Title - Buried or Not

By - Mariah (symonk@bezeqint.net)

Disclaimer - not mine.

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 - 5th part in the series, which now has a name - "Destiny" series.

Feedback - always.

AN - Connor's pov in the first part, then Buffy's.

I hear the bell ringing and I hear my sister opening the door downstairs. It's still a little strange to refer to her that way, I never thought of Buffy like this, but her... I shake this thought off, I don't have the time for it now, anyway. And still, it wouldn't go away. I've been living in this house for three years, these people have grown to be the only real family and friends I've ever known. Am I going to leave it all behind now... where will I go? Is that really the problem, that I can't survive on my own? Hardly, since I have proven myself otherwise in the past. But am I truly ready to lose all that?

Holtz, the man I knew as my father for my first eighteen years raised me well, I have to give him that much. He raised me to survive. Or was that Quortoth? I'm not sure anymore. Most of all, he raised me to be loyal. And good or bad, loyal is still loyal. *His* loyalty was poison, I know that now, even though it's too late. But the loyalty to these people, to this family... it's something I'm not sure I'm prepared to give up that fast.

Holtz raised me into a trap of lies, I recognize now I needed Buffy to open my eyes to that fact, no one else ever really did before she came. Am I angry with him? No... or not anymore, it's been a long time, and if there's anything my father, or rather, what Buffy has told me about him, has taught me, it was to forgive. I know my father forgave him a long time ago, my father can forgive anyone and anything... after all, he forgave me. I shudder at the memory and swallow hard. After everything I did, do I even have the right to say anything, do anything? I can hardly say *I* deserve to call him my father. Nothing I will do now can ever amend for the fact I wasn't there for him when he all but went out of his way to be there for me.

I sigh as I tiredly sit down on my bed and run my hand through my hair. I know, things were different then, circumstances were different. Punishing myself for the past wouldn't help to change it, especially given the fact he's gone now, there's nobody left to change it for. It's funny, the ironic part of it, I mean. I chuckle at that, but inside it feels everything but funny to me, there is pain forming in my chest I'm not used to, but at the same time, it always comes when I think of him, think like that, think there was a time when I wanted him dead, when I tried to carry that will out... so I should be happy now, shouldn't I? Now I'm willing and ready to do everything for him to be here again so I could tell him how important he was... is, what influence he has on my life, on me. Maybe tell him how much I miss him. I can't do that though. It must be the most horrible feeling in the world when you have so much you want to say to a person but you never can. I suppose that's how she must be feeling sometimes... No wonder she tries anything to set herself free.

So am I supposed to be supportive?

I sigh again and get up. I know whom Dawn opened the door to, I could smell him the moment he walked in. I even heard her squeal when she congratulated him and probably hugged him like she did Buffy. Well, that's Dawn, why wouldn't she be happy? As for me... Buffy didn't get it. Yes, it might feel like I'm losing a part of my father if she goes on and marries him, but it's not just that. In every way that counted, I lost my father three years ago, when I wasn't even there to say goodbye... some son. Now, I'm losing both of them. I'm losing her, too. It sure feels like that.

Once I never wanted a family, now I don't want to lose it. Never thought I'd find myself facing *that* situation, that's for sure...

I turn up the volume in my stereo to muffle their voices, but my parents damned me with a hearing that overcomes even that. Finally, I turn the stereo off completely and as my curiosity gets the better of me, though I know inside he is the last person I want to see, I open the door to my room and sneak out of it, unheard and unseen, like I know I can when I want to. Though there is no reason for me to not make myself known, I don't feel any particular urge to share Dawn's excitement.

I stand hidden behind a corner, but I can see from there everything that's going on on the first floor.

"So, where's your sister?" he asks, his voice is light and happy as it probably should be, as he follows Dawn into the living room. "I thought I'd ask her how come everybody knows she's marrying me before I do."

"Out," she shrugs, and I see her shoulders stiffen a bit as she says that. She knows where her sister is, I told her earlier when I came home. She doesn't tell him, a part of me doesn't understand why...

"Yeah, I see that," he chuckles. "You don't know where she is?"

I see her eyes drop to her feet uncomfortably and I recognize that gesture only too well. She isn't going to tell him. God only knows what drives me to it, but I step out of my hiding spot and descend down the stairs.

"She's at the cemetery," I tell him, before he's even quick enough to notice I'm there, before I can stop myself from doing an even further mistake...

