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Title: Afterlife
Author: Trixie (e-mail: trixiefirecra16@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: Joss is the rightful owner of all things Buffy/Angel. I just
play with them, sometimes;) Don Roos owns "Bounce"
Rating: Eventually NC 17 (I will de-NC 17 it for the appropriate lists when
the time comes:)
Author's Notes: Well, apparently I've decided to write another story. I
wasn't going to, but this idea has been bugging me for months, so I had to
get it out! This isn't like "Camelot"- sorry to all those who love big
plot/action fics. This is smaller, more intimate, and intense.
AN2: I stole a major plot point (and fake airline) from the movie, "Bounce",
but otherwise, this fic diverges from there. I would caution you that this
fic deals with Cordelia/Angel, and I dealt with them in the most realistic
way I knew how too. Which BTW, is the most painful way;) Naturellement.
Summary: A plane ticket changes everything.
Timeline: Nine years after this season
Category: Buffy/Angel. Major overtones of Angel/Cordelia, and Buffy/other
Dedication: To Jamie Sale and David Pelletier, for making me believe in love
again:) To Jenn, who's starting to appreciate B/A;) to Shayla, Rae, and to
Ducks- for coming back! Also a shout-out to the Men's and Women's Hockey
Teams! Congrats on the Gold, and Eric Lindros- you are all kinds of cute *g*
Music: "The Sun in the Stream" - Enya and the "Love Story" theme by Richard
Clayderman
The faint buzzing of the phone awakens me from a deep and heavy sleep, and I
blink, irritated. My thoughts are garbled and slightly off-kilter. I was
dreaming of my Mother, and we were walking down Revello Drive. There were
trees with bloody leaves and she held my hand. She was crying, but then. she
is always crying in my dreams. Perhaps she mourns me more than I mourn her.
Rubbing my eyes, I reach blindly for the ringing phone, lifting the sleek
white receiver off its cradle and placing it against my ear. It's probably
Danny, calling from the Hotel- contrite and husky. He hates when we fight.
"'Lo?" I murmur, making sure he knows he woke me up.
"Buffy."
A familiar voice. Low, and scratchy from weeping. Cold, sharp fear lacerates
through my insides and I sit up, the sheets falling around my naked waist in
wisps of dark blue. "Natalie?" I speak softly, almost afraid to hear what
she has to say. "What is it?"
"What flight was Danny on, honey?"
I stare at the wall in front of me. It blurs for a moment. "I-I think it was
231. Why?"
She sighs with something akin to relief and says, "Oh thank God. Now don't
panic. but there's been a plane crash."
"What?" I cry, my voice breaking as I shiver, the air coming from the open
window, sticky and hot. Oppressive. I can't breathe. Plane. Crash. Two of
the most horrifying words in the English language when they're placed
together. "What airline? Was it Danny's?"
"Infinity. It was Infinity."
My stomach bottoms out and I murmur, "That's what they said? Nat, are you
sure?"
"Yes. But they said Flight 97. and you said he was on 231."
"9-97? That. that was the one he was supposed to be on. He took. he took a
bump from that flight. We argued about it. I wanted him home for the
barbecue tomorrow."
My Mother-in-Law breathes out in a rush. "Has he called?"
"No." I touch my shaking fingers to my forehead. "He probably doesn't even
know. He said he was going to an airport Hotel. but I don't remember the
name of it. I don't-"
"Just calm down," Natalie soothes, with her warm, dry voice that always
makes me think of lace and flowers and the smell of my Mom's linen sheets.
"He's fine. We know he's fine. He wasn't on that plane."
"Ok, ok," I fumble for the remote control, but can't find it. "I'm going to
go now. I want to keep the line open, in case that ass has the decency to
call me."
She laughs quietly, as I knew she would. But it trails away into a sob and
she murmurs, "What would we do without him?"
