(further details see part one)

Sand gets in my mouth as I press my face against the side of the hill, the burning grains pressing against my lips with blistering force. All I can see are Michael and Max's faces, their eyes shocked with sudden knowledge. Liz's arm brushes mine as she pulls on her clothes, and her skin is clammy and wet, cold. She doesn't feel hot anymore. It's as if the life has been sucked out of her. Again, I feel hatred for Max Evans well like bile in my throat.

        Standing up, brazenly naked, I watch Michael's gaze go wide with pure masculine appreciation as I don the cotton armour of my uniform and stretch my legs. Max shakes his head as if he's trying to comprehend what he's seeing. Then he wheels around drunkenly, his knees wobbling as he leaves, and Michael follows him, glancing at me uncertainly as he goes.

        Liz's eyes are wild and round, glassily staring at me as she rocks back and forth. For one sickening moment I remember with startling clarity the way Angel looked when I killed him. His glowing eyes. Those gasping breaths he took as if he were a fish caught on a hook. The gasps he always seemed to take when he was around me. As if his lungs were trying to take me in and couldn't. That whispered plea- "Buffy"...as if I could save him. I think he hadn't realized what I'd done. He thought someone else had run him through with the razor-edged sword- and maybe that was a blessing. But his voice- and his face—his beautiful Angel-ness that caught me in its web. It makes me press my fist to my face, biting my knuckles as I try not to sob. I miss him. And I hate myself for thinking I have the right to. When I was the one who sent him away. Who let him get sucked up like so much dust in the wind.

        Liz is making those gasping noises now as she tries to breathe, and I know them well. They are the sound of a drowning person and I've felt the bubbles crawling at my throat, known the rich yolk of the swollen river of pain, swirling through my lungs and mouth. Maybe it's the poison of loving someone when you know it's doomed.

        She turns to me, her eyelashes washed with tears and she stands, her knees wobbling. I glance at her, at this person I just made love to in the reedy water—and I don't recognise her. Her hair sticks to her cheeks as she rubs her arms and says in a thin voice, "So he knows now."

        I nod, agreeing with her. He knows, and it's bad, but I don't know what else I can say. "I'm sorry."

        That sounds inadequate. She laughs almost hysterically and picks up her bag, rustling through it, presumably for a kleenex. As her fingers twitch and tremble I can see her getting impatient and the bag tips, spilling the contents to the sand. Falling to her knees, she shakes as she picks everything up and I bend to help her. I smell her and she smells like water and sweat and sex and I reach out to touch her face.

        She shies away from me and backs up, stumbling. I stare and she giggles, fresh tears spurting from her betrayed eyes.

        "I think we need to take a step back," she says decidedly. "We need to stop. I can't deal with this right now. Not after..." she trails off and glazes over and I can almost see Max's hold sliding over her flesh, shackling her arms and legs and it doesn't make me resentful. How can I be when Angel's skin and mouth and beautiful voice make bombs go off in my head every night?

        "Ok," I answer blankly and she looks at me, surprised.

        We stand there for a few moments underneath the orange sun and I run a hand down my thigh. It hurts. It smells like her.

        "I'm tired," she finally murmurs, and begins to walk back to the car.

        "I'm tired too," I reply and follow.

~~~

        Maria and I have to take a package for Mr. Parker in Dexter the next day. As we drive along the dusty highway, I fiddle with my turquoise skirt and think of the night before, the first in a while I've spent alone. Everything ached, as if somehow my insides craved Liz. Maria's citrus oils fill the car and make my nostrils itch.

        She turns up the music and yells to me above the wind, "Get used to this. Liz's Dad makes us run errands constantly!"

        The mention of her name jolts me. I sit up straight and force a laugh. "Well, I don't mind. At least we get out of the kitchen. It's so hot today."

        She fans herself where sweat drips down her neck, staining the chest of her uniform. I powdered myself white this morning, but I'm still sticky. When we left the Crashdown, Liz was working but she didn't even glance at me. I could see she was trying not to cry and I made myself be glad- ha ha Lizzie, you're lonely to. I'm glad.

        But I wasn't. Maria turns down the radio dial with her slim fingers and brushes the blonde strands of her hair off her face. "Are you ok?" she inquires seriously and I nod absently.

        "I'm fine."

        She slants me a look. "Wow. Don't bounce off the walls. You're making me dizzy."

        I can't help but laugh. "No seriously, I'm ok. Just didn't get much sleep last night. What about you? Michael forgone his vow of silence yet?"

        She sighs and scans the open road with her pensive glare. "Nope. He's stubborn that way. He won't break... I can guarantee it. Even though I keep calling hoping he will."

        "Do you call him a lot?" I wince, thinking that I'd never want to be that kind of girl. I know I could be though. I think of what it would have been like if Angel broke up with me... if he had woken up beside me that morning and instead of turning evil, had just said... sorry Buffy, but you're not my kind of girl. If he'd taken his dark skies and his hot kisses and his addictive skin and left me in the bed when the sun hit the horizon... by his own free will and not some ancient curse... would I have been as able to cope? Would I have called him? Sweated for him in the night and wished for him to come in my mouth and inside me? Went over to his house and taken off my clothes and begged him for some kind of complete? I don't know... well, yes I do. But the answers underneath my skin scare me.

        "About twice a week," she admits, and looks embarrassed. I light a smoke, drawing the nicotine deep into my lungs and blood. She asks if she can have some of the cigarette and I let her slide her mouth around the burning tube. She looks a little like me, with her bruised eyes, sucking on the smoke as if it's going to fill the void. I keep hoping it will, but of course it never does.

        "Well that's not that bad," I decide and glance out the window at the blue blue sky. "I thought you meant like twice a day."

        She giggles and her thumbs flex on the steering wheel. "Right. Like he's worth that." But she breathes out in a choked rush and I know he is.

        "He loves you, you know," I offer uncertainly and she shrugs.

        "I know. I wouldn't be doing this if he didn't." She takes a swig of water and her throat works as she swallows. "I don't think love's the problem, you know? Maybe it's just that he's scared. He's like a little boy... he had problems growing up. Foster care," she explains briefly. "And then there's the whole alien thing. So he's got all this baggage and no room for me." Maria laughs harshly. "I guess I ask for too much room in his life."

        I don't know what to say. I know what it's like to love someone with shit in their past and a tortured soul. I know what it's like. And that's why I don't offer sympathy. I never wanted any. "Are you going to wait?" I ask and she gazes into the middle distance.

        "For him...? Yes. Probably. Probably forever. I'll always be waiting. But I'll move on. Cause I'm that type of girl." She smiles bitterly. "Lizzie on the other hand... she'll go to her grave loving Max. I don't think she'll ever truly move on."

        Biting my lip, I feel a bead of blood from the torn flesh and flick my tongue out, catching it. It tastes salty and I feel bile swell in my throat. I feel sick. Maria clutches my hand for a quick moment.

        "You understand, don't you?" she looks sad. "I can tell you left someone behind..." Hurriedly she adds, "Don't talk about it if you don't want to. I don't mind."

        I shake my head, angry at myself for being so stupid. I have to talk about him sometime. "He..." I pause and swallow, my breath thick. "I loved someone. But I had to... I had to leave him, you're right. So I get it. What you're going through with Michael. And I'm sorry. Pain is not a good. Especially that kind of pain."

        "Yeah," she whispers, and we drive.

~~~

        The kitchen smells of grease and hamburgers and I want to get out of here badly. I don't know why I agreed to work the grill with Michael today. Just because Mr. Parker said he's give me extra money because the other cook is sick and I've been made feeble-minded by the heat, obviously.

        I flip a burger and keep an eye on the fast frying onion rings, as Michael sneaks me looks almost as often as he does when Maria pops her head in to yell at us for being so slow. Liz doesn't even glance at me when she comes in. I notice the dark smudges underneath her eyes, and the way her wrists shake. I know I'm looking at her like Max looks at her and it makes me feel sick.

        "So..." Michael finally says and I brace myself for what I know is coming. "You and Liz."

        "Yep," I answer dismissively, even though I know it won't put him off. I hand Maria a container of fries and some hot dogs as I turn back to the grill and throw another few on. "Pass me the seasoning."

        He does, and then mutters, "Max is upset."

        "I can imagine," I reply, and don't feel even a pang of sympathy. Isabel is in the restaurant today, in all her regal beauty. She sits with Alex and they talk. I can see them through the window to the dining area. He looks up at her with serious adoration on his face, but all I see on hers is fear. She's so terrified, it's coming off her in waves. A frightened animal who wants to run. I wonder if anyone else senses it, or it's just me. Whenever she catches me staring I don't look away. She does first, and it gives me some satisfaction, because I still feel like a predator of some kind.

        "I never thought Liz was much good for him," Michael continues and I look at him impatiently. He blathers on, unconcerned. "But it's better when he's all lovey-dovey than when he's like this. He's mad."

        He pauses and flips a burger in the fat. Some of it splatters down his apron and it looks like it burns, but he doesn't seem to feel it. He says, "Liz is totally disloyal."

        "Oh give me a fucking break," I snap and push him out of the way as I grab a coke and gulp some down, wiping my forehead. "Liz is just..." saying her name sends a wave of loneliness through me, and I falter a little, "she's just sad. We're just sad. And we... we care about each other. Is that so wrong?"

        He shrugs. "I guess not. But it's like... Liz pledges her undying love for Max and then—"

        "Like you pledged your's to Maria?" I remind him, spitting out the words like venom. "You had no choice, or so you say. You had to leave her. Well so did Liz. She had to leave Max. But she found me. And you could find someone else too—"

        He grabs my arm and it thrills me because it feels like we're in a fight and my bones itch for the kill. The thought worries me for a second as Michael hisses; "I love her. I don't want anyone else. Liz should..." he breaks off and lets me go, looking at the newly formed bruises on my forearm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to grab you like that."

        "S'ok," I brush it off, seeing true fear in his eyes at his actions. He's scared of violence. I know he killed someone... and for a moment I wonder about the past Maria spoke so briefly about... the bad childhood. "I understand Max is your family and you feel loyalty to him. And I get that he's upset. But Lizzie told me he has a destiny... so it's almost the same. He's got someone else, to."

