WITHOUT YOU

She was never my best friend.

That helped. A little at least. I mean I respected her I guess. I counted on her at the very least and I knew that she'd always come through. That's respect, right?

Either way, it helped that I kept her at some kind of distance. It meant that I could close my eyes at night and know that the shadows weren't always lurking around my bed ready to get me. It meant that I was safe.

Since he died two weeks ago, I don't feel so safe. Not anymore.

I just feel lonely. And afraid.

He was a dork. Aren't they all? I seem to have a problem with dorks. They flock to me and I take them in. Someone has to. Xander. Wesley. Doyle.

Doyle.

His name rolls over my tongue and sticks. It courses through my mind and then rewinds itself and does it again. Just like his death scene. Over and over. The things I should have said before he was gone. The ways I should have stopped him. The things I could have done.

Nothing.

hat's what Angel says. He puts his large hand on my shoulder and squeezes. Then he gives me those big soulful eyes that Buffy fell in love with and tells me that's it's not my fault. And he wants to say more, I can see it- but he doesn't. That's not his way and I get that.

His way is to close himself up inside of the darkness and die a little bit more.

I can't do that. I don't want to do that.

I feel like I'm doing that. And I'm scared.

He lost Buffy. The love his life. And then when he had the chance to have her back, to hold her in his arms, world without end, he gave it back so that there would be a world not to end. And now he's alone again. Sure, he has me and he has Wesley but it's so different. So very different.

She understands the demons that keep him awake at night. The ones that force him to curl into a ball when I'm sure he thinks no one is around to call him on it.

The night I crashed over there at his place..the one before I got my new apartment..I heard him crying out. He's not a peaceful sleeper. I almost got up a couple of times but really, what could I have said? What would I have said when all he wants in the world is the comfort of her arms?

I struggle with that.

Part of me really wants to walk up to him, give him a good shove and scream at him to go after her. He loves her and so what if they can't get horizontal..at least they can enjoy the comfort of a good conversation or a good laugh.

Not anymore.

Because Buffy's back in Sunnydale. And Doyle's dead.

I'm alone. And he's alone.

His pain is eternal. Without her, he is incomplete. At least he knows that. It sucks but at least he has a place to start from. Don't ask me where he's supposed to be going. Haven't a clue. Just the same, at least he knows.

I don't know what I am.

I feel empty. And I wonder if maybe if I watch this tape a thousand times more if the pain will begin to go away and lave me some peace.

Fateful last words, right?

So why is "damn him" all I can think? And why do I want to find those stupid oracles and beat them until they bleed? Even if they will probably then proceed to turn me into something icky and green.

He was honest. Just like Xander. Both of them weren't exactly bold but they were far from sly. They couldn't keep a secret to save their lives. Well not when it came to lust and all that. Xand was all about getting smoochies and then we actually ended up liking ecah other. Never figured for that.

Doyle. Well he was even less sly than Xander. I heard him talking to Angel about asking me out and I thought to myself, sure..okay but I'm gonna make him work for it. Make him sweat. Weed him out if all he's thinking about is the carnal stuff.

But he wasn't thinking about that at all. Well he was. Of course he was. But that wasn't it. He was actually gone on me. He died for me.

For me. And for Angel.

Bang. Gone.

Doyle.

Sometimes I wish I was more of a drinker. Sometimes I wish that my poison was something more intense than white wine on a good day and red on a shit day. Sometimes I wish that I could drink the way Angel does and Doyle did. Knock the pain back and away. Forget. If only for five minutes.

Wouldn't that be something?

So I miss him. That's what all the crying is about. I miss him. And I want him back.

I want to see him grinning at me. I want to hand him Motrin as he knocks his head against the table in an inane attempt to make his head stop thumping after he's pounded a few too many brewskies.

Hey now, I know the terminology. Remember, most of whom I dated back in high school were jocks who were always pounding the liquor. Only they were doing it because it was "cool" and they were supposed to. Doyle did it to forget. Angel still does.

So here I am. A shot glass filled to the top with Vodka. A can of Mountain Dew sitting next to it.