A chill trickles down my spine, as if Danny's icy fingers were running down
the flesh of my back. "I don't know," I respond without inflection, and I
really don't. "Bye, Natalie."
"Goodbye, love."
For a moment I simply stare at the phone clasped in my palm, until the
numbers grow larger and larger and the shrill beep on the other end makes me
put it down. Grasping the remote control, I press down on the red button, my
thumb aching as I switch from channel to channel, until I see swirling ocean
and hear the news commentator's slick, assured voice buffeted by wind.
"Infinity Flight 231."
"We are having conflicted reports at this time."
"The Boeing 747 could carry a maximum of 300 people, it is not known if it
was filled to capacity."
"Divers are searching the waters for any survivors, but it doesn't seem
likely in a crash of this magnitude."
The little bits of information leak into my brain and I bite my lower lip as
hard as I can, tasting the slick, salty blood. As salty as that sea. I
remember my last harsh words to Danny --- how do you expect me to deal with
*all* of our relatives tomorrow, for chrissakes? - and I taste vomit at the
back of my throat, the tears stinging my eyes. The numb, emptiness in the
region of my heart.
He's going to call.
Of course he's going to call.
I wonder if those people are in heaven.
I remember Heaven.
Clamping down on my fluttering thoughts, I stand on wobbling legs and open
the door, avoiding his eyes staring at me from a picture of both of us with
Dawn that rests on the dresser. But I know it's there. Just like I know his
shirt (the one with the rip in the elbow) is flung across the back of the
bed. It's the one he wears when he paints. It's splattered with creams and a
bit of sunny yellow. His too-big shoes in the closet. The smell of his
cologne - like pancakes with maple syrup-he makes great pancakes. God.
I stumble slightly as I walk down our hallway, which is carpeted with thick
grey pile. I chose it. Not tacky, not pretty-just. classy. Danny didn't like
it- he wanted this black one that I said would look like we lived in a
funeral parlour. In truth, in the beginning, I picked one that was a
particularly brilliant shade of purple-which he balked on. So we
compromised. He doesn't take my shit. I don't take his.
Isn't that supposed to be the recipe for a perfect relationship?
I wander into the kitchen, which is warm with the night air seeping in from
the locked screen door. Why does Los Angeles have to be so fucking hot in
the summertime? Wiping my sweaty hair off my forehead, I glance at the phone
on the wall, with taped messages beside it, and lick my lips. They're as dry
as the dust that rolls in from the Hollywood Hills, orange and thick.
I want to call Willow.
No, I want to call Dawn. What time is it in New York?
I have to keep the line open. Maybe I should have some water.
No.
I'll throw up.
Pacing up and down the tiled floor, I lose myself in the endless motion of
my feet.
~~~
"Daniel Walker," I repeat to the tired and harassed woman on the other end
of the line. I can hear the clicking of keys on a computer and sigh, my eyes
itchy and the lids streaked with red from the blood pulsing underneath my
flesh. "Daniel. Walker. W.A.L.K.E.R. Was he on that plane?"
"One moment, please," she returns gently, and then answers gratefully, "No,
he wasn't, Ma'am. Your husband took a bump from this flight and is flying
out on Flight 97- that leaves in approximately 2 hours."
"Thank you," I reply, hanging up.
It's 9:00 in the morning. He hasn't called.
Natalie keeps phoning, asking if he's been in contact, and every time I have
to say no, I get angrier and angrier with Danny, wondering if he's being
spiteful about our fight-but no. No, even he isn't that reckless with my
feelings. He may be stubborn, but if he thought I'd be worrying, he'd pick
up the goddamn phone and let me know he was alive-
Knocking. At the door.
It's so hot.
Smoothing down the creases in my off-white tank top, which is stained
underneath the arms from my sweat, I pad down the hall to the door. It looms
in front of me, huge and navy blue ((like his eyes)), and I grasp the knob,
turning it.
