DISCLAIMER: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the slayerettes belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: ~Fields of Gold~ is an old, old song. The version I have in mind is Eva Cassidy's.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Fields of Gold
By sailor80
I never made promises lightly
There have been some I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in fields of gold
She hummed that when she was happy. Sometimes I woke up to it and sometimes she put me to sleep, humming and stroking my hair. Lately I hear it everywhere. It always stops me. Everything freezes while I turn, hoping to see her, and dreading it. She's not there, of course. She's never there except in my dreams. I make myself wake up when I can, but usually I'm not strong enough.
One night she fixed everything and the next she was gone. The next time I see her will be the end days. I want her every moment and I pray to never see her. Cause I don't know that I can do what she'll ask. She told me one night about the things written in the stars, pictures drawn in the blood of heroes, stories that tell themselves again and again. And that one, she outlined with my finger, is ours. I closed my eyes and saw it, then touched her with trembling hands.
She knew, and told me, that everything costs.
Even kisses? I teased.
Especially kisses, she answered solemnly. But yours are worth it, she added, smiling.
So were hers, every one, even at double the price I'm still paying.
I think I'm waking up but I must still be dreaming. I smell her and feel her wrapped around me. One hand holds my breast and the other holds me to her. Her breath flows across my neck. Please be a dream. I move her hand from my hip, but she resists. Please be a dream.
She mumbles something that sounds like stay and wiggles herself comfortable against me. Please be a dream.
"S'matter?" she asks. Her breath flutters over my ear.
"Are you a dream?"
"Yours."
I shiver, hearing that word again. "Is it time?"
"Not yet." Her voice is thick and sticky. "Rest. I've got you." She squeezes me.
"Tara."
"What, baby?"
"Does it hurt?"
"No." Her hand slides away from my hip, begins circling my navel.
"If I turn over, will it be you?"
"It's your dream, sweetie."
"Can we just stay like this?"
"As you wish." Her lips rest at my shoulder, then my neck.
When I wake up again, I'm alone. I'm not sure if it's better or worse than the dream. Or the long blond hair glowing on the arm of my nightshirt. Breathe. Oh gods. Breathe.
It's a long time before the memory fades. That one is better than the last moments of her life. On the worst days, I hear her voice two words in an endless loop, see the puzzled look on her face as the light leaves her eyes. Those days, every breath hurts. On the best, I feel her around me, hear her voice and feel her lips in the breeze. Most are somewhere between and mostly I feel alone. Even with my family. They watch me. They say they aren't afraid, but how can they not be? I am.
It's been a long time since the night has been so long. I wonder if this is how Buffy felt when she came back? Everything is so bright and hard and I feel utterly alone. I used to know that no matter how bad my day was, Tara waited at the end of it. When she smiled at me, my heart lifted. Now there's nothing except an empty bed and hours to think about everything that was right and exactly how wrong I feel without her.
She was here again last night. I didn't fight it. When I smelled her and she touched me, I fell into her. I want her so much.
"It's almost time, my love," she purred into my ear.
"What do I need to do?"
"Get ready. Make yourself strong. She'll need you." She rubbed my shoulder.
"I need you."
"I know, baby." Her lips move up my neck.
"Do you?"
"Every breath hurts. Every thought is colored by a question. Every morning you have a moment that you're ok before you remember."
The only reason I'm not crying is that she is touching me. It's her, not a wish or a dream, and she knows. Just like she knows how to make it better. Her lips slalom down my neck, across the top of my shoulder. Those small caresses ignite me. I close my eyes and lean into her. I'm afraid to look, afraid it won't be her, more afraid that it is.
"She doesn't realize she needs you, Willow."
"Who?"
"The Slayer. She doesn't think she can ask you."
I turn finally in her arms. It is her, warm and perfect and beautiful and she takes my breath for a moment. "Tara?"
"My love." Her hand warms my face.
I didn't think I would ever feel complete again, but I am. Seeing her lovely face. Smelling her. Touching her. "My Tara."
Her smile. For the first time since a moment before my world flew apart. She was smiling and then she was dead. What she told me returns to the front of my mind. "What won't she ask?"
"You know she hates to ask for help."
I nodded.
"This time is no different."
"I'll help her."
"I know." She kisses my forehead.
"You're leaving?" I can't keep the panic out of my voice.
"Not 'til dawn."
