the pearl


She's chasing after me. Chasing, chasing, my knife in her hand. My big shining knife, my present from Wilkins, lost in a moment of weakness, a moment from my past life where I actually saved people.

I keep on running. I have to run from her. She's death with blonde hair and blue eyes. She's going to kill me. Again. Ramming that knife into me over and over and over like a cock like her guilt like my lust for her, sharp and steely in my belly.

I trip over gravestones — are they mine? Are they his? — and I fall. I fall into an open grave. It must be mine. It has to be mine. It's my death again, at her delicate hands, and I close my eyes as she jumps into the grave with me.

But it's different.

Oh god, it's different.

It's raining.

And the rain hits my face and the fog clears from my eyes and suddenly, suddenly, I know what I have to do.

It happens quickly, the battle lines drawn before we even met. I parry, I punch, I kick, I bite, I scratch, I do everything, driven by the rage deep in my stomach, deep in my soul, deeper than the knife ever hit before.

And she's in the dirt, no, she's in the mud, smearing her face as she looks up at me with those huge blue eyes. She looks up at me guilelessly as I take the knife from her and plunge it into her chest. See, Buffy, I can't miss. I know exactly where to go. And she's dead.

Dead at last, and I no longer have to fear. She can't hunt me any more.

I climb out of the grave, gripping mud, grass, roots in my rage, in my adrenaline-fueled fury, and I'm reborn, the rain slicking my body, the rain baptizing me in holiness, and I'm free. I'm free from the past, I'm free from my life, I'm free from the few tattered remnants that tied me to Buffy — free from the lust, the anger, the love.

I scream it all out. I'm fucking free and all that's left is myself.


And I wake up.

This Angel/Buffy the Vampire Slayer story was written by Kate Bolin. If you liked it, there's plenty more at And you can feedback her at