( Of hangovers and other frustrationsCollapse )
[Open to Cordelia and Spike]

Hard to believe it's only been a couple of weeks since Cordy ended up back in our lives. Feels like longer, seeing's how we've managed to achieve so much. She sort of kicked us into action a bit. Not sayin' we're all happy an' productive worker bees, but... At least we're doing something. Even think ahead more than a day sometimes, cos that's what you do when you run a business.

Yeah, we're back at doing the killing-for-cash thing. Which is sort of what Wes and I were doing, but only half-heartedly. Now we have an office 'n stuff. The value of real estate has dropped hugely in this area, so we've got quite a nice place. Not as big as the hotel, which always seemed like a strange whim of Angel's to me. But a biggish space, with a couple of rooms that can be used as bedrooms if we don't want to go home.

It's interesting, watching Cordy work. I never really got to know her. All I knew her as, I s'pose, was the spoiled cheerleader of Sunnydale. I got hints she'd turned into something more by the way people mourned her when she was in that coma. But then she an' Angel had a bust up, and she left, so I never really got to find out for myself. Now I've got the chance, and I'm glad. I know she's grieving, same as we - being me and Wes - are. But she still gets stuff done, which I admire. She has this energy about her that I find refreshing.

I think she may be doing Wes some good too. Not that he's smiling or anything yet, but he seems a little less dead, somehow. I'm glad, o'course, even though part of me, stupidly, feels... I dunno. Hurt, maybe, that I can't bring him out of his shell but maybe Cordelia will be able to. Course, they were friends long before I knew Wes. Still, he's the best friend I've got now. I need him to still need me, stupid though that sounds. Otherwise I dunno what I'll do with myself.

Plenty of work to keep me occupied, though. Now Cordelia's in charge of the office, she's got us business cards 'n stuff, and work's been flooding in. A lot of people are having problems with demons these days, unsurprisingly. So I don't get too much time to sit and mope about things, which is good. I prefer to exhaust myself with blood and guts.

Speaking of which, I am just returning to the office, smeared in said blood and guts. I walk in and drop my sword on the floor. Looks like the place is empty.

"'Lo?" I call. "Cordy? Wes?" Maybe they're in the back office. The blood from the Eklok demon is seeping through my shirt, and it sort of stings, so I unbutton the shirt and drop it next to the blood stained sword. "Anybody home?"

[open to either of you!]

( living in this hellCollapse )


"You're sure you want this part of town?" The cab driver asked again.

I nodded. I'd visited the Hyperion, the site where the old offices of Wolfram and Hart had stood - even a couple of hospitals trying to find Wesley. I was surprised there were cab drivers left in this city, considering it was more overrun with demons these days than not.

I was thankful, not for the first time, that Wes was Mr. Predictable because for all he'd gained a new job with a six figure salary? He hadn't upped sticks and moved apartments. Granted, there were hardly any people left in his building, but a couple of questions aimed at his nosy neighbour and I was sitting outside waiting for him.


[ Open to Wes and Spike once they've eaten ]

First thing I thought tonight, waking up from a dream-clogged night, was that it was three months ago. Ninety two days and four hours ago, by my clock.

Happy anniversary, love.

I climb out of bed and pull on my clothes. I know already where I'm going. It's where I always end up going these days. Even when I think I'm walking somewhere else, my feet end up taking me there.

Funny thing is, I muse as I enter the cemetery, the first time she died I didn't bother visiting her grave. Knew there was nothing there to grieve. S'pose it might've been cos then I still had a sense of purpose. Had to look out for the Bit, for instance. Now, though... Well, there's the whole fighting evil caper that I feel obliged to keep doing, but it's not the same. Feel more dead at the moment than I ever have before. So I stand in front of the headstone. No "she saved the world a lot" bollocks this time. Just her name on a simple granite marker. I ordered it. My William side was tempted to go the whole Victorian route, big ornate headstone with some poetry in gilt letters. But in the end I couldn't find the words to say. The fact that there's a headstone saying BUFFY SUMMERS is enough for me, I reckon. More than enough truth.

Her friends blame me, o'course. If I hadn't done the stupid thing and rung her when Angel told us to go and have some perfect last day, she wouldn't have come over here. I didn't tell her what was going on - that this was some last hurrah - and I made a big thing about how I'd come and see her. Yeah, right. Like she'd buy that. She must've hopped on a plane straight away, cos she reached me by nightfall. Long journey, that, cramped in an economy seat. I doubt she was at her physical peak. She still insisted she was going to fight with me. She was so bloody stubborn. I hate her for that, sometimes. Though not as much as I hate myself for doing the idiotic thing and picking up the phone.

She told me that I was stupid, and she socked me in the chin for not calling her before, and then she held me and held me like her heart would break. God. With the battle approaching, both of us realising what massive stakes these were, how unlikely it was that we'd both live, we had painful, frantic sex against a door. I remember the way her fingers clung to my shoulders, the strange mixture of fear and passion on her face. Don't reckon we'd have done it if things hadn't seemed so dire. Might have taken things more slowly. P'raps I could've even taken her on a date. But that's incidental, really. Doesn't matter now. Afterwards, in that distinctly unromantic setting, as I tucked myself back into my jeans, she told me she loved me. And for the first time I believed her.

Course, I should've known that that meant one of us would die. People like us don't seem entitled to perfectly happy moments. So we did our jobs, and turned up in the alleyway, and a small part of me is pleased that Angel and Buffy didn't have time to have a moment. They just glanced at each other in a meaningful way, but there was no talk, and it was my hand she reached for a last clasp in the moment before the dragon and its hordes got to us.

Gunn fell first. Not surprising, really. Charlie boy did good, though. Toughest human being I've met, I think, given that he had no magic powers. I was pleased to be his friend. Illyria, God bless her, barely drew breath between slaughters, and kept going like a machine. Angel fell in a big, heroic way that I don't really want to think about, but was probably the only way he could have done. Killed the dragon and tore open a path between worlds whilst doing it, sucking the Senior Partners best demons in with it. But one of the dragon's claws pierced his heart as he pushed it through the gate. I had only time to yell before he was dust. Illyria despatched a final demon, and then was gone, running with monstrous grace into the city beyond.

Then there was silence in the alley, and Buffy and I turned to each other, pretty bloody shellshocked. Her face was completely white, and I went to comfort her, but then I realised she wasn't white just due to shock. She had a massive wound in her side, and the silly cow had kept fighting. I took her in my arms and ran faster than I've ever run to get her to a hospital, but it was too late. She suffered massive organ failure.

After that, things are a bit dim. I hardly remember the next few days. I made funeral arrangements for her and Charles, I know that, but I barely remember doing it. I think I must've called Giles. I could hardly hear his angry words. After the funeral, I drank myself into a stupor and slept for days. It was only then I checked my answering machine. Apparently Illyria had been wrong. Wes wasn't dead. He'd been seriously injured, though.

Considering he was the last of us left - 'cept for Cordy, though she hadn't been in town cos Angel had driven her away before the fight - I owed it to him to go to him. He was in a bad way, but he recovered, slowly. Can't imagine he was too pleased to find out that of all the people he knew, only a cocky English vampire was left. Still. At least I was something. Once he was well enough, we decided that we might as well go back to doing right, and all that bollocks. There's been a lot more demon activity in town since Angel died. Guess they think it's a free city. And the Senior Partners haven't gone. They're just laying low.

I don't want to think about that now, though. Instead I stand by her grave, and think of nothing at all.

[Open, if you fancy.]