Title - Down to his Grave

By - Mariah (symonk@bezeqint.net)

Disclaimer - not mine. The song belongs to Remy Zero and is called "Perfect Memory".

Distribution - my B/A fanfic site (http://www.withtheprettiness.com/evennow) and everyone with permission. Ask me first.

Rating - PG.

Spoilers - everything ever.

Pairing - Buffy/Angel.

Synopsis - sequel to "Hard to Tell", that was the sequel to "Ways to Say Goodbye", this story is the third part in a yet untitled series.

Feedback - always.

AN - This is Buffy's pov all along, however, you'll soon notice the scenes are jumping from 'past' (her memory) to 'present'.

"But then how this world slipped through my fingers
And even the sun seemed tired
I still cared
As they lowered you down my heart just jaded
In that moment the earth made no sound
But you were there
You helped me lift my pain into the air"

My hand is shaking as I reach for the knob. I'm afraid to open the door, afraid of what I'll find inside, even though I already know what it's going to be. My tears sting the back of my eyes, but I cannot shed them just yet, for some reason, that very moment, I don't know if I'll ever be able to cry again, as strange as that thought might seem. I close my eyes and squeeze them tight for a moment, drawing a shaky breath into my lungs. It doesn't help. Nothing could, not ever since they called me.

I press down on the knob and the door wields to me and pushes open. I look inside at the dusky room and swallow. I suddenly don't know if I can do that. They called me because I was their last resort, because they didn't know what else to do. They had hope, they still do.

All I know is that I'm entering this room to watch my lover die.

I stand still and I feel as though my legs are rooted in that passage between the rows of headstones I chose to take me to his. I'm almost there, only a few feet away, but for some reason I don't seem to be able to make another step forward. It's not like I've never been there before, you know. I've been there more times than I could count. Not as of late, of course, but...

I rest my eyes on the stone ahead of me, the one that's carrying the one name I will never be able to erase from my memory for as long as I'm alive and probably long after. I don't see the person I'm here to find, but I know he's there, too. He's around, somewhere, he's going to show himself at some point, the cowardly part of me isn't exactly jonecing to confront him, anyway.

A sudden chill attacks me and I have to wrap my arms around myself because I literally shudder at the wave of cold. As I look around at what appears to be an endless ocean of gray stones, I think it is the first time I was ever afraid of cemeteries, especially in broad daylight. I don't understand why, but I feel this place is pushing me away. As my gaze drifts back to his grave, a pang in my chest brings with it another cognition, the only place I could come to for peace and comfort tries to tell me I'm no longer welcome.

I sit down on the edge of the king-sized bed, trying my hardest not to disturb his slumber with my weight, but I soon learn he's not asleep at all, when he opens his eyes, but barely, and looks up at me. His eyes seem blank and deadpan, staring at nothing. But he recognizes me. I know.

His lips part slightly as he releases a sigh on which he carries my name, and somehow I know this is probably the last time I'm going to hear him speak it. My hand subconsciously finds his and I gingerly lift it from his chest, bring it up to my lips and tenderly brush them over his pale skin.

"Angel," I manage, as I lift my eyes from the white sheets of his bed to his face, and I secretly wonder how come my voice doesn't crack as I speak his name.

His hand that I don't have cradled in my tight grip reaches up to my face and I can see it's hard for him to perform that simple gesture. And I still don't cry. I can't. Instead I gather his other palm in my own and place it over my cheek where I know he wanted to.

"You can't stop that," he says weakly, endeavoring a smile and I know at least a part of him expects me to smile back. But I can't. I know only too well what he means.

I gulp. "I can try," I persist, knowing it's all in vain. It's too late now, or maybe it always has been.

He tilts his head from side to side in weak protest. "I told you..." he pauses and winces slightly as I feel his grip on my hand tighten a little. When he opens his eyes again, they somehow seem clearer to me. "I told you, four years ago, that I was ready. I still am."