        "Not really," Michael answers. "Tess isn't like the other woman. She's... she's different. She's his past. Max is romantic..." he looks as if the idea is foreign to him. "He thought Liz was his one true love... and he hates when something disrupts that idea."

        "Yeah," I reply and almost laugh. I know how Max feels. It sucks when something comes along and messes everything up. Like sex, and velvet covers, and whispers and moans in the night. And Angelus. And Acathla. And swords, and my insane need to save the world. Feeling like I'm going to throw up, I lay a hand on his arm and soothe him with my fingers. "I'm sorry for always attacking you about Maria. I guess... I guess I just want you both to be happier than you are."

        He touches my fingers just once, and quickly. Affection terrifies him too. "Don't worry about it."

~~~

        The moon shines as I climb onto Liz's balcony and she sees me, sitting up from where she's been lying on the lounger, her slim body tensing. "Hey," she bites off and closes her diary.

        I don't apologise for disturbing her. She's happy to see me, anyway, I can tell just by looking at her. "Writing?" I question and she shakes her head, the fall of her shining hair swinging over her shoulders.

        "No. Can't seem to tonight," she murmurs and I sit down on the chair, wringing my hands.

        "I'm the Slayer," I blurt out without even thinking, even though it's been at the back of my mind the whole way over. Telling her. Telling her everything.

        She just stares at me. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

        "No." I breathe out, and lean forward. "It's... it's this girl. One girl in all the world. Who fights vampires. That's me. It's a big secret, no one knows about it. Except my friends and I and my Watcher. That's the English guy who helps me and guides me. Except mine is more like my father. And..." I feel the tears running down my face as I ramble and Liz continues to look at me as if I've lost my mind. "I know it sounds crazy. And you're thinking that you didn't know vampires exist. But hey... aliens exist. I never knew that. I ran away from home after... after something bad happened. And no one knows where I've gone. God, they're probably all furious with me... but—"

        She holds up her hand and presses another to her stomach, her eyes wide. "I..." she pauses and takes a shuddering breath. "Slayer? The Slayer? Vampires? Buffy..."

        "I know... you're telling yourself it can't possibly be true. But..." I think of some way to convince her and then see the iron table leg in front of me. Picking it up, I use my strength and bend it almost in half. Liz gapes in shock as I right it again, my muscles barely feeling the effort. "Slayer strength," I explain. "Comes with the package."

        "Oh God..." she moans and rocks forward. "This is too weird... how come you never told me?"

        " I didn't..." I falter helplessly and touch her cheek. "I just wanted to be normal. I wanted to forget."

        With unsteady hands, she draws me forward, into her arms, and I kiss her lips, our teeth bumping as our mouths mesh and our tears mingle. She's sweaty. I whisper that I think I love her and she murmurs that she loves me too, and I ask her if it's still over and she laughs and says that she missed me.

        Afterwards we lie together underneath the thin blanket, gazing at the stars. I think of Angel, and how far I've come to get away from him. I can barely remember what it's like to hold him close anymore. He drifted through my life, like a ghost with a gun... blowing away all the cobwebs and dreams and false hopes.

        I watch the stars now, and all I can see is his face. I can't have run very far.

I sit at the counter of the Crashdown, slowly sipping an Alien Blast. The air conditioner is broken again, and sweat drips down my neck with insatiable fingers, crawling down my back and pooling in the hollow at the base of my spine. It occurs to me that I'm getting too thin- Liz told me so the other night while she traced my belly with her thumb. She said I was bony and that if I didn't stop smoking I was probably going to get cancer. I just kissed her and said I was glad she worried about me.

        Reading my way through a Stephen King book I picked up in one of those big bins at the grocery store, I watch Michael working in the kitchen. He looks particularly pissed today and I wonder why. I see him glancing at Maria, and then I realize why he's angry. Most of the top buttons of her uniform are unfastened, and everytime she moves, there's a flash of creamy smooth flesh. Giggling to myself, satisfied that he's feeling sexual frustration- since he deserves it for being such a stubborn bastard.

        I feel a hand brush my back and turn slightly, seeing Liz behind me. She bends close and I smell her, breathing in deep and smiling. She grins softly and whispers, "Wait for me until after my shift?"

        "Ok," I reply and wish I could kiss her. For one brief second- I'm sure no one catches it- she presses her cheek to mine, and then walks off in the direction of the kitchen. I duck my head and continue to work on my icy drink.

        It's been a week since I told her I was a Slayer, and although I still don't think she fully understands, she hasn't been as weirded out by it as I feared she would be. Sometimes she laughs and asks me why she only attracts supernatural creatures. I tell her I don't know, and that I resent being compared to Max. That makes her giggle helplessly- even though she always looks guilty as she does it. At night when I smoke and she curls up against my legs and arms like a blanket, she tells me about when she and Maria were kids and innocent, and they used to have crushes on Kyle Valenti. She speaks of Isabel- who was the original Ice Queen, and Michael, who only had sneers and snide glances for them... and Max, who was silent and still and watchful. She tells me that he intrigued her- his fascination with her pulled her in. When Liz says that she always looks ashamed, and she flushes, as if she knows it's selfish- but can't help herself. I just smile and drag deeply on the cigarette, watching the tip glow brightly against the desert sky. Then she pulls me down into the sweat-soaked sheets and kisses me, and she tastes like ashes and dust and sugar.

        My stomach hurts, and I touch it unconsciously as I read.

        "Hello."

        Groaning inwardly, I set the novel down and look at Isabel, who sits down beside me, her hair falling over her perfectly curved cheek for a moment. She's so beautiful it's silly. She wears a black dress, simple and expensive and she glances at me as she orders a diet coke from Maria, who looks at me sympathetically.

        "Hi," I finally respond and wonder if ignoring her would do any good.

        "So..." she pauses for a second and taps a lacquered nail against her white teeth. "You and Liz."

        Oh jeez, does everyone know? "That's right," I answer shortly, and she looks surprised, smiling coldly.

        "Does she even care what she's done to Max?" she asks me and I shrug.

        "Why don't you ask her?"

        "I'm asking you," Isabel counters and I sigh, taking another gulp of my Alien Blast.

        "I don't know. Does he care what he's done to her?"

        Again she appears surprised and blinks. "What did he do to her?"

        "Started playing house with Tess," I snap and cock my head. "Just out of curiosity, do you intend to do the same with Michael?"

        She flushes and then tries to slide the haughty mask into place. "That's none of your business."

        "Fine," I respond, not caring anyway, since I know she has no interest in Michael that way. Every time I see them talking, they always look like brother and sister, comfortable, sedate. None of the hungry passion that shines in his eyes when he catches sight of Maria's undone top, or the glint of her hair. I wonder if Isabel has anyone who makes her sweat like that- if she has anyone who makes her insides clench.

        She shifts on the stool and leans into me threateningly. "I don't like when my brother is hurt."

        For a moment my palms and feet literally itch to kick her ass clear out the window. "That's nice," I say blandly. "But I forget- what's the part where I'm supposed to care?"

        Her face flushes with anger and her fingers grip the glass of coke. I almost expect to see little sparks shooting from them any moment. It's fascinating, sitting next to a being that I know doesn't come from here. Then she sort of crumples and sighs, her lips forming a pout of consternation.

        "I don't understand Max and Liz," she admits wearily. "I just don't get the soulmate thing. And I don't want to," she bites off decidedly. "But when he gets hurt... I get mad. And Liz isn't my favourite person, so it's... it's hard for me not to automatically blame her."

        "Why don't you like Liz?" I inquire and she lifts her shoulders in a gesture of dismissal.

        "Why are some people annoying?" she answers, and shrugs again. "I just don't."

        "Wow. Are your pants ever on fire," I smile and swallow some more of my drink, crunching on the rapidly melting ice. Her startled cat eyes lock on me and she laughs grudgingly.

        "Fine. I don't like her because... because she took Max from me. Basic kindergarten principle."

        "I see," I reply and think that I'd be happy for someone to take Max. Far far away.

        We sit in silence for a few moments, and I drift a little, closing my eyes because it's so hot and remembering how slick Angel's skin would get when we'd train, and he'd look shiny and new. He glowed, like marble, his pale skin milky against mine. I recall the time he called me and then got embarrassed and mumbled a few things, and afterwards, when I asked him about it, he said he had never gotten used to the phone. His face was so red when he said that, and I'd taken pity on him, kissing his lips and holding him close until I felt him relax.

        Leaning on my hand, I sip my drink and ignore the burn of tears in the back of my throat. Isabel's hand trembles when she taps it against the counter absently, and I wonder what brought me to Roswell, of all places. I realize that she and I are sisters beneath the skin- both frightened, and alone. Sometimes if I glance at her in the right light, she looks like an animal that has been cornered, and is sweating blood-hot terror. I know what it's like to feel that kind of afraid, where you don't know if someone is going to divulge who you are; if they're going to freak out and rake you with their eyes as if you're some kind of monster.

        We're all just aliens, anyway. Tired suddenly, I brush her arm with my fingers gently. "I'm sorry that we hurt Max," I say and don't really mean it. I'm sorry I hurt her... but not sorry about Max. I wish I could be, I have a feeling it might make people here feel better. "We didn't mean to. We're just lonely."

        She nods and smiles curtly. "I don't need an apology. He gets himself into these things anyway. He should have stayed away from her."

        "It can be hard," I utter quietly. "People that you love are hard to stay away from." I know that; I know that so well. Nothing in me wants to defend Max, but I feel I have to, because I think Isabel really doesn't understand. All she wants to do is protect her family, and I can appreciate that, but she's never experienced all consuming burning love... never been so swollen with it that she thinks she's going to implode and spray everyone with blood. So she can't comprehend, and it's not her fault. It's not anyone's fault.

        She glances at me and takes a long drink of her diet coke, her feet shaking with bottled energy. "You sound like him," she informs me almost accusingly. "Like Max. Don't feel bad though. I think everyone here has a little of him. I guess you got the biggest part though."

        She stands up and I turn to her, asking, "And what would that be?"

        "Liz," she smiles bitterly, and leaves, her perfume hanging in the air, heavy and cloying. I take a deep breath and look over at my lover, imagining her for one sickening moment as one of Max's limbs, or his torso- Liz growing out of his chest, just one piece of Max Evans. No. I refuse to think that way. She's Liz. She's not him.

        Getting up, I stretch a little and wipe the thin film of sweat from the back of my neck. My chest stings, and I walk through the kitchen, into the back ally to light a cigarette. It occurs to me that I haven't been able to quit like I thought I would. But it doesn't really matter. Taking a long deep drag of the smoke, I breathe and lean back, watching it curl into the sky like grey tentacles. Angel would hate this, I think and the thought hurts. I know he smoked as Angelus... and it would have wounded him to see me doing something from his blood stained past. He hated to be reminded of it. Hell, he hated to be reminded of a lot of things.

        Sliding down the brick, I balance on the balls of my feet and rest my chin against my knees. I try and picture what Willow and Xander and Giles are doing right now. I wonder if they're looking for me, and the idea would send me into a panic if I didn't know it would never ever occur to them to look here. My eyes shut as images flash before them of the library and the school, of my room and my bed, of the covers, of the way they felt beneath my cheek every morning before I woke up. Of his apartment, the way the lights were so dim in there, and the rain thrummed against the roof as he came inside me and pressed me deep into the cocoon of the sheets. Of the way I moaned against his shoulder and he whispered my name with such love that I can still recall it even now.

        Tears stream down my face and I swipe my palms over my cheeks angrily, hating the way I weep over him, as if I have the right to. As if I didn't send him straight to Hell with a kiss and a "so long, sweetheart".

        The door opens and Michael comes out. I don't look up, but I recognize the boots. He sort of grunts a Hello, and I know he must be exhausted from working the stove all day. I hear the snap and the bubbles as he cracks open a can of coke and I accept when he offers me a swallow. My belly fizzes with Alien Blasts and ashes and cola, and it makes strange noises that I ignore.

        "What are you doing here?" he asks. "Are you working tonight?"

        "No," I respond. "I'm waiting for Liz."

        He doesn't reply to that, just nods. I know he does, even though I can't see him. I know his Michael ways by now.

        "I saw Izzy talking to you," he informs me and I stand, my knees cracking.

        "I'm sure everyone did," I answer casually. "So what?"