Relief. There are hours. It's never long enough, but it's ours. I move as close to her as I can get. She strokes my back. Her hands are warm and leave trails of power on my skin. It soaks in, and soon I am submerged in her, safe in the cocoon she creates around us.
"We're going to lose this time," she says dully.
I look up from my laptop. Buffy is standing in the doorway of my room, her face hidden in the shadow from the hall light behind her. "Buffy, what's wrong?"
She steps into the room. Limps. When she enters the pool of light around my desk, I gasp. She is bloody and bruised and hopeless. I get up and take the one step to her. "Buffy?" I ask.
She doesn't answer, looks down at the carpet.
"How can I help?"
"Go. Take Dawn and Xander and leave."
"They won't go, and neither will I." I reach out and gently grasp her bicep through a tear in her jacket. One gentle tug and a small turn and she is sitting in my desk chair. "Stay here, ok. I'll get the first aid kit."
I scurry to the bathroom. Tara's words ring. Buffy won't ask us to help her. She's all ready trying to make us leave. She thinks that whatever it is, this thing that is so intent on devouring us from beneath, will take her and be done. She should know by now that it's never done. The kit is under the sink, and I pull out a couple washcloths, too, and run them under the tap.
Buffy's still in the chair, staring at the floor. I begin to take care of her injuries. It's slow going. She was pounded, and every inch of skin is mottled and bruising. Even with Slayer healing, it's going to take a couple days for her to recuperate.
By the time I finish, I'm shaking. No Band-Aids or stitches needed, just a lot of wiping away blood and dirt and replacing it with a layer of ointment I've made for her since high school. Antibiotics and topical numbing agent and anti-inflammatory herbs. She has been silent as I've undressed her and tended each mark, and when I'm done she's wearing her tank shirt and underwear, still staring silently at the floor.
I leave the lamp on and pull her up. I push her toward my bed, tuck her in. I strip to my underwear and shirt and get in behind her. I pull her to me, and she doesn't fight. After a few moments she moves a little just to get comfortable.
It takes a long time for her to begin to talk. Her story comes in fits and starts, fueled by her fear and despair. I'm listening, rubbing small circles where my hands rest on her back. When she begins to sob brokenly, I pull her as close as I can, and Buffy clings to me. She doesn't finish her story. Instead, she cries herself to sleep. I don't lie and tell her everything will be fine. Instead, I tell her how strong she is and how much I love her. I think about Tara and how we were strong separately and stronger together, and I feel her breath on my shoulder.
"This is bad," Tara says quietly, so she won't wake Buffy.
"Yeah," I agree, turn my head for a kiss.
She drops half a dozen small ones around my mouth before matching her lips to mine. Her hands travel down my arms and cover my hands on Buffy. I feel magic again, as it flows through me into Buffy, and the frown on Buffy's face disappears as we heal her and pour into her the love we have for her.
When we finish, I am exhausted. But Buffy is whole and relaxed, breathing easily, the corners of her mouth turned upward. I want to ask Tara whether Buffy is right that we will lose, but I am afraid of the answer, whichever answer she might give.
Buffy is curled around me when I wake. Her breathing is still steady and even, and in the sunlight I can see only the faintest traces of the terrible bruises she came home with last night. I push her hair off her face and stroke her cheek. She is beautiful, she is strong, she is…I don't have a word for what Buffy is to me. Tara was my everything, and when she left, Buffy took care of me until Giles took me away. The others were silent while I was gone, but I heard from Buffy everyday. She would e-mail me at least once each day, even if it was just a few lines. Those messages are as precious to me as the tin that holds the correspondence between Tara and I. Even when I couldn't love myself, Buffy loved me. Like she did from the day we met. She deserves whatever peace she can find, and I lie still and watch her sleep.
Her eyes open slowly and she croaks, "Hey."
"Feel better?"
"Yeah." She closes her eyes for a minute. "I had the weirdest dream."
"What?"
"I dreamt that Tara was here last night."
"She was."
Buffy's eyebrow goes up. "Uh huh," she says uncertainly.
"Love never dies, Buffy." It's easier than explaining to her what I don't understand.
"'K." She stretches, enjoying it like cats do, settles against her pillow again and gets a serious look. "Thank you, Will."
I shrug.
"No, no," she mimics me. "I've been thinking, Will."
