Current webmistress note: I've split this up into two parts and then the epilogue. Horizontal lines mark the original parts.

Caught beneath the surface screen
Of what we say and what we seem,
Is a trick to be seen.
She keeps crying out your name,
But her screams sound the same,
How fickle fate can be.

        WELCOME TO ROSWELL

        The sign mocks me as I drive down the desert road, leading towards a cluster of buildings I can see in the distance. Coughing, I imagine I can see the dust choking the thick air and pull out my map, making sure I'm on the right highway. Honestly, I'm not sure why I chose this place. I guess it happened when I glanced at the atlas back in the 'Dale and laughed when I saw the name "Roswell, New Mexico". It made me think of little green men in space suits and Area 51 and I figured anything that made me laugh was a good thing. So now here I am, the top down, my fringe of too-long blonde hair falling over my shoulders and the hot sun frying my skin a golden brown.

        I feel like a freedom rider. I feel like a missionary- on the road for some escapism. But then I have been having weird thoughts ever since I killed him. Lighting a cigarette, I hold the tip to my lips and inhale deeply. When I got to the bus station, I picked up a pack on a whim and have been smoking ever since. I can only imagine what the Scoobies would think. It's not something that I'll do for the rest of my life. Of course that's cause I'm hoping it'll bring about an early death. Smiling at myself, I turn into a side street and enter the town, which is dusty and hot. But it seems to be fairly large. I'm glad, cause I don't want everyone hanging over their picket fences to talk to me.

        Getting out, I stand straight and wonder for a moment what Angel would think of this place. I know it'd burn him as a vampire, but I suppose I'm daydreaming of him as a human. I suppose I'm crazy. He wouldn't like it here. It's not as beautiful as him, there's not enough culture, enough mystique. But he'd like to see me in this sunlight. That thought hurts and I ignore the sudden squeezing of blood hot pain over and under my ribs, and crush the cigarette butt underneath my boot. I need sandals.

        Lugging my bags, I walk down the main street and turn into an alley, wondering where I'm going to work. I know the only thing I can do is waitressing, because usually, no experience is necessary. It's not something I'm going to enjoy doing, but what the hell do I care? Nothing is really of too much consequence anymore.

        Suddenly I trip and fall to my knees, skinning them and my palms. Feeling the burning sting of tears and vomit at the back of my throat, I wheeze a little and stare down at the dirt interlacing with the odd patch of grass on the road. It's concrete and ugly and I wish Angel was here and again I cough and hope it'll loosen the cold knot in the base of my throat.

        "Hey, are you ok?"

        Jerking, I glance up at the sound of the concerned voice and into the endless eyes of a dark haired girl leaning over me. For a moment she looks like she's glowing from the outside in, and reaches out a hand to me.

        Gratefully, I grasp it, and pull myself up, brushing off my pants with careless fingers. "Thanks," I say and examine the bloody welts on my palms. "I tripped."

        Her tone is girlish and sweet as she responds, "Yeah, this road is a little bumpy. You look a little sick though. Do you wanna come into the Crashdown for a coke? On the house."

        "Well..." I can't think of any good reason to refuse. "What's the Crashdown?"

        She laughs and I have a thought that she's really pretty. Simply pretty, if there is such a thing. "Sorry, I thought everyone knew. Guess it's just a presumption. It's my family's restaurant..."

        "Oh," I feel foolish for no reason and smile at her. "Thanks. I'm new here, that's why I didn't know."

        Her eyes brighten and she says, "I'm Liz Parker, by the way. Welcome to Roswell."

        "Buffy Summers, and thanks," I reply and she leads the way to a door cut into the knotty brick of the wall. When it swings outward, the smell of whipped cream milkshakes, fries and air conditioning hits me. I become aware of the silly uniform Liz is wearing- turquoise and silver and suddenly I'm remembering the Bronze, and my hands start to shake. I long for a smoke already and it occurs to me I may be addicted, but it doesn't really matter.

        "Maria, can you grab us two cokes?" Liz calls to a blonde girl leaning against the counter as she leads me over to a booth and lowers her tiny body onto the cushions.

        "This is really nice of you," I stammer slightly, embarrassed and Liz looks surprised.

        "Not a problem... so what brings you to Roswell?"

        "Quizzing the poor girl already?" the blonde girl chirps as she comes over with three cokes and falls with a certain amount of grace into the booth beside Liz. "Hey, I'm Maria DeLuca," she greets me, shaking my hand.

        "Buffy Summers," I inform her and grin, my back muscles creaking as I ease back against the vinyl covering, sipping the fizzy drink slowly. My stomach is bubbling, I feel it and wince. "So you guys both work here?"

        They nod simultaneously and Liz says, "My Dad owns it so it's a little lame... working for your parents. But it's not like there's a ton of jobs around Roswell."

        "Kind of a lot of nothing around here actually," Maria laughs and then slants her eyes at me ever so suspiciously. "What brings you to town?"

        Feeling on display suddenly, I swallow and shrug. "I just wanted to get away, I guess. Start something of the new."

        They both look strangely relieved and Liz's expression becomes one of revelation. "Do you need a job? I know Daddy's looking for a new waitress and it's..."

        "Crappy money, long hours and a really bad-tempered cook," Maria snarks, throwing a glare in the direction of the kitchen. She adopts a fake smile, "But we'd love to have you anyway."

        I giggle and she lapses into chuckles as well. I like her already. Liz looks affronted. "It's good pay, and you don't have to work long hours and well... Michael... is a little bad-tempered, but—"

        We're all laughing at this point and it feels so good that for one horrifying moment I feel tears spring to my eyes as I think of Willow and Xander... and I can hear their voices drifting around me like ghosts of another time. No, I need to forget that. Angel's dead and that means so is my life there.

        Making a decision, I say firmly, "I'd love to work here. If it's all right with your Dad."

        "I'm sure it is," Liz says and touches my hand. Her skin is cool, and soft- it reminds me of magnolias, creamy and white. Shivering slightly, I look up and realize she has Angel eyes. Dark and drowning. I could get lost in them, and for some reason I want to.

        Maria claps her hands together and giggles, "Yay! Fresh blood! We're gonna put you to work, honey!"

        Smiling wanly, I settle in, as Liz and Maria begin to lecture me on the finer points of working at the Crashdown café.

And there's a memory of a window
Looking through I see you, searching for something
I could never give you
And there's someone who understands you, more than I do
A sadness I can't erase
All alone on your face

        Two days go by and I grow accustomed to the uniform, to the heat, to the choking air that filters from the surrounding desert to swamp us all each night. Sometimes I dream of the Bronze. Usually Angel and I are dancing and he kisses me with a hard mouth, his teeth like razors. I step away and raise fingers to the blood streaming from my scraped lips, saying I'm sorry but still his eyes are cold.

        On my third shift, it's not busy and I suppose it's because of the stifling mugginess in the air. My neck and hair and breasts are soaked with sweet sweat, and it drips down me like rain through a gutter. Liz is tapping away on a calculator, and Maria has abandoned any pretence of working. She is lying stretched on her back on the cold floor, fanning herself madly and it makes me grin. Glancing up, I notice Michael watching her overtly out of the corner of his eye. When he sees me looking, he sort of swallows and grumbles and goes back to cleaning the deep fryer. I'm not sure what's going on with those two. 'Ria tells me they're over and done with (whatever it was that they had- she's close-mouthed about), but I see the heated stares they exchange. It makes my heart ache. I'm not sure why.

        "It's soooo hotttt," Maria whines from her prone position on the floor and motions a hand to me. "You should join me Buffy. I swear... the floor is *almost* cold."

        I laugh and face her, crossing my arms over my chest. "Looks comfy."

        She pulls a face and wrinkles her nose. "I don't think there is a comfortable place in this entire restaurant. Lizzie... tell me again- when is your Dad getting the air conditioner fixed?"

        Liz looks up from her papers and I notice the sheen of her flesh. It's shiny as if she put on a little extra moisturizer. Shaking my head at my thoughts, I listen to her weary response, "For the fiftieth time- I don't know. Maybe tomorrow?"

        Michael snorts. That makes Maria sit up and scowl at him. "Do you have something to say Guerin?" she asks and her voice has an edge. He glares back at her and pushes his shaggy hair out of his eyes.

        "Nothing at all," he responds and throws down the dishrag. "I'm out of here."

        Just as he exits, Isabel and Max walk in and I watch them cross the floor, and think that they truly are perfect. Glassy and scary perfect. They frighten me. Isabel more than Max. For some reason, I sense that she's the stronger of the siblings. Maria looks pained at the sight of them and Liz's face goes a shade of green that probably means she feels nauseous.

        I smile at them and say, "Can I get you guys something? Hamburger? Coke... some cold shower?"

        They regard me suspiciously for a few moments as they have ever since we were introduced and sit down, Max's eyes sliding over to where Liz sits, intent on her papers and calculator. They have some sort of soulmate thing going. Truthfully, it makes me weary and confused to see the way he looks at her, as if he wants to burn a hole right through her and brand her as his forever. In some ways it reminds me of Angel and I. And then in other ways it really doesn't. All I know is that he causes Liz to feel uncomfortable.

        She stands up, and avoids any eye contact, her tone stifled as she comments, "I'm going to... finish these upstairs..."

        Isabel glances at me like I'm an insect and announces haughtily, "I want a coke."