        "Did she upset you?" he wants to know, and gleans my face for the answers he understands I'll never give him.

        "Nothing upsets me," I reply. "Not really."

        "Yeah," he says, appearing frustrated. "I get that. And I wonder about that. You're different, Buffy."

        "I know," I laugh and touch his cheek. He almost jerks away from me but then stays still, his eyes questioning. "So are you. And that's why I care about you. Take care of yourself, Michael. Please?"

        His expression softens. "I always take care of myself."

        "I'm not sure you do," I take another drag of my smoke, and he grabs it from my mouth, crushing it beneath his boot.

        "I could say the same for you," he challenges and I giggle, a little pissed about the wasted cigarette, but too happy for a split second to really care. He smiles crookedly, and looks embarrassed.

        "I shouldn't have done that. Sorry."

        "Don't worry about it." I dismiss it with a wave of my fingers and lean back. "I should stop smoking anyway. Apparently they'll kill you."

        He raises an eyebrow. "I got the impression that was your aim."

        My chest squeezes down on my ribs and I swallow, my throat aching. I want to cry so much. Fall into his arms and weep against his worn T-shirt.. For a blinding wrinkle in time, I think that I'm going to run, scream, run, run, run... until Roswell is just a pinprick in the distance, and no one knows me again. I don't like the way he's getting beneath my surfaces. I suppose it was inevitable. But I hate it. I don't want to love him like he was my brother. Like he was a friend. I care about him, but I don't want to.

        "Where would you get that idea?" I inquire hollowly, and he shrugs, his shoulders moving beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.

        "The way you smoke," he says calmly. "Like you're hoping they'll make you forget." He hastens to explain; "Not like I haven't had that feeling. I get that you want out of here. That you want off this rock. So do I."

        Nodding, I lean back and feel the hot rush of air against my face from the wind coming off the desert roads. He checks his watch and winks. "Break's over. I'll see you later."

        "Bye," I whisper and think, no you won't, Michael. No you won't.

        "Thinking hard?"

        I look up and Maria's eyes shine back at me. She laughs and hugs me, and I press my face into her shoulder. I'm so tired. My bones hurt so much. Sometimes its too much pain to even be alive.

        "Just trying to breathe out here," I tell her thinly. "It's so hot."

        "I know," she commiserates. "Once school starts it begins to get a little better though. And it's sort of cool around Christmas."

        "That'll be good," I murmur, and feel a stab of guilt at deceiving her. But it's for the best, I know. They wouldn't understand why I have to leave. Why I know suddenly that I have to get out of here. I'm starting to love them all... and Liz most of all. That can't happen. I promised myself that I wouldn't get attached, no matter where I went. And it's all gone to Hell. Along with Angel.

        We stand there for minutes, as she gulps down a coke and moans about her aching knees. I listen to her and want to cry. When she goes inside, she pecks my cheek and smoothes my hair. When she disappears behind the doors, I really do weep, falling to my knees and wishing that I could rip my heart from my chest and leave it on the dirt to die. Then maybe I wouldn't feel anything. Then maybe I could have fed Angel to Acathla and gone off to school with no regrets.

        I wait outside, and Liz comes out when the moon washes the sky. She smiles at me and kisses my lips with hungry absorption. "I hate work," she whispers. "It keeps me away from you."

        "Well then I hate work to," I laugh, caught up, as I always am, in being with her. Her hair glistens in the night, and I run my fingers through its silkiness as she curves her face into my neck, her tongue sliding down to my heart.

        We fall back against the brick and she runs her hands down my nipples, to my belly, her fingers inside me before I can catch my breath, and I gasp, feeling my insides clench around her. She smiles against my mouth and grinds her palm against me, my hips jerking into hers.

        "Liz..." I murmur into her hair, my eyes gazing blearily at the stars which all melt together into yellows and golds as she makes me come and everything blends together in a shower of light. Breathing heavily, I press her back into the wall of the ally, going down on my knees and sticking my head up her skirt. I smell her wetness through the silk of her underwear and press my face between her legs. She moans and I grip her knees, forcing then apart as I shove down her panties and slide my tongue inside her.

        All I can hear is her harsh breathing as she moves against my lips and fingers and I taste her for the last time, weeping salty tears that I know she must feel. Afterwards, she presses her mouth to mine and murmurs, "I love you."

        "I know," I whisper back, and she smiles shakily, climbing the ladder to her room.

        ~~~

        As I walk back to the hotel, I cut through the cemetary, the greedy grass squishing beneath my feet. Suddenly I smell it. A vampire. To my right. My mind whirls with pleasure as I realize I'll be able to fight tonight, and it feels so good my hands shake. Spinning stealthily, I see it through the trees, and approach, my steps purposeful. I feel as if I'm back in Sunnydale again.

        Breaking off a tree branch, I call quietly, "I'm really not in the mood for a game tonight. Just come out and we'll have a real fight, okay?"

        Off to my left I hear a snarl and then I feel it brush my back and the fight is on. I don't see anything, except a swirl of black and grey and milky pale. Kicking, punching, somersaulting, I slip back into my old skin as if I'd never left it, and the thought is exhilirating.

        As we fight, I catch little flashes of lightening. He moves like him. It angers me to no end that this random creature could remind me of my long lost lover. But they remain; these little flashes of Angel brightness that blind me. All I can breathe, think, move; is kill, kill, kill.

        We roll, on the dewy grass, over and over, and then we come to an abrupt stop. Him on top. I feel no alarm. I could dislodge him in a second. And then the moonlight shines over his face and my heart squeezes and shatters and I hear a roar in my ears but it's so far away.

        It's the demon I already killed. From beyond the grave.

        It's him, just him.

        It's Angel.

There's no hope in you for me
No corner you could squeeze me
But I got all the time for you, love
The space between
The wicked lies we tell

        - "The Space Between" - Dave Matthews Band

        We stare at each other for breathless moments. His eyes are unblinking, and I see myself in them, the dark orbs, my terrified mouth and sharp teeth. Or is that him? Everything is blurry. I wonder then if it is Angelus who returned, or my love. Is the monster going to sink his fangs into my throat, drink the butter soft blood- or is Angel going to slide his lips over mine and weep?

        I wonder also... which one would I welcome more?

        He rolls away, and I can't see his face. My chest squeezes. "Angel?" I choke on the word. I haven't said it in so long, and wanted to... every day. Tears burn deep in my eyes, soaking my lashes with salt. "Angel?"

        He stands up, and holds out his hand to me. I glean him for answers, for blood... or a smile, or a smirk. Something to tell me who he is, and what he wants, and why he's back from Hell... from where I sent him with my careful hands. "Buffy," he says quietly, and takes my fallen fingers in his, pulling me up. "It's me."

        "I know it's you," I snap hurriedly, angrily, my cheeks running with tears that feel like fire. They sting and I press a palm to the side of my face, suddenly tasting Liz on my tongue. Oh God... Oh God... Liz...

        I think of Liz, and her shiny hair and the soft insides of her thighs that I licked just a few minutes ago, and want to scream. I can feel her come, as if it is still on my lips, dripping down behind her knees, running over my chin. I feel it and my belly aches, sick hunger swelling in my throat. How can I do this? How can I leave her? I know that's what he expects... I know that's what he'll want. He'll call Giles, and my Mother and everyone, and they'll beg me to come back... but to what?

        I stare at him, sweat bubbling in my belly button, fierce and hot. "How long have you been back?"

        "A week," he answers coolly. "I've spent it looking for you."

        It sounds as if we're discussing the latest pleasure cruise he's taken, and I feel hysterical giggles pushing their way up my tongue, to my lips.

        "There's a scar, you know," he says suddenly, and my head snaps up.

        "What?"

        "There's a scar." He brushes the flat panes of his ribs with his hands and smiles slightly, sickly. "I usually heal right away... but that one stuck with me. Even for hundreds of years."

        Hundreds of years. I sent him to a place for an eternity of torture. Vomit stings my lips and I turn, falling to my knees as I hold my stomach and retch, my insides coming up in a fury of sorrow and misery. Blood seeps from my torn throat, spurting past my teeth, down my neck. Wailing, I tug my hair back and run at him with my fists. "I hate you!" I scream. "God I hate you so--- so much! You ruined my life... and I love you, and it hurts... I never wanted this..." Dropping down in front of him, I grip the front of his shirt loosely with my shaking fingers and sob into the grass and dirt.

        I know he's weeping too, but for what I don't know. At finding his lover such a mess on his return? Because his girlfriend was the one who aimed the sword into his bowels and fed him to a monster? Maybe he just knows what we've lost. He doesn't touch me, his arms hang loose at his sides, and even as I grasp bunches of his shirt, I know he's gone away. He's not mine anymore. The thought is panicking. "Angel... Angel..." I whisper desperately, standing and running my hands over his face and neck and back, trying to remember him. Remember the feel of him.

        "Buffy..." he groans and yanks me against his chest, his eyes startling in the night. They reflect the branches of the trees behind us. "Stop it. Stop it..."

        "I can't," I moan brokenly, and pull away, my tear swollen gaze upturned to his. "Don't you see that about me? I can't stop... I can't stop loving you. I can't stop hating you. And I can't stop running away. I have to stay here. You don't understand."

        "You found someone," he says without any inflection.

        I want to deny it. I don't know what he's talking about. Someone? Dimly I glance at the sky and see the moon blinking at me.

        Liz...

        I love you

        I know

        "Is that even important anymore?" I ask finally, the hot sick feeling in my stomach not going away.

        He looks at me and he's beautiful. "Probably not," he admits, and holds out his hand. "Are you going to come back with me? Everyone misses you."

        "Do they understand why I left?" I ask, my throat hurting. Space yawns between us and I can't find a way out of it. I don't know what to think. Here he is... my love. My sweet, sweet Angel. Who has bitten me every night in my dreams, who I have killed over and over again- whose blood I have felt sprayed over my face. Can I bring him from the nightmares into real life?

        His teeth tug at his lower lip and he seems worried and confused. I immediately want to comfort him and feel like screaming. How can he be doing this to me again? Then I realize there is no again. There is simply an always. He's an always. I wish I could escape. I should have taken a different way home.

        "I don't know," he finally answers, honestly. "I just think they miss you, Buffy. They want you to come home. Your mother especially."

        "She kicked me out," I say without inflection, and my breastbone beats out an angry plea for a cigarette. He doesn't know I smoke. Oddly, I wish he did- simply because I know it would make him furious.

        He looks startled. "I didn't know that. But... I still think you should come back."

        "To be with you again?" I ask, knowing what the answer to that is. He appears miserable, and his eyes are huge against the bleak milk of his face. I hate him so much and love him so much that I think it's going to go to Hell again. Nothing good can come from this. When I was a child I imagined love as sweet and light- like a chocolate chip cookie, or something equally without meaning. Maybe my feelings for him should have been left in Pandora's Box. Maybe when he kissed me and showed his fangs I should have shown him the door and never looked back. Maybe I never should have opened up my skin and let him crawl inside.

        Maybe I should have done a lot of things. It doesn't matter now. My fingers itch for a smoke as he glances at me.

        "I think we can't go back," he replies to my question. "We can't go back to when things were... simpler. But you can go home, and try and make... something out of what's left, right?"

        I think of Liz, then... think of her sitting on her balcony, writing in her diary. Think of her eyes and her skin, or her smile and her anger and her musings. Of the way she tastes. I want to cry- because I know that it's over. It's over because Angel's here- and it shouldn't be that final, it shouldn't be that easy, but maybe it is.

        "I'm tired," I say, rubbing my blurry eyes. He shifts in and out of focus.

        "I'll walk you back to your place," he responds, not touching me. His palm is so close to mine that I think I can almost feel it on my skin. The burning coolness of it- the faint roughness of his flesh- I can imagine I feel it. Sliding against mine, curving over the swell of my breast, the peak of my nipple. I hate this. These impossible fantasies. I thought I'd gotten over them- well I lied to myself just enough that I almost believed I'd gotten over them. Gotten over that night- the one night that we had. A single breath of skin and sweat and rain and blood and come that was supposed to last me forever, I guess. I wish I'd known- I would drawn it out, I would have held him so close, so tightly, that his soul would never have gotten free. My arms should have been enough to contain it right? If I squeezed had him hard enough- made him stay inside me, made him *mine*?

        I don't know. I have a vague idea that he's making me dizzy all over again, but I ignore my thoughts.

        I let him walk me back to my hotel room. I don't let him come inside.

