Crimson Tears

Angel nearly winced as he heard the door to the outside open. He had hoped to remain alone and in solitude, his pain visible only to the darkness. Figuring it was Cordelia, he raised his head to tell her to go away when he met the stricken gaze of Kate. He tried to say something, tried to warn her away, but the pain hit him again, and his face crumbled.

Kate felt tears forming in her own eyes. His face had slight red stains from the blood tears he was crying, forming small rivulets down his face. The rain had washed most of the tears away, but she knew the pain and suffering he was feeling wouldn’t disappear as easily. She’d gotten a call today, and had been surprised to see Angel’s number on her Caller ID. She’d nearly dropped the phone when Cordelia’s voice had whispered through the telephone, not Angel’s. Cordelia had uttered one sad word, "Buffy," and hung up.

Kate had debated going over. She knew how much Angel’s associates hated her, so she figured it must be something big that had happened. Maybe they needed her police contacts for the girl or just needed a hand. She’d finally given up second-guessing what the situation was and whether she should go, and drove to the hotel. Actually, drove probably wasn’t the word for it. She had tried to convince herself that whatever it was could wait until she got there, she didn’t need to speed. However, she’d felt a panic like never before. All her police training about remaining calm in crisis situations went out the window. She probably broke several speed limits and the laws of gravity to get to the hotel. She certainly almost broke her car.

Walking in, she had been stopped abruptly by the sadness in Cordelia’s eyes as she walked over to greet Kate. Cordelia Chase was always an outgoing, vivacious woman, and seeing her eyes holding such sorrow made Kate’s heart drop to her stomach. Cordelia softly and haltingly explained about the untimely and sad death of Buffy, who’d given her life to save her sister’s and her friend’s. Kate felt a deep pang of regret and sadness for the friends and family, and for the Slayer herself.

She’d walked towards the door, which Cordelia had pointed to, then stopped. She’d seen the look of empathy in Cordelia’s eyes, aimed at the door Angel must have gone through hours before. She had almost turned around and asked why Cordelia had called her. How could her presence make a difference, how could she possibly be able to help? But she ignored the urge and continued forward, creaking open the door and walking into a darkened room. At first, she’d expected to find him in one of the many chairs inside the room, silently brooding in a corner, as she knew he was apt to do. But then she’d noticed the open door in the back of the room, and the dark shape out in the rain. She’d gone outside, her steps faltering as she reached the spot where the mass of soaked clothes and wrenching sobs lay in a pitiful heap.

And now here she was, faced with a hysterical Angel, and not knowing what to say or do to help.

Instinctively, she dropped to her knees next to where he was coiled in a fetal position, as if trying to curl up and disappear into himself. Grabbing his shoulders, she pulled him into her arms. She felt the rain plaster their clothes together, felt the strong pelting of the cold drops. But she centered all her attention on his hitching shoulders, and the anguished weeping he couldn’t control. And Kate just held him, not speaking. She knew it was the best thing for him- to face the pain.

She figured that Angel had seen much death in his time. It was expected, for a man who was over two hundred years old. She figured it must almost get routine after a while, that one must become at least slightly nonchalant and cynical in their perspective. You still feel sad, but you don’t feel as bad as you once did. But then, after allowing himself to get so close to this one woman, the pain would be overwhelming. She knew from personal experience that the worst form of loss was that of a loved one.

And she knew she couldn’t tell him it would be all right. Empty platitudes rarely fell from her lips, and she knew he wouldn’t accept them. After all, it wouldn’t be all right. This would haunt Angel for the rest of his days. The what-ifs, the wondering if he could have done something, said something, wished something, that would have kept this terrible thing from happening. And she knew that she hadn’t known Buffy well, and knew that she couldn’t totally understand Angel and Buffy’s strange love with each other. So she did what she could do- she held him with all her might, reassuring him with her presence.

They sat there as minutes passed. Kate was finally forced from her thoughts by lightning streaking across the sky. She flinched as a huge thunderclap roared overhead. Angel remained almost motionless in her arms, shoulders still heaving from the force of his tears. Realizing that she’d have to move him inside, or face the possibility of her getting sick or both of them getting struck by lightning, she slowly put her hands underneath his arms. She pulled him up, halfway dragging his weight, as he moved mechanically, not really registering what was going on.

She finally wrestled him back into the room, and turned on a light, noticing the room was a spare bedroom. She breathed a small sigh of relief. She didn’t want to have to drag Angel past his friends to get him to sleep. There was a bathroom attached, and she worriedly left Angel standing in the middle of the room as she ran into the bathroom and grabbed a few towels. Running back out, she quickly stripped Angel of his clothes, and dried him off systematically. She gave him some pajama pants to wear, thanking God and The Powers That Be that there were spare clothes in the room. She helped him lumber over to the bed, where he stood, unmoving and still, as she rolled the covers down. She pushed him into the bed, and tucked the blankets over him.

Then she hesitated, looking into his face for reassurance. He blinked and seemed to wake out of his trance, his tears having stopped sometime while she was helping him change clothes. Realizing what she was asking, he nodded in askance, then turned away and put his face into the pillow, starting to cry again. Kate felt tears well up in her own eyes, hating seeing this strong man in so much pain and not knowing how to help. But Kate refused to let her tears fall. This was his time, his grief. Her sadness could wait. She went back into the bathroom, this time with a long shirt found in the drawer for herself. Drying off, she put on the shirt.

Angel didn’t move as she entered the room again. He didn’t notice as she locked the door, and made sure all the drapes were shut, to avoid any sunlight when the morning would come. Angel didn’t speak as she pulled the covers down again, turned the lamp off, and got in. But as soon as he felt her comforting presence, he then he rolled over, and grabbed her, putting his face into the crook of her neck for consolation. And Kate held him once again, her arms reaching around his large body tightly. Rocking him slowly, and stroking her hands over his hair and back. She cradled him as if he were a young boy waking up from a nightmare. But she knew that Angel couldn’t wake up from this. "Oh Angel, I’m so sorry," she whispered. Angel tensed at the words, and then moved his arms around her, to hold her just as tightly as she was holding him.

Together, they weathered the storm of his tears, the darkness and sound of rain surrounding them. Isolating them. And when his tears finally stopped, when his weary body finally let him find some comfort in rest, she didn’t let go. And she didn’t sleep at first. Long into the hours of the morning she was lost in thought, worried and sad. But finally, sleep claimed her as well. The shadows of sleep held relief for the both of them, shielding them from the fears of tomorrow. And both silently wished that tomorrow would never come. That the shield of darkness would remain forever, keeping them forever in blissful sleep. The peaceful oblivion that surrounded the night.