After she left, Buffy took a walk. A long walk, winding through the campsites and trees until the light from the fires was beginning to fade. She was half-hoping that a vampire would attack her. Thought to what end, she wasn't sure.
Losing Angel all over again made her want to die. But at least he was still alive. And she knew that if she stayed near him, he wouldn't be for much longer.
She'd thought that walking away would be easier than being left. Otherwise, why would so many people do it? But instead, it was like that old trick with the loose tooth. You know, where you tie a string to it and to a doorknob, and then slam the door shut. Only it was with her heart, and instead of the door slamming shut quickly, it was moving slowly. Painfully. She could almost hear the popping sounds as her heart was ripped from it's mooring in her chest.
To sum it up, being the one to do the leaving was in no way easier than being the one abandoned. She hoped Angel was faring better than she was, though she doubted it could be so. He'd had the brooding market cornered long before she'd come along, and if she was correct, he would be kicking it into high gear right about now.
She stayed out for a long time. Perhaps hoping to forget, to distract herself. She didn't want to return to the scathing reality of her lonely life. Funny. She'd thought that her rebirth on the beach would mean the start of something new. A chance to forget her past and become her future. Ironic how history repeats itself.
When she returned, she found people packing up their things. He did it. Moving tiredly, she watched them preparing to leave their temporary home. She wondered briefly what he'd said to convince them. What earth-shattering words had moved them to believe. Then she realized that he didn't have to say much. All they would have to do is look into sweet, honest, intelligent eyes, and they would know. She was surprised they weren't begging him to lead them.
She didn't relish the task of returning to the campsite. In fact, she hated it. She didn't think she could bear seeing him again and knowing that she couldn't have him. Knowing that it was her choice didn't make it any easier. As much as she wanted to give in to the temptation to forget the whole thing, she knew she was right. She knew that by being together, she would be killing him. And even as much as she couldn't bear their separation, she couldn't bear his death even more.
But as their pile of blankets and backpacks came into view, she realized that he'd already removed his things. He was gone.
A part of her was crushed, and she understood that as much as she didn't want to see him, in a way, she did. She wanted him to convince her to stay. To sway her to his way of thinking.
Seeing him gone made her realize that he'd given up on them. And it made her want to cry.
It was strange; for so long, she'd felt nothing. She'd screwed Spike just for the feelings of disgust and revulsion it brought her. The feeling of being in control, of being controlled, combined with waves of unreasonable and forbidden lust, had kept her coming back to him.
And now she was overwhelmed with too much feeling. Too much pain, too much hurt. It threatened to send her senses into overdrive. Which was okay. Because she'd been wrong. Pain wasn't preferable to nothing, at least not this pain. She'd gladly take back her post-resurrection days if it meant ending this. She felt like she was being eaten from the inside out.
Feeling empty, she sat down on their abandoned bedding. Hers, actually. His was gone. But...she lay down and pressed her face against the pillow. It still smelled like him. She closed her eyes, and scrunched herself into a tiny ball.
She was too tired to cry herself to sleep.
***
The next morning, she woke early. Tears filled her eyes and she began to cry, quiet sobs that set the tone for her day. After a few moments, she pulled herself together. I can't afford the luxury of a good, early morning cry. I have a colony to lead.
Dragging herself out of bed was chore enough; she didn't eat anything. She remembered the previous day, Angel teaching her how to shore up her campfires so that they didn't catch anything else on fire. She almost started crying again when she realized she was going to have to talk to him today. They were going to have to coordinate their efforts.
Which meant she was going to have to speak to him coherently for more than thirty seconds without having a break-down. She'd never realized it before, but it had been so much easier for her that he'd left soon after breaking up with her.
She dragged her feet as she headed towards the edge of camp. All around her, people looked up from whatever they were doing to fix her with questioning stares. It made her feel as if she were under a microscope, being judged as unfit to lead or even to fight.
She caught sight of him sitting in a pile of blankets with his head in his hands. His back was to her. She could sympathize intensely with the pain that she knew he felt.
"Angel..." she started. His whole body jerked at the sound of her voice. She winced. "Angel. We have to get these people moving. And get to L.A. as fast as we can." He nodded woodenly, and she wished she could see his face.
"I guess we better get started then, huh." He said in a monotone. He started to climb to his feet. Buffy turned away for a moment, silently collecting herself. She would not break down. Not now. Not in front of him. Not when he was so close that her heightened senses could pick up easily the scent of his hair and the sound of his heartbeat.
Maybe she could cry later, when she was alone. And maybe not.
***
The first day, they did little more than set a schedule for travel and define what would become their fighting force. Buffy was convinced that they would need one, and Angel, not willing to argue, agreed.
Things were tensed and stilted between them. Forced. Even Matt noticed the difference, and confronted Buffy about it. Her eyes flashed dangerously and she told him that it was none of his business. After that, he backed off.
Night fell quickly, so quickly that Buffy was surprised to find that the day was over. She'd been sure it was going to be much harder than that. Feel longer. Having something to do made it go faster, she supposed.
The next morning she would have to wake up early. They were going to start moving then. She was going to bring everything that she'd brought with her, since she'd packed light to begin with. But many other people were being forced to leave belongings behind. They only had a few vehicles, and they were going to be used mostly for carrying supplies. The going would be slow, but at least they would be making progress.