        Maria looks distracted. I feel a rush of sympathy for her and stroke her arm. "I'll go see how Liz is, ok?"

        She smiles gratefully at me and goes to pour some pop into a glass. Me, I take the stairs and pant slightly. Everything is dusty and my skin feels itchy and tight. I'd like to climb out of this body and find a new one. One that didn't have blood on it's hands or a cracked smile. My hands start to shake and I wish for a cigarette with all my might, as if daydreaming about it, will make the tube of shivery paper and nicotine appear in between my lips. Dragging in a breath, I bring my hand to the door and knock hesitantly.

        There's no answer. "Liz? It's... it's Buffy," I call softly and I hear the murmured answer;

        "out on the balcony."

        Stepping inside, I trail my fingers over the red bedspread and my reflection in the mirror looks strange as I pass it. "Hey," I greet her with a quiet smile. She looks shaken, her knees drawn to her chest.

        "Hey." Her voice is distracted, spacey. I'm trembling slightly and my head hurts from the oven that it is Roswell. I don't know how anyone stands it. Fanning myself a bit, we sit and listen to the sound of silence for long moments. Leaning my head back, I start to drift. Into the other world of bats and Draculas with painted lips and the smell of dust and his Angel eyes...the way his coat enveloped me, pale skin... the feel of the cold steel, the crunching noise it made when it slammed into rib and dead flesh...

        "What did you leave behind?"

        The question startles me with its suddenness and my world shifts as I sit up and lazily open my eyes. "What? Nothing... why do you ask that?"

        She gives me the Liz look. It's a look that whispers I can see in your soul- and it makes me so vastly uncomfortable, I cross and uncross my legs, my flesh sliding with sweat and something else I can't quite define or recognize.

        "Because you're crying."

        Hastily, I brush my hands over my cheeks and the salt burns. "I was just thinking," I reply and shrug. "What about you? And Max?"

        Liz's expression spins into dreaminess, then a chill pervades her eyes like ice water. "He has a life that I'm not a part of," she informs me with enough deadness that I'm frightened. She reminds me of me. "And I guess no one can really let go."

        "What kind of life?" I inquire, curling my legs up underneath me.

        Liz is focused on the middle distance. She's not here. "Destiny," she mutters, and then laughs, almost hysterically. "He has his destiny. And there isn't any me involved in that..." she pauses and shoots a glance at me. "You must think I'm talking crazy."

        "Not really," I respond and study the way the stars hang over the raven sky. "I understand, Liz."

        I can tell the shock is momentary and then she relaxes. She too, can sense the connection between us- shared pain and regret- sorrow and loss. The stench of doom hangs over us both.

        "I think you do," she sighs and there is a glitter of tears in her dark orbs. "It's pathetic isn't it? Sitting here, watching the stars... and no guys to watch them with?"

        Grinning wryly, I reach over and my thumbs lightly grasp at the shining strands of her hair.

        "I've always been really... matter of fact about the stars," Liz comments.

        "Meaning?"

        She gazes up at them and her profile is so innocent, and yet- I sense there is more to Liz Parker than most people think. Maybe it is the way she tilts her head. Or the sheen of her skin- the pie-plate wideness of her eyes... perhaps it is just the fact that she has a way about her. It's simple and it's beautiful. As she begins to speak, I want to weep because everything is so different now.

        "I've treated them like balls of gas," she chuckles and her hair moves, it's ends whipping my elbow with a feather light touch. "But really... they're more than that. They're this whole metaphor. People--- people reach for them and don't come back you know?" she looks down at me and I see her lip quivering. "I'm being corny."

        "No you're not," I answer quietly, and we both turn back to the sky.

My Prince, the stars have fallen from your crown
and I cannot fathom their fading
some things should be forever

        - Jewel Kilcher "Bukowsky's Widow"

        "Do I even want to know what that is?" Maria asks me with a dubious grin as she leans one slim hip against the table that I'm lying under, cleaning. She refers to a huge greenish yellow splotch adorning the surface, which I've already spent ten minutes attempting to scrub out.

        "Puke," I laugh and accidentally spray myself with Windex. "Lots and lots of puke."

        Giggling, she kicks me lightly and takes a cloth to the mark, sniffing it experimentally. "Mustard," she announces. "And relish."

        "Uh huh," I answer and knock my head against the table leg with a bang. Suppressing a cry of annoyance and pain, I doggedly continue to wipe the paper towel over and around all the dirt, which has been festering underneath the tables in the Crashdown. "So...what's going on with you and Michael?"

        Maria sighs, and scowls, her pouty mouth dissolving into an expression of distaste. "He has all this stuff that he needs to work through." Dealing me a wry glance she comments, "Mainly that he's an asshole incapable of real human emotion or feeling."

        I chuckle, even though I want to tell her I see more fire in his gaze when he looks at her than... than I've seen in a long time. I want to tell Maria that he loves her- that I can see it—but I have an idea she wouldn't appreciate that, so I stay silent and glance over at the kitchen, where sure enough- Michael is staring fixedly at Maria while flipping the endless burgers, and where Liz is... where Liz is rubbing her neck, her smooth fingers gliding over the flesh of her nape with unconscious grace.

        Catching my eye, she grins, and her teeth show, glistening white against the peach of her lips and I smile back, crawling out and stretching my muscles. Everything is sore lately and I'm not sure why. I haven't been sleeping well. Most of my nights are spent killing Angel, over and over again. Feeling the sword of steel in my hands, staring into his eyes, the dark burn of them leaving welts all over my face and chest and heart...

        Sometimes he talks to me as I do it. He says, "I love you, I love you, Buffy I love you, don't kill me, I love you..." And I listen, it seems no matter how much I scream and hold my palms to my ears, he's there, taunting me, forcing me to slam that knife sharp point deep into his ribs and his innocent soul. His soul never wanted to hurt me. His soul never wanted my death.

        Every night I wake up sobbing and crawl to the bathroom on wobbly hands and knees, my fingers extended, my stomach heaving out all the misery. Last evening, I awoke and his voice rang in my ears as I threw up, every part of me trembling. I started to think of Liz... of the way her voice cracked as we watched the stars, of the shining fall of her hair, and I lay my face against the cold tiles, falling asleep thinking of her.

        As I mop the floor I think of how much life is changing and how little control I seem to have. When I walked back to the hotel the other day, I took a short cut through the cemetery and saw a vampire. Stealthily, I crept down through the squishy grass, my feet making soft sucking noises as I did my dance of death. Grabbing a tree branch, I blinked underneath the light of the moon and poised for fight.

        That was when I saw the tears and the flowers and realized it was a man weeping over the tombstone of his dead wife. I stared at him dumbly, saw the grief carved through his face like a road map to darkness and fell to my knees, thinking for a moment that I was sitting on all the people who had gone before us all... that their eyes were glassy on me, that their teeth were cutting my hands as I gripped the blades of grass and wept.

        Swiping the mop once more along the edges of the floor, I breathe in the scent of bleach cleaner and my thumbs tremble. "I'm gonna go on my break now, ok?" I say to Maria. She waves me away absently, with a careless grin.

        Outside, I lean against the dirty brick of the ally and inhale deeply from a cigarette, the silver smoke drifting around me like tentacles of cancer and young death. I suppose I'm smoking so that I'll be out of this life early- so that I won't have to survive for long here, now that I know what it's like without Angel. Thinking his name makes my face sting and I realize it's clenched tightly so I relax it.

        The door opens and Michael steps out, rubbing his head with his elegance that seems to be somewhat of a contradiction. He appears rough- and he is—but there is something inherently graceful in the way he does things. He sort of glances at me under heavy-lidded eyes and mumbles, "You smoke?"

        I breathe out noisily and nod. "Mm hmm, you want one?"

        He shakes his head and snaps open a coke, taking a long drink and wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "What brings you to Roswell?" he asks abruptly and I almost snort.

        "And that's your business, why?"

        Darting a look at me, he smirks and offers me a sip from the can. I do, because the taste of the cigarette in my mouth still makes me a little sick and the sugar from the cola is comforting. Familiar and nondescript.

        Finally he leans against the wall beside me, and the skin of his arm brushes mine. His is cool, yet faintly sweaty, which is an odd combination. My flesh prickles, being close to someone is strange. His guy smell makes me nervous, but he doesn't. I see parts of myself in Michael already- how his leg shakes unconsciously, as if he is yearning to be somewhere else. Find something that was going to keep him peaceful. I want to tell him that with Maria he'll find what he's looking for- I can see it in the way he holds himself tense when she's near- because he's afraid he might grab her and do something he's sure he'll regret.

        "She's great you know," I say, and exhale again, the grey swirls winding through my hair and his.

        He jerks, surprised and answers defensively, "Who?"

        "Who?" I mimic and feel a bit of the Slayer is back. "The girl you burn a hole through every day with the blinding force of your eyes, of course."

        He is angry at my mocking tone, I can tell and it almost makes me laugh.

        "You don't know what you're talking about," he growls and spins away, facing me with all his brutal thorns that he wears as protection.

        "Don't I?" I answer lightly and take another deep drag, before flicking away the smoke, crushing the embers beneath my foot. Sweat drips down my neck from the clawing heat in the ally, and I toss back my head. "If you feel like being in denial, that's fine, Michael, but you really can't think no one notices. Besides, I don't see what you're waiting for. Maria's fabulous."

