AUTHOR: aimeless
EMAIL: aimeless@earthlink.net
RATING: NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Joss, the bastard.
DISTRIBUTION: TNS, take it. All others, ask first.
SUMMARY: The sequel to my fic "Do What You Have To Do", which can be found at The Naughty Slayer. Buffy deals after Angel leaves. The second story of a trilogy.
FEEDBACK: Good or bad, send it on.
DEDICATION: To Tink, for putting up with more than any friend should have to. To Tamara, for getting me back on track when I so desperately needed it. To Margot, for being so encouraging and such a willing ear. Finally, to Lex, for more reasons than I have the space to list.
Text in // denotes lyrics from "Holy Tears" By Tara MacLean
// wrapped inside a twisted world//
// i can't decide what is even real anymore//
// as though i ever knew//
// tangled in these silhouettes//
// floating facedown in a river of regrets//
// and thoughts of you//
Eleven months. Forty-four weeks. Three hundred and thirty-four days since Angel left her. Buffy walked listlessly through the cemetery, far more occupied with her maudlin thoughts than with searching out vamps to slay. She'd been doing so well lately, going for longer and longer before memories of her lost love invaded her thoughts. But tonight she seemed powerless to think of anything but him.
Unbidden, memories of him drifted through her mind. Clearly she could see his eyes, so dark and intent, that always seemed able to burn right through her. Visions of his smile, that sexy, almost sad quirking of lips, danced through her memory. More than anything in the world she wanted to touch him one more time. To know the pleasure of trailing her fingers over smooth, cool skin. To kiss him and hear his pleasured sigh. She craved, with a hunger she hadn't been aware of possessing, to spend one more moment in the ecstasy of his arms, bodies pressing, souls entwining.
Memories of their one perfect night together flooded her. Funny how facts and figures from her classes always seemed to elude her, but she could remember with perfect clarity every touch, every sigh of that one glorious night. It was without effort that she recalled the ecstasy of his fingers trailing across her sensitized skin. The way he'd touched her, with such concentration, such care, as if he were worshipping her body with his own. With a shiver she remembered the feel of his tongue, delving into her deepest part, telling her wordlessly that she was truly loved. And as he'd slipped gently inside her, his body claiming hers, their eyes had met and held, for the first time unguarded. She'd gasped aloud at the wealth of emotion there, emotion that he'd always kept hidden but was now allowing her to see. For the first time since she was called as the Slayer, she'd felt utterly safe, utterly protected and completely loved. It was in that instant that she'd known, beyond any doubt, that she and Angel were bound together for all eternity.
Of course, Fate had intervened, proving its capriciousness in a single instant.
Buffy's mind shied from the painful memories of Angelus, instead leaping forward to the last few days before Angel had left for good. There were memories here as well, potent and erotic, from when Angelus had used her as a pawn in his quest for dominance. These images were darker, more disturbing, but no less arousing. Angel, in full game face, fingers plunging in and out of her body, lips and tongue tormenting her as he demanded her acquiescence. And acquiesce she had, crying out the words he wanted to hear: that she belonged solely to him. Then the exquisite torment as he plunged ruthlessly into her willing heat, sending her spiraling helplessly over the edge, followed quickly by terror as he'd pulled his body from hers before he'd gained his pleasure and she'd been forced to watch him fight for control of the demon. And then, mere hours later, finding herself wrapped around him yet again, wanting to feel him inside her more than she wanted to draw her next breath.
She trembled as the erotic images flashed, cursing herself and Fate for its cruelty. Ruthlessly she dragged her thoughts from the haunting memories. Why was she tormenting herself this way? Why couldn't she put him out of her mind, once and for all? She prayed desperately for the day when she no longer thought of him with longing. But she recognized the futility of her own prayers. That day would never be. For the rest of her life, his memory would bring only torment and a deep sadness that penetrated her being.
She knew, with a certainty born of suffering that she was destined to be alone. Fate had decided her future and it would not be swayed. Physical intimacy was allowed. She could satiate her body in any manner of ways, but her heart was to remain unbound. A humorless smile came to her lips at the thought. What empty solace, to know that she could seek comfort in the arms of anyone other than the only one her body craved. She'd tried, oh how she'd tried to anesthetize herself with a number of faceless bodies. A number which shamed her.
For the last two months she'd tumbled in and out of meaningless one night stands in a vain attempt to forget the ceaseless torment in her heart, but to no avail. After every one, she woke up with the memories of her one glorious night with Angel burning in her mind. And a shame born of betrayal burning in her heart. He was no longer hers, he would never be hers, but Buffy knew that she belonged solely to him. Her only source of comfort stemmed from the knowledge that Angel would never know what she'd done. He would never know the ways she had allowed her body to be used by men for whom she cared nothing.
Pain washed over her and she leaned back against the cool marble of a headstone, sinking limply to the ground. Tucking her legs into her chest, she felt the first hot, salty tears flow down her cheek. Her breath caught as she tried futilely to hold back a sob. She didn't want to cry anymore, damn it! She'd lost count of the nights she'd spent wrapped in her bed, crying herself to sleep over thoughts of Angel. It was so pointless, so weak, and she fought it with all her might. But to no avail. The hated tears continued to flow, seemingly ripped from her body against her will. She'd learned early on that the tears brought no closure, no peace, simply a wealth of agony and disillusionment.
// holy tears//
// they linger on//
// holding you//
// my life//
// forever gone//
She wished the tears were powerful, that the act of release could somehow enable her to move on. She wanted nothing more than to cleanse her heart of the memory of his touch. She desperately wished that she would forget the aching perfection of his love. If time could heal all wounds, then why was she still broken? When would her life continue on?