I shake my head with pointless resolve and tears press harder at the back of my eyes as I slightly draw back from him, releasing his hand. I fish for the knife hidden safely in the pocket of my jacket and roll back one of my sleeves, exposing my wrist. The entire time, I never break eye contact with him and constantly ask myself why his oddly peaceful gaze doesn't change even a little as he sees what I'm about to do. Is it because he already knew? But it's soon revealed to me he had other plans all along as his icy cold hand closes with a strength I would never guess he still possesses around my wrist, just as the sharp blade is only inches away from the surface of my skin.

"No," he insists, his eyes darken a little as they bore deep into mine, as if daring me to disobey him. "There is no use," he adds, his voice softer now as he lets go of my hand. "Let me go," he almost pleads with me and I don't even feel as the knife slips from my grasp and hits the bedroom floor.

"I'm sorry," I whisper hoarsely and again, I feel my tears overwhelming and salty streams will cover my cheeks in an instant, but I still can't shed a single one. Instead, I gather his hands in mine and bring them up to my lips, kissing each one as my mouth feels suddenly very dry.

This is the first time I came empty-handed to his grave. No flowers today only to die out tomorrow and leave their dry petals spread all about the stone that comes to replace my former lover.

I turn my head to the right and my eyes come across a large gravestone with the inscription 'In Loving Memory'. I swallow and almost chuckle at the irony of that, as the memory of his strong arms bending me over all those years ago sweeps over me, his hungry lips pressing against mine in a fervent kiss as I lose more and more of myself into the power of his embrace...

I shake my head and shake off the memory. It's useless, it's nothing but additional suffering, and didn't I have enough of those in the past three years? I briefly scan my surroundings again in search of him but have no luck this time, too.

I sigh and with heavy tread resume my walk in the direction of his grave.

"Where is he?" I hear him ask, and I know whom he means. My heart breaks at the barely perceptible note of desperation in his voice and it breaks again when I acknowledge the only thing I can answer him is the truth.

"He's not here, Angel. I'm sorry, he... he had to... he left. He's not here." I study his face for a long moment as he just gazes at me. I can detect pain and even certain amount of disbelief in his eyes as the meaning of my words registers in his brain. But there is no surprise in them, and that is the part that gets to me the most.

"He's not," he acknowledges, momentarily averting his eyes from me as a shadow of loss spreads across his features.

"I'm sorry," I say again, and inwardly realize it's becoming quite the cliche.

"I... I have something I need to," he inhales a deep breath and it's obvious it's hard for him to speak, but he goes on anyway, because I know, just as does he, that whatever he has to say is more important than the pain that comes along. "I know I have no right to ask you that, I'm not in t-the position to-"

"I promise," I give his hands a gentle squeeze to fortify my words. "I give you my word, Angel."

He sighs with relief, and I see gratitude enter the bleakness of his eyes as he directs his gaze at me again, and there is something else, too... "Buffy," he passes his tongue over his lips in attempt to moisten them and squints at me as though he's being blinded by something. "I love you," he says. And I feel my heart stop and I almost drop his hands. I need a little while to digest these three words and at the same time, I know I cannot have that smallest luxury because these are minutes we don't have. I don't know what to say, my brain can't even function on a rational level and my mouth won't collaborate with it in doing as much as saying I love him, too.

I bring me eyes across his and I know these words are exactly the ones he needs, and more importantly expects, to hear in return right now. I open my mouth and try to speak. And I can't. I can't give him that much. I inwardly wonder if maybe my eyes can speak for me since he doesn't take his off of them. There was a time he could look me in the eyes and see everything I was, everything I am or going to be. Can he still do that? Can he tell how much I love him, how much I always will? How much I'm dying right there, next to him? Something tells me he's not even conscious enough to understand that.

I feel moisture on my face and I realize I'm crying. A lone tear slowly stumbles its course down my cheek. But to my disappointment this is as much as I appear to be capable of. I can't even cry. My life is dying before my eyes and I can't even cry.

