This graveyard hides a million secrets
The trees know more than they can tell
The ghosts of the saints and artists will haunt you
In Heaven and in Hell

He strolled through the gravestones, his ringed hand touching one, caressing another. He walked without thinking, without looked, trying to escape her shadow. He could almost see her; almost hear her voice, complaining about patrolling or making some quip about school. The graveyard was her place; without her, it was nothing. And yet, it was everything. His place too. He was dead, wasn’t he? And yet he didn’t lie here, in consecrated ground, he walked the length of it endlessly, searching for her, begging the air to tell him where she had gone. Her eyes watched him from the shadows, pulled him onwards. She had caught him and she would never let him go; he was hers, forever, for all time.

He had killed some of the people that rested here; they haunted him still. She had turned the ghosts away; she had made him live but she was gone and ghosts were all he had left. He walked through the gravestones and wondered if the people that lay beneath them were in Heaven or Hell. He’d been to Hell; to Heaven too, in her arms. Would they follow him when he died? Would the ghosts haunt him even then or would he finally find peace? She had brought him peace, but she was gone. He paced the graveyard and begged it to give him its secrets.

Look over your shoulder, hear the schoolbell ring
Another day of made-to-measure history
I don't care if your heroes have wings
Your terrible beauty's been torn

Shadows hide a thousand things; they hid him from the sunlight that morning. He watched the teenagers going into school as the first bell of the morning rang. They laughed, a girl and boy kissed, someone shoved someone else. Their lives went on. He wondered if they even knew she was gone. Oh, a few of them did. Somewhere in the crowd were Xander and Willow and Oz and maybe even Cordelia, missing her. But the rest . . . they would go into their classes, never knowing the danger they were in since she was gone. Never knowing that she had saved each of them a hundred times.

Some of them would go into history classes and the teachers would tell them about Napoleon or the American Revolution or the Depression. But none of those teachers would stand there and tell the students that their world existed because of a few young woman throughout history. Their world existed because of her. No teacher would ever teach that in school. None of those students would ever picture the small, slender blond girl as a hero. As the only hero that had mattered.

She had always been so strong; people thought he was that, but he wasn’t. He had never been strong as she was. Physically, of course, though that wasn’t him either, it was the demon, but in his soul; he wasn’t as she had been, he didn’t even understand it. She was strong and beautiful and the only light in the world.

You're a history book I never could write
Poetry in paralysis, too deep to recite
Dress yourself, caress yourself, you've won the fight
We're going to celebrate tonight

After she defeated the Master, she didn’t cry because she had died; she didn’t want to sleep or even rest. She wanted to go celebrate, to attend the prom and dance all night. She had looked so beautiful; she hadn’t needed him, hadn’t needed anyone. But he had needed her. When he thought she was dead . . . the world ended for him that night and then began again when she opened her eyes and drew in a ragged breath.

He thought he understood her at first; thought he could write her out, like a book. He saw her heart and knew it for his own. But she was more than he ever knew her to be. She was everything he’d thought her to be and so much more. Strong couldn’t describe her, or beautiful. Nothing could describe her but herself.

And now she was gone.

She won before she left; she wouldn’t want to rest now. They must celebrate, go out and dance all night. She would want that. She would want him to be strong, but he didn’t know how. He wasn’t like her.

We'll even climb the pillar (like we always meant to)
Watch the sun rise over the strand
Close our eyes and we'll pretend
It could somehow be the same again

The sky was beginning to lighten the horizon; false dawn was upon him and the real thing would come soon. He closed his eyes and he could feel her hand in his, her soft cheek against his chest. She was here, with him, waiting for him. And it would not be long now.

The first time he saw her had been the only time in the sunlight. Young, carefree, without a thought in her head beside what to wear to the next dance. Yet still he had seen it in her; the brightness, the steel and the fire. It had called him as nothing had in the two hundred and more years he had lived before than. At first he had debated whether to even speak to her, but there were things that need to be said and besides that, he could not stay away. Her very being enticed him, pulled at his soul as if even then the world knew she would someday take it away. But no, that wasn’t true. She hadn’t stolen his soul; it had been a gift gone wrong. He had given her his love and his heart and his soul and because of what he was, the last gift had been the most horrible of all things.

There were so many things he wished he could have said to her; so many things they should have done together if things had been different. If he had been human--even if the curse had just been permanent. They could have been happy together. He closed his eyes and felt her with him and pretended things were different. Pretended they were back in time, before her birthday, before everything had gone so very wrong.

I'll bury you upright so the sun doesn't blind you
You won't have to gaze at the rain and the stars
Faithful departed, there's no brokenhearted
And no more distress in your world without end.

She was buried in the cemetery where she had spent so many nights. All the pain had ended for her. No more wind to buffet her, no stars to call to her on lonely nights. And soon, he would be with her. His soul would be with her, no curses to hold it or let it go. The pain would end, the heartbreak and the need to be strong. His strength was gone with her; he wouldn’t need it soon enough. The sun was coming; his light was nearing. She whispered in his ear, kissed his lips. He kept his eyes closed so he would not see it, but he felt it, washing over his bare chest, his arms, his face. She was gone suddenly and he opened his eyes; the sun blinded him for the last time and the first in so long. And Angel burned into an angel in reality.

The End

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