Chapter Two

It seemed as if hell had toppled since he left her. Left her battered and torn to cease the bleeding heart she carried within her chest. She tried to put it out of her mind. Their tryst, his words, his very image… she tried to put it somewhere locked away and forget. But, she couldn't, and part of her really didn't want to. Why… why did it have to be so hard? The lights, the objects, every room and every word that passed her ears; every aspect of it hurt. And he had taken that away, for more than those few exhilarating moments that transpired between their bodies… he taken it all away. It was more than his kisses, it was his words; it was more than his body, it was simply there very depths of his eyes. The way he looked at her, flooded her insides with want, stood by her even when she pushed him away. It was ironic, the one man who never seemed to leave her be and love her turned out to be the one she couldn't have. He would say that just being with her was enough, if he could just stand next to her. But, the truth was, it killed her in the same fashion.

Live, he had told her, so one of us is living. But, how could she? She was a shell without him…

"… Buffy…?" she heard a voice, a small voice calling her out of her half slumber. "Buffy… wake up." Someone was shaking her shoulder, attempting to rouse her. "Please, Buffy, you have to wake up…" it called. "You can't keep lying here…"

Dawn's soft jade blue-green eyes gazed down at her sister on the couch. Her hair was uncombed, crumbled and a partially knotted mess in places. Her clothes were possibly two days old and wrinkly. Her eyes looked a little swollen… as if she had been crying. She lay stretched out on the couch, her knees only slightly drawn forward as her forearm appeared to serve as part of the make shift pillow. She didn't look to have any make up on, thank god. It would have been all over her face and the couch.

Dawn shook her again, "Wake up, Buffy," she insisted.

Buffy finally rolled over and muffled a groan into the rolled up blanket between her arm and her head. It took her a few moments, but she slowly sat up and pushed the short strands of blonde from her eyes. She yawned and gazed up at Dawn, blinking owlishly. "Hm, must be Sunday if you're home." She rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

Dawn shifted the backpack on her shoulder as she moved to glance down at her watch. "Um, about five PM," she replied. "Have you been sleeping all day?"

Buffy shook her head, causing those short strands to bounce. "Nah, just a few hours… I didn't sleep so well last night." She looked up at her, "How was the weekend at Janice's?"

She smiled, dropped her bag and sat next to her. "Oh, it was good. We went to the mall Friday night; I bought a new skirt. Then, Saturday night we stayed up all night, ate munchies, and watched scary movies. I think we passed out sometime after 10 this morning."

Buffy nodded, and then slowly got up to stretch. "Listen, I'm gonna go get a bath then maybe watch some TV later. Did you wanna hang out?"

Dawn grimaced, "Actually, I have some homework due for English tomorrow. Maybe… next weekend? You known, sister bonding time?"

Buffy smiled, "Sure, don't stay up too late." she murmured as she made her way towards the stairs. She faintly heard Dawn reply, but it was there and gone as if not really there at all. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she made her way into her room. Would it always be this way? Every moment that image of him flitting about her mind like a ghost? Was that the end of it? Nothing but a memory?

She grasped the handle of her door, turned the knob, and slowly opened it. Her room was a tomb, a place to sleep and keep those little things of her. But, it was nothing more than that. Who was she? When did the pain stop? She could try and tell herself she didn't need him, try to convince herself it would wash away with time. She chocked a laugh as she enclosed herself in dark domain. How did one 'get over' heaven? She'd been happy there… no duty, no worry, only the warmth. And then she'd been ripped, pulled and forced back into a life she no longer knew how to function in.

And then… then he'd stepped in, waltzed into her eyes from the door to her home as he'd called out for Dawn, worried about her. She seen it in his, those damning blue depths as he'd gazed up at her. Not as a ghost, but as a man whose only crime was being devoted to her.

And their life from point A to B had been nothing but one dance after another. She refused him; told herself this is the way it had to be. He was a Vampire and she a Slayer. No matter how they tried to pretend it'd only end up tearing apart. It wasn't right to care about him at all, to have feelings for him, and want to let him be the one to take away the empty and fill it with the only joy she had anymore.

She sighed; moving to sit on her bed and gaze out the window, almost half expecting to have him come through it and tell her it'd be all right. It'd be all right just as long as she let him in. Let him hold her, let him touch her, and whisper sweet things in her ear. Let him in to take away her worry, fill her with that sense of completeness.

Eventually, she curled up on her side. Hazel depths remained locked on night sky and held it. She sighed and stayed that way until her eyes became heavy and that curtain dropped over them—sending her into slumber.

She was walking, walking into a barn filled with hay and held together with stone blocks. She could smell animals and hear people talking. It was night; people walked by just beyond an opening. They wore odd clothes and spoke in a distinct dialect she'd heard often enough. She was turning… coming face to face with him. He was dressed as he normally was, looked as he normally did, yet his eyes told her he didn't seem altogether himself. "Why are we here?" she found herself asking.

"I had to go back," he said softly, his cold knowing gaze holding hers.

"Go back where?" she implored, moving towards him.

"To what I was."

She shook her head, not exactly understanding. She simply asked, "Why?"

"Because…," he said, his voice seeming to choke as he fought for the words.

"Tell me," she begged, taking another step forward and reaching out, only to find him moving back.

"Because you wouldn't have me as I was," he whispered, his eyes closing shut as he turned his face from her.

She felt tears prick her eyes, her heart caught in her throat. She tried desperately to tell him what she couldn't admit anywhere else but in her dreams, but the words wouldn't come out. Her lips moved, but he couldn't see that because his eyes were closed.

