CONTENT/RATING: Some references to drug abuse and other uncheerful stuff, but nothing too terrible.
SPOILER: Becoming.
SUMMARY: Heavy Buffy-angst set seven years after 'Becoming'.
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Joss Whedon and are used without permission. No profit is being made off of this. Also lyrics used are from The Phantom of the Opera and belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Author's Notes: I freely admit this is kind of a stupid story, but I figured I'd share it anyway, since it's been awhile since I wrote a simple one parter. :)

*You were once my one companion
you were all that mattered
you were once a friend and father
then my world was shattered*

There was nothing left for her. She felt it every moment of every day, felt the emptiness weighing down on her with each step she took. She kept running, she kept fighting, she kept trying, but nothing ever seemed to be enough. No matter how fast she ran, no matter how hard she fought, or how valiantly she tried, his memory hung over her head like a shadow she would never be able to escape. The ghost of his memory followed her through every city and state, always there, always reminding her how she'd failed him so greatly. There was no denying it, no running, no escape from the hold he had over her. He controlled her every movement, the fact that he was no longer on Earth meant nothing, even in death he controlled her thoughts and feelings.

She sat in a hotel room, it mirrored her feelings. It was dark and drank, no light shined through the shuttered windows, no bright colors contrasted the dark paint that coated the ceilings. She felt more dead than alive, her heart held nothing in it, no joy, no happiness, only existance. Only existance and pain, a deep cutting agony inside her that never left. Not for one moment had he not been on her mind, her friend, her mentor, and her lover. He'd taught her so much, about life, about guilt, and she'd taught him a valuable lesson as well. She'd taught him about betrayal. She'd betrayed him in a way she doubted was possible to top. And she'd done it twice. Never once did she go out of her way for him as he had done for her, never once had she returned the favors he'd given. She'd only given him pain, agony, and now eternal suffering.

She wanted to escape. She wanted to somehow forget his dark eyes, forget the pain she'd caused, she wanted to forget everything. No matter how much she drank, how much drugs she experimented with, he always, always remained firmly engrained in her memory. He wouldn't leave. She begged and pleaded, cried and bribed, but he remained, always there to remind her of what she had done to him. Occasionally she saw images, conjured by her imagination of indescrible torture, a pain that went on and on for eternity, a grief unable to describe by simple words. Other times she just saw him, staring at her, a look of shock and betrayal etched upon his features, the last expression, the last thing she'd seen of him before she sacrificed him to save the world. Now she wanted more than anything to be able to relive that moment, to go back and do it differently. The world could just go to Hell, she wouldn't betray him. If she could go back and do it over again, she never would have had to seen that expression on his face.

She sobbed without tears, heaved without a single trickle of water leaving her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to cry. She'd tried and tried for hours, days, even, but not one tear came. All she could do was sob emptily, silently, no one to hear her pain, no one there to comfort her. It was what she deserved, the only thing right in the world anymore. She hadn't gone with him, she should have, she'd considered it, she'd wanted to jump into the abyss after him, but she'd been frozen in place, unable to move or look away from the betrayal in his eyes. She hadn't followed him, but she would suffer. Damn it, she would suffer, every moment, every second, every day she existed she would suffer. It was what she deserved, the only thing worthy of her, to feel unspeakable grief and torment within her very being. It was all she could do for him any longer. She couldn't go back, she couldn't redo the moment in time, but she could make sure she was in just as much pain as he was, eternally.

*Wishing you were somehow here again
wishing you were somehow near
sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed
somehow you would be here*

At times she thought she saw him, standing in a dark corner, lurking in her hotel room, following her down the street. She'd turn, ready to embrace him, hug him, ask him how he'd escaped. Every time she felt hope in her heart when she heard someone walking behind her, and every time she would turn and her heart would shatter in a million pieces all over again. She kept waiting for him to come after her, to tell her she had to go back, that he was out, that things could be the way they once were. He never did. Years had passed, and he never did. No matter how many times she thought she saw him, no matter how many times she dreamed he was with her, he never appeared before her eyes as anything other than an apparition her mind had created.

Years. Seven years, to be exact. Seven years since she'd raised a sword, since she'd run him through, since he'd stared at her, eyes filled with confusion, shock, and a deep betrayal. Seven years since Hell had taken her love, and had taken her heart. She felt nothing anymore, for anyone. She cared nothing for her friends, cared nothing for her family. All she wanted was him. To be with her and hold her, but it was not to be. She hadn't killed since that day. Not one vampire died by her hands. Not one prophecy was thwarted. When she'd walked away she'd left destiny and fate behind her. They had no place in her life any longer. Her life was simple, she drank, she smoked, she snorted, she injcted, she poisoned her body with every single mind altering substance she could lay her hands upon. Gone was her beauty, her grace, her skill, gone was her sharp wit and mind. All that remained was grief, memories, and hallucinations of him and the life she could have had.

*Wishing I could hear your voice again
knowing that I never would
dreaming of you won't help me to do
all that you dreamed I could*

At times she regretted it deeply, hated what her life had become, hated what the grief was doing to her. At times she wanted to stand up, leave, return to Sunnydale, return to her home. She'd kept up to date with her friends, occasionaly sneaking back into town to see what was going on. Willow had broken up with Oz, she was single, successful, and happy. Xander and Cordelia had remained together, and the once fake cheerleader had become a very talented psychiatrist, helping others with there problems, and somehow being kind and sympathetic to everyone that crossed her path. Giles was still there, watching and guiding over Kendra's replacement. That hurt. It hurt that he'd given up on her, that he now trained someone different, felt that same bond for the new Slayer that he'd once felt for her. But she deserved the hurt, she deserved the isolation and loneliness, she deserved the pain. No matter how much she suffered, he suffered more. He suffered things she could only imagine, things she could never come close to experiencing. And so she allowed her life to fall to pieces, welcomed the destruction of who she'd once been.