I stare at the two men on the other side. Both wear dark suits. This is
never of the good. I know that look on their faces. I've seen it. On Mom's
when she told me Dad had left and they weren't going to work it out. On
Angel's when he told me it was over. On the paramedic's when he said he was
sorry, but my Mother had died. On Xander's, last year, when he came to my
door and said Giles was dead of a heart attack.
It's the "I have bad news" face.
"Are you from the airline?" I ask immediately. Blunt to the last, that's me.
"Yes," they respond quietly. "Buffy Summers Walker?"
"Yes," I confirm, trying not to let my voice tremble. I want to die. I want
my husband to not be dead.
One of the men nods at me. His eyes are a clear, watery blue. "Mrs. Walker,
we have conflicting manifests. One of them-well, it has your husband, Daniel
Walker, on Flight 231."
"I know." I murmur, trying to gather my thoughts. "He-you see, he took a
bump. He's on Flight 97 now. It's-it takes off from Boston-"
"We know, Mrs. Walker," the other man interrupts. "Perhaps you'd like to
come to LAX- the crisis center we have set up there can give you more
information."
The sun is blinding. Tears burn like sharp fire in my throat and I breathe
out in a jumbled mess. "All-all right. Just let me get dressed. I'll drive
in."
~~~
LAX is crowded and the cool breezes coming from the air conditioners fan my
flushed cheeks as I am led into a meeting area, where dozens of people mill
around. Most have tear streaked faces. Some just looked dazed. And some
appear dead. Like me. A woman wails as she sits on the floor, clutching a
picture of a blonde haired girl. An older man leans with his forehead
against the wall, his hands over his ears, as if there is a roar he can't
shut out.
A tall, painfully thin woman in a clear-cut black suit comes towards me,
taking my hand gently. "Mrs. Walker? Just wait here for a moment."
Staring blankly at her, I don't respond, my stomach roiling as I watch her
go into another room, looking through papers that I know are pictures of who
was on the plane. Danny wasn't though. He told me he was taking a fucking
bump. For two hundred dollars and an upgrade to first class. Why the hell
didn't he call me and tell me he was changing if he was going to? Why didn't
he spare me having to come to the airport and find out in some office with
people I don't even know?
Completely irrational thoughts.
I press a hand to my belly, trying to stay calm. But oh Danny. Our wedding
day. Me in billowing white. The dab of cake on his nose at the party. Dawnie
laughing as she snapped our picture afterwards. Me mispronouncing his middle
name. Willow and Anya in sweet yellow summer dresses, holding white roses
and baby's breath. Giles giving me away, his hand strong and sure.
Our first apartment. Painting over all the cracks and peels. That bed that
shook every time we had sex. Danny joked that the neighbors probably thought
we were porn stars, with the amount of noise the springs made. The quick
slide of his mouth against mine every morning before he leaves for work.
When he makes me hot chocolate on cold winter mornings, and tucks hot water
bottles under my feet to keep them warm. When he reads out loud to me-and he
wears those glasses that make him look like a dork.
Bad times too though. The miscarriage in our first year. When he got fired
and we lived on bread and a jar of peanut butter for weeks. Our biggest
fight, when I pushed him- *hard* and he pushed me and I cut my hand on a
shard of glass as I flailed backwards. He cried as he bandaged me up and I
laughed-telling him I'd seen worse.
Danny.
He doesn't even know that I was a Slayer. That, in a sense, I still am- even
if I have been relieved of my duties.
Sometimes I forget that, and almost mention it around him. My friends are
pretty good at keeping the secret, and they aren't around much anymore. When
we get through this, I'm going to tell him. Let him hate me, or love me even
more-I just need to wrap my arms around him and show him the darkness that
still lies somewhere deep in my bones. Kendra was right-it is who I am-and I
suppose I shouldn't hide my past, anymore.
I sit very still in the waiting area, blocking out the cries around me and
think of the first time we met. It was nine years ago. A year after Spike. A
year after I'd come back from Heaven. Two months after the Armageddon that
we'd fought and won and found freedom from.