"Why are you saying my name like that again?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
Buffy rolls her eyes and rearranges her face into solemnity before going on. "I've been thinking," she repeats. "I want to tell you something and I've been afraid to. But I have a bad feeling about what's coming, and I want you to know how much I love you."
"I love you, too," I reply, almost automatically.
"I'm in love with you, Willow." She is perfectly still.
I could say I'm surprised, but I'm not. I was in love with Buffy for so long, and then I met Tara. Tara was in love with Buffy, too. I knew the exact moment it happened, cause my heart did the whole Grinch thing. Buffy telling Tara's father, "You'll have to go through me." It was Buffy who said those words, and the Slayer stayed in the background. Tara's eyes brightened as they fixed on Buffy. She hadn't said a word, just shook her head when I asked if she wanted to go. I know I'm supposed to answer Buffy somehow, that she needs an answer. I look into her eyes. She is unwavering. "I love you, Buffy." My hand rests on her cheek.
"I know you do." We just look at each other for the longest time before she says, "I need you to do something for me."
"What?"
"I need to know that you're safe. I need you to take Dawn and Xander and leave Sunnydale. Now. Before it gets worse."
"No."
Please do this for me, Will."
"No."
"Why?"
"You tell me you're in love with me and you expect me to leave you." I stroked her cheek. "Besides, Scoobies don't run."
"I'm really scared this time, Willow."
"I'm scared every time, Buffy. We can beat this. It's what we do."
She closes her eyes slowly. "I don't want you to die."
"I don't want to die. I'm not gonna die. Neither are you. We're gonna figure out a way to beat this thing, and then we're gonna do it. And then, we're going away. You and me, and we're gonna talk. A lot."
"Promise?" she asks softly.
"I promise."
She surprises me when she moves to rest her head on my chest. We stay there a long time. It's habit that drives me to stroke her hair, and habit that a small voice wonders whether I can keep my promise. Habit, too, that I think of Tara, of the last time we laid here in the sunlight. But this time, it makes me smile. I can stop there and smile and think about my girl. Easier than thinking about the one in my arms.
We huddle up in a Scooby meeting in the living room. Giles calls, and he is staticky and we only catch a few words, but the gist is, he's coming back tomorrow, with the cavalry. Well, a bunch of junior slayers.
Buffy tries not to let the fear and despair she brought in last night take over. She doesn't have to. It's evident when she asks again that we all leave. We all say no. No leaving, no hiding, no running. We're Scoobies, and we'll do what we have to do. No matter what it costs. We've paid and paid and paid, and we'll pay again. We'll win again.
Buffy comes to my room now after patrol. She gave hers up to the SITs. Giles left four here and went after others. We share this room, and this bed, and I try to get her to rest. Tara hasn't come since the night we healed Buffy, and I miss her. And this thing with Buffy, whatever it is or might be, tugs at me. Buffy is beautiful and strong and there is no mistaking the affection in her gaze, in the way she curls around my back at night. She is careful not to touch me intimately, any more intimately than we have ever been before. But there are snuggles every morning. Not like Tara snuggles. I still crave them, Tara's warmth and affection flowing over me, into me, kisses of all sorts. Buffy is heat and power and safety. She traded the world for me once, without hesitation. We never talked about it. There wasn't time, as we scurried toward graduation and another apocalypse, and when it all was over…it's a Scooby thing, I guess, that we don't talk about how what happened made us feel. We spent all summer together, and never spoke about the Box of Gavrok, or the mayor's ascension. Like Buffy and I never talk about the affection between us, like she accepted Tara, like she came back and wouldn't admit to the feelings around it until forced by Sweet. But early each morning, she curls around me for a few hours and rests, even if she doesn't sleep. Sometimes she thinks I'm sleeping, and strokes my hair and whispers into the night how much she loves me.
Tara came last night, while Buffy was gone. It's her smell that wakes me, and the love that radiates from her and soothes me.
"It's ok, for you to love Buffy." Her breath is warm over my ear.
"I know." I cover her hand on my stomach with my own, wiggle until every inch of my back side is touching her.
She wraps her leg over mine, pulling me closer. "She still hasn't asked, you know."
"I know."
"She won't, not until it's too late."
"What should I do?"
"Get ready."
"How?"
"I don't know. All I know is that what's coming is big. You need to be strong for her. You need to know her better than she knows herself."