~~~

        The kitchen at the Crashdown is almost unbearably hot. Sweat and dirt coalesce on my forehead and the back of my neck, making my uniform stick to my skin in wet patches. Michael works the fryer with a kind of stoic misery that reminds me of Xander in some unfathomable way that I don't want to dwell upon. It would have made me giggle one day, but now it just stirs sympathy in my breast, and I spend half my shift handing him bottles of water- most of which he pours in heavy splashes over his face and neck, trying to alleviate the heat.

        I barely look at Liz, who doesn't notice, because Max is here, and when he's around- usually he consumes her moments. I suppose I can understand that, although that doesn't mean I don't feel the bite of jealousy every time he glances at her with those puppy eyes and makes her frightened. It's sick that I envy him that power- but I do. He has a power over her that I think I never will. But I know I have her body- and that can be enough. If I let it.

        "You all right?" Michael asks, but it's more of a grumble.

        "Why?" I respond, a little startled.

        "I don't know," he answers, looking irritated. "You look sad. Hence my asking if you're all right. Pass the seasoning."

        "Fine." I pass him the spice, and watch as he pours it liberally over some onion rings. I place my hands on my ribs and suddenly can't remember when I ate last. My belly doesn't even growl at the thought, which scares me. "I don't remember—" I break off and he spares me a glance, his eyes squinting. He is sweating profusely.

        "You don't remember what?"

        "I don't remember when I ate last," I inform him in a cool tone.

        "Probably because you couldn't fit any food past those cancer sticks," he says blithely, and wipes his forehead. "Are you going to take these fries out? Or can Liz do it?"

        Liz...

        I love her name. It makes me feel warm inside. And sad too. Cause I know warm feelings aren't enough. Loving her name isn't going to be enough to keep me in this town.

        "Or Maria could. Where is she anyway?"

        "On her break," he snaps grumpily. "She's been out there for a while."

        "Why don't you go get her then, you little wuss?" I snap back, tired of his incessant denial of feelings for Maria. "Look, Michael. I'll make this easy for you. Maria- you love her. It's fine. It happens everyday. People fall for each other. Just get over the issues and go out there and kiss her and make me happy, cause God, I can't stand listening to your surliness for one more second. If I have to, I'll probably kick your ass. And I mean that."

        He stares at me for a moment and then smiles. His teeth are faintly pointy. He should be a vampire, I think. With that sulky mouth and those eyes he'd be able to get legions of willing females (and some males as well) to follow him through the path to darkness. I wonder if that's how Angelus got his pleasure. If he made his victims believe that blood was the answer- that that final drink was going to be what made them happy. Or if he was just so beautiful that they were content to give him their necks and their veins- if he'd only give them a little kiss.

        I remember a time when I was helpless, on my knees, for one taste of him.

        It occurs to me that I still am.

        "You're going to kick my ass?" he repeats my words back in a mocking tone, looking me up and down.

        "Damn right," I tease. "I'm going to go get 'Ria. You get back to work. Or unsatisfied customers will follow."

        Opening the door to the alleyway, I see Maria leaning back against the wall, her eyes closed. She is holding a bottle of green liquid- which I guess is one of her herbal drinks and she looks better than usual. Under her eyes are clear- there are no purple Michael smudges. That makes me happy, and I touch her arm gently.

        "Hey Buffy," she smiles, and opens her eyes, blinking at me. "Is it getting too busy for me to enjoy this peace?"

        Laughing, I nod sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry babe. We need you badly. It's all chaotic and I think Michael is getting sort of girly and scared. Customers are shouting at him."

        Maria giggles and I'm glad. She nods. "Well this is something I need to see. Michael humiliation is definitely what dreams are made of. Although usually in my dreams I'm the one doing it."

        "Oh really?" I raise my eyebrows. "Sounds suspiciously kinky to me."

        "Oh yeah it is. Involves a lot of "I'm sorry's" and "I'm not fit to kiss the ground you walk on's", and then it gets all NC 17 when the whips and leather come out, so it's probably not something you want to listen to before 10am."

        I laugh and loop my arm through hers. "I think Michael wouldn't mind hearing that, though."

        Hurt shadows her eyes. "Hmm... I don't think so. I think he wants to be wherever I'm not, so telling stories about bondage and apologies might not be a good thing."

        "Come on," I tug her hair, "bondage is *always* a good."

        She leans her head on my shoulder, smiling slightly. "Yeah, it is. But I don't think he'd be too into that right now. Besides, if I tied him up, I might give into temptation and kill him. Wouldn't be good. At least, not from some people's point of view." She grins, and then her lower lip wobbles. "He still won't return my phone calls. I wish he'd just talk to me, you know?"

        "I know," I commiserate. "Let's just stay out here for a while longer. We'll let him stew."

        She laughs quietly. "Thanks."

~~~

        Standing outside after work, I wonder what to do. Look for Angel? Look for Liz? Escape with Maria? Have a smoke? The cigarettes win out as I'm reminded I haven't had one all day. My hands shake slightly as I light the tube of burning paper, and lift it to my lips.

        "Hey," a soft voice whispers from behind me, and I lean back into the arms I know are waiting.

        "Hey Lizzie."

        She kisses the side of my neck. Just once, but it makes me feel sick. Angel, I think. What would he think if he saw us now? Would he leave me alone forever... would he disappear into the earth and never come looking for me again? I don't know. I don't know if I want to know.

        "Do you want to grab some dinner?" she asks. "We could rent some movies, get Chinese, you know."

        "I hate Chinese," I remind her and she laughs, a loving sound in my ear.

        "I know. But I love it. You can have some spring rolls and ice cream. Besides, you never eat, baby."

        I think I love her. I know I love her. "Ok," I agree, and turn, kissing her full on the lips, feeling her nipples through the thin cotton of her uniform. She whimpers a little into my mouth, wriggling against me. "Sounds good. My place?"

        She nods, and presses me back into the knotty brick of the ally where we first met. Where I got shot. Where I tasted her last night. She wants me. I can smell it. "Liz," I murmur. "Can we go eat? It's getting dark."

        Monsters are coming out.

        "Sure," she replies easily, and squeezes my fingers. "Let's go."