        His cheek muscles clench and for a moment I think he wants to cry or scream or kick something and I know that feeling well. "Don't you think I know---" he breaks off furiously and then begins to laugh. "I'm not letting you get to me—making me think I should feel guilty or something."

        "I didn't say you should feel guilty," I counter smoothly. " 'Ria won't even tell me the details. I think it... hurts too much."

        His eyes go black then they shroud with blankness and he waves a hand in the air. "It's over. That's just the way it's gotta be."

        I start to giggle and I think he's going to hit me or something. I can't help it. I want to tell him not to waste time on these nothing words and just kiss Maria because he won't know how much time he has with her—but I don't. He'll ask me why I know so much- why the hell I think I'm in any position to give him advice and what am I going to say? Oh, a few weeks ago I sliced open my boyfriend to save the world cause Hell was opening and it was going to eat us all up. He'd probably refer me to the nearest psychiatrist so I just light another smoke and inhale and exhale, smelling the sweat and tension in the air. It's not sexual though—and I'm glad. That would be horrible- if for some reason I thought maybe Michael could heal me up just by coming inside me and kissing my neck—but I can tell he couldn't. We're too alike.

        Suddenly Maria's head pops around the window and she says, "Buffy? Are you—"

        She sees me and her ex- boyfriend standing together, he like an opponent in a battle and me, casually smoking in the heat of the midday. For a second I see the suspicion in her eyes, the hurt, and then I wink at her and she brightens, rolling her eyes at her exes back. "Um, Guerin. Inside. Food that needs to be cooked, on the grill... remember, your job?"

        I catch the pleasure on his face, and I recognize that look. It's the "if I could just listen to her talk forever, I could die happy" look. He sort of nods to me and then brushes past Maria, throwing his coke can into the dumpster as he goes.

        Maria skips over to me and grabs the smoke from my hand, taking a long drag of it, and immediately coughing and hacking. She giggles and I laugh to, patting her shoulder. "He'll come around."

        Handing me back the burning tube of paper and drug, she bangs her head against the wall lightly. "Maybe. Maybe not, you know? He's... he's different."

        I nod. "Boys are always different. It's not whether he's different that matters though. I think it's whether he's right. And I can tell Michael's right. For you, I mean."

        A weary smile breaks out on her pretty face. "Thanks," she responds and rubs her thigh as if it hurts her to stand. "Sometimes the right ones are all wrong."

        That's so true that I loop my arm around her shoulders and give her a squeeze. She wants to cry, I can tell. She's tired. So am I.

~~~

        It's early evening and the Crashdown is closed. Isabel and Max are here, as well as a girl I've never met named Tess. She has curly blonde hair and a kewpie doll cute exterior. However, there's something ancient about her eyes that startles me. I don't know what it is. Alex is there too- and he's gangly and sweet. Already I adore him as if he were a brother. He asks me lots of basic questions about my likes and dislikes and strums his guitar. I think he is infatuated with Isabel and when I watch her with him, I'm fairly certain she likes to play with him. It makes me angry- because I would never want to be someone's toy.

        Maria brings out pizza and a CD player and she loops an arm through mine as we all eat and I get to know them a little better. It's strange how well I feel I fit in among them- but I don't question it. The guys eat so much that there's barely any food left- but it's ok, cause I don't like to eat anymore. My foot taps and I long for a cigarette.

        "Let's dance," Maria urges me as Isabel pops in a CD. I take a moment and stare at her dress. It's black leather and so tight I'm sure she's going to pop out of it at any second. I think I should feel jealous of her because she's so perfect it's silly, but I guess I don't have time for that anymore. I picture her and Cordy getting along. Cordy. That makes me think of Xander, and then of Will, and then Giles and Mom... and I bite my lip hard, grinning at Maria with wide eyes.

        "Sure," I answer and let her pull me onto the shiny floor, where we begin to sway together to the chick rock. Maria swings her hips and I see Michael watching her. I wonder if anyone notices- I wonder if anyone notices anything within this group. Like the way Max is staring so longingly at Liz that I think his eyes are going to bug out of his head and he's going to melt into a little puddle of Max-love right there on the seat of the booth. She is scrunched down so far I'm surprised she hasn't faded away and for some reason it makes me angry.

        "Liz," I call quietly. She hears me, even above the loud music and smiles a true, simple Liz smile. "Come dance with us," I say and Maria holds out her hands, chuckling and making playful "c'mere, c'mere" noises at her.

        Liz laughs and gets up, walking over and beginning to move with us. She's insecure- and it's alien to me, because I've always been comfortable with my body- the way it can work and fight and move. Maybe because I can control mine- I've had to ever since I got called. But Liz is awkward at first, until I take her hand and she looks into my eyes. Dark clashes with green and I feel the sweat on my back slide down my spine.

        Tess and Isabel join us and for a moment I want to giggle because it's as if we're giving a show for all the guys. Michael is watching Maria, Alex is gazing raptly at Isabel, Max's glances shift between Tess and Liz... but no one watches me. Except Liz. Her stare is constant and I dance with it, my shifts and sways fluid and smooth, and our fingers interlock. Hers are cool and mine are warm. I feel like I'm burning. The music spins a web around us both, the threads silken and tight- my breath feels constricted and I feel an urge to reach up and trail my thumbs down her cheek.

        "God, could Max be *more* puppy dog right now?" Maria says worriedly, glancing at Liz. "He doesn't look like he's going to give up, Lizzie."

        "He's going to have to," she replies in a little voice and then drops her hands from mine, placing one on her stomach. "I just wish he would stop... stop staring at me like that."

        "I guess he just... he loves you," Maria says helplessly and I can tell she's wishing Michael looked at her like Max does Liz, and I want to tell her that the way Michael gazes at her—it's so much more honest- it's raw and it's there—but she'd never believe me.

        Liz looks pained and her eyes dart as if she wants escape. "Want to go for a drive?" I inquire softly, and she nods dumbly, not meeting my gaze.

        "Maria, can we borrow the Jetta?"

        The blonde haired girl looks alarmed, and shoots me a grateful glance. "Sure, Lizzie."

        As we walk from the room, I notice Max's dark and brooding orbs follow us, but I don't say anything to her. I don't want her to be hurt, so I step into the little red car and strap on the seatbelt, asking, "Where are we headed?"

        "The desert," she answers, her voice choked and yet strong, unwavering.

~~~

        It's cold out here, as we walk. My skirt flaps around my thighs and the air sticks to my skin. I can see goosebumps appearing on Liz's arms, as she grips her torso with them, staring anywhere but the sky. Suddenly she stops. We're under a strange rock formation and she grasps it with her eyes- her furious eyes.

        "I used to dream about the desert you know," she tells me.

        "Oh?"

        "Yeah," she laughs and gawks unseeingly at the stone and sharp pinnacles that appear ready to pierce the heavens. "Of the endlessness. I grew up here—it's what I know. All the open space and the dust and the—" she breaks off and sits down abruptly.

        "I dream about things too," I inform her and then wish I hadn't. My nightmares- my terrors about Angel and the sword are for me, only.

        Her eyes fix upon me and she whispers, "What things?"

        "About..." I pause and shiver, chilled to the marrow. "About the things I left behind."

        "Pretty important things, I guess," she says perceptively and hugs her knees, placing her chin upon one and gesturing for me to sit with her. I do, and our elbows brush. "What are you running from, Buffy?"

        "Running?" I murmur, and fall back so I can lie and let the stars wash over me. "I'm not running... I'm just... I'm escaping for a while."

        "What happens when you can't escape anymore?" she inquires and lies back too, her hair touching mine. I can feel the cool skin of her temple and shift to avoid a rock digging into my hip.

        Thinking for a moment, I respond, "I'll always be able to. What I left behind isn't going to come looking."

        She doesn't say anything, and so we lay underneath the bowl of night and I think we're both mourning for our Princes- the ones that were supposed to save us- and be the ones we watched the stars with.

        Liz's knuckles slip against mine and then our fingers interlace and we stay that way- till morning.

You know we all need saving
She found you late last night
You feel the madness caving
You know you just can't win
You know this you know this
But I'm just so tired of waking up... all alone

        "Potato Girl" - Our Lady Peace

        As the shower water slides over my skin I realize there's still sand in my hair. The remains of the desert dirt seeps into my skin, drifting down me like red smoke and disappearing in the whirl of the drain like blood. I lift my face to the pounding torrent and open my mouth, wishing I could drown underneath it all and make this world I've slipped into go away.

        Angel... I think of him and everything goes a strange shade of rich black with pain. I loved him. I mean, I still love him. At night I dream and he's there and I think that he'll always be there. Crawling in the bowels of my memory like a ghost that refuses to fade away. I suppose I owe him that much- the right to stick to my brain- because I sent him to Hell. I sent him to a place where demons feed off his insides- just like he is eating away at mine now. I don't blame him for haunting me. I blame myself for giving him a reason to.

        Liz is in my bedroom, flicking through the channels of the TV and eating the remains of an egg and toast breakfast that I have pre-ordered every morning. My fingers, slick with soap, travel over my body with an absent stroke as I remember how she murmured to me that she didn't want to go home, when we woke, bleary-eyed under the hot desert sun. So we dropped off Maria's car, and walked in heavy silence through the dusty streets of Roswell to my hotel. Liz had a shower first.

