Angel
Angel sat motionless, looking directly down at the black varnished finish of his desk. He noted how the lines of the wood grain didn't quite match up, and how in some parts, the paint strokes were almost uneven, clumsily done. How his tears fell onto the black wood, puddling where they fell.
He hadn't moved since they'd gotten in from taking Faith...
He could still smell her on him, could still feel her blood on his hands, staining them red for all time. He didn't want to wash it away. Didn't want to leave her behind. Didn't want to say goodbye. Not to another person he cared about.
Nous aurons des lits pleins d'odeurs légères,
Des divans profonds comme des tombeaux,
Et d'étranges fleurs sur des étagères,
Ecloses pour nous sous des cieux plus beaux.
Usant à l'envi leurs chaleurs dernières,
Nos deux coeurs seront deux vastes flambeaux,
Qui réfléchiront leurs doubles lumières
Dans nos deux esprits, ces miroirs jumeaux.
Un soir fait de rose et de bleu mystique,
Nous échangerons un éclair unique,
Comme un long sanglot, tout chargé d'adieux ;
Et plus tard un Ange, entr'ouvrant les portes,
Viendra ranimer, fidèle et joyeux,
Les miroirs ternis et les flammes mortes.
Angel put his head in his hands, closing his eyes, wanting to forget how much he cared about her, how much he was missing her already.
Losing Buffy had been loss enough for him, why did the Powers want her too?
She had been his almost life force at one point, when he couldn't go on, she was there, pushing him to keep going, to keep fighting the good fight. She'd seen him at his worst, and he'd seen her at her's. He'd watched her grow up, from the bratling Slayer who couldn't follow orders, to the so called, "bad" Slayer who tread the thin line and fell into darkness, then to the remorseful Slayer, ever careful of staying on the right side, fighting for her redemption, trying to earn herself a place. A right to be human. And finally, she grew into a leader. To someone who gave orders, listened to advice, fought her own personal battles and even saved the world.
He was never romantically interested in Faith. She was his sister. His best friend. His confidant. The one person who he could sit in silence with for hours, and walk away from that, feeling like he'd had the best conversation of his life. She made him smile and laugh, and gave him reasons to keep going.
When they'd been suffering the after effects of Orpheus, she'd seen his past, and hadn't run away from him. She'd taken the risk of dying, just to save him.
He needed Faith, if not for anything else, then just for sanity. And her being gone, Angel could see how much it affected others.
Why couldn't she come back? She was a Champion of the light, like him, and it wasn't her time. Not now. She was too young. Too strong. Too stubborn. Too loved.
Maybe he'd just stake himself. Take off the gem and run outside, burning up. Maybe physical pain could override the mental anguish. The feeling of failure. He could've saved her, but he hadn't. He could've killed Wrath sooner. Could've gone after her before she'd come for Faith.
He could still remember the surprised look on Faith's face when her hand went to her throat, to feel blood there. Her eyes widening in shock and pain as the knife was twisted. How she turned to him at the last moment and smiled, mouthed the words 'five by five', and fallen into Logan.
And so Angel cried, his body racking with sobs of pain and anguish, and he wailed the wail of a man who'd lost his world.