"I don't know what I'm doing," Buffy said finally, gripping the edge of the bar tightly. She didn't look at anyone, couldn't seem to. Her lips worked over words, fought with them as she tried to piss them off enough to come out right. "The world needs a Slayer right now, more than ever, and my bratty little sister needs a mother, and vampires need an obsession, and Giles needs a daughter, and I can't be all of those things."

"Then don't," I said simply. "It's easy. Just start living down to their expectations and they'll start cutting you a little slack."

Buffy turned her head toward me, a frown line on the bride of her nose.

"Is that what you do?" She inquired, always nosy. "Let people down until they stop wanting more from you?"

"Basically," I admitted, ignoring the sting of her words. I kept thinking about all the things I'd never done that I could have. All the ways I could have been loved that I haven't been. "The only thing people expect from me is to be well-dressed, easy on the eyes and in between the sheets, all the while being a massive bitch."

"Maybe part of that's true," Buffy conceded and it felt odd to have her defending me, although maybe it was more of an insult. Somehow the world had titled upside down and I didn't have anything to hold onto but the speculative look in her eyes. It was similar to Billy's when I got cynical and he told me to shut up and think of someone other than myself for a few minutes. "But not all of it."

"Which part isn't?" I asked her, thinking about what I knew about myself and what she might possibly. Buffy chose not to answer, instead caught Shaun's eyes and motioned for a shot of whatever he was serving.

"So I'm dying," she said, as though starting a joke. I wrinkled my nose at her and then looked away, out the window where cars passed doggedly through the pothole-ridden street. "And I keep reading all these things about the darkness in Slayers, keep hearing about having a death wish."

Cross my heart. Hope to die.

I shivered, rubbed my sore elbow carefully, away from her sight, and wondered if everyone had a death wish, Seers included. And then wondered if everything would always be a competition between us, even who died first.

"Imagine that," Buffy murmured in quiet awe as she stared up toward the ceiling where the stain continued to grow. "Knowing death so well that you start to want it. Crave it a little. I mean we all want to know what's on the inside of chocolates right? We all want to know if it's coconut or peanut butter. What's the difference?"

"Do you?" I ask, and she takes the shot glass Shaun hands her. Their fingers brushed and she rolled her eyes at him when he wiggled his eyebrows. "Want it, I mean?"

"Maybe," Buffy shrugged and looked suddenly sick, as though she'd been thinking too hard about things that she shouldn't. I pulled away from her a little, just in case. I had on something new. "Maybe."

I could have told her I was going to die too, but I didn't. I could have told her that I didn't want to die, but I kept my mouth closed. After all, I was beginning to wonder about my own motives. Why wasn't I searching for a way out of these visions anymore? Sure, they helped Wesley and Gunn, but it wasn't MY cross to bear.

Why should I be crucified for the women Angelus raped and murdered? Why, when sometime, someplace, I could become one of them? It didn't make sense, but here I was, sipping something strong and mean like gin, in a bar with Buffy, contemplating the best way to kill myself.

A knife was too messy.

A hanging was too ugly.

A gun was too cold

Anyway, I wasn't in the mood to die. Besides, if I ever was, there's going to be a vision one day that will blow out the back of my head, and I can feel it coming on like a bad case of the cramps. Choices of proper death etiquette won't matter then. You know you've grown cold to death when the image of your own last minutes, of how you will probably die, doesn't make you flinch and doesn't make you sick.

Buffy stared down into the bottom of her glass, scowling.

"You're right though. We're all dying of something." Then she tossed the rest of the drink down and ended up coughing indelicately into her own hand. I was prepared to duck for cover if she blew chunks, but she managed to keep it down.

She WAS pretty, this side of her. Pretty like a black and white image of a homeless woman, staring sightlessly into the camera lens. Pretty like a hooker smoking a cigarette during a cold, winter night.

Pretty, like pretty is in the dark.