That night, she sat by her fire and watched it begin to die down. Crickets chirped in the background and the logs cracked sharply. The night sky was sharply clear, courtesy of the lack of light pollution caused by the recent apocalypse. At least something good had come of this whole thing.
She sat still, letting the fire warm her skin. She hated the pressure she had begun to feel. She wasn't made to be a leader, or a general. She'd proved that with her dismal failure to stop the First. She couldn't do this. She couldn't save these people or give them direction. She couldn't do any of it. Especially not alone.
She felt Matt coming long before he sat down beside her, though he thought he was being stealthy. She wanted to ask him to go away, but couldn't find the heart to do so. After all, he was alone, too. Just like her.
Angel. Her mind whispered to her, and she imagined for a moment leaning back into his embrace. She didn't even care if he was human, or if he wasn't. She just wanted him. She wanted him so badly.
"Hey there. Why so glum?" Matt gave her a crooked smile. She didn't look up, or speak. She didn't have the energy to raise up her disgust and put it into words. Her world had fallen down around her ears twice in the past few months, and he was asking her why she was so depressed?
He settled down, making himself comfortable. She wished he wouldn't. He was nice enough, but...Angel. "I'm sorry you broke up with your boyfriend," he said insincerely. She knew he was trying to be understanding. She knew it, but somehow he was all wrong. He could never say quite the right thing, never correctly interpret what she was feeling. He just got close enough to make her feel bad.
"Yeah. Me, too." We're soulmates. Always. Forever. I love him more than you can ever fathom. I would give him everything I had and then more... "It just couldn't work."
"I know how that is. I had a girlfriend....before. She died." He became suddenly lock-jawed and silent. Buffy appreciated it, because she was feeling so sorry for herself, she didn't think she could come up with any more sorry to feel, not even for the guy who'd lost his girlfriend recently.
"I'm sorry. It must have been hard for you, to lose someone you loved." Angel is my everything. I'd die for him. I'd die without him...How can you tell me that you loved someone who's dead and are still standing? That's not love. Not real love...
"It's okay. Everyone's had to deal with losses. I'm lucky I still have my dad. And you're lucky that Angel's still alive." Lucky. Is this luck? If so, then why does it feel like pain?
"I guess I am." They were quiet for a while longer, and all around, they could hear sounds of fires being doused.
"Buffy, I..." Matt began seriously. Buffy wished with all her heart that he would leave. Right then, before he could say anything that would tie them together. "I care about you a lot. I think that this Angel guy's a real jerk if he couldn't hold on to what he had when he had it."
Buffy bristled. Angel and jerk didn't fit in the same sentence right now. And how dare Matt pass judgment on Angel? He didn't even know him. Didn't even know what they'd all been through, and here he was, acting like he knew what he was talking about.
"You know what, Matt, I think I'm gonna go to bed now," she bit out acerbically. She didn't want to waste energy being polite.
Apparently, he got the point, because with a mournful look, he stood and left, his lean form fading away quickly as she poured water on the fire. Darkness surrounded her then, lit only by the twinkling silver light of the stars and moon. She stirred the ashes around in the fire a bit, just to make sure it was out, and then laid down and conked out on her sleeping bag.
***
The next day, they gathered what Buffy had deemed 'their fighting force' together. Mainly it consisted of anyone between seventeen and thirty who could hold a weapon. Angel thought it would be a good idea to collect the fit younger people to make a trained contingent of soldiers. Or at least something that would make the entire group less than entirely helpless. The vampire attacks were continuing, and Buffy knew she couldn't get to them all. And though Angel was a good fighter...he was only human.
Buffy sighed. Up against that roadblock again. Just as she was about to forget it, to forget that he wasn't the same, self-sufficient Angel he'd always been, something like that would come up. Something that reminded her that the closer he got to her, the more danger he'd be in.
Training consisted mostly of teaching them all how to hold a sword, knife, stake, and dagger, and how to use them to destroy demons and vampires. Buffy and Angel worked at opposite ends of the training ground they'd chosen, because every time their eyes met, a flash of white-hot pain ran through each of them, pulling them briefly from their apathy.
Matt seemed determined to spend as much time with Buffy as possible, much to her dismay. Didn't he realize that she didn't want to speak to him, or see him, or even be reminded of his presence? Apparently not, because he continued to follow her.
She didn't have the heart to tell him to go away, though, because at the moment, he was the only human being actively speaking to her, and she was lonely.
***
That night, she found herself trudging out to where Angel had made camp. They were moving the next day, and Buffy would miss the valley and the protection it gave them.
He was curled up in his blankets. He looked so sad...Just the way his body was all pulled in on itself made her want to hug him. Kiss his tears away gently. But she had to remember that any physical contact between them was now taboo.
"Angel," she called softly. He didn't move. His back was turned to her, his taut muscles visible through the thin shirt. Buffy rubbed her arms and hoped he wasn't cold. "Angel," she said louder. He didn't respond. She knew he wasn't asleep; he was too tense for that.
She waited a second, and then begun to get mad. "ANGEL." No response. She bent down and grabbed his shoulder. It was icy cold.
She turned him over on his back, and the sick feeling in her stomach intensified so much that she had to turn away and throw up.
There was blood, all over the front of his shirt. There were twin puncture marks at the junction of his neck and shoulder.
And he wasn't breathing.