        I gave her my toweling robe and she ducked into the bathroom, returning twenty minutes later, shiny and slightly flushed. When I passed by her I think I breathed her in and then I felt strange so I rushed to the shower, laughing at myself. Now, I'm standing here, and the rose of the oil I sometimes use in my hair curls around me and I'm inhaling it deeply, wishing that I could be someone else. Someone brave enough... brave enough to do what? I'm not sure. But I have a feeling there's something I should be doing right now.

        Suddenly the door to the bathroom opens and she steps in. I see the outline of her figure through the thin camouflage of the shower curtain.

        "Hey," she says, almost distractedly, and I turn my face away, lathering my shoulders with soap.

        "You take hot showers," she mentions, in her soft voice and I look up, watching the way the steam billows against the window, turning it a silvery color as it sweats condensation.

        "Do you want something, Liz?" I ask her, not cruelly, but simply because I'm uncomfortable and I think that I can feel sweat on myself now- not just on the windowpane.

        She breathes out and murmurs, "I'm glad you were around last night. You know... when the whole Max thing happened. It was probably an overreaction on my part... cause God, it's not like it's the first time he's ever stared at me... but still. Thanks, Buffy."

        "Do you love him?" I inquire bluntly and then feel stupid and angry at myself.

        "Yes," she responds in a quiet tone- but one that's filled with such desperation and such doom. I want to weep because I recognize it too well. "Yes, I love Max," she repeats and then says, "but I think... I think there's other things out there for me. I used to think he was everything, you know? Like, if he didn't exist—if he didn't belong to me- then I was nothing. But I think maybe, I was wrong."

        "Maybe you were," I reply, chilled down to the very marrow of my bones at her words. I turn the shower off and she spins away abruptly, leaving the room with a bang of the door. Stepping out, I squeeze the excess moisture from my hair, and it drips around me, the streaks of faint redness down my belly and legs make me think I'm bleeding from the inside out.

~~~

        It's hot back here, in the kitchen of the Crashdown. Michael slaves over the oven, sweat beading his brow. Every so often he licks it off his bee-stung lower lip and wipes the grime from his face, streaking it with grease and dirt. We all look wilted. I can feel the heaviness of my hair, laden with perspiration as it drips down my neck and back, falling over my forehead as if it's weary from a long journey. Maria sticks her head in to call an order, her eyes hollow and purplish- making me wonder if she sleeps.

        Liz rubs her back, stretching the creamy curve absently, painfully, as she jots down the wants of a customer, yelling it to Michael. He answers with barely a grunt, his mouth twisted in a grimace of concentration. I watch Liz and she looks at me, smiling for a bare moment before running off to get someone a coke.

        "I'm gonna die," Maria moans, falling into me, her head resting against my shoulder. I pat her belly playfully, saying;

        "You can't... who's gonna rub my feet tonight?"

        "Who's gonna rub mine?" Maria counters, laughing for a quick second, jumping up and down, trying to restore feeling to her joints. She flexes her muscles, not noticing the gaze of Michael, who appears transfixed by the movements of her lithe body.

        "I'm going for my break now," I say and Maria looks regretful.

        "I took mine too early. Should have waited."

        "It s'ok, 'Ria, you'll get another later," I remind her and grab my cigarettes, almost colliding with the door in my haste to get outside. Breathing in the slightly cool, slightly refreshing air of the sunshine morning, I light a smoke with trembling fingers, leaning against the alley wall with my sore back and creaking bones.

        As the smoke curls loosely around my head in a hazy twirl, I close my eyes and dream of a better day. Sometimes I think I'm never going to be able to go home. I wonder what everyone's doing and then it occurs to me that I can't imagine life going on without me. It's as if they should all be stuck in a bubble awaiting my return. That's a funny thought.

        Sometimes I imagine Angel is back in Sunnydale waiting for me. In the quietness of his apartment. The bed where he made love to me for the first time, still rumpled, the covers red like spilt blood, the sheets giving off the scent of us--- I smelled like him for days afterward. It was horrible- as I fought him- Angelus, all I could smell was him, his skin and his come and his mouth and tongue and I suppose it made me weaker and stronger all at once. I fought for the man whose essence still lay on my flesh- for the demon who had taken him away. But I also couldn't give it my all. How could I? I was attempting to run a stake through the first lover I'd ever had...

        Inhaling deeply, I choke and cough, tears spurting from my eyes and burning the length of my cheeks with salt. I taste vomit at the back of my throat, like ashes, and bend over, spitting and heaving, my stomach contracting and releasing all the poison and ache and sting.

        Looking up, I realize Liz is at the door, her pale skin even milkier as she watches me, one hand over her mouth. Wiping my lips, I wave the burning tip of the cigarette at her and laugh hoarsely. "I'm fine."

        "You're not," she comes towards me firmly and reaches out, ignoring my jerks away from her as she swipes tender fingers along my chin, looking straight into my eyes. "I know what happened to you, Buffy."

        "You do?" I whisper, horrified, yet fascinated in spite of myself.

        "Yes," she nods. "You left the man you love. Isn't that—" she breaks off and giggles hollowly, using her sleeve to soak the sweat from my skin. "Isn't that what happened to us both?"

        I want to speak but my throat has closed over. I brush a strand of hair away from her face, which has escaped from the ponytail she keeps it in. Curving her face into my palm, her dark drowning Angel eyes implore me. I don't know what we're doing... For some reason I don't care and I suppose I'm so lost that maybe she makes me feel found...

        "Give me your purse!"

        The command shatters the dreaminess I was finding in both of our minds, as sickly, my stare slides to our right, where a man with a gun- a middle class man with wild eyes and a desperate glare- shakes his wrist at us threateningly. For a moment I'm about to hand it over dumbly, because what else do you do in a situation like that? Liz is gazing at the barrel of the weapon like she is about to faint and instinctively, I take hold of her fingers and go to hand over the cloth bag...

        ...but then I remember what's in it. Angels ring. The silver band he gave me when he said he was going to love me... well, he almost said it... but he gave his heart to me and I could taste my own mascara and the seaweed smell of the docks was everywhere and I remember it all... and I'm not giving it to this man with his killer grin...

        Poised to fight, I see the gleam to him and wonder if he's a demon- as I wish he was- or just a man, down on his luck-- and then he yells to me, "Give me the fucking purse!" and Michael yanks open the door and I see his finger press on the trigger cause he's nervous and trembling—just a split second—and then something sticky spreads down the front of my top and I look down to redness and look up to Liz's darkness eyes—spinning, spinning, and I'm lying on the dirty ground—

        "Oh God... OH GOD!" Liz is screaming, her hands pressing on my chest, where I imagine my heart is going to burst from- tear past my ribs and spray us both with my insides. Choking, I glance up at her and wonder if I'm dying. Then Michael is there, over me, and I hear Liz yell, "GET MAX! GET MAX!" but Michael is frozen so Liz runs away in a swirl of shining strands.

        "Michael," I murmur, my mouth gaping, as I look down and see his fingers covered in the redness from my split belly. "You love Maria."

        His eyes are glazed, his jaw locked as he rips off his shirt and covers my stomach with it, binding it tight, until I feel suffocated- but less like my whole body is emptying. "I do," he tells me quietly, and then he brushes the hair off my face and whispers, "Max is coming. I wish I-- " he breaks off with a curse and bows his head.

        I want to ask him why it matters if Max is there when I die. I also wonder why they haven't called me an ambulance. I want to ask what he wishes—I want to ask for Angel- for Liz- for my Mom and for Willow, and Giles and Xander—but my neck lolls back. I feel dizzy and stare up at the bright bright sky where I think I see my love's face... Angel... he's come to get me...

        Then it all happens so fast. I feel a rough but gentle hand on my cheek and Max's voice. "LOOK at me, Buffy. Look at me," he pleads and with effort—have to make an effort—I open my eyes and stare into his- they're dark and reassuring.