Truthfully, Buffy's beautiful. And I've always hated her for it. Even when she was all ribs and bony legs, she had something powerful and elemental about her. If strength could be captured by a human pose, it would be Buffy holding her shot glass and leaning her breasts against the bar with her hair falling down around her shoulders and her eyes wide open.

She could see everything, it seemed. That had always terrified me. Because what if, and this was one of my biggest fears, Buffy could see that little part of me that thought she was better than everyone else and wanted her for it? What ifs are dangerous things.

I couldn't remember if she was old enough to drink, not that Shaun gave a damn, and that's why I figured one of these days Shaun's wasn't going to be a bar as much as it was going to be an abandoned room, with woman's underwear nailed to the wall, crassly and without style.

Still, it'd be a room I remembered. One where I would think, hey, maybe I should buy myself a matching set with the colors of the flag and then offer them up to Shaun, just to see what he'd say.

"You ever have GOOD sex, Cordelia?" Buffy asked me out of nowhere, and suddenly her eyes were laser-bright on mine. The kind of sharp that could run someone through if it was in the early hundreds. I looked at her blankly. Never had a person been able to confuse me and astound me so many times in one night. "You know, earth-shattering, headboard-banging, fuck-me-dry sex?"

Buffy could talk dirty. I pressed my thighs together and wished I wasn't smart enough to not ask Shaun for another round of whatever the hell he was serving.

"Yep," I answered, thinking about too many times when it hadn't. Thinking about being fucked raw against the wall by a man with too much stamina and too little reach. It was almost a lie, but not completely. My earth has been shattered plenty of times, but never by pleasure. Usually by the sight of the ceiling and how many times I could count the notches on his bedpost while he humped me and said things into my ears that I told him I liked hearing. "You?"

Buffy's chin tipped down and she blushed a little. Buffy could be shy.

"I guess," she answered weakly. "Kinda."

"What type of answer is that?" I demanded, because suddenly I wanted to know more than anything if Buffy had been fucked good and hard. I NEED to know how she came and what she thought about when he pinned her to the bed and moved sharply inside of her.

I didn't give a shit who HE was as long as I got my answer.

"An honest one," Buffy shot back and had the grace to look confused. Once again, Buffy had started a conversation she wasn't prepared to finish. Color me surprised and then not the fricken' sarcasm. "I've only been with a couple of people."

I should have said: I've only been with a couple-ten.

There are a lot of things that I should have said.

The jukebox came on again and I craned my head to look over my shoulder. Sally stood at the machine, red lights surrounding her like a blood-tinted hollow. It was something soft and sweet, the kind of music you would hear before rolling over and falling asleep in someone's arms. Buffy's eyes met mine and we began to laugh together.

Cynical to the core.

I wished for a moment that Billy was there to tell us to get over ourselves.

She slammed her palm onto the bar, and demanded another round. I quirked my brow and watched as she batted her eyes at poor Shaun and licked her lips happily when she was served.

On shot one, Buffy's face remained bland. On shot two, she developed a slight tick below her left eye. On shot three, she winced and shook her head, gagging a little.

"God," Buffy gasped, pushing her glass down the bar. We both watched it slide, Cheers-like across the nicked surface. "This is sorta fun!" I didn't reply, but my silence was enough of an answer for her because she abruptly turned and spun around on her stool.

Buffy was more than a little tipsy.

How many drinks had she consumed? I'd lost count somewhere between two and eight. I laughed AT her when the stool tipped over and she landed on her ass. Luckily she was a Slayer and probably hadn't broken anything that wouldn't mend before it was needed.

"Ow," she grouched, standing creakily and rubbing her behind. A slow pout formed on her lips. "Hurts. Can't kick the hell-bitch's ass when mine is so sore!"

I had no clue what she was talking about and didn't feel like unraveling Slayer code. One look at Shaun told me that it was time to get Buffy out of the bar. I helped her stand up and she leaned heavily against me.