I snort. "So we'll both be in the dark."
"No, darling, you need to stay in the light. Both of you. No matter what seems safe or easy." She drops a kiss under my ear. "I don't want to lose both of you."
"No losing. No one is losing anyone. You can't."
She drags our hands up my body and covers my mouth. "I'm not. I'm here because I need to be. With you. With her."
She lets me turn in her arms, pulls me as close as she can. Our lips are touching. "I can't lose anyone else, Tara. I can't lose you again."
"You never lost me, love. I'm always with you. Always." She kisses me briefly, fiercely. Like nothing else matters now or ever will. "I'm yours, Willow. Yours." She kisses me again.
"Mine," I answer, and try to pull her into myself. There is nothing between us. My nightshirt is gone.
"Yours," she repeats, and after that we don't need words.
My eyes snap open and I sit up. Buffy is shaking me, calling me. "Willow."
"What's wrong?"
"I slipped." There is relief in her voice.
I wonder how long she was trying to wake me. She stands beside the bed, one arm wrapped across her abdomen. A dark circle surrounds her hand. "Go. Bathroom. I'll be right there."
She nods and leaves. I swing my feet over the bed, reach for my robe. I'm wearing a nightshirt. One of Tara's. Not what I put on earlier. I shake my head and stand, fasten my robe. Follow Buffy into the florescent light of the bathroom. "What happened?" I asked again while getting the first aid kit. I kneel beside her.
"I slipped." She lets me move her hand away.
"Your shirt is trashed."
"Damn, I just bought it." She frowns, then brightens. "I got it, though. Took a two by four, but poof."
I cut her shirt from hem to neck, pull it away, cringing when it sticks. Buffy doesn't wince. I try not to hurt her as I clean around, then in the wound. I press a bandage against it and ask her, "Stitches?"
"What do you think?"
"I can put them in in the morning if it's still bad then," I suggest.
"'Kay," she agrees, and holds her arms up so I can wrap a bandage around her chest to hold it.
When that's finished, I close the kit and stand. I put it away, then offer Buffy a hand. She stands, sways for a moment before becoming steady. She holds my hand into the bedroom, is still holding it when she sits on the bed. I smile at her and pull away, return to her with pajamas.
We work together to get her bra off. I hold it and stare at her for a second, down the line of her back. She sits up. Her breasts are beautiful, and I cannot tear my eyes from them until they are covered. When I look at Buffy's face again, she is smiling. "See something you like?"
I blush, but answer. "Yes."
Buffy stands, and rests her hands at my waist. Our eyes stay locked while I unbutton her jeans. I kneel in front of her, pulling them down as I go, and tap her behind each knee to prompt her to lift her feet from them. She smells so good, is so soft. I tap again to get her into her pajama pants, and the backs of my fingers run from her ankles to her waist, trailing fabric as I stand. She is still smiling, and her hands return to my waist as I adjust the pants for her.
Buffy licks her lips and I look over her shoulder at the bed. The covers are thrown back, so I push her a little, and she sits on the bed. She is still touching me, though I've let go of her. I step back and she lets me go. "I'll be right back," I promise, and flee.
I want her. I burn where she touched me. My first stop is the bathroom, and pulling her bloody, mangled shirt from the tub to the trash stops my desire. She is hurt. I open the cabinet, get the bottle of pain pills Giles left for her and put it in my pocket. Then go downstairs, to get cookies and milk and ice cream for both of us.
She takes two of the pills without arguing, and when she yawns, I pull her down onto my shoulder. She fades out soon, but I am awake.
Tara's hand covers mine again. She pulls our hands down to Buffy's side. I feel the magic, and see it, a warm white glow around our hands that seeps into Buffy's side. It tires me and soothes me and pulls me into sleep.
Buffy and I are 18 again, and it is the summer after high school. We are on a blanket under a tree. The dappled shade is comfortable. We are not talking, just lying there enjoying doing nothing with each other. It has been just us hanging out all summer. We're going to the beach for fireworks later, but right now there are hours of time to do nothing. Except Buffy doesn't believe in doing nothing. She is rested and bored and tanned. Dressed in white shorts and a white halter, sunglasses pushed up on her summer-bleached hair. She grins at me, and I realize too late what it means. She launches herself at me, holding me down and tickling me. When she stops, she is lying atop me, our faces so close, and for a moment, I think she's going to kiss me. Instead, she moves to blow a raspberry against my throat. But she doesn't move from atop me. Her tongue drags across my skin, and she blows another raspberry on the other side of my neck. This is so close, so intimate, so urgent. I try to buck her off, and she just laughs. "Oh, no, witchy girl, none of that."
