave.
"Cordelia."
"That's my name, don't…uh…overuse it."
Yep, give me a pat on the back for really sucking at conversational tactics. I shrugged, and glanced to the ever-popular tombstone.
"Having a chat with old Buffy? Possibly not a chat, could be a think…if she…" I paused, watching as his fists clenched at his sides with discomfort, and how he shifted his feet.
"…Thinks…" I then grew silent, and he didn't move. Nothing stirred for a few minutes…
Until a hand groped it's way from Buffy's grave. A hand with the emblem of Angel-ness, the silver claddagh ring. He obviously didn't notice it, since he was too absorbed in his thoughts and gazing mindlessly at a tree. I began to point emphatically at the grave…
"Gah…gah…hand…Angel…hand…BUFFY!"
He turned, just in time to see Buffy's head pop out of the grave, as she pulled herself with quaking arms out of the dirt-filled hole. She collapsed on the ground in a heap, and I gaped.
Angel said one word.
"Buffy?"
…I really hate it when this happens."