because nobody likes a vague disclaimer: Most characters belong to the fantastical Joss Whedon.

Buffy POV.

Chapter X: The Interrogation Of The Man Of Many Hearts

from a poem of the same name by Anne Sexton

†

"Where are you?" Cruz murmurs into the curve of my neck in between the soft kisses he's been planting there.

His name translated in Spanish is cross, and maybe due to the poetic irony of that, I haven't exactly pushed him away. It's moments like this one right now that make me think he sees through the masquerade of my words and actions. He pulls away and looks me in the eye in such a way that I feel more bare than my already naked body makes me feel.

Placing a hand on his face, I respond, "I'm right here."

He moves in to kiss me, and I'm amazed at how easily the lie slips through my mouth and how convincing it is for someone I feel has glimpsed at the real me, to believe it.

I tried to end our thing that night i'd appeared at his house, but it hadn't worked. Somehow it didn't occur to me that he'd have to wake early the next morning, so he'd woken before I had, and then he began kissing me, and his hands were everywhere and my body bloomed under his touch, and then we were going at it and last thing I'd known I was telling him to call me after work.

He resumes his meticulous exploration of my skin; he's already had me twice tonight so he feels no need to rush. But then, something about the tenacity and sensation of his fingers brings the night in Arizona to the forefront of my mind, and the heat of my desire fizzles into nothing. I push him away, and he relents without a fight.

"I have to go." I say suddenly, as I grab my dress from the floor.

I chance a look at him, hoping I haven't hurt him too bad. I don't know what I feel for him, but his impassive yet slightly disappointed face bothers me more than it should.

"I'm sorry." I say quietly, then I throw the dress over my head and snake it on.

Standing, I search for my underwear hoping I don't have to leave them behind. Luckily, I find them quickly enough.

"I'm not him." He says all of a sudden.

My body freezes for a millisecond, but I quickly gain composure.

"Him who?" I ask as if I don't have a clue who he means, and in an effort to emphasize that notion I continue in the duty of preparing myself to leave.

"Whoever, or whatever made you so dead inside."

His words sting, and I know this is the last time I'll see Cruz again.

"I won't leave you." He says.

We lock eyes, and whether he sees something in mine, or doesn't, he adds, "I won't hurt you."

A short bitter laugh erupts from my throat and then I say, "No one can make such a claim, and keep it. Not even you."

†

Lying in bed later that night, Cruz's comments churn over and over again in my mind, and I'm overwhelmed by the emotions bubbling in the pit of my stomach. Embarrassed of being so transparent, anger at his guile, sadness at the truth of his words.

His comment about my dead innards repeats in my mind, and it freaks me more than I'd previously thought.

Because I've been here before, and I never thought I'd be here again. But yet, here I am, and it's worse than before because now, I really am alone. No Spike to turn to, no friends and family taken for granted, no one to take me for granted either.

It's cruel irony that in the terror-filled nightmare called my life, only now do I truly grasp the full concept of solitude, of real pain. Well, more pain. And not even the notion of death gives me peace.

I've died twice, but my body is still here. I'm still here.

What is death? For that matter, what is Heaven?

I've been there, and all I can say is that the closest to it I've ever experienced on this Earth is a day that never happened, that exists only in my dreams. I'm not sure when I forgot love, but I haven't felt its sun-kissed touch in years, which is ironic because it was only with a vampire that I ever truly experienced it.

The knock is stark as the sudden sound startles me, and I wonder who it could be since I pretty much never have visitors that I don't bring here myself.

Walking over to the peephole-less door, I ask, "Who is it?"

"Cruz." He replies simply.

I'm weak and so I decide to let him in. It's been about 3 hours since my now broken claim of never seeing him again, and a part of me wonders what he's doing here. While it's true that I like him more than most, it's still not saying much. I'm not sure what he expects, but it'll be easier not having to pretend anymore.

I open the door wide, the sly smile on my face morphing into surprise when I see that it's not Cruz at all.

"Who the hell is Cruz?" He asks darkly as he storms in with misplaced ownership.

"What the hell kind of name is Cruz anyways?"

"Excuse me... did anyone invite you in? And point two: so not your business. And ps. It's a great name."

I don't know why I stand up for Cruz, but I know why it pleases me so to see Angel acting jealous. But I quickly remember that it can't be much more than a continuation of his misguided sense of sympathy or duty to me. But pretending is better than the truth.

He's unresponsive to my words, and we stand in awkward silence for a few seconds.

"What are you even doing here?"

I finally break the quiet, desperate to know why he intends on smashing what little I have left of myself. Does he not understand what seeing him does to me?

"Who is he?" he asks in response, ignoring my own question.

I roll my eyes and walk away from him further into the hotel room that has become my living quarters. It's not my home, I firmly believe that a home is somewhere you belong, and I lost that a long time ago, even though technically, it still stands. But I can never go back there. Even despite the fact that my car is currently parked there (something that would make my life a lot easier, if i'm being honest with myself).

Although there is a chair in the room, I sit on the bed. I'd rather Angel not sit where I share myself with men other than him. He closes the door behind him, but only moves into the room a few steps and remains standing.

"Not my History tutor, that's for sure." I answer finally.

I'm sure he gets the reference, but little to no reaction is evident on his face. Just the icy brood he always carries.

"How do you even know about him if you don't know who he is?" I ask.

He smiles seductively dark at me, "Message at the front desk."

I raise an eyebrow at him, and he continues, "Quality service." his voice nothing but biting cynicism.

"The Hilton was all booked up." I respond with equal amounts of sarcasm, it's not like I'm swimming in cash here.

"So, not that I'm not enjoying the dejavu trip, but would you mind telling me what you're doing here?"

I'm not sure how many goodbyes he thinks I'm capable of making.

"I haven't heard from you since... and I guess I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

He seems genuine in his admission, and it's this that hurts most. I realize that the phone number had been his way of asking me to remain in touch. But what's the purpose of extending the life of a connection that's already dead and long gone?

"You could have just called."

He found me easily enough, so it's not silly of me to assume he has my number as well. The same tone as before remains in my voice, and he flinches slightly at the bitterness in it.

"What Angel? What did you think you'd find when you got here? A happy-go-lucky Buffy sitting waiting patiently for you? What part of 'we don't fit in each other's life anymore' did you not understand?"

I don't mention our last night together as some things are better left unsaid. I stand then, the anger fuelling me on.

"I worry-" He starts to say, and that word only angers me more.

"About me? Well you don't have to. I can-"

"Take care of yourself? Ya I know..." He steps closer to me, and with obvious sarcasm signals around the room and then points to the note still in his hand, "looks like you're doing a great job of it."

I don't explode like he probably thinks I will, instead I close myself off, my face and body as rigid as a wall.

"Yes, I live in a shitty motel in a dirty little town and I sleep around, but I never asked you to fix me. I don't need your pity Angel. I know what life you expected me to have, but it's time for you to wake up. This is the life I was meant to live."

I walk past him to the door then, open it and turn to look back at him.

"Alone. Now please, go back to your white picket fence life, and leave me in peace."

I don't mask myself, so I'm sure it's the earnestness in my eyes that motivates him to walk towards me and the door.

Our eyes lock for a brief moment, and then he's gone.

A/N: Another shortish chapter, but things are finally starting to go where I want them. Angel next! (and soon hopefully)

Thanks again to everyone!