Always makes me think of Xander.

Now he wasn't much of a drinker but the guy was constantly toked on soda. Anything with caffeine. He and Willow. Maximum Dewage all the time.

To be honest, I've never really done shots. Doyle had mentioned that he would show me how one of these crazy old nights when the two of us retreated from the office and from Angel. We never called it that though. We said that we were leaving the boss alone with his brooding but the reality of it was, we couldn't handle his heratache. It was depressing.

Now I feel it.

I miss him.

I lift up the little shot glass and turn it around in my palm. It says Pokey's on it. That's the name of a seddy little West Los Angeles bar that we went into about four days before he died. He said that he was having a headache, not a sight one..oh and we'll get to that later by the way..but one of those life sucks kinda bangers. So we went down there and he drank for awhile and I sipped wine. Meanwhile this greasy guy..total ick factor... is looking down my cleavage and trying to pick up on me. Like he had a chance. Doyle had more of a chance to get the whole package right on the floor of that bar than the dirty man had of me even acknowledging his existance other than as the person who was refilling my wine glass.

Anyways, both of us are buzzed as we're leaving and the barkeeper tells us that we should buy something to remember our honeymoon by. Doyle blushes. I'm cruising and not caring. Doyle throws the guy a twenty for something wrapped in ppaer and we leave. We go back to my place and I crawl into bed. He sleeps on the couch being annoyed by Dennis all night. Come morning, we open the pacakge to see the shot glass. Honeymoon. As if. We had a good laugh about it. He took it out of the paper and put it up with the rest of his glasses.

That's one of the first things I took from his apartment.

So here I am again. Only this time I'm in my apartment. I'm sitting in front of my television which is off but I'm staring at it anyways. And I have this shot glass in my hand and damn is the room shaking. Oh wait, no..that's me I guess. I'm shaking.

Again.

Okay. I can do this. I can focus my thoughts. I can be in control. I am a strong woman. I control my destiny. I don't need a man to validate me.

No. I don't need him. But I miss him and I want him back in my life.

Sure, he left me this groovy gift.

And yes, with strange help from Barney, I realize that Doyle did give me the most important thing he had..the ability to make a difference. But really, couldn't it have come with a complimentary head massager at the very least? I mean, I never was key about head banging but I'm thinking of taking up with a rock group soon if I get another one of those slammers.

He hated them as much as I do. But he put up with them with a little bit of good-natured gripping. Okay..I'm starting to smear my makeup again. Damn him..this would amuse him way too much.

Okay. Back to the liquor.

It's in my hand again.

And suddenly I'm back to her.

Buffy.

And how this all started.

With her.

That's not fair. Not exactly. I think she would have much preferred to stay out of my way. Didn't happen like that and I got messed up in her screwy little world. Even if I held it at arms' length.

But then my own life turned upside down and it was Angel, her demon lover who save my ass and then helped me out by giving me a job and a purpose and something to do that actually meant something real.

So even though I tried to keep my life from changing by making sure that I was never really completely one of her friends, this didn't work out that way. Weird.

"Drink, princess."

I can almost hear that. In my head, you know. That's what he'd be saying. He said that my sipping drove him nuts. Took too long to get the desired effect. I'd always remind him that my intents were different than his. He'd reply in his heavy accent, "True enough, princess."

I rewind the video tape and silently promise that when he says his last words, I'll toast him and finally say goodbye.

I hit play on my VCR and suddenly there he is. Only now I know the words by heart. Only now I feel the words. I say them as he does and I feel a tear trace down my cheek. I brush it away but it's followed by another.

This calls for a pep talk.

Okay. Better now. Continue.

He moves around the screen nervously, pleading me to let him go. No way. Stick there handsome. Keep going. We both know the drill by now. Might as well get this over with.

"Is that it? Am I done?"

I lift the glass up to my lips and I tip it back. I can feel the tears spilling down my cheeks in waves. Too many. God, this hurts.

I taste it in my mouth. It's bitter. More so than I would have ever imagined. I can barely swallow it. I almost spit it out . I squeeze my eyes shut though and force it down. I can do this. I am my own master. Even grief can not triumph over me.

