And She Cried
She was hot on the trail of whatever the hell happened in Los Angeles a week ago. She'd just gone to Wolfram and Hart for help from Angel-only to find it was a bunch of rubble.
Willow took over then and sent her to check out the Black Thorn members. Some crazy guy in Cleveland had told the two about it.
First, it was the senator. All she found was vampire dust and a rotting demon corpse. She turned her nose up at it and left the building.
Her next stop was a cult, but as she passed, she noticed a hugely dented car. She turned and walked backwards in the street, speechless about the condition of the car.
The Hyperion Hotel proved to be little more than a hole in the ground. She'd investigated, now convinced that Angel and his crew were definitely involved.
The alley was her only clue. The stench of death hung in the air and made her stomach turn. She felt strange as she walked the length of the alley, different. It didn't sit right.
She found a body, and not just any body. Gunn. His eyes were open in that perfect mix of pain and horror. She saw the gaping hole in his side and was hoping that was what killed him.
She then had a feeling that Angel was a pile of dust somewhere among the demon bodies that littered the ground. Because this had been a war, and she doubted he'd just leave his friend's body to rot. He'd bury it.
She found nothing to tell her that her favorite vampire with a soul still existed and left the alley, sullen. There was Gunn, and there was…nothing else.
Where were Fred, Wesley, Lorne, and Cordelia? Where could they have gone to leave Angel and Gunn alone? Where were they?
She checked the last location. Some almighty warlock or wizard-something like that-lived there. Maybe Wesley had been there. Maybe she'd find a clue.
She entered the building quietly. On alert. The scythe felt like power in her hands and she gripped it tightly as she entered the main room. She didn't know what was waiting in there. Later she realized that she never wanted to find what had actually been there.
It was Wesley.
She still remembered when he came to Cleveland earlier this year. Taking some down time after thinking he killed his father for a whole ten seconds.
They talked. A good, healthy conversation. Friendly enough after his week-long visit. It even built the foundation of trust between the two, more so than dealing with Angelus had.
They had sex. Drunken sex, but still happened. And it was the best she'd had since Wood went on that mission and nearly died. But still a mistake.
Presently, she was utterly speechless. Something deep inside her drove her to run to his side, kneel by him. She ignored the smell of death, of a rotting corpse; the sight of dried blood that had flown freely days ago made her sick.
In all these years, she'd learned to care about him. Not a lot, but enough. Enough for her vision to blur and tears to form. Enough to feel his deep regret for every wrong thing she'd ever done to him. It replayed in her mind over and over again. She sat there for hours, maybe, stunned beyond belief. Until Willow found her.
Willow had stood at the doorway, said, "Oh my God," and had run back out the room and still she sat there, staring back into his lifeless eyes.
She reached forward, sliding them shut and standing. His blood was staining her clothes. And this didn't feel right. She didn't feel right. Because he was supposed to still be there. She had to ask him why every night since he left, she still thought about him. Why she thought about his hands, his mouth, him. Why he haunted her in his dreams. Why she almost bought a ticket to Los Angeles a thousand times but never got the nerve to actually come. But it was too late. Because now he was gone. She'd never know the answer to any of her questions.
And she cried.