~~~

        We eat in the quiet darkness of my hotel room. She snacks on bean curd, rice and sesame noodles. I eat cool ice cream and smoke, curled up on the wrinkled sheets of my bed, which I had no time to make this morning. Every so often, she makes a comment about the movie we're watching- some horror film where all the blonde girls get killed, and all the girls like Liz survive. They usually make me laugh, but tonight I feel anything but amused. When she stretches to get the remote, the material of her shirt outlines her small breasts and I feel such an overwhelming surge of desire for her that it catches me unawares.

        Leaning over, I kiss her, and she responds eagerly. I wonder dimly if it's each other we want. Or if I'm still feeling the effects of last night with my old lover and if she's still thinking about the way Max was looking at her in the Crashdown today. It doesn't matter. I lower her down and we take off our clothes. She touches me and I see her eyes glowing in the wash of the moon.

        Her teeth sting my nipples, and her fingers are hot and invading between my legs. The sick feeling in my belly is back, and as I slide my tongue inside her, I swallow, and feel her come wetting my lips. It's sweet, and bitter, like her. I love her. I don't want to, but I do.

        She cries out, just once, and I wonder if Angel heard it. I know he is close- I can feel him as if he is still beneath my skin- and I imagine what he is feeling right now. Rage, and hurt, and burning lust and love... and sorrow. I know he didn't expect to find me this way when he returned. A mess. A fucking mess. What did he expect though, I wonder? A shiny happy life... a girl who doesn't see ghosts each night in her nightmares?

        I don't know. I feel tired.

        Liz holds onto my arm with hers as she falls into a drowsy sleep. I stay awake, and stare at the ceiling.

        The door creaks open. I left it unlocked- deliberately or not, I'm not sure. Angel's face is a shadow. He's not looking at me- at us, but I feel his pain, and it makes tears spring to my already salty eyes.

        "I'm sorry," I finally whisper.

        "For what?" he rasps. "I died."

        "I killed you," I remind him.

        "No you didn't," he corrects me gently. "I killed myself- a long time ago, Buffy."

        I can't answer that. "I'm sorry for Liz," I say helplessly. "I wish I could say I stayed faithful to you."

        He laughs harshly. "It doesn't matter now. I don't want you to be lonely. I never wanted that. I just want—" he breaks off, and sighs, the sound full of misery.

        "What do you want, Angel?"

        He shakes his head, a slight movement in the stillness of the room. "Nothing. I don't want anything. Just you."

        My breath hitches. "And if I said I wasn't yours anymore?"

        "Then you'd be lying, wouldn't you?" he says softly.

        "Yes," I admit and Liz begins to stir. "You'd better go."

        "All right," he breathes out and then, almost like a dream, I feel his palm brush my cheek. "Goodnight, Buffy."

        "Goodnight, Angel," I murmur, and the door closes.

You cannot quit me so quickly
There's no hope in you, for me
No corner you could squeeze me
But I got all the time for you, love

        - Dave Matthews Band "The Space Between"

        The walk to Liz's is sweaty and hot. Perspiration makes my back and neck slick to the touch, and as I stroll down the quiet roads of Roswell, I glance up at the moon and wonder if Angel's looking at it to. He didn't come back the other night, and I watched Liz sleep for a long time, her hand on the nakedness of my belly. Her skin was glowing in the faint wash of night, and she looked sweet. Beautiful. Tears ran down my nose and cheeks and I shifted on the sheets, feeling her flesh sliding against mine. For a long time I curled up next to her and stared into the closed lids of her eyes, gazed at the lines of her shoulders, memorised the sleekness of her collarbone. I rested my hand in the place I loved- where her lower back curves inward. And I wept. I'm not sure what for. I knew it was doomed when I came here, and got lost in the dust of the desert. I knew it right when I fell in that ally and she touched the raw skin of my palms. That nothing good would ever come of this.

        The rungs of the ladder feel cool underneath my toes. My sandals dangle from my elbows, as I climb and rest my forehead against the metal for a quick moment.

        "Buffy?"

        I feel the sting of tears in my throat, and swallow them down. Taking the last few steps, I vault up over the balcony, and look at my lover. She smiles faintly at me, her hair shining bright. I touch the lounger to steady myself, and her mouth loses it's curve.

        "What's wrong?"

        "Nothing," I murmur, and bend down to where she sits, my mouth sliding over hers. I can't help it. I'm selfish. I had to have the last kiss with Angel, and now I have to have the last kiss with Liz. I may not be killing her, but I think what I'm doing might be worse. Her fingers graze my back, and she presses me down next to her. With my hands, I stop her, and lean back, looking into her eyes.

        "I'm sorry, Lizzie."

        She breathes in. "What do you mean?"

        "It means I'm going home," I answer, and want to laugh, because it's a joke. I have no idea where home is anymore. But I know that Angel finding me means Roswell can't be that place. Even if Liz is here. She looks so beautiful and I wish I could scream or shout with the pain I can feel bubbling up into my lungs, but I stay silent.

        "Where's home?" she whispers, as if she can't believe this is happening.

        "I think it would be better if you didn't know," I say softly, and jerk with surprise when she hurls her journal across the floor and it crashes against the far wall.

        "So this is what I get?" she snarls bitterly. "After all—I... I *gave* myself you to, Buffy. I got Max to risk everything to save you. I *loved* you. And this... this is what I get? No information, no nothing?"

        My tongue feels too thick for my mouth. I can feel the sobs tearing at my throat, and I stand, picking up her diary with careful fingers, smoothing down the velvet cover absently. "I'm sorry. I wish I could give you more. But... but I have to go. You don't understand. What I left behind... what's come looking for me- it's big and it's... too important for me to ignore."

        "Who came looking for you?" she asks, tears spiking her lashes. Her eyes are red and salty and I feel the immediate urge to lick and soothe away her pain, but squash it down.

        "The person I loved," I tell her, turning away. "He... he's here, and he wants me to come home with him, and I have to. I have a life there."

        She laughs. Harshly, and it shocks me enough to spin me around. Her teeth look sharp, hurtful. "You have a life there? Well, guess what? I had a life here...why the fuck did you have to come here and screw it up? And now you're just gonna leave?" She laughs again, almost hysterically, and she looks so lost my breath hitches.

        "I didn't mean to... to mess things up for you."

        "Well you did!" she shouts, and stands, her skin shiny and damp from the heat. Her hair sticks to her neck in wet patches. "You... you shouldn't have let me fall in love with you... if you knew that you were going to leave..."

        "I didn't have a choice," I reply, my voice small. "I didn't come here looking for anything."

        "So it just happened to you?" she scorns, and grips one of my arms, her nails digging into my skin, leaving thin red welts in their wake. "I can't..." she coughs suddenly and her forehead rests on my shoulder. I smooth her hair- I can't help it- and feel how hot her skin is. How flushed. She sways into me, and her tears are scalding against my neck. "Buffy..." she whispers. "Please don't leave me here... please don't leave me. I'll be alone."

        "I'm sorry," I sob, because I think she's right. And I wish I could change things. "I don't want to leave you. But I have to. It's just something I have to do. Life may not be of the good back in Sunnydale—"

        She looks up and touches my cheek. "So that's where you live? It's called Sunnydale?"

        I realize it doesn't matter if she knows where I come from. I feel so tired. "Yeah. Sunnydale. Or Slayerdale, as I like to call it. It's on the Hellmouth- which basically mean it's demon central."

        She looks slightly confused, but smiles. "And you're the one who slays all those demons, huh?"

        I grin and rest my cheek against hers. She croons a little and burrows into me. I don't want to do this. I can't do this. Her skin is so soft. She smells like powder and dust and sweat and musky Liz. "I have to go," I say quietly, and moans a little, like an animal about to be shot.

        "Nooo... please don't do this," she murmurs desperately, curving closer to me, her limbs wrapping around mine.

        I feel suffocated, and weary and wish I could crawl beneath her red velvet covers with her. I stare up at the stars and they blur and meld together into a mess of yellows and silvers. Dizzily, I wrench away from Liz and as if from underwater, I see her staring at me, her eyes huge in her white face.

        "Buffy..." she says, and her voice slices into me like millions of little paper cuts. "Did you ever love me?"

        I gaze at her and sob. "I..."

        She looks at me with something akin to misery and stumbles over to her window. "I'm going inside." She pauses, and brushes her hand over her eyes. "Goodbye...Goodbye, Buffy."

        She disappears through the window, and I slump against the brick, scraping my nose as I lean into the wall, tears burning my eyes. I feel like throwing up. But I walk back to my hotel room, and lie still in bed, the sheets kicked to the end. I can't sleep without her. Her presence has been so constant, her kisses so addictive, her skin always flush with mine- that I feel restless. For the first time in a long time, I take out a pack of cigarettes and light one with trembling fingers.