"Call a cab," I told Shaun. He nodded and I watched him walk over to the phone. Buffy was a lot harder to maneuver than I expected, a dead weight pressing into my side.

"Bye Shaun," I said, as I began moving toward the door.

"Yeah," Buffy sang out happily. "By' Shaun!"

I rolled my eyes and pulled her along, even as our thighs brushed together and feet got tangled on more than one occasion. The music followed us out into the muggy night and I felt Buffy snuffle a little against my shoulder. I sighed and held her a little more firmly, gripping her arm around my neck so that she wouldn't fall over and bang her skull against the cement sidewalk.

It was hard to wait for a cab with a fidgety Slayer moving against your body like a cat stretching. Except more constant, more irritating, and definitely more distracting. I've never considered myself sexually attracted to other women, except for the occasional fleeting throb of my groin that I thought was more about sex than tits and ass. But with Buffy rubbing against me like something in heat, with her strong fingers wrapped up in my short hair, I grew nervous and edgy.

I began to get a little pissed off.

She was as drunk as shit and she wouldn't remember a thing she'd done; but I would, and it was going to terrorize me, I knew it. The things she'd said to me in the bar, about death and sex, and the fact that she had probably never had a GOOD orgasm, would be just another sleepless night to deal with.

Where was a fucking cab when you needed it? At the time, I would have even accepted a driver who didn't speak English and didn't know how the hell to use a stick shift. I could probably teach him, as much as I'd honed that skill myself.

Then Buffy became really still, like someone had smacked her upside the head and she had a moment of lucidity. I glanced down at her where her head had been hanging low on her shoulders, to make sure she was alive. Instead of dragging along, Buffy was suddenly strong and visceral, eyes wide open and needful.

"Cordelia," her lips opened around my name and I felt my pulse skitter out of control. Look away I told myself, this is crazy. "Am I going to die?"

My heart fell into my stomach and I felt tears sting behind my nostrils.

"No," I whispered, and the words cracked in my throat. "No, you're not going to die."

Buffy peered up at me through a tangle of lashes and hair. The streetlight hung over us, yellow and dirty, and I could have used a good rain shower right about then, to wash away the feeling I was having. Like I could teach her some of the things I'd taught myself about my own body and use it on HER body.

I didn't like Buffy that way. I HATE Buffy. She was the reason I couldn't look back on my high school days with fondness. She was the reason Angel went wacky, at least, I figured she was. And she was definitely the reason I felt the need to try and be just as good, just as fast, just as damn DEAD as Buffy wanted to be.

"Why?" Buffy begged of me and I felt something tighten, like a string being tugged inside my stomach. A clench of my heart and I wanted to be sick all over the sidewalk and those shiny, black boots of hers. Not my own shoes of course, because rip-off or not, they had cost a pretty penny that I couldn't afford to waste. "Why won't I die, Cordelia, tell me?"

"Because," I began on a breath that shuddered out dangerously across the hair on her forehead, causing it to flutter away from her face and leave her bare to my gaze. "Because you're Buffy and Buffy doesn't die. She kicks ass and beats up the bad guys until they run away or die, and she does it ALIVE. Okay?"

Buffy looked at me for a long time, bottom lip trembling, before she nodded and hugged her arm around me tightly, dragging me by my neck down to meet her lips. It was a relatively short kiss, like the burn of salt in a cut. There wasn't any tongue, but I could feel her teeth banging against mine as she tried to grind our mouths into one entity and then her dry lips pulled away from mine. I couldn't see anything as she sighed across my skin. The puff of air was like a slap and I jerked my eyes open.

I hadn't realized they were closed.

Buffy's eyes burned into my own and I felt stripped naked, furious and shaking. Then Buffy just shut her eyelids and loosened her hold. She bent her head down and rested her cheek against my shoulder. I stayed still for a quiet moment where the tension drew out bowstring taut and tried to get my heart under control.

