Burning in Heaven
by JAG

She's dead. Those words, those terrible words. They just wouldn't sink in, refused to be noticed. They sounded so fake, so unreal. I've heard so many unbearable things; my life revolves around things that go bump in the night. Things that are meant to be Myths and legends, that is my reality.

I always expected her to die because of me, to be killed by a foe I wouldn't been able to concur. When they told me the driver was drunk, I finally realized how the families of the vamp victims must feel when they're told the cause of death. It's like a wave crashes over my head and I drags me under the ocean and I can't stop swallowing the water because my body refuses to believe it's anything but air.

I can't stand the house, it reeks of her, of her perfume, her shampoo her cooking. Her sculptures and paintings are scattered all over the house, adorning every room every wall. I can't breathe, I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't sit still and I can't wake up from this nightmare.

I'm yearning for something, but I'm not sure what. So I jump in the jeep and just press on the gas. I don't know where I'm going, but the further I drive the less my chest aches. My gas indicator reads Empty at 4:39 a.m., in the middle of an upper class section of Los Angeles. I don't recognize where I am, but I'm magically no longer yearning for anything. Then I see him.

He had just parked his car and is walking up the steps into the house. The bitter lump in my throat stubbornly refuses to be swallowed and I'm paralyzed, I can't take my eyes off him. I watch him as he opens the door and I see him through the window turning off a few lights and pulling down the blinds. I imagine him walking up the stairs because I can no longer see him. Then I see him walking into what I suppose is his bedroom, turning on the light and shrugging off his coat. My eyes linger over his strong arms and I imagine myself wrapped inside them.

I vaguely remember picking the lock of his backdoor and slipping inside, my brain screams for me to stop, but I can't. I tiptoe up the stairs and walk down the hall. No lights are on; I mentally curse myself for not paying attention to which room is his. A pile of clothes spills out of the first room I open. It couldn't be his, he was always such a neat freak. I move to the next door. I can hear him moving inside, getting ready for bed. I wait until I'm sure he's asleep and I stealthy make my way into his bedroom. My breath catches in my throat as I watch him sleep. He looks so peaceful, so angelic and I can feel some thing in me snap. I strip off most of my clothes, leaving myself in only my under clothes and climb in beside him. He wraps his arms around me, still sleeping. I forgot everything but him, he fills all my senses. It takes me a while before I realize he's awake and he's asking me what's wrong.

"Moms dead." I reply. I don't recognize my own voice, it sounds cold and metallic and I wonder where this cold exterior comes from because inside I'm anything but.

He doesn't say anything, he just holds me tighter and rubs my back with long soft stokes. It feels so good, it feels so real, which is all the more reason to believe it's not and I clutch him tighter. Not many things these past few weeks have been real and I pray he's not part of another dream. I don't think I could take it. I can feel something start to build up inside me, I try to fight it but it comes out in a sob. The floodgates open and I bury my head in his shoulder. I try to stop crying, but I can't, it's like something's possessed me, making me feel everything I've shoved into a dark corner of my heart for the past two weeks.

I'm suddenly angry, angry at Willow and Xander leaving, angry at her for being on the road that night, angry at myself for not being there when mom died, angry at myself for causing her so much pain and angry at God for making me what I am. I'm angry at Him, angry at him for loving me, angry at him for leaving and angry at him for just lying there while I pound him chest with my small fists. It's the only thing I can do to express the pain these emotions bring as they seize me. He doesn't do anything to stop me, just endures my wrath and mumbles soothing words to me in his velvety voice. He holds me as my tears turn into uncontrollable sobs and kisses my head.

"Its ok, don't worry, its ok." He whispers, but it's too late. Nothing will be all right, nothing ever has been. I can already feel my heart grow numb again, like a deer caught in the headlights, my body is paralyzed.

"Buffy, Buffy what's wrong?" He asks when he feels me stiffen. I slide out of the bed and reach for my clothes. "Buffy, where are you going? Please don't leave." His voice cracks as he speaks. I can feel the ice surrounding my heart begin to melt. I won't let it, I can't let myself love him back, I won't be able to stand losing him too.

I'm about to walk out the door when he grabs me from behind, turning me around and pinning me to the wall with a deep and passionate kiss that I can't stop myself from returning. We pull away and I'm breathing harder then I ever have before.

"Tell me that meant nothing" He says. I stare into his eyes, the ones that say everything he tries to hide and I suppress all the voices in my head telling me this is right, encouraging me to accept the comfort he offers me so freely.

I take a deep breath and do the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I walk out on the only love I will ever know.

I get into the car and suddenly I'm falling. I clutch at whatever's near me and my eyes, which I hadn't realized I'd shut, pop open. It takes me a few moments to get my bearings. The sheets around me are damp and the room is a deep cold that reminds me so much of him. I look around the room. It's his old apartment. Everything's how it was since the last night we were here. Nothings changed except there's a drawing on the wall that I never noticed before.

Lost Little Girl it's titled. It's of me. I'm sitting on a swing. It's night. I've got a long cut down my cheek and I clutching a stake for all its worth in one hand and fingering my cross with the other. I take it off the wall, slowly and carefully. I realize it's the only picture I've ever seen of the real me. I touch the drawing lightly making sure not to smudge the lines. The papers thing and catches fire easily when I light it. I leave before it s finished burning. I don't want to wait until it's done. Because all there'll be is ashes. All there ever was was ashes and for the first time I won't watch as they settle to the ground.

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Scully: "Mulder did you see their eyes? If I were that stoned..."
Mulder: "Woo, if you were that stoned what."

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