        Dimly I think I catch Maria's sobs and my gaze drifts to where Michael holds her and I smile—and then I see Liz—and she looks like death- terrified and alone, shivering as she stares with blankness. Max's insistent thumbs bring me back to him and I feel his hand on the hole in my flesh and muscle. Something starts to glow.

        "Look at me," he whispers and I do, my hazel stare seeking his, and something passes... something buzzes and tingles and it's as if he has poured red wine into my blood stream—everything is warm and calming.

        He steps back and breathes harshly, leaning against the wall, his face sweating. I sit up so slowly and they all stare at me. Michael appears worried, his arms locked around Maria, who smiles at me, starting to laugh with nervousness which reminds me of Willow. Isabel (who I didn't know had come) is rubbing Max's back and her wrists are tense as she glares at me, but I sense that she's afraid. It's coming off her in waves—fear.

        And then I look at Liz... who is shaking and who stretches out a hand to me. She bends down and presses her cheek to my brow. "We have a lot to explain to you," she says quietly and helps me up.

If you interest me I'm scared
My attraction paralyses me
No courage to show my true colours that exist
But I want it to be the real thing

        - No Doubt

        I just stare at her.

        "So... Max is... an alien? Little green man? One from outer space? A Martian?"

        No matter how many different ways I say it still want to laugh every time I do. Hysterical giggles well in my throat I choke them back when I remember his hand glowing over my split belly. A horrible thought occurs to me. "You're not... I mean, are you?"

        Liz shakes her head and touches my hand briefly. Her fingers are icy-cold and trembling.

        "What's the matter?"

        Her eyes laugh at me, glinting with relief and gentle amusement. "You almost died," she reminds me chidingly.

        I hug my knees against the chill wind sweeping across her balcony and she immediately reaches for a blanket, swathing it around me as if I were a child. Smiling at her tenderly, I murmur something and lie back. My stomach doesn't hurt although it stretches a bit funnily as I lean. "Is it... just Max?"

        She shakes her head and I know before she tells me, even as the shining strands of her hair transfix me, catching the moonlight. "Michael, Isabel and Tess to," she explains bluntly and then says, "the only people who know are Maria, Alex, and me. Oh... and Sheriff Valenti and Kyle, his son."

        "So basically the whole world," I giggle and she laughs too.

        "Yeah... well, they kinda blew their cover a year ago and..." she trails off and then her hand lifts up her shirt. My eyes gaze upon the soft swell of her belly, the flat planes of it tinged slightly silver. Raising my stare to her, she nods to my own torso. "Look."

        I pull back the blanket and then the edge of my top. Raptly, I fixate on the handprint etched into the tan skin of my stomach, it's silver colour glowing brilliantly in the night air.

        "What is this? The alien signature?"

        She nods. "They leave their mark on you... Max saved me to. I was shot," she says dispassionately, as if she's informing me that she cooked a three -course meal. "It was a year ago... at the Crashdown. Max was there... and I guess he had been in love with me for years and so..."

        "He saved you," I finish, breathing out. "Wow. That's... that's fairytale stuff."

        "Yeah," she agrees and flops back, searching the stars as if she wants answers. "But I guess... it turns out I'm not the Cinderella of the story," she laughs bitterly. "Who would've thought?"

        "Who is the lucky girl?" I ask but I already know.

        "Tess." She says the name with a curse to it- as if she rues the day her tongue ever had to form the sounds to choke out the word. Tess... I picture the blonde girl in my head- her curls and blue eyes and the way her hands looked- pale and sick- like fish swimming through a great ocean. She has a purpose.

        "Is Max in love with her?" I inquire and Liz shrugs, her shoulders moving in that dismissive motion underneath her light sweater.

        "I don't know... no, I guess not. But she's his destiny," she spits and then her mouth curves into a semblance of a smile- but it's not one of amusement or happiness. It's a furious smile- a mockery of a grin. "Destiny... I used to think that word was romantic. 'Course I used to think a lot of things."

        "What about the other aliens?" I wonder after a second, thinking of Michael and Maria and their heated glances. Maria... ("Maybe. Maybe not, you know? He's... he's different.") ("Sometimes the right ones are all wrong.") "Does Michael have a... destiny to? I sort of got the picture that he and Maria were..."

        Liz's mouth twists as she rubs her arm as if it hurts her. "They..." she pauses. "We used to dismiss them, you know? Michael and Maria... they were like the joke- oh, all they do is make out, all they do is fight- blah blah blah..." she looks sick. "But I think they're more in love than any of us. Michael... he does have a destiny to. With Isabel."

        "Isabel?" I conjure up an image of the ice princess and want to cringe. "With Michael? Talk about a horrible match."

        Liz looks like she wants to laugh but feels she shouldn't. "They're more... a brother sister thing." Bitterly, she says, "Not like Max and Tess." I can tell the sting it causes her to have to group their names together. It's as if she's making them a couple by saying it aloud.

        "Is that why they broke up?"

        "Huh?" she responds and then brushes the hair away from her face carelessly. "Oh... no. Michael... he... well, he went through something difficult and he felt he couldn't be around Maria. He broke up with her cause he..." she swallows and appears to be gulping back tears, "he loved her too much. Sometimes I think that's all that gets 'Ria through. That he loves her and she knows it."

        In my mind I see her glinting eyes and her flashing anger at Michael- his pleasure at the sound of her voice and I see myself and Angel in them—loving each other "too much". It's not a blessing. It's not fun.

        "Do you... how long were you and Max together?"

        She looks confused and stares at me. "I don't know, you know? Not long. We've been... stuck for months. Together but not together. Suffocating, basically. He's got me on a string, that's for sure."

        "Liz..." I begin hesitantly, "I'm sorry—"

        "Shh," she whispers. "Shush... it's ok. I think... I think, like I said- you understand. Leaving someone behind..."

        I don't know what to say to that so I gaze at the sky with a new respect, wondering what else is up there that we don't know about. The bowl of night above me with it's swollen stars and huge black holes...

        Liz turns over and places her hands on my stomach. They are still cool, but they bring a flush to my blood. Her thumbs trace the outline of the healing mark and she whispers, "I used to think this meant Max owned me, you know? Because he gave up everything he had just to... just to save me... but now I realize... he doesn't."

        Lacing my fingers through hers, I feel the rush of heat between my legs before I fully comprehend it. "Liz..." I choke back the word and it comes out sounding like a moan. Her eyes meet mine and I see something there that I saw minutes before the world exploded in the ally way.

        "Buffy." Her hands tighten around mine and then suddenly we are kissing. I taste her lips and her breath and it's like candy and but bittersweet. She is trying to pull me closer to her and my nipples brush against hers, throbbing angrily at the contact. Angel's face flashes in my mind, sliding in and out of focus as I kiss Liz and feel her tongue against my teeth. It's so soft and yet there is steel behind these kisses and hunger and pain. We're both crying- I can taste the salt- but I don't care. Her thigh tugs on my hip and my fingers explore the hollow of her lower back and our tongues indulge in the shock of our kisses.

        Her hands cup my face and her cool mouth- which felt so hot against mine- begins to kiss my cheeks- licking away the tears. "Liz..." I murmur and she smiles, her teeth scraping me for a moment as she returns to my lips and kisses them softly. So soft.

        We stare at each other for a moment and I reach out, the pad of my thumb caressing a tear. It's hot and slides down my palm, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. "I don't..." I falter and feel to my horror that I'm blushing. "I don't know what to say, I guess..."

        She tilts her head to the side and I finally give in and grasp the shining strands of her hair, bringing them to my cheek. The sheen of her flesh is brilliant in the light and my stomach feels trembly as I look at her. At Liz. "Buffy..." she says in a hushed voice. "I... I don't know what to say either."

        "Then let's not talk," I beg quietly and she nods, tugging me closer. We lie together, our lips kissing, kissing, breathless and sweet. Her hands touch my back and graze over my breasts and belly, my fingers coursing through the dark waterfall of her hair as we look into each other's eyes and try to forget about tomorrow.