If it were anyone other than Buffy I would be in a panic by now. Instead, I can hardly hear anything over the roaring of my heartbeat in my ears. I move my hands to the soft skin at her sides, and she squirms against me. I know one thing, that I love Buffy. Nothing I did with Oz ever got me as hot as I am now, with her laying on me, teasing me. Teasing her best friend. I frown then, realizing. That what I want doesn't matter. That what I feel can't be shared. And then she shifts again, so that her thigh is between mine, so she is resting on mine. It takes every ounce of willpower not to move. The heat of her against me makes desire spike again, and again I try to shove it back down. She is the Slayer, and I am her friend, and that is all there will ever be between us. Buffy's hoarse voicing of my name brings me back to reality. Her palm rests against my cheek and her eyes are dark. "I wish I had done this then," she whispers, and lowers her lips to mine. When we separate, she says, "I love you, Willow."
"I love you, Buffy." I pull her lips back to mine. The heat between us has risen exponentially. We're sweating. And panting when we pull away from each other again. I've never seen this look on her face.
"You're so beautiful."
I pull her lips back to mine without answering. I want. I need. I burn. I want her to fuck me right here, on a blanket in the middle of the park in the middle of the day. I want her to mark me, I want her to claim me. I want the burning to stop. I flex my thigh and grind against hers and moan at the small relief. She wiggles wet heat against me and suddenly I can smell us. Pheromones. Lust. Sweat. I moan into her mouth. Hear her answer and my eyes snap open.
Buffy is still lying on me. One hand around my neck, her hot palm against my chest. Her leg thrown across mine, the other hand resting on my hip. My nightshirt has ridden up and Buffy has slipped her hand past the elastic of my underwear. Her fingers flex into my skin and she says my name again. The movement of her lips against my skin makes me moan again. Buffy's shirt is open and my palm rests over the injury she got last night. I should check it. I turn and nuzzle her head. "Buffy."
"Hmmm?"
"Let me check your side."
"'Kay," she shifts away and stretches against me. "Feels better," she murmurs and lets her shirt fall from her shoulder.
My eyes fly immediately to her beautiful breasts. I force myself to sit up. I remove the tape and unwrap the bandage. She smells so good and I look anywhere but where I want to.
She is completely healed. I lay my palm against her side and feel magic swirling there.
"You feel so good," Buffy says hoarsely. She moves toward me. "My beautiful Willow. I love you." Whispered in my ear before she presses her lips to my temple.
This is, this is, magic in her skin, and once was everything I wanted. What I want again. Now. Her hands are searching for skin. When she finds it, I whimper. Buffy is exuding power. The magic flows over my skin.
Shh, my love." She lays tiny kisses all over my face while her fingers caress my thigh. "So beautiful," she whispers again, and then we are kissing.
Her kisses are insistent. She tastes tangy, and the magic moves between us everywhere we touch. There is no rush, no urgency, and we kiss for a long time, until the magic surrounds us. Then our kisses slow, each one punctuated by the declarations of new love.
So many things we need to talk about. She died twice, no, three times. Saved the world more times than I can count. Will save it again. And again, and again until it kills her for good. I won't let it be this time though. And we can talk later.
I look at the clock and groan. I have school. Dawn has school. Buffy has work. We need to get out of bed and get started on all those things.
Giles came back tonight with more SITs. Most of them barely speak English. All of them are freaked. Their Watchers are dead and they are children. I look at them and wonder if we ever looked so young. They won't after this. Things are falling apart. The schools are closed and people are leaving, more every day. Buffy is training the SITs, trying to teach them enough to stay alive.
I called Angel's office today. I got Wesley, and we talked, and I told him what's going on. He went and got Angel up so he and I could talk. Angel asked me to come to LA tonight. I don't want to, but I will. We need help.
Our help turns out to be Faith. Still dark and gorgeous but so different. The rough edges are there, but her darkness isn't overwhelming. We talked in the car on the way back down. Trying to reach an understanding that will let us work together. I don't trust her. I don't want to like her, but I do despite all our history.
