Because no one likes a vague disclaimer: Most characters belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon. Rated M for mature content.

Buffy POV.

Chapter VI: Cover Me With White Cold Icy Kisses And Let Me Rest Tonight

from Woman Work by Maya Angelou

†

The parched heat of Arizona feels like dry ice on my skin. The sun has consumed this state, like sand in a bathing suit, it's everywhere. As the sweat slides down my neck I can't help but feel like I'm overdosing on it. Warmth reeks of Angel and it only takes me an hour to know that I can't end up here.

Standing outside, my ears are bombarded with the silence, and it's overwhelming. There's nothing like peace and quiet to rouse the evil voices within. But it's late, and my body aches like my wounds once had, so I take up residence for the night. The motel is more shabby than not; the wallpaper peels in places, and the TV is older than me, but the air conditioner blows out delightfully cold air even as it hums. And I've had worse, so I don't mind.

After a couple of hours of lying in bed unable to fall asleep, the weight of the darkness not only all around me, but inside as well, starts to suffocate, so I head outside and sit on a cold cinder bench by the grimy pool. It's dangerously quiet, but my skin doesn't buzz with the forewarning of my foes. The great expanse of this landscape paints anything but life. I think I might have found the one-place vampires don't migrate to, but still I can't stay. It's not far enough.

Arms wrapped around legs tucked in tight, I stare engrossed at the night sky. The moon beams down at me, and I feel solaced by its steadfast presence in my life. It is after all, the only anchor I have left to this world, reminding me of the sole purpose of my existence.

Defend life. Kill. It's all I've ever been good at. I'm suddenly filled with the urge to hunt, to help my stake find its mark, over and over, again and again, until my own heart turns to ash. It's when this thought fills my mind that he shows up. Even as quiet as the night air is, and as distracted as I am, I hear him take a seat beside me. His inability to sneak up on me now is unwelcome, like the rest of him is. I realize in this moment, how naive I'd been in thinking he wouldn't look for me, if at least to end things properly. If Angel was good to me in anything, it was in saying goodbye.

"You didn't have to leave like that, you know."

He says after a moment's pause. His words are masked, indiscernible.

"And you didn't have to come here."

At this, he's silent. I move to stand despite his hand on my own. I can't even count how many times this one action used to succeed in stopping me, nor how often it'd been necessary. I pull my hand away, and as always, the loss of contact is acute. Crossing my arms, and keeping my back to him I stop a few steps away.

"It wasn't supposed to end this way."

His voice is laced with guilt, a feeling that once saddened me now only brings forth disgust. I don't want his pity, nor to be the reason for his penance. There's only one thing I do want, and that's out of the question.

Finally turning to him, I answer.

"Don't you get it? There is no such thing as fate. There are only consequences. This is life, not a fairytale. There is no rhyme or reason to it, it just is."

I walk back towards my room, aware of his silent steps following me inside. Even despite this, the sound of the door closing behind him manages to startle me, mainly because I never wanted to be locked in small room with him ever again. I can't face him, for I fear that if I look into his eyes I won't be able to maintain this illusion of strength that I have going on. I'm a battered and well-read open book to him. No one else has ever known me like he does. I'm sure no one ever will.

"Staying wasn't really an option."

Living with your ex and his new girl never is.

"I understand why you'd think that, but the Hyperion, it's big. Lots of space. It's not like you'd be cooped up with us…"

He stops. I cringe at the suggestion.

"That's not it." I say.

The words are only a partial lie, because it's not the only reason. I turn finally to face him; this is the end that terrifies me.

"We don't fit in each other's lives anymore. Truthfully… We never really have."

"Things are different now."

I feel a cold smile on my face.

"They are." I answer equally icy.

It's different because he's human and the war is finally over, but I'm not the sunshine girl anymore. Darkness is all I have left, the slayer is all that I am.

"But I'm still me."

"What does that even mean?" He asks as he runs his hand through his hair in irritation.

"It means that I don't want to pretend that I'm capable of living some semblance of a normal life, because I'm not. I'm not ok, and I don't want a regular life, not without them."

I pause, and feel the truth bubbling to the surface, something I'd rather not divulge to him, but say anyway.

"We're not friends, remember?"

He storms over to me then, towering over me as he grabs my upper arms with force. My body quivers with desire, and I'm grateful for the loss of his super senses. He opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn't. I think it's perhaps the earnestness and the defeat he undoubtedly sees in my eyes that quiets him. I already made the declaration verbally, it feels senseless to mask myself after that.

"Why are you doing this?" He says so faintly I barely hear it, perhaps not intended for me at all.

His mouth lands on my own barely moments later, and before I know it, I'm pressed against the hard planes of his sculptured form, our tongues entwined, his hands crawling up under the hem of my top. The feel of his rough but tender fingers on my back chases away thought, and I feel nothing but him.

I continue to yield to him, one kiss turning into another, deeper and more intense and when the back of my thighs make contact with the bed, together we tumble onto it. His hands first explore the planes of my stomach, then his fingers brush over the silk of my bra, my breath catching as skin touches skin. Our lips break contact out of necessity as he quickly removes my shirt completely.

I feel a sob welling within me the minute our eyes connect. He can't fool me, and I can't fool myself. I know what this is, and it's not love. It's lust. Passion. Missed opportunities and broken hearts. Closure. Finality. I'm on someone else's time, how well I know it. I want to feel bad about it, but I can't because this is all I'm ever going to get. So I push all of it away, choosing instead to relish in this one night, and kiss him again.

I'm not sure what he's thinking, and frankly I'm too frightened to ask. I don't want to break whatever spell or trance he's in. His mouth then trails down my neck, and I find myself focusing instead on the sensation his lips leave on my skin, warm and hungry all at once.

There is no time for pleasantries nor reserve. We shed each other of our clothes with urgency. Our bodies move in perfect synchronicity, lips on each other in any way or place possible and in the brief moments after I peak there is no death, no pain, no sadness in my heart. It all comes back eventually, and maybe because I'm enveloped in the arms of the only man I've ever loved, it hurts a little less.

No more words are said that night; an unspoken agreement that reality doesn't exist for the time being. I force myself to stay awake, to memorize this moment, tattoo it into the landscape of my mind, let it shield me in moments of despair like a giant umbrella. It's strange to think that this is only the second time we've had sex and the first and probably only time that I'll sleep and wake in Angel's embrace. Eventually, I drift off into what I'll call the best sleep of my life.

When I do wake, I'm filled with dread and delight at the sight in front of me. Angel is lying beside me, his eyes resting on what had been my sleeping form. I reach out to touch him and when he pulls away, at first I don't know why. But the ever-present guilt is in his eyes and I remember the other. The one I'd actually managed to forget.

"I'm sorry..." He starts to say.

I know he wants to apologize for what happened the night before, but not once in my life have I ever regretted the feel of his lips on my own, not even now, when it's finally goodbye. I turn over in my bed away from him and throw my shirt on.

"Don't bother. I knew what this was from the moment you arrived. Now just go."

I pretend not to notice the tears escaping my eyes.

A/N: Short and sweet. Well, sort of. Angst mostly. Angel POV up soon!

Thanks to everyone paying attention to (and reviewing) this angst-fest, You guys are the best, truly.