Eventually, her even breaths lulled me into believing it had all been some twisted fantasy. I dragged us both to the curb and spent nearly half an hour trying to hail a cab. My luck holding, I got a driver who didn't speak English after all.

The ride to my apartment was short and bumpy, Buffy's breasts kept bouncing beneath her t-shirt and I didn't even want to think about what mine were doing. I crossed my arm over myself and stared out the finger-streaked window as the buildings flew by, quick as birds escaping into flight.

The streetlights snaked into the windows, highlighting Buffy's face as she stared straight ahead, like a corpse that could breathe.

Shit, I thought, oh SHIT.

We both knew that I had probably lied when I said Buffy wasn't going to die. But again, Buffy didn't seem to mind. Another new thing about her, she'd grown used to the comforting lies and learned to take them as they were meant. Comfort.

But a part of me realized I was lying to myself as well. I didn't want Buffy to die anymore than *I* wanted to die.

Mortality was a bitch.

In my apartment, after the short but uncomfortable walk, I gently placed Buffy on the couch. I hadn't been carrying her or anything, because hello, not a Slayer here. But she had pretty much fallen asleep on the way down my hall and she'd dragged herself along only by gripping onto my shoulders tightly.

Buffy was immediately out, unconscious as a hibernating bear, but without the ass plug. I lifted her jean-clad legs onto the couch and set her head onto one of the throw pillows. Then I pulled the blanket from the edge and dragged it down across her.

I was being gentle with Buffy. Stranger and stranger.

Dawn was creeping in through the windows as I watched her for only a second, then got freaked out and went to my own bedroom to undress and pass out against the cool, fresh sheets. Except I couldn't pass out because the kiss kept circling in my mind like a vulture set on a fresh-kill. Headlights flashed across my ceiling, dragging out shapes and morphing them into horrible spiders and long limbed giants.

I watched the horror show with eyes that grew bloodshot and prayed for sleep to come. It got to the point where light was breaking through my glass and I was punching the pillows, trying but not able to get some damn rest. Near tears, I must have eventually found something like unconsciousness because the next thing I knew the sun was baking down, hot on my bare shoulders, and I had the sheet kicked down to my feet.

Great, I thought. If anyone had walked in, the first thing they'd see would be my ass hanging out.

Immediately, I remembered the night before and swallowed with difficulty.

Never gonna drink again. Never.

The phone rang and I glared at it through crust-coated eyes. Grumbling, I reached out blindly and grabbed it off the hook. It was Wesley, wondering where the hell I was. Sleeping off a binge, I told him. How are you?

He was a little angry. Oh well.

Stretching, I got up from bed and wrapped a robe around my body before tiptoeing toward the door and slowly pushing it open. It creaked and I winced, hoping she hadn't heard. My feet sank quietly into the thick carpet as I made my way out of the bedroom and into the living room. I walked carefully, not wanting to wake her as I crept behind the couch to peek over the side.

I expected to see a grumpy Slayer with tousled, blonde hair.

I was greeted by unfolded blankets, a pillow with her head-depression in it and a lone white t-shirt with Freedom scrawled across its breast-stretched front. My heart began to throb, ache and clutch itself when I reached down and picked up the soft cotton. I brought it to my nose and inhaled so quickly that I couldn't stop myself. It smelled like sweat and some sweet, soft perfume that went with pink nail polish.

Then I tossed it out of my reach in self-disgust. It flew easily across the room, slapping against my television screen and falling to the floor without a sound. I stood with my hands on my hips, shaking my head, back and forth, like a child's toy. It was way too hot and sweat trickled down my spine, an itch that I refused to scratch.

SOME people have control. I was one of them.

When I would have turned, walked away without a backwards glance, I noticed a small, torn off piece of newspaper lying on the coffee table beside the couch. Curious, I walked around the piece of furniture and took a seat on it. I picked up the paper and read what was scrawled across Brad Pitt's face.