~~~

        It's hot out. Another heatwave has rolled into Roswell and turned the desert sands a scorching orange to the naked eye. The kitchen of the Crashdown is sweltering and dust creeps in from the ally every time someone opens the door, sweeping down my throat and causing me to cough every few moments. Michael looks miserable yet aloof- although he keeps sneaking me looks in between flipping burgers.

        Maria is walking around wilted. No bounce springs her step today- the ends of her hair flap around her head like dead flags. Every so often she takes a long cool drink of ice water and leans her whole body against the refrigerator, unaware of Michael's longing burning eyes. It makes me, on a day like this, want to slap them both silly.

        "Order for table 17 ready yet, Michael?" Liz sighs as she leans her head around the counter, her long ponytail slick with sweat. Our eyes meet and we both look away. I promised myself it wouldn't be awkward between us "the morning after", but of course it has been and I hate it. I watch her and think of the way I fell asleep with her taste in my mouth. She has a way about her... her smile, her slim arms and tiny waist... the movements of her body as she walks the Crashdown floors... Liz has a way about her that I am already beginning to love.

        Last night was one of the few when I haven't dreamt of Angel.

~~~

        I stand outside after my shift, holding my lighter in my hand. It's always struck me as tacky to walk and smoke at the same time. I want to get home and sleep and shower as quickly as possible- hours in a smoky, grimy kitchen will do that- but I also want to light up badly.

        I'm weighing my options when Michael opens the door and comes out, fanning himself with one hand, his hair flipping off his face. "Hey," he grumbles and I want to laugh, because he's got to be the surliest bastard I've ever met. And yet I like him. He reminds me of me... always wanting to be somewhere else.

        Grabbing a helmet, he slings one leg over his motorcycle and then glances back at me. Holding out another headgear, he says, "Want to go for a drive?"

        Debating for only a moment, I shrug and climb on behind him, my arms holding his waist as he starts it, and we're off, taking a back route onto the desert highway. The wind on my skin is hot and dusty, but more refreshing than the suffocating stillness in the streets of Roswell. The sands shimmer as we whip down the road and I throw my head back, longing to take off the helmet and feel the strength of the air in my hair, truly experience the freedom of the open road. Michael's stomach flexes as we go around a sharp bend and the it curves into a long ribbon of nothingness- stretching to the horizon- to eternity.

        We stop beside the empty highway and I grab my smokes, leaning against the bike as I light it, the tip flaring brightly for a moment as I inhale and exhale noisily, breathing deep with satisfaction.

        "Those'll kill ya," Michael informs me gruffly and I laugh shortly.

        "Don't bother, Guerin. I can read the packages."

        "Only Mar—" he stops himself with a grimace. "Only a few people call me that."

        Lifting my shoulders to show my indifference I take another drag and watch the smoke drift into the heat swept oxygen swirling around us. "I guess I picked it up from Maria."

        Nodding, he throws a rock absently and then points to my belly. "Does it feel all right?"

        "Yes," I flick the ash and touch the small area of flesh that almost emptied into a dirty ally the other day. "It's fine. Max does good work. Why couldn't you do it? I assume you've all got the alien powers."

        His bee-stung lower lip curls into a smirk, "Yeah, well, we all got different ones."

        "What'd you get?"

        He looks at me hardly for a quick second and then tosses another rock with more force than the first. "The killing kind," he remarks blandly and tries to glean me for a reaction subtly.

        I nod and cross one bronzed leg over the other, my feet aching from the long shift. "You killed anything yet?"

        He looks furious and then laughs. "Liz told you, huh?"

        "Told me what?"

        "About Pierce," he shouts, his eyes wild suddenly and I jerk a little in surprise but I don't know why I should feel shocked. Even from where I stand, I can feel the suppressed anger bubbling underneath Michael's cool exterior. He's volatile. Parts of me like it. He's got power. That reminds me of me again. His hands can hurt more than he wants them to. I suspect he hasn't figured out how to control that power, yet though.

        "I don't know anything about Pierce, but I guess that's someone you killed, right?" I ask and he turns, his profile stoic. "Is that why you broke up with Maria?"

        The muscles of his jaw tightens and he glares off into the sky. "Don't talk to me about Maria."

        "Why not?" I snap and grab his arm, forcing him to look at me. "You don't know what you have. She loves you, dumb ass. In case you haven't noticed, someone loves you. Are you gonna throw that away?"

        His eyes shift to where I'm keeping my grasp on his bicep and he raises his eyebrows. "Nice grip, Buffy."

        I drop his arm and shrug. "I work out."

        He grins and looks me up and down. "You're pretty tiny, though. Doesn't seem to have done you much good."

        "More good than you'd realize," I answer lightly and scowl. "So you're not going to take my advice about 'Ria? Are you even gonna talk to her, Guerin? Don't you think you owe her that? She told me she calls you and you never talk to her."

        He flushes and says, "She told you that?" At my nod he sighs and drops his head, the fringes of his hair sticking up every which way. "It just can't work. I can't hurt her, you know?" His stare is bright with a fervour I've never seen before from him. "I'd die before I'd hurt her."

        I understand so I smile painfully and tell him that we should get going.

~~~

        I lie in bed that night and kick the covers back, my tank top outlining my body, drenched with perspiration and frustration. Angel's eyes seem to gleam from every corner, his ghost drifts above me- reminding me of yesterday- how I can't get away from it.

        A knock on the door shakes me from my reverie and dreams and I swallow against a suddenly parched throat, crossing the room and opening it slowly. Liz stands there, her eyes wide and her mouth shiny as she gazes at me. She's scared.

        "Hi," she says quietly. "Can I come in?"

My smile will not mislead you
Cause I've been alone
And my faith turned to stone
Still there's something in you
I believe in

        "Yes," I answer and Liz walks past me hesitantly, her dark eyes luminous in the dimly lit bedroom. A rush of cold air from the air-conditioned hallway rushes across my thighs as I close the door, turning to an uncertain girl who watches me with fear in her gaze.

        "I was thinking today..." she says and her voice quavers slightly. "I was thinking about you and Michael."

        "Me and... Michael," I repeat slowly and she nods.

        "When you guys went off together. I know you're just friends. Even Maria knows that. But I was thinking about what it would be like if you guys... got together. And then I started to realize I should be angry at the thought for Maria. But you see, I wasn't. I wasn't jealous cause of my friend... I was jealous for... for me, Buffy." She takes a breath and sort of smiles.

        "Liz—I—"

        She stops me. "I don't... look, I've never... been with a girl before."

        I swallow and sit down on the bed. She joins me and the sides of our knees brush. Her skin is cool- yet faintly sweaty. I feel like I should tell her about Angel and why I'm running away- why I came to Roswell and let it gulp me down. Why I am trying to forget. But I can't. No matter how much I am beginning to care for Liz-- Angel... he is my burden to carry. The memory of him still makes my throat squeeze with pain and I can't share that with someone. Not yet, maybe not ever.

        But then she looks at me and says, "I don't need to know what you're leaving behind. What you left behind when you came here." Her tone drops to a whisper. "I've left things behind to. Not just Max... but a lot of things. Me, I guess, in a way. So I think I understand."

        I don't know if she does. She doesn't know what it's like to hold cold steel and ram it through the chest of her lover. She doesn't know what it's like to feel the salt of his tears on her lips... still be able to hear the echoes of him saying her name... feel the burn of the cross he gave her around her neck, and know... just know that nothing would ever be all right again. Tears prick my eyes and my breastbone aches for a cigarette.

        Her fingers cup my face then and she kisses my forehead gently. Our legs slide together as our mouths inevitably touch, and her tongue slips between my teeth. Quietly, we fall back on the bed and it's so different than Angel. So different than the rainy night when he made love to me and showed me everything could be beautiful- just for a few moments- when he was inside me- that things could be... simple. Simply perfect.

        Liz kisses my neck and I unbutton her shirt and it's strange, but it's so good and I want more of her. Her flesh is silky smooth, golden in some places, creamy and white in others. She is trembling as she pulls off my T-shirt and my underwear, and I remove her Crashdown uniform, her polka-dotted bra and her boy-cut shorts. "You wear boxers?" I laugh softly, tenderly and she smiles against my mouth.

        "They're more comfortable at work."

        Running my hands down the smooth curve of her back and then up to her hair, I tug it loose from it's ponytail and feel the rope of silken strands cascade over us until I'm drowning in it. Gasping as we kiss and her fingers are on my breasts and my nipples and I feel them throbbing angrily against her palms.

        I push her down, hungry for the taste of her, for all of it. I want to forget. God, do I want to forget. She doesn't taste like rain, thank God. I think, as my tongue drags over her nipples and her flat belly, and I hear her pant, that she tastes like sugar and dust and sunshine. She smells like daylight and vanilla- not musk and night and salt. I'm glad. "Liz," I murmur and she pulls in breaths raggedly.

        Her hands tug at my shoulders and she brings me up to kiss her. "I think..." she mutters, and never finishes her thought as she slides her fingers between my thighs.

        My breath hitches as two of her fingers slam inside me, deep and hard and I can feel my wetness dripping onto her hand. She kisses me and I bite her lip, moaning. "Liz, Liz," I whimper and her mouth is on mine sloppily, cause we're both shivering and I feel her tongue on my lips and chin and I think I'm going to scream.

        My body arches off the bed as she moves her fingers faster and deeper and my head starts to hurt from all the pressure—until I close my eyes and feel the intense heat wash over me and my insides explode around her fingers and I let out a choked series of gasps that don't sound like me at all.

        As it all subsides, I realize I'm not the same Buffy that left Sunnydale and I don't know if I ever will get back to... back to what? Back to the innocence—back to who I was before Angel turned psycho and I had to kill him... kill him...

        "Hey," Liz touches my face and kisses me softly, her thumbs brushing my tears that I didn't even know were there. "You ok?"

        I don't answer, just sit up and lay my hand on her stomach. She lays back, her eyes questioning, yet still dark and hungry. Her skin is washed with a light sweat and I bend, my tongue running down her leg. She jerks and trembles a little. My fingers open her legs and as I taste her, I think that I might love her. Not like I loved him... not like I love him, but I think that... Liz means something to me. More than even I know yet.

~~~

        I lie there afterwards, with her, on the edge of sleep but only drifting, when she says drowsily, "I was always afraid of flying, you know."

        I want to laugh but she seems so serious. Her head is cushioned by my neck, her arm draped around my waist as she whispers, "You think it's funny, don't you?" she smiles, I feel the slight scrape of her teeth against my collarbone.

        "I don't think its funny," I answer and caress the dip of her spine as it curves to her lower back. "I always hated those on-ramp things." It's true, I always have. They look like giant mouths- all the better to eat you with, my dear- and as a child they frightened me. Liz drops a kiss on my shoulder and snuggles against me.

        "I've only flown to Florida. But I hate it. I want to go places... but the journey. It's way too scary. All big planes and crashes and—" she falters. "I still love Max, Buffy."

        Reaching for my cigarettes, I light one and take a deep drag of the smoke. I think that she probably minds, but she doesn't say anything. The tip of it glows bright in the darkened room and dusty wind blows through the open window. "I know you do," I respond softly, after a while. "I never expected you to... get over him, Lizzie. That doesn't happen with... with some people."

        She laughs but it's not a sound full of much humour. "God, he's going to tie me to him for the rest of my life, isn't he?" She sits up and rubs her forehead as if it hurts. "Sometimes I wish he had just let me die back then. In the Crashdown. I hate it now... thinking of that moment. I could barely breathe, you know? All this blood was just pouring out of me and he had his hand on the side of my face and his eyes... God, they looked so bright- like all of him was glowing. And I saw things, flashes, images, when he healed me. He broke this bottle of ketchup and tossed it all over me and from that second..." she chokes back a sob, "I was his. It didn't matter if I wanted it or not, I guess."

        I think of the feel of Angel's chest underneath my booted foot. His taunting eyes, his whispered breaths that were words, "Don't worry. I don't bite." Just ghosts now- those words- that man- I think and blink back hot tears that threaten to well from my eyes. "I understand," I say without inflection and she looks down at me, her hair shadowing her face.

        "I think you do," she answers pensively and then lies back down, and we fall asleep, dreaming of things we cannot say- things of yesterday that we're trying to escape.