        The tip glows bright like Liz's hair- and as the dust rolls in through the window, I cough and remember what it was like to feel her cheek against my shoulder as we slept.

~~~

        I walk through the aisles of the grocery store, and feel my stomach swelling with nausea. I know I have to eat before work, but the thought makes me feel dizzy. Picking up an apple, I throw it into my basket and contemplate getting a huge bag of chips or a large chocolate cake. Maybe that would make me feel better.

        I settle on fruit and a bagel, mentally blocking the image of actually swallowing the food as I take it up to the register. The cashier glances at me doubtfully as I ask for a pack of cigarettes, but she hands them to me with a defeated sigh. I used to find it amusing that she would never ask me for ID, but now I just pay and walk into the sunshine, my temples throbbing.

        "Buffy."

        I groan silently and turn, facing Max with a forced smile. "Hi Max," I say brightly.

        He scowls in his quiet way and says, "Hi."

        "Well... that went well," I joke, trying to smooth things over. "Not at all awkward."

        He doesn't laugh. Or move his facial muscles at all. His eyes are blank and yet full of rage. "If you hurt Liz..." he threatens softly, and I giggle.

        "I'll call you to finish the job?" I retort and he looks startled.

        "What's that supposed to mean?"

        "It means," I spell out for him, "that I think you've hurt Liz more than I ever could. Seeing as you shacked up with Tess the second you were free from your former girlfriend—"

        He glares at me and interrupts to reply, "Liz broke up with me. Not the other way around."

        "So you got dumped," I grin, "and you can't deal. I think you should try and think about why Liz broke up with you in the first place. I don't think she liked being one of the crowd."

        "I am *not* with Tess," he enunciates and his mouth twists. "But Liz sure moved on fast enough- maybe I should have too."

        "Are you fucking blind?" I snap. "Liz has *not* moved on. She still loves you. She's hurting over you every day. God... people just don't 'move on' from love like that. Don't you get that, Max? If you'd get your head out of your very smug ass for one second, you'd see that you're not the only one feeling the extreme pain here. Liz is confused and she doesn't know what she's doing..." Suddenly I feel weary. "She loves you. I know she does. But... I don't think you deserve it much."

        His eyes flash fire at me as he snarls, shaken; "How in the hell would you know? You barely know her."

        That makes me laugh. Wiping sweat off my forehead, I take a step closer to him and slant him a teasing grin, that's filled with malice. He rubs me the wrong way. "But I know what she tastes like... do you, Max?"

        His face loses all colour as his hands crush the cup of coffee he's holding. Scalding liquid splashes over his fingers and I watch as it drip drips down on to the dirty street. "What are you saying?" he asks me, his voice trembling.

        "What do you think I'm saying?" I giggle, and feel sick to my stomach. I can't seem to stop. "I mean that I know her in a way you never could. I know what sounds she makes, and I know about that place on her back- that curves downward- and it's always sweaty..." I trail off and enjoy the anguish in his eyes. Good, Max. Suffer. I hate you. "I'm going to be late for work."

        As I walk away, I feel his gaze on my back and my skin prickles. It's so hot out that I feel nauseous. I throw away the fruit and tear pieces of the bagel, thinking of the way Angel's chest split open when I ran home the sword. Thinking of the way he said "I love you"- so trusting. Thinking of the way Liz leaned into me last night- right before I broke her heart with my killer hands. Of the way Max's power seemed to cave I spoke...cutting him up with words, as if they were weapons.

        Am I really just a murderer then? Do I kill bodies and dreams and love...?

        God, I need a smoke.

~~~

        Everyone seems slow and careful today. The heat is overwhelming, and customers seem content to simply sip their frothy milkshakes and stare out the windows at the shimmering hills in the distance. I'm on the floor, and the whirr of the air conditioning distracts me as I take orders. My breastbone aches for the cut of smoke into my lungs, and everything is a little blurry. I can't remember why I broke up with Liz. I can't remember why I left home. I can't remember why I felt like it was so important to kill Angel. Angel. God, he's alive. He's back. He's a reality again. I don't understand it- he's supposed to be the dark figure in my dreams, biting my lips bloody and making me scream and making me wet and making me the Buffy I used to be.

        As I walk back to the kitchen to ask Michael what's taking him so long, I catch sight of Liz. She's grabbing a coke from the fridge, and the fall of her hair is loose over her shoulders. The smudges underneath her eyes are so frightening, that I feel my breath hitch and I swallow back the vomit stinging my throat. She glances up as if she feels me, and looks over. Her skin is glowing with sweat, and her eyes are huge. And betrayed. And exhausted. I feel my heart crack as she stares at me and then her arm twitches a little as she turns away, going back upstairs.

        I don't want to know if I made a mistake. I don't want to know anything. I'm so tired.

        "Michael!" I shout into the sweltering kitchen, the wall of heat enveloping me like a sticky cloud. "Michael Guerin... you get your lazy ass back to work!"

        There's no grumble, and no muffled laugh. Only silence. I sigh, and step into the room, looking around at the emptiness. I suppose he must have snuck out for a break, and that's just unacceptable, seeing as I have about thirty customers waiting for food that's obviously not cooked.

        Opening the door to the ally, I snap- "Mi—" and break off as I see a virtual miracle before my eyes.

        Michael is kissing Maria. Maria is kissing Michael. They are kissing.

        Oh, thank God.

        When they hear my voice, they break apart. I watch the way Michael's palm cups her cheek and then slides down her shoulder. "Think you could knock next time, Buffy?" he inquires sarcastically, and I shrug, pressing my hand to my mouth to keep from laughing.

        "Sorry. Just the hundred customers about to eat me because they're so hungry that kept me from observing the pleasantries."

        He scowls, and looks down at Maria for a moment before walking back inside. She is glowing, her eyes shining and her smile bright and sweet. Breathing, she hugs me and kisses my cheek quickly. "Thank you."

        "For what?" I grin.

        "For being here," she says simply. "Liz has been distant lately- what with the Max thing- and it's been so great- with you here. You've really helped me, Buffy. And I think it was partly you that made Michael come around."

        "Nonsense," I dismiss, lighting a cigarette, ignoring the fact that I should probably be getting back to work. "Who could resist you?"

        She grabs her ass with one hand and strikes a pose. "I don't know. Many people, I would imagine."

        I slap her butt lightly and throw away the smoke, crushing it underneath my shoe. "Micheal sure couldn't resist this ass. Besides, it's very perky. You were bound to get some action if he didn't come around."

        She giggles naughtily and touches her lips, which look bruised. In a good way. "Yeah well... he's enough for right now, I think. I hope he got a bed."

        "Beds are a good," I agree. "Comfy making out place, and convenient if things are going to go that extra little step."

        Maria winks at me, chuckling lustily. "Yeah... you know the first place Michael and I ever made out was at the Crashdown?"

        "Really?" I say, interested.

        She nods. "It was during a heat wave. I guess he got all hot and bothered, so he came along and we just... well, entered into a very destructive relationship that basically consisted of kissing and not kissing and him being an ass... but still," she looks dreamy. "His mouth is worth it." Her voice lowers as she leans in. "He's very good with it."

        I wrinkle my nose. "Ugh, 'Ria. No need for visuals. He's like a brother at this point."

        She giggles and pushes me towards the door. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

        "Aren't you supposed to be at home replaying every moment of the kiss in excruciating detail back in your mind?"

        She arches an eyebrow and smiles. "You're right about that. I'll be going now."

        I enter the Crashdown again, noticing how Michael studiously avoids my gaze. Poking his arm, I lean over and tease; "So you finally caved, huh?"

        He looks furious and then adopts a bored expression. "None of your business. Pass me the pepper and the cheddar shit for the burgers."

        I ignore him and in a sing song voice continue; "Michael Guerin- actually giving in to Maria Deluca. What *is* the world coming to? Guess someone's not as bad ass as someone tries to be, hmmm?"

        He is trying not to laugh, I can tell. His eyes soften as he glances over at me. "Only a couple people on this rock can tease me, Buffy."

        "And those people would be?"

        "Correction," he asserts. "Only one person. Maria. Everyone else is forbidden. And I do mean forbidden." I can feel his breath on my face as he moves forward. "I have powers. Serious alien powers."

        "And I have serious muscles," I return, tapping his nose with my finger. "So don't even try it, Guerin. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

        "Hurt?" he scoffs. "By a tiny thing like you?"

        I can't help it. He is so asking for it. So, I grab him, haul him over my back and flip over, landing on his belly all in one lightening quick movement. His face is so comical I wish I could frame it. "Still think I'm just a tiny little thing?" I ask sweetly.

        He pushes me off him and stands, shaking his head, suddenly laughing. "Man, you do have secrets, don't you?!"

        "A few," I admit, brushing myself off as I get up, leaning against the wall.

        He goes back to the grill, still shaking his head. "Who are you, Buffy?"

        "I think you of all people can understand someone having a secret," I respond, finally handing him the items he asked for a few minutes ago. He accepts them with a nod and cocks his head, his hair falling in a dishevelled fringe over his forehead.

        "Yeah, I get it," he concedes, then grins devilishly. "I'll just ask Liz. Girl can't tell a lie."

        I shrug, unconcerned. Lying may not be her strong suit, but I know Liz. She'll do this for me. "Go ahead, Guerin. Set yourself up for disappointment," I mock, and then walk over, laying my cheek against the back of his shoulder for one moment. "Congrats about Maria," I whisper. "She's a lucky girl."

        I can feel his slight smile. "Why, cause she has me?"

        "No... because she's lucky enough to be able to see beyond your strangeness- to the actual good heart underneath."

        He chuckles quietly. "That was touching."

        "Just call me Hallmark," I say lightly. "But I mean it. You're both lucky. Just hold on to it, Michael. I won't always be here to whip your ass into gear."

        He turns abruptly, and gleans my face for answers. "Where are you going?"

        "Back where I came from," I reply mysteriously. "You know... the lost kingdom of Atlantis."

        He doesn't fall for it. Damnit. I should have known he's used to my distraction tactics by now. "Where are you going?" he asks again, firmly.

        "I'm going home," I answer. "I have to leave. It sucks, but I'm needed there."

        He looks confused. Like he doesn't know how he should be reacting to the news. "Oh," is all he comes up with and I nod, understanding.