But sometimes . . . sometimes she felt differently. Every once and a while she'd feel as though she were still wronging him with the way she'd let her life fall to pieces. Every once and a while she'd wonder if she were truly doing what he'd want her to do. And she knew in her heart that he wouldn't want her to suffer, that he'd want her to move on, to grow, to live without him, flourish without him, and honor his memory by doing what he'd once said he wanted. To kill them all. To end the needless deaths caused by his soulless brethern. To make his death, to make his suffering and torment, mean something. To make the world he'd been sacrificed for a better place, a place where life was worth living, and vampires were merely a long forgotten myth that held no place in reality. It was just so much easier to suffer . . .

She sat up in the bed suddenly at the thought. Seven years, and the realization had never crossed her mind. To live in torment, drink and destroy her body, soul, and mind, was that really easier than to fight, to get past his death and live once more? She'd never even wondered, but, of course, this was one of the few times where she wasn't high on something or other since his death. She'd left town with good intentions, not wanting to hurt anyone else, but almost as soon as she'd gotten off the bus she'd changed her mind, needing something, anything, to numb the pain of her betrayal. Maybe in suffering, she wasn't truly suffering. Maybe she wasn't hurting as much as she could be, if she were sober, clean, and living a life without him.

*passing bells and sculpted angels
cold and monumental
seemed for you the wrong companions
you were warm and gentle*

She remembered their meeting in the masoleum as the clearest memory of their earlier times together. He'd come out of the shadow, warned her she had to protect herself, that saving a friend wasn't worth the world falling to pieces. Going by his logic at the time, he might have even approved of what she'd done, if he'd known why she had done it. If he had known that the only way to save the world was for him to suffer . . . she knew he'd tell her it was what he deserved. He'd always believed that he was worthless, that his life meant nothing, and that thing would have been better if he'd never been on Earth to begin with. His eyes had told her all of that, his eyes that had always seemed so desperately lonely, so horribly lost. It had made her gut clench in sympathy when he'd told her he was a vampire, told her of his past. She never would have believed him, if it hadn't been for the look in his eyes. The look of pure self-hatred, so deep she still couldn't imagine the feeling, despite her own disgust at herself now.

His eyes had told her everything. They always had. His eyes had been what made her realize something was wrong in his apartment the night after. There had been no guilt, no self-hatred, only a contempt towards her. His eyes had told her in the mansion that his soul had been returned, the confusion, the bewilderment, and that small spark of inner hatred he'd had even then. His eyes had truly been the windows to his soul, no matter how hard he tried to mask his feelings, hiding behind cryptic messages and half-answered questions, he was helpless when it came to controlling his eyes.

*too many years fighting back tears
why can't the past just die?
wishing you were somehow here again
knowing we must say goodbye*

She was standing and packing before she knew she'd even moved. Shoving her belongings into a bag, moving around the hotel room with swift and efficient movements born of repetition. She'd moved so many times, never staying in the same place, never spending more than three days in one area. But this time . . .this time she had a purpose, a destination, somewhere she absolutely had to go, and she had to go there now.

It was time. Seven years -- seven years to the day since she'd said her silent goodbyes. She knew there was nothing left for her in Sunnydale, knew her friends had to hate her with a passion after what she'd put them through, but she didn't care. She needed to go back. She was right, making herself suffer wasn't difficult enough. Making herself move on -- now THAT would hurt. Somehow she felt as if she stopped mourning, he would truly die. The knife in her heart twisted deeper as she thought of him, God, she could almost see him standing there. Standing next to her and beside her, with her. Her entire body trembling she sunk to the floor, still holding the bag she'd used to begin her packing. If she let go . . . she'd betray him even more. She'd betray him even deeper than she had in the mansion, when she'd run him through and sent him to Hell, if she let go. Because how could he? How could he move on in a place where torment was all that existed, where pain, agony, and unbearable pain was all there was. She didn't have that right, she didn't have the right to be happy, to recover. Not when he couldn't.

*try to forgive
teach me to live
give me the strength to try*

But she couldn't take it any more. She couldn't take the pain, the agony, the grief. She just couldn't. Seven years of darkness, of a living torment, and she didn't think she could take one more day. She wanted to go home, she wanted to have something back, some small piece of her life, even if it was only a town. She knew in Sunnydale she would feel his presence more then any other place. But it was the only way. If she had half a chance of moving on, she had to go back.

And maybe there was a way to bring him back, too. Again she was startled by her thoughts, her first sober thoughts in longer than she could remember. But there was something valid in it. Maybe there was a way to bring him out. A way to stop his pain, and by the same token end hers. It made a lot more sense to at least try then to simply wait around hoping for some miracle she knew would never come. It made a lot more sense than simply turning around when someone walked behind her, and hoping desperately that she would see his face. And the saddest thing was, it had taken her seven years to come to this conclusion. Seven years wasted, seven years of her life, and just possibly his, that she would never get back. Seven years of stupidity, of wallowing in hatred, of revelling in pain. She would return. And she would try. And maybe . . . maybe someone would even welcome her back.

*no more memories
no more silent tears
no more gazing across the wasted years
help me say goodbye*

*****

THE END

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