~~~

        Liz is gone when I wake up, which I understand, but it makes me sick for a second, remembering the last time I awoke to find an empty bed and rumpled sheets. I don't shower, partly because I did last night, and partly because I smell like her, and I want to keep that for a few hours.

        Throwing my hair up in a knot, I don my uniform and run to the café. Maria is working, but it's virtually empty- such a hot day that no one feels like leaving their homes, I reason and grab a drink of milkshake from her. She grins, and snarks, "Late much?"

        "Slept in," I answer and chuckle. "Besides, aren't you late, like every day, 'Ria?"

        "True, true," she giggles and slumps against the counter, yawning. "Mr. Parker isn't here anyway. Some business out of town."

        "Yay," I chirp tiredly and she leans against me for a moment, suddenly saying,

        "Are you and Liz trading perfumes? You smell just like her."

        Jerking in shock, I glance up and see Michael watching us from the kitchen. He smirks a little and I say, trying to be smooth, "She did lend me some. And then I bought it. It's nice, don't you think?"

        Maria nods. "I prefer essential oils, but the un-natural stuff's fine to, I guess."

        I look back at Michael, who is still gazing at Maria covertly out of the corner of his eye.

        "Hey Guerin!" I call and he jumps slightly, snapping at me;

        "What?"

        "If you don't concentrate on the job you're going to burn yourself on that big hot grill. Better be careful."

        He scowls and Maria bursts out laughing, shaking her finger at me as she goes to wash tables. She nods to Isabel, Tess and Max as they enter the Crashdown. Max looks uncomfortable and says awkwardly, "How are you, Buffy?"

        I slept with the girl you love, last night, I think, and don't feel guilty, though I have an idea that I should. Smiling at him, a small smile, I say, "I'm ok, thanks to you... thanks for... you know."

        He grins and he looks like an alien. It scares me momentarily. He and Isabel and Tess are more alien than Michael, I decide. They're glassy-eyed strangers to this planet. "I know," he answers. "You're welcome."

        "Can I get you guys something?"

        Isabel looks at me haughtily before responding, "I'll have a diet coke. And the special, I suppose."

        I catch real fear in her eyes. I know why. It's because I know who she is- what she is- and she's terrified. I know that feeling well. Tess and Max order the same thing. I want to gag at the way the blonde hangs onto his every word. My only thought is that she hurts Liz. They both do, and to me- that's wrong.

        "Ok." I hand the order to Michael and then throw down my apron, heading up to Liz's bedroom thoughtfully. She isn't there. The room is empty, sullen and quiet in the daytime. I run my hand down her bedspread, feel the red velvet underneath my fingers and think that it is like her skin.

        "Lizzie?" I call softly out onto the balcony and then notice her. She's curled up in a ball on one of the loungers, a thick blue blanket covering her. Creeping outside, I sit down opposite the dark haired girl and listen to the sounds she makes as she breathes and sleeps. Her diary lies open next to her and for a second I consider not reading it. I shouldn't. Then I see my name and know I have to.

        It's July 25th, I'm Liz Parker, and things are definitely strange.

        I giggle a little when I realize she introduces herself to her own diary. It strikes me as funny and sort of endearing.

        Last night I... I slept with Buffy. It's not like I haven't been thinking about it. Cause you know I have. Some nights it was all I could think about. Her. It's funny- but she's opened up this whole other side of me. This side that Max can't touch or have.

        I still love Max. I told her that- and I don't think she minded. She has her own demons. Sometimes I wonder what brought her here. We know now it wasn't aliens- she was shocked when I told her. Not as shocked as I expected her to be... but something tells me she's seen a lot.

        I woke up this morning early, and watched her sleep for a while. She's beautiful. Blonde and tanned and that kind of gorgeous that I always jealous of before. Plain and simple me. I never thought I'd attract someone as beautiful as her.

        I kiss her and it's sad- I think of her, and I think of Max and how I'm betraying him. And then I think of her again. She has changed me in ways I don't even know- and can't explain. I don't want the old me back though. I like who I've become. This new Liz without Max. Without Kyle.

        Max and Tess came into the Crashdown yesterday and I just left. I couldn't deal with them at all. She's so pretty. I hate her. I really do and I don't feel bad about it. I hate him to. Except... I love him.

        I don't know what he'd say about the whole Buffy and I thing. Probably have a heart attack, knowing Max. It's ok for him to kiss Tess in the rain, but it's not ok for me to have someone else. I think about telling Maria and Michael and then decide I can't. Besides, I think they might be getting back together and I don't want to interrupt that with any new news. Maria deserves happiness. At least one of us should be happy.

        I'm so tired. I should have stayed this morning. I wanted to stay. I miss her already. I don't even miss Max- or at least I've grown so used to missing him that I don't even feel it anymore.

        But I miss Buffy.

        I'm Liz Parker—and I... I actually have fallen in love with someone other than Max Evans. What the hell am I going to do?

        I stop reading and reach out, my thumb brushing her forehead before slipping away. I curl up next to her and cover myself with the blanket. She snuggles up to me in sleep, murmuring contentedly.

        We doze and I think we dream. But I'm not sure if we dream of each other.

My guilty skin is like gasoline
It's burning out a hole in me
My guilty heart lies here in ruin, in ruin
Nobody knows me, no one will ever see
The distance between what is and what will never be

        I lie in Liz's arms and draw deeply on the smoking cigarette. It's tip glows brightly in the dusk of my room. One of her legs slides against mine, sweaty and smooth. The sheets are soaked with our perspiration. She curves her cheek against my neck and kisses my collarbone. I feel her teeth scratch my skin and sigh softly. "Lizzie?"

        She breathes out and answers, "Yes?"

        "Are you going to tell... anyone about us? Are we going to tell anyone?"

        She slips a hand over my belly, and I shiver slightly, the shock of her touch still making me tremble with some deep down desire. My fingers rest in the hollow of her lower back, which is pooled with sweat. I love this place on her body. I can feel the ridges of her spine, the curve to her hips... it's perfect and soft. She laughs at me when I kiss it, and bites her lip when I go lower. I love that look on her face too.

        She finally swallows, I can hear it, and then she replies quietly, "Do you want to tell everyone?"

        I don't know. I don't know what to tell her. Parts of me think Michael has guessed. For the past week since Liz and I first slept together, he has been sending me looks out of the corner of his eye. Smirks to. Like he's got a secret. It irritates me to no end. I can't figure out why he doesn't just say something to me. I've gathered that Liz isn't his favourite person. She giggled when she told me that, but I think it hurts her.

        Maria doesn't know. She's too innocent for that. But I did catch Max giving me a quizzical glance once when he came in with Isabel and Alex and I was staring at Liz. I remember clearly- she was lifting the weight of her hair off her neck and I yearned to go over and kiss the nape of it- where it sloped to her back. I stopped for a second in the middle of the buzzing Crashdown and let myself gaze at her for just a fraction of a moment. Nothing, really. But Max saw me, and his eyebrows lifted and I hated him.

        I think I might still hate him. I think I might hate him more than anyone else in the world right now. Besides Angel. I dreamt about him last night- after Liz made love to me and I made her come against my lips and we kissed and curled together in my bed, I dreamt.

        He was at the Bronze and so was I. His skin was so pale, and it was a shock, since all the images of him in my brain have been blurry lately, shifting in and out of focus. I remember him arching an eyebrow at me, beckoning me forward and I went, my thighs brushing together underneath the silk of my dress. I was wet in the dream, and he knew it, because he could smell me. He drew me into his dark as night embrace and his belly felt squishy, and I realized his ribs were cracked and where I'd betrayed him was weeping blood hot rage.

        "Angel," I whispered, as if speaking loudly would break some spell. I guess it would. I recall being afraid if I screamed or yelled he's go away. And I miss him. I wanted him near. "You're bleeding."

        He smiled at me and bit my lip, taking it between his teeth and splitting it in two. My blood joined his and dripped down our chins and I whimpered, struggling in his rock hard arms. "I know, love." He murmured and then licked the salt of my tears off my eyelashes. "Don't you wish you could bleed to? Be here with me..."

        I felt the sobs overtake my throat, and hot bile swept up underneath my tongue, mixing with the red blood, which choked my teeth and lips. "Yes, you know I do," I said urgently, trying to make him understand. He didn't. I could tell. In front of my gaze was a picture of Lizzie's face, sliding in and out of focus as Angel touched my face and my neck and I grappled with his shirt, trying to keep him with me.

        But he disappeared. And laughed. When I woke up, I was weeping and my stomach felt as if it had been turned inside out, spilling my insides on the floor. Liz shifted in sleep and curved an arm around mine, as if she was trying to keep me with her. I recall feeling suffocated and like I was going to throw up, and I pulled away, running to the window and trying to breathe. The dusty air swirled around my mouth and I inhaled, wishing for a cigarette.

        That was when I really started to hate him. And when I think I missed him the most.

        "I think Michael already guesses," I tell her finally, and kiss her forehead, her taste of sugar and salt and sweat clinging to my lips. She moves her head so our mouths brush.

        "He's not who I'm worried about," she admits and I laugh, saying;

        "Max would probably have a hernia if he knew."