I noticed him right away. It was at the Bronze-and he was brown haired and
had an easy smile and I think sometimes that I loved him from the very first
second, but just didn't know it. He was wearing a leather jacket - I
remember that-and so was I. He asked me to dance. I said no. He asked again.
I told him stalking was illegal in all fifty states. He laughed and I smiled
and that was it. Pretty much.
We dated for two years. My hands shake as I remember it.
But we didn't really get serious until after they got married. That was the
day that I think something permanently died inside me. Maybe the small piece
of my heart that was *still* waiting after all the years? I don't know. My
head falls back against the wall as I remember how he asked me to marry him
two months later and I said yes-and I knew-I could have love with someone
else. That I could love him in the way I *couldn't* love Riley and wouldn't
*let* myself love Spike.
That maybe I could finally be happy.
Someone touches my hand. "Yes?" I look up and bite down hard on my already
ravaged lower lip. No. She has bad-news face. "Did you find anything?"
She hands me a piece of paper, her eyes welling with barely suppressed
tears. This must be a dream. Where's my Mother? Where are the blood-stained
leaves that glitter with the wind? Slowly, sickly, my head tilts downward
and I force myself to look.
There is that easy smile.
A bit tense because he hates getting his picture taken.
But it's that smile.
Shaking my head, I touch the lips and teeth that are frozen forever young in
black and white and feel the screams come.
~~~
*1 year later*
Tossing strawberries, peaches, ice and orange juice into the blender, I set
it to high, clamping down on the lid and watching it whirr. Nothing like a
shake in the morning. Willow gave me the recipe on the phone last night.
Apparently Tara swears by them-and I can't say I blame her. It looks good.
Pouring the pink liquid into a glass, I open the screen door and step out
onto the porch, my bare feet sweaty in the hot July sun. I'm barely dressed
in a shrunken white tank top and cut offs, and hopefully the lecher that
lives next door isn't how mowing his lawn. Such a shame- his wife is so
nice. But he's a pig, no two ways about it.
Sipping the frothy drink, and watching the little kids across the street run
through the sprinklers, I barely notice the tall, dark haired man walking up
my driveway, past the shiny red Sunfire I bought a few weeks ago, and up to
the steps.
I look down, startled and blink against the sun. Who---?
He stares up at me and my mouth opens. I haven't seen him in so long. Not
since the wedding.
"Angel?"
Part 2
I stand very, very still for a moment, staring at the man I haven't seen in
close to seven years. Not since my wedding.
((He came with Cordelia, and she was fresh and young in mint green that
looked like bright spring grass. I remember how her hair fell over his
shoulder as she leaned against him and told me- Congratulations- and I
nodded, smiling slightly as I watched Danny out of the corner of my eye.
He came over later and asked me if I was all right.
I kissed his mouth and said I was fine. No one could have argued that I
wasn't a good liar.))
My past rushes up and spins in front of me as I gaze down at Angel and
breathe out shakily. "Hi."
He inclines his head and tugs at the end of his black T-shirt. "Hello,
Buffy."
"What are you doing here?" I ask bluntly, my lips tense.
"I wanted to see if you were all right," he murmurs, obviously discomfited
by my question. I realize suddenly that he's forgotten what I'm like and
it's a strange thought. Angel not knowing me. But he doesn't, I suppose, and
hasn't for such a long time.
"That's funny," I reply. "Since you weren't at the funeral."
"It would have been too hard," he avoids my eyes and shifts his weight from
one foot to the other. "You know."
"Yeah," I whisper, and put the glass down on the porch railing. It's
outsides are slick with condensation and it slips and slides against my
palm. "I guess I do know."
Angel gazes at me for a moment and then asks the inevitable question. "Did
they ever.?"