"Stole one of your shirts because mine smelled, but you can have it if you like. Thanks for the oddly enlightening conversation. - Buffy." I read it aloud once, then again, and found myself re-reading it a third time. That was it? No apology? No mention of how she'd thrown herself at another woman?

"Fuck her," I growled and tossed the note where the shirt had gone. "Just fuck her."

It registered much later that Buffy had probably gotten a nice glimpse of my bare ass, and even later that I wasn't ever going to get my classic, Donna Karan tank top back. But not before I realized that Buffy had added another admirer to her list and this one definitely didn't want to be there. "FUCK HER."

~*~*~*~

-Present Time-

She went back to Shaun's once after Buffy's death, since they'd been told about the dying AFTER the funeral took place and she didn't want to go anywhere near that grave anyway. Cordelia sat on the stool, with her legs crossed tightly and a nervous tick in between her shoulder blades.

She didn't ask for anything to drink, just looked around and felt the ache radiate from her heart to her fingertips.

The stain encompassed the entire damn ceiling and it could cave in any minute. Shaun said that they were trying to shut the place down; he'd gotten busted on serving minors and supposedly the entire building was a health hazard. He also said, when she asked him about Billy, that the old guy just didn't come around anymore.

"I don't know," Shaun said, scratching his balding head. "One day he just didn't show up at his usual time and I thought a little of it but not much. The next was the same and he hasn't been in since. I tell ya, I didn't like him that much, but with this place going to hell� I kinda miss the bastard."

He smiled at Cordelia, his teeth perfect. "Then again, I kinda miss you too so I ain't got much for taste, now do I?"

Cordelia had tried to respond in kind, but her lips felt chapped and dry and all she could think about was Billy talking about his love and how it was just gonna take him away one day.

"My baby," she could hear him whisper. "My baby."

Shaun cleaned those glasses in the exact same way as always, fidgety and abrupt. He shoved them down like they weren't fragile onto the counter and pushed them into cupboards like they weren't still dirty.

Cordelia thought of Angel, who she'd convinced to go off to a retreat for a while to work out his feelings. Oh, she wanted him to get better, but dammit, she needed some time too. Being selfish wasn't something new to her, so she didn't feel all that bad. Just alone.

Wesley was getting worried, but she didn't really give a fuck anymore. She'd go kill some demons and get it out of her system for Angel's triumphant return. If that EVER happened because Cordelia wasn't so sure that it could.

"I'm dying," Buffy had said, eyes weary and head tilted.

Cordelia wondered if anyone had ever believed her. She wondered if the sorrow had continued to pour from Buffy's skin like red-hot streams of lava. Cordelia couldn't help but wonder if anyone knew that Buffy had been more than willing to jump off a tower and into something destined to kill her.

Was it suicide still? Did anyone think to question Buffy's 'just cause?'

Buffy wanted death and it found a way to have her.

"You're not going to die," Cordelia heard her own voice echo back to her when she looked around the bar, at the aging jukebox and the panties hanging high and blunt across the walls. She never had given Shaun a pair of her own.

Everything looked different during the daylight. Ashes looked silver in the moonlight, but they just looked gray beneath the sun.

"You okay?" Shaun asked her, when he noticed her eyes had filmed over with tears and she'd dragged a hand through her messy hair. That was a sign of something wrong if anything was. Cordelia was never in disarray.

"Yeah," Cordelia muttered, staring away from him, at the door where it swung loosely open and shut as someone left. There was a cigar in her back jeans pocket, sticking out as she bent forward and set her chin into her hands. Her hair tipped forward, concealing her eyes, as she spoke in a voice like faded blue jeans across Buffy's thighs. Smooth and more than a little worn. "Just thinking that today's one of those days when the dead decide to make a few phone calls home."

"My baby," Billy's voice taunted her. "She just won't let me alone."

THE END