Her mind taunted her with an answer that she knew to be true. Never. Never again would she find a love as perfect as she'd found with Angel. She wanted to rage, to scream out the unfairness of it all. By what right did fate deny her happiness? What guide had been used to determine the level of her suffering? She was strong, that much was true. She had the strength to fight the fiercest of demons, and to survive. But beneath the façade she was simply a woman, with a woman's heart. And that heart was broken, bruised beyond repair.
// gone like the broken words at your feet//
// you're gone in the venom lips that kiss me sweetly//
// gone like a frightened bird into the sky//
// won't you take everything i ever had//
// and leave me to die as i cry//
Angel was gone. It was pointless to wish it otherwise. The choice had been ripped from him, from them, and he'd been forced to follow the dictates of a cruel power greater than he. She wondered of he thought of her, if the memory of their love pervaded his dreams, both sleeping and awake. She wished suddenly, desperately, that he was suffering as much as she, that his heart bled at the agony of their separation.
She laughed aloud, a hollow sound in the night air as she realized the direction her thoughts had taken. She knew deep within her heart that Angel had moved on without her. He loved her, that much she believed. But she didn't delude herself into thinking that he needed her. Certainly not in the way that she needed him. Surely he missed her, and probably even thought of her now and again. But he'd survived a century and a half without her, and would continue to walk the earth long after she was nothing more than dust and bones. What he had shared with her was merely the blink of an eye in the eternity of his existence. She believed it to be true, for how else could he walk away and never look back? If he'd truly loved her as he'd claimed to love her, could he have forgotten her so easily? He was gone, both physically and emotionally, and there wasn't a single thing she could do to bring him back. The choice had been made, the battle lost, and no amount of wishing could make it otherwise.
Leaning her head on her updrawn knees, she drew in a ragged breath, overcome once more with her piteous need to cry. She just wanted an end to the agony. No more pain, no more suffering. No more loneliness. But that was pointless. She would always be alone. The love of her heart was gone, torn from her life by a force stronger than she, a force she could never fight. Nothing and no one could ever take his place in her heart, and she was no longer willing to continue in her quest for mindless pleasure. Silent sobs wracked her body as she curled into herself, her small frame shaking with the effort to contain her despair. Alone, in the dark, the Slayer wept.
// holy tears//
// they linger on//
// holding you//
// my love//
// forever gone//
He walked quietly, his footsteps making barely a sound on the concrete. He didn't question the direction, merely followed the path he felt compelled to take. His steps were quick and sure, leading him unerringly to one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries.
And then he saw her, curled like a child, wracked with sobs to which he was certain she wanted no witness. He knew her, of course. It was impossible to live in a town the size of Sunnydale and not know Buffy Summers. She was beautiful, her shining blonde hair a beacon of light, her perfect features like water to a thirsting man. But more, she had a strength, a rare integrity, that shone through her eyes and drilled straight through your heart. She was a fantasy, his fantasy, and yet she was real.
The first time he'd seen her, he'd simply stopped and stared, amazed that a woman of such perfection could exist within his realm. He'd made every effort to ascertain her identity, and to make her acquaintance, becoming her friend and slowly gaining her trust. It hadn't been easily accomplished and she'd been more than reluctant to invite him into her inner circle. But eventually she had capitulated, accepting him as both friend and confidante.
He knew her well, well enough to know that she wouldn't welcome his intrusion into her moment of weakness. But his heart wouldn't let him leave her be. He approached her quietly, thinking only of his desire to offer her comfort within his arms. He stopped a few feet away, calling her name softly so as not to startle her with his presence.
Buffy jumped at the sound of her name, scrambling quickly to her feet and holding her stake before her defensively. So caught up had she been in her misery that she hadn't heard anyone approach. Glancing around for the intruder, her eyes quickly came to rest on the figure nearby. Mortification enveloped her as she made out his features in the moonlight. Great, she thought to herself. Just what she needed. Now her humiliation could be complete. Nothing like having someone you know come across you crying your eyes out in a cemetery. Her reputation as a psychopathic head case couldn't get much worse. Or so she'd thought. She dashed at the tears streaming down her face, wondering belatedly if she looked as bad as she felt.
"Buffy?" he asked. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she told him. "Peachy, even."
"What are you doing out here alone? And is that a stake in your hand?" he questioned in amazement.
Buffy looked askance at the stake in her hand, wondering if she could come up with a plausible story. She decided to just brazen it out. "I frequently come to the cemetery at night. It's a really good place to think, and to be alone. Which I no longer am, so I'm now leaving." She started to brush past him, determined to escape this situation before she embarrassed herself further.
He grabbed her arm as she passed, effectively halting her retreat. Turning her to face him, he reached up and gently brushed a tear from her cheek. "Then I'll walk you home," he told her, smiling gently into her upturned face.
"That's really not necessary," she told him, trying to extricate herself from his grasp. "Really. I'll be okay. I promise."
"Buffy, I'm not going to let you walk home alone in the middle of the night. There's something not quite right about this town, and I wouldn't feel right if I didn't make sure you were safe and sound."
Buffy almost laughed aloud, certain that he didn't know the half of it where Sunnydale was concerned. Sighing loudly, she capitulated, knowing he wouldn't give in and that it was easier to simply agree. "All right, Riley. Walk me home."
And Riley Finn smiled smugly to himself as he walked her safely to her door, certain for the first time that there was a future for him and Buffy Summers.
FIN
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