She didn't even have a photograph of him. She hated to think that his image would begin to fade in her mind, but she knew it would. The only thing she had to remember him by was his guitar. It was the only possession he really had. And it was so like him — dark and electric. She smiled at this thought. Then the tears returned and she cried, harder and longer than she had previously believed possible.

Hours passed, but she did not notice. She remembered back to the last time she thought that she might lose him, when he had that weird blood fever. She never thought that she could feel more helpless, until last night. She never even got a chance to really tell him how she felt — his moments of lucidity had been few and brief. At least she had been there with him at the end; at least he knew that she had cared that much.

She lightly dragged the tips of her fingers across her lips, thinking of the few precious kisses they had shared. All had been gentle, tender. She had been scared to risk more, and he'd respected that; perhaps he had been scared, too. Tears welled up in her eyes again, then flowed unhindered down her cheeks. She didn't even have the energy to be angry at herself. She was the one who had set the limits for him in the first place; she should have been the one to revise them, instead of waiting for him to take the liberty. She should have told him how she felt, and now she would never have the chance.

She should eat something, she reminded herself, but she wasn't hungry. She doubted that she would ever be hungry again. She continued to stare out into the sun as it began to set, but she failed to see the skyline or the first emerging stars or anything else.

She saw only the last images of Vachon — lying in her arms more ashen than pale, lying in the shallow open-grave it had taken her so long to dig, the first shovel full of dirt across his even colder-than-usual body. The tears had finally come then, uncontrollable, thankfully blurring her vision, as she covered him up with shovel after shovel of dirt. Exhausted after the physical and emotional exertions, she sat in the dirt for a long while, well past sunrise, unable and unwanting to leave.

She had never understood the people who went to cemeteries and spoke to the graves of their loved ones, yet she had done just that. It surprised her that knowing he was there was actually a comfort. She wished him luck, and then, as she made her way back to her car, she could not stop herself from checking over her shoulder, knowing that he couldn't be standing there but deeply hoping just the same that he was.

She'd drive home after that - at least, she must have. She didn't really remember any of it. She had been there and then she had been here, pulling into the parking garage. After that, she'd somehow made it to her apartment and she'd been there ever since.

Eventually, Tracy's mind, like her body, shut down from pure exhaustion. Without even realizing, she drifted into the deep oblivion of sleep.

Her blonde hair was tangled, like she hadn't brushed it in days, but it was still soft and silky to the touch. He ran his fingers over the pale strands, smoothing a few off her face. His hand traveled to her soft cheek, then down over her ear and behind to cradle her head.

He bent low over her and gently pressed his lips to hers for longer than he would have dared had she been awake. She made a few quiet moans deep in her throat before her eyes fluttered open.

She looked up, unable to focus yet, but still recognizing the face so close to hers. "Mmmm." She smiled lazily. "Hi," she breathed.

He smiled down at her and mouthed a silent "hi" in return.

She shut her eyes again, the sweet smile still clinging to her lips.

He gingerly sat down on the edge of the couch and studied her languid features. "Mi dulce Theresa," he breathed. With the back of his other hand, he caressed her cheek. It must have tickled, because she shifted slightly. He moved his hand slowly downward; over her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone, over her breast. When he reached her waist, he slid his hand around to her back. He kissed her sleeping lips again, with a bit more urgency than he had ever before allowed himself.

She returned his kiss, parting her lips ever so slightly to meet his passion. Her arms came up, encircled him, and drew him down until his chest pressed against hers. Her hands migrated to his hair, catching the locks between her fingers. She felt his one hand firmly in the hollow between her shoulder blades and the other rubbing the small of her back, his fingertips caressing the muscles there.

He reluctantly drew away, and she finally opened her eyes again. He was just as she had remembered him. Long, dark, wavy hair. Deep, captivating, brown eyes. That day's growth of beard. The underlying paleness of his skin. She reached up to touch the hard line of his jaw. At least she still had him here, in her dreams. No one could take that from her.

"Tracy." His low voice was like warm, melted butter.

She smiled up at him, and then closed her eyes; her lids felt so heavy. She willed them open again, afraid that his image would be gone, but he was still there. She drew his head back down to hers and kissed him. Her hands ran down his back to his waist. She grabbed the fabric of his shirt in her hands and pulled the bottom free of his pants. She moved her hands on to the cool skin of his back.

He pulled away. She stared up into his face to see wide, golden eyes. She smiled again, unafraid because it was only a dream. Here she could have him, she would have him, now, before she awoke. She tried to pull him back down to her, but he resisted. So, instead, she rose up to meet him. She pressed her warm, moist lips onto his neck. She opened her mouth and dragged her teeth across his skin.

He suddenly stood up, putting his hands firmly on her shoulders to prevent her from coming any closer. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to get a hold of himself. She had never acted this way before; it caught him completely off guard. When he re-opened his eyes, they were mostly brown again, more controlled than calm. She still stared up at him with that far-away expression on her face.

"Tracy."

"Hmmm?" Her face was so sweet; her eyes still clouded.

He shook her shoulders slightly. Slowly the smile began to fade from her lips and her dreamy blue eyes grew wide and very awake.

"Vachon? Vachon!" She leapt to her feet, suddenly realizing that she hadn't been dreaming, that he was really here. "You're... you're alive!" She hugged him with more strength than he thought a mere mortal could possess. She pulled back so that she could look at his face. "I can't believe that you're alive. But... how?"

He pursed his lower lip and looked at her from under his brown bangs. "Don't you know, Trace?" The left side of his mouth drew up into a smirk. "Only the good die young."