"…Buffy…"

No, her mind cried out, not now!

"Buffy…" the voice called.

#

"And I wonder…" a soft feminine voice spoke in a definite Irish accent, "What possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven… and brought this dashing stranger… to tears?"

His cool blues gazed up, not afraid, not surprised, but mesmerized. There before him stood a woman, a lovely woman draped entirely in deep violet fabric that shimmered through black lace. Her hair was pulled back, those long ebony tresses cascading down her back as silk. Her eyes were such a distinct soft brown, like melted chocolate. She looked like a porcelain china doll with her sharp features and elvish face. He finally spoke, his voice hinting irritation, "Nothing. I wish to be left alone." He gazed down a moment.

She stepped forward with the grace that could be compared the swan. "I see… A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strengths… his vision… his glory."

He watched as she paused, almost captivated as she came to him.

Her hand came to her stomach, black lace covered hand moving it in a circular motion. "That burning baby fish swimming all around your head—."

He quickly stood as she stepped forward, "Ah, that's quite close enough. I've heard tales of London pickpockets. You'll not be getting my purse, I tell you." He backed up like a little child even as she continued to advance, kneeling before him under the moonlight shining through the wood paneling.

"Don't need your purse," she mused with a smile. Like a little nymph she gazed up at him. And then she was coming closer still, "You wealth," she explained as her hand touched over his heart, "lies here… and here." Her hand was then placed on the side his head, her cool fingers sending shocks all over his body. "In the spirit… and," her hand went lower…

He suppressed a groan as her small fingers grazed over the material above his crotch; his body reacted instantly.

"…Imagination." she finished. Her gazed moved to his lips as she swayed a bit, "You walk in worlds the others can't possibly begin to imagine."

He gazed down at her beautiful face and lovely long lashes and past into her golden brown depths. He was entranced—entranced by this enthralling woman that the only word he could speak in reply was, "Yes…" And then he blinked, catching his breath and trying to ignore the remnants of the tears he still felt on his face. "I mean n-no. I mean." He swallowed. "Mother's expecting me."

She appeared to ignore his last reply; her hand and fingers softly grasping about the lapels of his shirt and moved it back to expose his neck. "I see what you want," she whispered… "Something glowing and glistening… something…" she paused, releasing his collar and stepping back as her hand closed, her eyes shooting up to gaze into his. "Effulgent."

And then he smiled. "… Effulgent," he barely whispered.

Her eyes continued to stare straight into him as she spoke softly, "Do you want it?"

"Oh yes," he said, a smile touching his lips as expectation and anticipation flooded his veins. "Oh, god yes."

She looked down briefly and a sharp change overcame her features. Quite suddenly, ice blue connected with electric yellow. It was demonic visage that retained a different sort of beauty than before.

He blinked several times, still unafraid, but all at once confused perhaps. Her lips slowly moved to his neck and he cried out in pain as she pierced his flesh and began to drink, pulling them down as the darkness overcame him—sucking him into an abyss.

#

"Buffy!"

She jolted awake, gasping for air. Her chest felt heavy, compressing under a weight as her eyes shot open. Fingers curled into her night shirt just between her breasts and she clenched her jaw shut. Her eyes closed for a brief moment.

"You… alright, Buff?" his quiet voice asked her, hand on her shoulder. "Didn't mean to scare you, but you told me you wanted to wake you up for patrol in case you fell asleep. I tried knocking… but you didn't answer."

She blinked sleep away, and shock. Slowly—wearily—her eyes drew up to Xander. "Thanks. What time is it?"

"About eleven."

"Is Dawn—?"

"She's asleep," he replied as he stepped back to give her space to get out of bed.

"Have you eaten?" She moved around the room and slipped her shoes on as soon as she located them. Weapons… weapons... One of her nightstand drawers was opened and she dug around in it. When had she gotten so behind in cleaning?

"Not dinner. Had to work late."

"There's some leftover's in the fridge from this weekend. You're welcome to them." She slid a stake into her back pocket and a few other sharp items into hidden places. "I'll be back before the sun comes up. Call me if something happens."

"I will." He followed out of her room, down the hall, the stairs, and then to the door. "Be safe."

"I will." She shut the door without another word, although she was quite sure Xander was just staring in the space she'd previously stood in. He was a zombie these days, not too unlike herself. But, this time she couldn't say it wasn't his fault. If Anya wasn't anywhere nearby… well… he had no one to blame but himself.

They'd all done a lot of wrong; made a lot of bad choices. And now… they were all paying for it. If anyone paid the worst though, it was Willow. Tara didn't deserve it, but something had to give. Buffy knew that now. Something always had to give. You couldn't keep cutting the only rope holding you in the air before you were falling back into the pit.

Sometimes you had to hit rock bottom before you could crawl your damn self back to the light.

She knew.

The cemetery was quiet… boring almost. It had been for a while… off and on. Ever since Willow's Dark Awakening the demon population had appeared to come only in spurts. Hardly any regular quota to fill. It made her restless and gave her less and less time to keep on the top of her game. It's not like she had anyone spare around to give her work out; not like before…

Shut up.

She gave a sigh and knelt in front of a fresh grave. The name on the tombstone felt familiar. Ah… that right. She'd looked into the obits today. No way to know though. Without Willow she couldn't really dig into the morgue records on her own and find out the gory details. Who knew though; maybe she'd get lucky.

"You'll be waiting for a while."

She stood and turned, reaching for her stake.

He smiled. "Some things never change, huh?"

"Whistler."