He looks up, so does my sister, both of their faces change at once. While hers only reveals astonishment and slight panic at my words, his loses the smile as though it was never there. "Hey, Connor," he says evenly. He's being nice again, he's always nice, even though he probably knows exactly where he stands on my scale, he needs to be an idiot not to, I haven't exactly been trying to hide it. I hate these times the most because they make me realize he's not necessarily the idiot...

I nod in return and make a few steps in his direction as he continues to look at me. Dawn slightly shakes her head 'no', because she knows what I'm about to do next, she knows I'm going to tell him everything. Is that a smart move? In the long run, it's everything but. I always knew these sort of things would get me in trouble one day and now that I can avoid it... I don't. Maybe I can't. Should I rub his nose in it, is it worth intruding on Buffy at a time like this? I guess the selfish part of me doesn't consider that hard enough at the moment.

"What is she doing there?" he asks us both, and then adds, "It's the middle of the day."

I look at him again. He's brought flowers. He rarely comes to see her without bringing something along. And I've seen the way he looks at her, the way he treats her, aside from fights they have over slaying, over him thinking it's too dangerous for her, him not wanting her to keep that up, he treats her right. He treats her like she deserves to be treated. It hurts, because deep inside I've known it all along. No, he can never be my father. Her eyes don't light like the brightest sunshine when she talks about him, while for my father, they do. She doesn't cry about him as she does about my father. And I don't think there will ever come a man to own her entire heart and soul like my father did, probably still does. But she's turning her back on him, anyway. Turning her back and going with Cole. Do I really have the right to expect her to put her entire life on hold and live in a memory? Mulling over the could-have-been will suffocate her eventually, I should know. Do I even have the right to expect that?

And yet, I don't back off.

"She's visiting a grave," I let him know flatly. "My father's grave."

He gazes at me with confusion in his eyes and I know he doesn't understand. He wouldn't. Buffy never told him. Half a year, and she never did.

I slowly raise my head from my knees and blink at the sudden brightness of the sky and the sun. I guess I really did keep my eyes closed for too long, buried in darkness. I wonder inwardly how long have I been sitting there. I glance at my wrist only to be reminded I don't even have a watch.

It's a funny thing about cemeteries in Sunnydale. People are so afraid of them they bury their loved ones, and God knows there are a lot of loved ones in this town to bury, but they never seem to come and visit the graves. Deep inside, I always knew that, but now that I have spent a decent few hours sitting by my ex-lover's grave, I'm being proven of that. No one really comes, it's like they don't care anymore, once they bury them, or something. Yeah, I know it's a cruel thing to say. But letting the dead rest and trying to not follow them, there goes the Sunnydale motto. Maybe I will be able to embrace that sometime... the 'letting the dead rest' part, at least.

Instead I tilt my head to the right and press my cheek against the cold stone. Truth is, it's not even that cold anymore, I think from the amount of time I've spent sitting with my back against it I managed to warm it. Warm a stone, imagine that. I feel my tears trickle down my cheeks again even though I don't want to cry anymore. Now that I wanted to before, it wasn't ever up to me since tears tend to come and go as they please. But I don't want to, now. I just wanna get it over with, get it out of my system, but I don't seem to be able to. It's hard and I hate that. It's like having a part of you viciously torn out, with the sole difference you're doing it willingly and consciously. And though I know it is supposed to hurt less, after, I just can't bring myself to do that.

I bring my hand up near my face and my fingers gently stroke his name as I close my eyes. I didn't even write anything, just 'Angel'. Not 'dear friend', 'beloved', or anything else as dull... I didn't want anything to appear on that tombstone but 'Angel'. I let out a choked laugh. People must be thinking I buried an angel. Didn't I?...

I wipe my tears away with the back of my sleeve and plant a soft kiss on his name. The stone suddenly feels a lot colder to my lips than it does to my face. I wonder why that is. I remember how cold his lips were when I kissed him. I don't think I'll ever forget that, the first kiss, when he gently propped my chin up that night in my bedroom and drew our lips closer, and the cold of his lips melted me. That first kiss was so soft and tender it stayed with me for the rest of my life, even though we might have had better ones later on. Yeah, I'd kissed before, I'd kissed other guys. But I never kissed anyone like that, no one ever kissed *me* like that, with his entire heart and soul pouring into me in that one kiss.

And I remember the other kisses, all having in common the tender cold of his lips as they press against mine, but that cold was always somewhat inviting, caressing, loving... it was good, it was Angel. And I miss it. And I miss the kisses from that one day when he was human, because even though they weren't cold, they were still Angel. Now this stone is Angel. And I realize I don't know if I can ever truly come to terms with that.