        There's really nothing to say.

~~~

        After work, I begin to walk back to my place, fiddling with my cigarettes with one hand as I brush the heavy mass of hair back with the other. Startled, I realize I haven't cut it since I left, and it's long, feathering past my shoulders in blonde waves. I think of Liz's hair, and the way it looks when she's above me, moving her pelvic bone against mine- and then I realize what I'm doing and breathe in, concentrating on taking one step and then another.

        I feel him even before I unlock the door and step inside with suddenly shaky knees. "Hi Angel," I whisper, and he emerges from the shadows, like he always does. A ghost in black with a paler than milk face.

        He stares at me for a moment and then answers, "Hey... I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you. Do you want me to leave? You must be tired."

        I want to laugh, but tears are already welling in my eyes, so I know it would turn into something else. "No. It's ok. Wow- this feels familiar, doesn't it? Late night visits and secrecy- just like the old days—"

        He cuts off my babbling; "Not quite like the old days," he reminds me, and I nod. I feel my hands trembling and grip my fingers into my palms, trying to stop the convulsive movements. My nails cut thin cuticle shaped welts into the skin, and I feel the stripes of blood begin to slide down my wrists.

        "Not quite," I echo, and sit down on the rumpled bed. The sheets still smell like Liz. Last night I pressed my face into them and breathed in- imagining that she was there and it was all dream. Then I drifted in and out of sleep and dreamt of Angel. Always him. Black hatred surges through me and it's familiar, so I embrace it. I can deal with hating him. With hating everyone. It's what I've become accustomed to this summer. It's loving him that's the problem- always was. If I didn't love him, I might have killed him long ago and felt nothing. He would have been dust in my face and a slight memory that tickled me every so often. He wouldn't have ever become the messy bruise he is now.

        "So what are we going to do, Buffy?" he asks softly, and I shake my head.

        "How should I know? I never asked for you to come back." The second the words are out of my mouth I regret them. Bitterness clogs my throat and I cough, wishing for a smoke. My chest aches fiercely at the thought. "I didn't mean that."

        "Didn't you?" he asks bleakly. "And it wouldn't be wrong if you did. I should be in Hell, Buffy. You were right in sending me there—"

        "Don't say things like that," I cry out, facing him where he stands, silhouetted by the window. "Do you think *that's* why I ran away? Because murdering you felt so damn *right*? God, Angel... when I think of what I did—" Nausea swells in my belly and I swallow, tears streaming down my face, dripping onto my fisted hands, "—"right" doesn't even come close to describing it."

        "I'm a killer, Buffy," he informs me blankly, gazing out at the black desert night. "I deserved to spend eternity paying for what I did. What I did to you- what I did you to your friends—"

        "Angelus did those things," I murmur desperately. "Not you. It was *not* you."

        "I keep telling myself that," he admits. "But part of it's me. The demon can't exist without the man, Buffy. Parts of me wanted to torture you." He breathes in unnecessary air and rubs his neck. "Parts of me still want to kill you. For wasting your life on me. You should have sent me to Hell and never looked back... you should have—"

        "I should have what?" I cut in quietly. "I should have kissed the love of my life goodbye and went merrily off to school? I should have felt your blood all over my hands but still smiled each morning when my mother made me breakfast? I should have still felt your kiss on my lips but kissed other guys in some move to get over you? Tell me what I should have done, Angel. *Tell* me," I insist, as I get up and cup his face in my hands.

        "You..." he trails off softly, and his hands burn on my back. "I don't know. I don't know anymore."

        "Neither do I," I murmur breathlessly, and raise my face to his. "But I do know... I love you. I never stopped."

        Tears glisten in his dark as a panther's eyes. "Me neither. Even through all the years- the only thing that kept me from despair was you, Buffy. The memory of you. I knew... no matter what torture they visited upon me... you would sustain me. I used to picture you with your sunshine hair and your smile..." one shaking finger touches my lips which are slick with tears. "I never thought... I never thought you'd be..."

        "Such a mess?" I finish, and curl my face into his chest.

        He shakes his head. "I thought you'd move on, I suppose. I hoped you would."

        "Hope is a good thing," I say, inhaling the spicy, musky scent of his black shirt. His skin feels cool, even in the heat. "But it's usually better when it's based on something that could actually happen."

        He breathes in, and his hands brush over my hair. "I love you, Buffy."

        "I love you too," I answer, the words dripping off my tongue like poison. I know they will do no good. I know it's doomed. I know it's over. We can never go back. We can never really go forward.

        "When are we going back?" I ask, and he curves a palm over my back.

        "Whenever you feel ready," he replies quietly. "If you ever feel ready."

        I don't know if I will be. Blurrily, I gaze out at the desert and wish to be out there with the sand and the dirt and the open sky.

~~~

        As I climb the ladder to Liz's balcony, I feel the rust underneath my fingertips. It smells coppery- like blood. My palms are still bleeding a little, but I don't care. The sting is gone.

        "Liz?" I whisper, and cross over to her window, climbing inside and gazing down at where she lies on top of the red velvet covers, her little body clad in boy cut underwear and a tank top.

        (You wear boxers?

        They're more comfortable for work...

        Ahhh... god, Buffy...)

        Blinking back the hot tears, I slide my hand up her leg, feeling the slight prickle of some unshaven lines of hair, the silk of her tanned skin. She jerks under my caress and opens her eyes. Coming out of sleep, she looks dizzy and not really attractive. But to me, she has never appeared more beautiful, and I feel the desire bubbling in my stomach.

        She holds out her arms to me wordlessly, and I go into them, her embrace warm and sticky from the heat. Her nipples are angry and throbbing against my lips and between her thighs is slick and open.

        She moves down my body and I feel her tongue inside me, her hands slipping against the naked skin of my knees as she holds them apart. Her fingers are punishing, and they hurt- enough to make me gasp. Her thumbs travel up my flesh until they are brushing against my mouth and I suck on the digits with a hunger I never knew I had. God, do I love her? I don't know.

        As we both come, together, sweating and shaking in little pants, I press my face against her shoulder and see the tears on her skin.

        "Liz..." I sob and she holds me tight.

        "I know," she whispers.

~~~

        She sleeps. She's beautiful. I watch her from my seat on the balcony. Naked, I smoke and flick the ash into the starry night. I had to have one last taste. I'm selfish. It must be over- it has to be over. My belly has the syrupy feeling it gets when I feel sick, but I ignore it and concentrate on drawing the nicotine laced smoke into my lungs slowly and evenly.

        I think of Angel- somewhere out there, drifting through the streets of Roswell like the ghost he was sentenced to be, and wonder if he can ever love the girl I've become- with the same fervour he loved the sleeping Buffy he left on that morning so long ago? I wonder if she's still lying there- waiting for the world to be right again- before she wakes up?

        I think of him, and of her, and the old me, and I smoke. The grey tentacles weave their way down my throat like the bars of a prison cell, and I cough, knowing that someday-

        -I'm going to choke.

        I stand at the threshold of the desert, the wind whipping my hair around my face, making it cling to the skin in sweaty knots. Maria's Jetta is parked somewhere to my left, but I can't see because my eyes are closed. A cigarette dangles loosely from my fingers and I pause briefly to inhale the dust in the dry air, letting it seep into my throat and lungs.

        I hate Roswell. Just as much as I love it. I remember when I drove into town- it seems so long ago now—with my boots and my blank eyes. I skinned my palms and fell into the dirt and Liz picked me up and brushed me off and made me feel again.

        Can I just forget all that?

        Can I just leave this sticky haven behind and return to the musky night of Sunnydale? God, I don't even know anymore. I hear a car drive up behind me, and turn, shading my eyes from the orange sun blanketing the sky.

        Isabel steps from her brother's Jeep, dressed all in black, her hair pulled tightly back from her scalp in a sleek ponytail. She's beautiful- in an annoying way, and I ignore her briefly, bringing the burning smoke to my lips and spinning back so I can stare at the horizon.

        She comes to a stop beside me and is silent. "Michael tells me you're leaving," she finally utters coolly, gazing into the middle distance.

        "He would be right," I answer, tapping the ash onto the sand and watching the thin grains sift and swirl over the black soot.

        "What about..." she pauses and then sighs. "What about you and Liz? I thought you two were the picture of happiness?"

        I laugh softly, and crush the cigarette underneath my shoe. "I wouldn't call it happiness," I retort. "And I don't think you would either. Let's just get this out in the open now... did Max tell you to find out what's going on?"

        She smiles coldly, and touches my shoulder. "Max won't even talk about you and Liz, much less want to know all the intimate gooey details about your relationship. I'm just asking because... because frankly, Liz is being even more sickeningly depressed than usual and it's bringing everyone down."

        I grin with my sharp teeth and scuff a tuft of grass with my foot absently. "It's so nice that you're concerned, Isabel."

        "Are you leaving?" she inquires point blank and I swallow.

        "Yeah, I'm leaving. Tomorrow. I have to get back home."

        "I thought you came here to get away from home," she says quietly.

        "I did. But that's over now. I have commitments back there."

        Isabel reaches for my pack of cigarettes and withdraws one with shaking hands, lighting it with her finger, which produces a spurt of blue flame. I watch, fascinated. She doesn't seem to notice, and draws deeply on the smoke, coughing slightly. "I don't understand the appeal of these things," she says, handing me back the tube of nicotine. "I don't understand why someone would want something that could hurt them. I don't get you and Liz. Or Liz and Max." She pauses and laughs bitterly, "Or Michael and Maria."

        I wonder for a second what exactly happened between them all before I came. Her eyes glaze when she mentions Michael and Maria, and I think maybe she feels more for him than she'll ever admit.

        She continues sadly, confused. "Maybe I just don't like seeing people lose control."

        She's so brittle, I think. Her emotions are ready to explode, and she can barely contain them underneath her skin. She reminds me of me, and my belly hurts as I begin to walk back to the Jetta. "I'm sorry you don't get it," I say. "But I'm leaving. I'm going to miss this place, but I have to go. Tell your brother it's been real. And Isabel?"

        She glances up, and her eyes are shiny. "Yes?"

        "I'm sorry."

        She nods, and shrugs. "I'll never be like you or the others. That's ok. See you, Buffy."

        "See ya," I say, stepping into the car and turning the key. I watch her in the rearview mirror as I drive away, and she gets so small- just a pinprick in the distance, and I think how sad her eyes are, and how much I hate myself for what I'm doing to Liz and how much I love Angel and then I have to pull over because I can't breathe anymore.

        I have a smoke to calm myself down, and watch the way it's grey tendrils furl into the bright sun.

        I hate this desert.

        It's so full of ghosts.

~~~

        Maria is bouncy. She bounces from the kitchen to the tables with enough spring in her step to propel her to the stars. I have to smile watching her. Michael watches her too- with a satisfied grin gracing his lips. I wonder if they did it, and decide that they probably did. She has that morning after glow which I know all about.

        I slap her ass lightly as she passes me and she winks.

        "What did you do last night?" I ask leadingly and she laughs innocently.

        "Something good girls should never ever do," she whispers and looks over her shoulder at Michael who blushes and goes back to the deep fryer with studied concentration.

        I giggle and turn away, going into the kitchen to grab a coke. My forehead is sweating, and I can feel the weight of my hair on my neck. Michael glances at me with his usual carelessness and says, "So when are you leaving?"

        "Soon," I reply, taking a large swallow of the fizzy beverage. It hits my stomach like hot rocks and burns like a bitch. Choking, I press my forehead to the fridge, it's cold metal like ice cream on a sunny day.

        "Shouldn't gulp those things so fast," Michael cautions mildly, flipping a burger and salting a batch of fast browning fries.

        "Shut the fuck up," I warn him, and he looks startled.

        "What did I say?"

        "Nothing," I sigh, suddenly weary. "I just... look, I'll miss you. I thought we should get that out of the way."