Finally, the veil of anguish and disillusionment my silence brought lifts from his eyes and he opens his mouth to speak again, "You d-don't have to... say anything, I just... I-I wanted you to know." He gazes at me for a spell, saying nothing, as if making sure I heard that. "Just know. Okay? That I always did. And... I always will."

"I love you," I whisper as I kneel down on the wet grass and gently lay one hand on the cold stone, feeling his engraved name with my fingertips. But I know I'm only fooling myself now, no one can actually hear me... and I didn't say it when it counted.

I let him die and I never told him. He didn't know. Or did he?...

I feel a tear trickle down from the corner of my eye, and it is soon followed by another one, and another, and before I can stop myself, I bend over and bury my face in my hands, shaking with almost uncontrollable sobs. I haven't allowed myself to cry for him for so long, I haven't even allowed myself to visit his grave so that I wouldn't be driven to tears, I hid every item having anything to do with him in the very back of my closet. And now everything that was supposed to come out gradually over that lost time is pouring out of me at once and I suddenly can't stop. And I even almost forget why I came there in the first place. Almost...

Only when I finally manage to get my senses back in check, I feel someone's presence behind me and I know who that someone is. So he is there, can't say I'm surprised, really. I take a deep breath and pull myself together as much as I can before I turn around and face him, not knowing what to say, and he just stands there, with his arms slumped to the sides of his body, looking at me. My head is reeling from too many thoughts as I'm trying to decide the best way to open a conversation but fail each and every time.

His hands abruptly slip out of mine and fall down on the bed, and for a second the thought crosses my mind that I haven't been holding strongly enough, but looking at him just once I realize that's not the case anymore. His eyes are closed now and I watch as his chest rises heavily as his lungs fill with air he never needed, especially not now. Some inexplicable sixth sense causes me to look aside to his nightstand and I find a sealed envelope lying on it, simply addressed, 'Buffy'. I gingerly pick it up as if it were breakable, but my hand is quivering so much I almost drop it. As I finally place it on my lap, I tear the side open and spill out its content. There is no letter inside, just a silver ring that rolls out of the white envelope and lands on my open palm. I look at it for a moment, before clutching it tightly in my fist as my gaze drifts off to the vampire lying next to me.

"Go, now," I hear him whisper feebly, even though he doesn't open his eyes anymore.

"Angel..." I croak, as my tears finally break through the barriers and I know that moment they aren't going to stop for a very long time.

"I... d-don't stay for this," he requests silently, and my ears can barely pick up his words anymore. "P-please..."

A part of me wishes to obey him, but my entire body refuses to cooperate and I find myself unable to move a muscle to leave the room. Instead, I rise up to my feet and walk over to the door, almost absentmindedly locking it from the inside. Then I return to his bed and carefully lay myself down on the empty side. I pillow my face with my hands, conquering the burning yearning to wrap my arms around him and hold him until there is nothing left to hold anymore.

But I just keep looking at him, as my tears continue to roll down my cheeks and stain the sheets of his bed until my flesh seems to be on fire from the amount of salt. I bury my nose in the pillow and inhale his scent from it, savoring it for as long as I can hold it. He's not attempting to breathe anymore, just lying there, still and frozen as stone and I don't need to touch him to verify. To the unknowing eye, it may seem he doesn't even know I'm there, but it takes me to know he does.

I do everything in my power to maintain my eyes on the perfectly sculpted lines of his face, etching every outline, every feature deep within my memory to remain there forever and always. But I know even my eyes can't hold that long. As my lids slowly descend over them, his face is the last thing I see, and I know I see it for the last time.

I stand up and fully face Angel's son, who doesn't move at all, just stares at me blankly, and I can read both disappointment and betrayal in his eyes, and other things, too. And they all hurt just in the right places.

Because he is his son.

I open my mouth and am surprised at the words so easily rolling off my tongue now, as I say the dullest thing I could ever come up with, all my practice aside, "I think we need to talk."

THE END