"Hey."

I gaze up slowly and try to not show the total amount of surprise surfacing in my orbs at the sight of him. I realize I didn't even notice him being there... I can't help but wonder just how much did he see. How did he even find me?

"Connor." He gulps, after answering my unasked question. I can see he's slightly uncomfortable, probably grasping he's walked in on a very private moment. But I understand it's not his fault, how could he ever know? Not that I ever bothered to tell him. And what if I did, what then? Then we'd never work out and I wouldn't even be considering marrying him, I would be alone, because so many things, little meaningless things throughout our relationship he never paid attention to, would abruptly make sense...

"He... h-he said where I could find you."

Connor. Of course. Who else.

"Yeah," I master a smile and hold my hand out, which he takes and helps me to my feet.

"I brought you these," he offers me the flowers and I accept, smiling. "I guess you'd need them now a little more than I thought," he glances at the grave and I know what he must be thinking, that I'd probably like to leave them there. I comply with his thoughts, but only because I don't want to offend him and I'm too trapped to walk around that any other way. My fiancé brings flowers to my ex-lover's grave, now, could that get creepier...

"Thanks," I smile again and press a kiss to his cheek. I know he's probably wondering why there, but I just can't bring myself to kiss him on the lips, not... here.

"You okay?" he asks gently as he wipes the remnants of my tears away with his thumbs. I look into his clear blue eyes and I wonder if I could lie to him. I know I can't tell him the truth, but actual and direct lying... That's a completely different thing. I just nod weakly and cast my eyes down to the grave to avoid looking at him.

Cole doesn't say anything for a moment as we both just stand there and I would kill to know what's going on in his head. Then he wraps one arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer, and I stiffen at first, unwilling to obey, not because I don't want to, but unwilling for the same reason I couldn't kiss him a few minutes ago. But I don't have a choice. He's my fiancé, after all, and since I'm not even planning on telling him anything anytime... ever, I might as well act on. It only then strikes me he didn't even mention the whole proposal think until now. I know he knows my answer, he was at my house, so Dawn must have taken care of that by now. But he doesn't say anything, because he understands it isn't the time. That just painfully comes to remind me what a wonderful man he is in so many ways...

"So that's Connor's father."

I look up in alarm I manage to conquer in the last second. Just how much did Connor make sure he knew by now??

He doesn't notice my reaction, because he evenly continues, "You... you never told me you were that close."

Close? Just what kind of 'close' are we discussing here?

"I-I mean," he clears his throat as he turns his head and looks me in the eye. "I was assuming you and Giles were... you know. But I know your father was never around and Connor being your brother..." he has slight trouble in formulating his thoughts and suddenly I understand where he's heading with that. "I mean, when your mom married his dad..."

I choke as he reaches that part because the realization is too deep now and I just can't hold it in anymore. Circumstances being different, I would have probably burst into uncontrollable laughter and would be rolling on the ground by now. Angel and me in that kind of relationship?? Wait, drop that, *Angel and my mom*???

He looks at me, and I see he's thrown. I guess my reaction isn't exactly what he was expecting. Probably a more... should I say 'sane', explanation is in order here. "Connor's dad was *never* involved with my mom, Cole. Connor isn't even my mom's son. Only Dawn is." Neither is Dawn, but we better not go there, I make a mental note. I hate these times. I hate them because they remind me how many secrets I've been keeping from the man I intend to marry...

"What do you mean?" He doesn't understand. I guess he's pondering the same thing...

"Connor is my brother because... I'd made a promise to his father I'd take care of him before he died. And because I wanted to make him my family. It's complicated, Cole, I... Maybe I'll tell you one day, I just don't wanna talk about it now. It's not *that* important."

He just nods and looks at Angel's grave. "Angel," he reads. "That's his name?"

I smile. "Not very common, I know."

He smiles, too, "Actually, I have a friend whose name is Angel."

I don't answer that, just look on at what's left of *my* Angel.

"He must have meant a lot to you," he notes, and I just nod. He has no idea.

"How old was he when he died?" he probes gently. "He couldn't have been over forty or something..." And I know he doesn't mean any harm with these questions, or with these comments. He tries to make me talk to make *me* feel better, not to draw information. I only wish I could tell him *why* I didn't want to talk about that particular subject. But I think he found a crack in my shield because *that* particular moment, my mouth doesn't seem to collaborate with my brain...

"He was older," I say simply. "He was two hundred and fifty years old."

THE END