        "By telling me to shut the fuck up?" he laughs. "You have *such* a way with affection."

        I smile gently, shaking my finger at him. "Whatever. You're just feeling like the big ass man on campus cause you got laid."

        "Oh, that is so none of your business," he returns, snatching the soft drink from my fingers and taking a long drink. "Besides, I don't call it getting laid."

        "Oh, I'm sorry," I sing song. "Making love. Of course. Michael Guerin would never, ever, ever use such a crass term as "getting laid."

        He blushes slightly and scowls at me. "Not in connection with Maria, that's for damn sure. She'd probably castrate me."

        "Like it would make much of a difference," I tease, and light a cigarette, uncaring of Mr. Parker's strict rules of no smoking near the food. I figure I can get away with it, this once. For a moment I wonder if maybe I should quit, and then dismiss that idea. Shakily, I draw on the smoke, feeling it curl into my lungs with a reassuring familiarity.

        "Those are gonna kill ya," Michael observes quietly. "Seriously."

        "Oh seriously, they're going to kill me?" I mock. "Thanks for clarifying that."

        He throws down the can suddenly, and grips my shoulders. "Listen to me," he snaps. "I don't want you to die. I kind of like you. Smoking is bad for you. Don't you listen to those public service announcements?"

        Startled by his fierceness, I don't know what to say. "No... do you?"

        He shrugs. "I guess not. Lousy example. But... Buffy... will you quit?"

        "Sometime," I whisper, and touch his face. "I promise."

        He smiles. That toothy grin that I never get to see. "Good. Now gimme a hug. I don't want to get all mushy."

        "I don't care what you want," I murmur and draw him forward with all my strength, gripping him against me. I feel tears prick my eyes and blink them back. "Take care of Maria. And please... can you look out for Liz? I don't trust Max to do it."

        He sighs, and hugs me tight for a moment. "I promise. But don't expect me to like her, or anything."

        I grin, and hastily brush a kiss to his upper arm- it being the only place I can reach. "I don't expect that. Thanks, Michael."

        He shrugs and I see his lower lip almost tremble. "You've been a good friend, Buffy."

        "So have you," I nod, and turn to leave the kitchen. Stopping for a moment, I look him straight in the eyes. "I won't be back, you know."

        He shakes his head. "I know. And I don't blame you. You take care of yourself."

        "I love you, buddy," I smile, and leave the kitchen. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes. He was so like me, in ways I never even dreamed. I just hope he finds what he's looking for. In Maria... in the stars... in this dirt covered town in the middle of nowhere.

        Stopping outside where Maria is taking orders, I touch her arm. The heat is oppressive, and she's sweating faintly. But her smile is still bright, and she laughs breezily at me. "Playing hooky?"

        I feel a rush of affection for her and hug her briefly. "Something like that. I'm gonna go home, ok?"

        For a moment I think she understands. Her smile fades and she gazes at me seriously. Her nod is brisk. "Ok. I'll cover for you. But... but remember how I told you the heat isn't as bad when school starts? That was true, you know."

        My heart breaks a little. "I know. I know you'd never lie to me, 'Ria. And I'd never lie to you. I told you Michael would come around. After all... who could resist that fine ass?"

        She raises an eyebrow. "No one. Least of all Spaceboy. When are you leaving?"

        "Tonight. Tomorrow. Sometime in that time frame."

        She leans in close and holds me. She smells like citrus fruits. "I hope you'll be happy someday, Buffy."

        "Me too," I whisper. "Goodbye Maria."

        I see the sheen of tears in her eyes, but she's not going to let them fall. I know she'll be fine. She has Michael, and she's a survivor. It's in her blood. "Bye, Buffy. Don't let the man get you down."

        I laugh at one of our jokes and waggle my fingers at her. "Damn the man."

        "That's right. See you, babe."

        Her smile is like sunshine. She's going to be great. "See ya."

~~~

        My room is dark when I return, and I know he's there.

        "Hey," I say as I enter, dropping my headband on the carpet.

        He steps from the shadows by the window and he's so beautiful that I feel the rise of tears in my throat. How can one person mean this much to me? He doesn't ask how my day was, which is just as well. I knew he wouldn't.

        "I got you packed," he informs me quietly. "I had an idea you wouldn't want to do it. I hope it's ok."

        "It's great," I bite off and then say abruptly, "Angel, what's going to happen when we get back? Nothing can be the same anymore, can it?"

        He shakes his head. "No. It can't."

        "Because I... I killed you," I taste the words on my tongue. They're sour and strange and vomit curdles in my stomach, making me think of Acathla's hungry mouth and Angel's gasps as he felt the wall of metal in his chest. Stop.

        He winces and inclines his head. "Because... because of everything that happened. Things will be different. But that doesn't mean they have to be bad, Buffy. You'll be able to get on with your life—"

        "What if I say I don't think you're something I could ever go on from? That you're permanent?"

        He doesn't answer at first, and his eyes are bleak with knowledge. Of what, I don't know. Perhaps of the Hell I sent him to- where demons ate his insides for breakfast and where he knew- his love had run him through.

        "It's never going to be permanent," he tells me sorrowfully. "Someday you'll die, and I'll still... I'll still be walking the night. We're never going to be able to have a normal life together."

        "I don't think I want normal," I reply staunchly. "Normal's for the Brady Bunch. Can't we just... take each day as it comes? I don't think... I don't think I can lose you again. Please... Angel?"

        His groan is tortured, but he comes towards me, and then he's catching me in his arms, and his lips are on mine. I can feel the pressure of his mouth and I moan, leaning into him. He takes away the dust that's been choking my throat. Things start to get blurry as his palm slides underneath my shirt, and it's cool insistence burns against my stomach.

        "Angel..." I murmur. "Angel, Angel, Angel..." and it's so good saying his name, whispering it into his lips as his tongue drowns in my mouth. I love him, and I don't think I can survive this. He's going to kill me and that's ok.

        I repeat my whispered words of so long ago, "When you kiss me I wanna die..." and then I hear a gasp, and spin around, catching a glimpse of the shining hair and the betrayed eyes before Liz runs out the open door, heading for the street.

        Angel's hands are on my face and back as he murmurs, "It's ok. Go after her." His breathing is harsh, and my own hitches just listening to it.

        "I'm sorry." I offer this softly, and he brushes a gentle kiss to my bruised lips.

        "I love you."

        "I love you too. I'll be back."

        He smiles sadly. "I know, Buffy."

        I walk outside, somehow knowing she'll be there. And she is. Her slight figure is bent on the ground as she sits, shifting from side to side as if she can't stay still. She looks up when she hears my quiet footfalls, and her voice is grating in the emptiness of the street.

        "So I guess you're really leaving?"

        "Yes," I acknowledge, and realize for the first time that I truly am. That Roswell is melding into my past, and there's nothing to do but go on. But damnit it hurts. I feel the blossom of pain well in my chest and force myself to breathe out.

        "It's always..." I pause and sit down beside her. She doesn't move, but she doesn't lean into me like she would have done so many times in the past. I continue, my throat aching. "It's always been him. But that doesn't mean that I don't love you, Lizzie." My voice cracks. "I do."

        Her eyes are bright with tears as she glances momentarily in my general direction. "That's the first time you've said that..." she scratches her calve in an absentminded yet strangely angry gesture. "And now you're leaving me."

        "I don't want to," I say truthfully. "But I'm no good for you, Liz. You know that." I laugh softly, but it comes out harsh, and she winces. "I'm messed up. We're both too fucked up for each other."

        She cups my face suddenly and forces me to look at her. Her lips touch mine, slide over my mouth with all the chasteness of a virgin kiss and all the burn of a kiss between two lovers. She tastes salty, and I weep against her lips, trembling. Her fingers brush my cheek and she whispers, "No one's ever touched me like you, Buffy. I... I love you. Have a good trip home. When it gets really sweaty and gross here... I'll, I'll think of you. Go back to Sunnydale... and please, be happy."

        I nod, choking on my sobs as I hold her against my heart. She's so tiny. So dear- to me. "You promise me that you'll be happy too."

        She shakes her head and laughs. "I can't. I can't, Buffy. I'm not the type to just move on. But I think you will... and I'm glad. No one should be unhappy forever."

        "Including you," I admonish with gentle insistence, and she burrows her cheek against my neck, just for a moment.

        "I'm going to miss you."

        I feel the tears swelling in my swollen eyes and gaze off into the desert night. "I'm going to miss you, too."

        So much, unsaid. Too many words. Too many feelings. I can't say them, and neither can she. God, I love her. It grew and grew, and now it's so much of my heart. She's right- I will move on. But I know, that parts of me will always be caught in the sand and sun and dust- with her. Those lazy nights spent curled up in the messiness of my sweat soaked sheets will always toll like the sweetest bell in my memory, but I have to leave. I press my fist to my mouth to stop my tears and stand, my bones creaking.

        She stands with me. Her shoulders are back and I can tell she's making a special effort to be strong. But when she goes home and she's on her balcony, she's going to cry. I can't think about that right now. Some things are just too much.

        "I guess this is the part where we say goodbye," I whisper, and it's like a gunshot. I expect to see blood pouring from a wound in her belly, but she just nods, as if she's dead.

        "Goodbye, Buffy."

        One breath. One kiss. I tripped that day and she caught me, and how can it be over? But it is.

        "Goodbye, Liz."

        Her lower lip wobbles, but she manages a smile, and she looks so beautiful that I lean forward and kiss that curve of the lips. "I'll see you, ok?"

        She smiles again, bravely. "Yeah. I'll see you, too."

        She turns, and walks away. I watch, and feel everything inside of me shifting, breaking- collapsing.

        With one last look, I decide I can be just as strong as her.

        So I turn. And I walk into the hotel.

        Angel's waiting with the suitcases packed. I think he guesses I won't want to stay any longer than necessary. His eyes search my face and all he does is lightly touch my shoulder as we leave. I'm grateful to have someone who knows me so well.

~~~

        Angel and I drive in the cloak of brilliant night. His hands grasp the steering wheel with a precision I envy and I stare out the window into the endless red of the desert. It's sands shimmer and roll, casting strange shadows against the sky.

        Everything's just beginning. I can feel it.

        We drive. We drive for a long time, until we come to Sunnydale.

        Not once do I look back.

continue to epilogue