        She giggles despite herself, and falls back on the bed, her hands splayed as if to grip the ceiling. "He wouldn't take it well," she agrees and the shining mass of her hair obscures her face for a moment. It irritates me because I like looking at her. Her beauty to me- is so simple and yet so complex. In so many ways she reminds me of what I'm missing- her dark eyes and clear smile and haunted trembling hands. She's doomed, like me. Maybe that's our basic connection. Tugging her close, I kiss her and let my hands wander over the world of her back, finding my favourite spot with ease. It's hot.

        "Let's keep it quiet for a little while longer," she suggests and I nod, knowing that she would say that. She's frightened, and I don't blame her, because while I'm just a ghost passing through this town, these people have seen her as a little girl- they've watched her grow up.

        She has more to lose.

~~~

        I move around the Crashdown with ease now, and it's better than it used to be. Customers may still grasp my apron with their angry, impatient fingers, but I can shrug it off with a smile and gritted teeth. Maria passes by me every so often and slaps my butt. It makes me laugh. She always makes me laugh. Yesterday she called me after she had called Michael and wept into the phone and I wanted so much to kick his ass for her. Her tears were bitter and her voice broke as she asked me "why can't he just talk to me?" I had no answers for her of course. What could I say?

        Liz and I watched the stars all night from my bed, through the window and I asked if she and Max had ever had sex. It was almost an offhand question- and I knew I should be ashamed since it was so private. I wasn't. She coloured and then looked furious and said, "No." Just one word. I didn't press. Sometimes I get the feeling she thinks her and Max are sacred and that I shouldn't disrupt their past.

        Then sometimes I think she wants to forget her and him and just be Liz. But those times are few and far between. I understand- I think it's the same with Angel and I. Except he's dead, and I have no choice.

        I walk into the kitchen and smell the wall of heat before I feel it, beads of sweat sliding down my neck and spine as I lean against the wall and wait for Michael to finish an order of Saturn Rings that are sizzling in the deep fryer. He cocks an eyebrow at me and wipes grime off his face with one hand. "What?" I ask without inflection, the ache in my breastbone for smoke and nicotine becoming more pronounced with each passing second.

        "Nothing," he replies and then grins. "Something. You and Liz. What's up with the two of you?"

        I remain perfectly calm and shrug. "I don't know. None of your business I guess. I mean, there's obviously something up your ass but I don't ask what it is, do I?"

        He laughs as if he can't help himself and looks at me strangely. "There's something about you, Buffy," he comments and flips a burger in the grill as it starts to blacken. "Something different."

        "You're one to talk," I respond, as my heart quickens. I wonder if aliens can sense a Slayer. The thought of that word makes my palms itch for wood, my body throb for the fight and the kill. The need to patrol gets fierce at night- but as long as Liz is with me, I can stave it off. "Speaking of something going on... are you ever going to return Maria's phone calls?"

        His eyes spin into blankness immediately and he replies with studied impatience; "You don't understand. It's not going to work. We can't be together."

        Something about the way he's talking sends me into a black rage before I can stop myself. "You think I don't understand?" I snap, hurling down the menus I'm holding, watching them ping off the floor and fall into a heap at his feet. He stares at them and then me, startled and non-plussed. "You think I don't understand what both of you are going through? Well, I do, and I have one bit of advice for you, Guerin. Get. Over. Yourself."

        Breathing out harshly, I blink back tears as I remember the feel of Angel's teeth splitting my lip and the taste of him right before he died. Turning away abruptly, I go outside into the ally and lean against the wall, trying to gulp down air, trying not to faint or run or do something stupid. I realize it's the first time in a long time I've allowed myself anger... allowed myself real emotion besides flippant disregard or lust.

        Someone hands me a lit cigarette, and I recognise Michael's dirty fingernails immediately. I take the tube of burning paper and drug, and as I inhale, I wonder if he was taught to wash his hands as a child. He is pulling on my arm, and I realize he's trying to hug me, awkwardly. I let myself be held by him, curving myself into his chest. He smells like grease and smoke and soap and boyish musk. His T-shirt is soft and cotton, and it reminds me of Angel in some way that I don't understand. With shaking fingers, he touches my hair and my back, slipping over the pronounced ridges of my spine.

        He doesn't talk at first, and for that I'm grateful. I can feel his chin resting on top of my head, digging into my scalp. After I take a few deep breaths, reluctantly I disentangle myself from his arms and he lets me go, leaning back against the wall, regarding me with something akin to fear in his eyes.

        I smoke and stare back at him. "I loved someone once," I finally say, letting the words fall into the spaces between us. "And it was everything. I had to... let it go. I wish I hadn't now... no matter what the consequences." I pause and take another deep drag, watching his face. "All I'm saying is that... you should hold onto things like what you and Maria have. There's nothing worse than being alone. I think you know that."

        He looks at me without saying anything for a bare moment, and then swipes a hand through the tousled fringes of his hair, causing it to stick up every which way. He swallows, his throat working as he says quietly, "Thanks—thanks for telling me that. Things are just... complicated, you know? I just think Maria deserves better than me."

        With a sad smile, I reach out and touch his arm. His skin feels the same as it always does. Sweaty yet cool. My thumb glides down his flesh and I feel a little dizzy. It's from remembering. Remembering someone else's skin. "She loves you," is all I remark softly, but I hope it'll be enough.

~~~

        I'm standing outside after that long shift from Hell, lighting a smoke and trying to get it into my mouth as quickly as possible, when I feel hands on my waist. Liz leans into my back and kisses the nape of my neck tenderly. "Hey," she whispers and I smile gently, feeling a rush of contentment as I smell her.

        "Want to do something?" she inquires and I raise my eyebrows.

        "Like what?"

        She laughs and taps my arm. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Buffy. I was thinking we could go swimming. It's so hot... I feel like I need to get away and I know about this lake out in the desert. Kyle fishes there sometimes. I already asked Maria if I could borrow the Jetta..."

        "Ok," I answer easily, and flick some ash to the ground, leaning into her for a quick moment. "I don't have a bathing suit though."

        She shakes her head. "Me neither."

        I smile and we get in the car, driving out onto the desert road, the dust swirling around the vehicle like a cloak of yellowish orange. It reminds me of a picture I saw of the Titanic once, in it's grave far down in the deep ocean. I used to look at pictures of it as a child- it fascinated me. That was before the days of demons and the Hellmouth. I loved the Titanic- and I'd curl up in my room with big glossy photo books of Robert Ballard's expeditions, staring down at the broken ship in her orange shroud. Sometimes I think the desert is a huge sea of sand- and that I'm going to drown out here.

        Liz holds my hand as she drives and I play with her fingers absently, twisting one of her rings around and around. Sweat drips down my skin, causing my shirt to stick to my back. It's so hot out here that I'm surprised I haven't started to choke. Gulping down some aqua from a warm bottle of water Maria obviously left in her car, I crane my neck and see the glint of water in the distance.

        Liz stops the car by the side of the road and after locking it, we walk up the hill and slide a little down the side, the sand burning the backs of my calves. I hurriedly remove my clothes, anxious to feel the soft water against my skin. Liz watches me, and I hold out my hand, taking off her clothes for her, because in some ways, she's still shy- shyer than me, that is.

        We slip beneath the rippling waters and it's cool, reedy and sandy. It feels wonderful and I sigh with pleasure, dipping my head under and letting it flow through my hair and down my face. My feet brush the bottom and I dive down, touching plant life and seeing fish swimming lazily away from us.

        Liz's legs tangle with mine and we hold each other, kissing softly and then harder, the water getting in our mouths. I slide my hand down her flat belly, between her thighs, and she moans, whimpering against my lips in a way that drives me crazy. Swimming to the side of the lake, we kiss and kiss and lie at the edge of the water, her hands running down my slick back and hips. I kiss her breasts and nipples, their dusky rose colour beaded with droplets of water, that I lick off as I slam my fingers deep inside her dripping center. She groans and her head lolls back as the water laps at our calves and I slide my tongue between her legs, smelling and tasting her, as my fingers move roughly, fast, hard and deep.

        When she comes around my tongue and my hand, she smiles shakily and kisses my lips, forcing me down into the wet sand, which makes a sucking noise against my back. It's greedy, just like her, and I feel so high as she makes my insides scream and my back arch. I cry afterwards, and she kisses the tears from my cheeks, holding me against her.

        "I think I love you," she whispers dreamily, as the sun beats down and dries our flesh. I turn over onto my belly and she curves a leg around my hip. She smells like sex- musky and sweaty and a bit like the cool water we just came from. I kiss her lips and shake my head.

        "You think?"

        She smiles, her teeth glistening in the light. "Can I ever really know? Isn't thinking I love you, enough?" Sadness suddenly pervades her face. "I can't trust myself anymore."

        "Yeah, me neither," I murmur and lift the weight of her hair off her neck, kissing the nape of it, like I wanted to that time I caught Max looking at me and I started to hate him. She leans into me, her sun-warmed skin hot against mine. She's so beautiful. Maybe I love her to. But I know... it's different than Angel. It's always going to be different.

        I think it's different for her to.

        She shifts onto her stomach to, and kisses my lips gently. She doesn't say anything, and she doesn't need to. I hear footsteps, and don't think about it for a moment. I don't connect it with Liz and I and this moment. And then I realize we're naked and wet and we smell of sex and I look up- into the eyes of...

        "Max... Michael..." Liz breaths out in a shocked rush and I close my eyes.

continue to part 2