Faith and Buffy reached their agreement with considerably fewer words. Buffy told her, "If you hurt my family, I will kill you." Faith nodded that she understood, and Buffy stood aside and let her in the house, then closed the door.
We stood on the porch, under the light, looking at each other. "You ok?" Buffy asked.
"Yeah."
"I won't let her hurt you again, Willow."
"She won't." I stepped closer to her. "Are you ok?"
Buffy smiled grimly. "Close enough."
My hand reached for and found hers, and Buffy's smile relaxed.
Bad things happen. Worse things happen. It feels hopeless. Buffy and Faith take the SITs to patrol every night. Giles and Dawn and I research. Xander is still pretty doped up. Anya is more concerned with him than she wants to let on. Andrew, well Andrew is annoying, but he keeps us fed and keeps the house neat. We get so little sleep. I make Buffy lay down with me for a few hours after she comes in from patrol. The house gradually quiets as we hold each other. We begin to talk about what we've learned, and to formulate a plan. Two plans, actually. One for winning. And one for after.
I wake up in a strange room with Buffy lying across me, and after a moment, I remember. We're at Angel's hotel. We won. And we lost. Anya, and a bunch of the SITs. The ones who survived are Slayers now, and it is not just Buffy's burden. There are things to do, things we have to do. Talk with Xander and Giles and Dawn and Faith. Get a car. Go. Rest. Try to heal. And try to figure out what it all means.
But first there is just this. Us.
Some of our talks are easier than others. First we Scooby up. Buffy, Giles, Dawn, Xander, Faith, me. Giles wants to start a new Council. He wants us to help. Xander is done. He is exhausted and bitter and confused. Go, he tells us, be happy. You earned it. He says he wants to go someplace new to start over. Giles says there is enough money for us to do as we wish. Faith signs on with Giles. Giles doesn't even look surprised when we tell him we can't decide, that we need some time for us. Dawn doesn't look surprised at the us part.
Talking to them separately is harder. Faith is all, no sorries, no worries, you earned it. Go. Be happy.
Xander is numb. But promises to keep in touch, holds out his cell phone as proof. We hug each other for a long time. I understand all too well what he feels. Like he did after Tara died, I don't push. I just love him. It will be so strange not to see him every day.
Dawn agrees to stay with Giles and Faith for the summer. We promise to come back to get her or to send for her in August, so she can get registered in school. She makes a face at that. But hugs us both so hard and makes us promise to call and send postcards.
Giles is all stiff upper lip. He hands Buffy a credit card and makes her promise to use it recklessly. He gives us real hugs, and waves us off so we won't see him tear up.
We've just been driving east for a while. Stopping when we want to. Sending postcards to Dawn from every little burg. I don't know what we're looking for or where we're going. I don't really care. We drive to the Atlantic Ocean, turn right, and meander down the coast. Buffy still slays. We wander from place to place, never staying more than a day or two. We understand each other better. We're still talking everything through. There are embraces and kisses and snuggles, but we haven't made love yet. I'm not sure why, but I'm not really in a hurry, either. Most of the time. Sometimes, though, she looks at me and it's all it takes to make me wet. I don't think it will be long. We go to bed clothed and wake up naked against each other. Sometimes I feel magick swirling around us. It feels like Tara. Haven't seen her in so long. Wonder whether I will again. I have a few things of hers that I couldn't part with, that went in the suitcase I packed before we left for the Hellmouth. It's all that's left, a shirt, the dolls eye crystal, her book of shadows. And memories. I still miss her. Not urgently, but I wonder what would be different and how.
It's the middle of July. Giles has gone to London to take care of some business. He left Dawn with Faith at Angel's. We're loitering along the Gulf coast. It is lovely and nothing like the beaches we're used to. Buffy is more relaxed than I've seen her in years. She looks good, tan and rested and Buffy-like. But she doesn't like me to be out of her sight or hearing. Not that she's insecure. I think it's a Slayer thing. It doesn't really matter. I don't want to be away from her.
The moon was full last night and we sat on the beach and talked about the hardest things. When we finished, we stripped and walked into the water. Yeah, I recognized the symbolism then. We played in the water for a while, feeling light and free and a little intoxicated. Then we came back here and made love. When she wakes up, we'll do it again. I don't have the right words to describe it. All I know is that for the first time in a long time, I feel right.
The End