Right?

I grab for the soda and use it to wash the liquor down. Quickly. But I can still taste it in my throat. And then I fall.

I'm on the ground. No, no, no. I've got to do this. I've got to say goodbye. I've got to..

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up hoping it's him even though I know it's not.

This ain't no fairytale princess. All the tears in the world can't bring the prince home.

That's it. I'm gone.

The glass slips out of my hand and I'm in a ball on the ground. Oddly, the hand is still there. I don't think much of it though. Because I know it's not his.

"Shh.." a voice says. I know it's Angel but I don't care. I wonder why he's here but I don't think long on it. He pulls me up and against him and I find myself folding into his chest. I can see now why Buffy liked it. It's big and you can lose yourself in it. Especially when all you want is for the world to take it's crap elsewhere.

He knows why I'm crying so he saves us both the time and trouble of asking what's wrong. He just rocks me. Like he doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't. He's just as helpless. He couldn't stop himself from losing Buffy anymore than I could stop myself from losing Doyle.

I just wish...

Dammit, no. Best not to go there. Madness.

I just wish I could have told him how much he meant to me.

Problem is..like always, I don't figure it out until too late. I didn't realize how much Xander meant to me until I saw our relationship come apart in front of me. And I didn't realize how much I looked forward to seeing Doyle every day until I didn't.

Until I couldn't.

Because he's dead now.

Angel lifts me up and brings me into my bedroom. Vaguely, I can hear the sounds of sheets being pulled back. He lays me under them, covers me up and then sits on the side of my bed. He brushes my hair out of my eyes. "It'll be okay," he promises, using the tone of someone who doesn't really believe it but has had to live by it his entire life. Like a mantra. Afterall, the good guys are supposed to win. Right?

Slowly I begin to drift. I put my hands out towards the velvet cloak of dark and start to move towards it. And then I fall into it. I think maybe he'll be there.

"She's cold
But she melts like snow."

---

Morning comes soon enough and with it, a pounding headache. Not a hangover..there wasn't enough alcohol involved for that. More like the kind of slammer yoou get when you're emotionally drained. When you haven't got anything left to give. That's me. The Drajno girl. Call my agent pronto.

When I come out of my room, he's sitting there. Angel that is. He's sitting in a chair facing the bedroom and I can tell that he's been there all night. Watching. Protecting. Like's it all he can do.

It is.

He gets up when he sees me. "Hi,uh.."

I smile and wave him off. He's never been good with words and the stammering might just give me a headache. I appreciate the thought and the gesture. Words mean nothing.

I go into my kitchen and start a pot of coffee. When I look back, he's leaning against the doorframe. He opens his mouth to speak, shuts it and then opens it again. "You okay?"

I smile weakly. "No. Go on."

And that's that.

It's not open season and I'm not anymore ready to share my pain than I am to let go of Doyle. I know it. I feel it. He knows it too. We're the same in that. Both holding on. Both so damn unsure of how to let go and both absoloutely unwilling to anyways. Buffy. Doyle. Whatever.

"Okay. Uh..the office.."

"Yes?"

"It's Saturday.."

"I don't come in on Saturdays," I reply simply, almost smiling. I know what he's trying to say and I could save him the trouble but it's almost amusing.

"Right. Okay. I'll see you Monday then."

"Monday then," I say. He nods, offers another smile and I know for certain that he'll be watching my place again tonight to make sure I'm alright. Watching me cry while his heart breaks a little more with each moment he's apart from Buffy. "Bye."

"Bye," Angel replies. He taps the doorframe once, a nervous motion I'm sure and then he ducks his head and slips back out into the early morning dusk. I hear a sound and I know he's entered the sewer system. He's gone and I'm once again alone with my pain.

And my knowledge that one drink and a thousand hours spent viewing that damn tape will never add up to goodbye.

I pour my coffee, look at it and then put it down. I glance at it once again and then move back towards my bedroom. This is not a day I'm ready to start dealing with. Not quite yet. Soon maybe.

Later.

When I can figure out how to stand.

-Fin