"No," I answer curtly. "It was going too fast. Everything disintegrated when
they hit the water. At least that's what the officials at the airline told
me. Aren't they nice?"
"Buffy." he sighs, but I continue.
"And I used to have dreams, you know- where I'd see it all." Pressing a hand
to my forehead, I tremble in the burning hot morning. "He wasn't even
supposed to be on that flight. It just bugged me for so long. If he had
taken the bump, and just."
"You can't beat yourself up for things like that," he says firmly, and steps
up, so we're a breath away from each other. Biting his lower lip, he bows
his head, and I look at the tiny rivulets of sweat that trickle over his
neck. I can smell the salt. "I'm sorry. Sorry for everything."
"Everyone's sorry," I mutter. "Too bad I really can't blame anyone but him.
And myself."
"You're *not* to blame, Buffy," he touches my arm, just above my elbow and I
gaze up at him, shuddering lightly.
"How can you know that? We fought on the phone right before. I told him to
get his ass home. You can imagine."
He shakes his head. "That's just you."
"What? Being a raging bitch is just me?"
"You know that's not what I meant," he murmurs, and his fingers dip into the
hollow of my elbow, his thumb against the tiny pulse that beats under my
skin. "It's your job to get other people into shape, Buffy. You've always
been the first to point out the obvious."
I laugh hollowly, nodding at the truth of that statement. "Too bad I
couldn't forget who I was for one moment and just be a supportive wife,
huh?" Before he can respond, I graze his shoulder with my other hand and nod
to the door. "Want some coffee? We could catch up."
"All right," he accepts, and walks up with me, to the inside of the house.
I pour the coffee grinds into the fancy silver and black machine Xander and
Anya bought us for our wedding.
((Anya told me later she hated it and gave me the receipt to return it, and
I would have too, if Danny hadn't told me it'd be rude.
"Manners are something you lack," he had murmured to me, kissing the back of
my neck as he threw the receipt in the garbage. "Lucky that you have me,
huh?"))
My head throbs with insistent pressure as I watch the brown liquid begin to
drip into the pot, and I motion for Angel to sit down at the kitchen table.
"So," I begin. "What brings you to town? Business?"
"No," he denies. "I came to see you, actually."
"Oh," I whisper, and brush the heavy weight of hair off my neck, which still
remembers Danny's kisses. "Is Cordy with you? Or is she at home with the
kids?"
Angel seems to think for a moment. "No, she's not with me."
"Oh, that's too bad," I lie, pouring the coffee.
"And we don't have children," he reminds me. "Or have you forgotten?"
"I try and forget everything to do with you and Cordelia, actually, Angel,"
I acknowledge with a wry grin. "But then you can relate to that."
"Buffy. is this.is this not ok?"
"What?"
"Me being here. Is it too hard for you? Seeing me?"
I begin to laugh and can't stop. Huge bursts of heavy laughter erupt from
my belly and I lean against the counter as I shake. "Aren't you just." I
trail off and spin lazily in a circle, my mouth open and gasping as I try
and catch my breath. "Isn't it simply amazing how full of yourself you are?
What do you imagine? That it's *you* I can't get over, Angel? My husband is
dead. Do you get that?"
His hands grasp my arms to pull me towards him. My hand flails out for
purchase and with a strange shattering sound, the cup of coffee breaks and
sends scalding liquid splashing across my arm. "Damn, damn, DAMN," I swear
as he hauls me over to the sink and runs the cold water over my burned skin.
"Stop acting like a child," he grates out furiously. "You're hurting
yourself."
"I'd rather hurt you," I mutter. "Why are you even here?"
"Guilt," he replies harshly. "I felt pity and guilt and all those wonderful
emotions that you seem to inspire."
"Don't even *bother* feeling sorry for me," I whisper. "I'm happy. I'm
widow-happy. I didn't pine for you all these years. I don't love you
anymore. So don't think that I-"
"Do you think I like seeing you this way?" he cuts in, his voice low and
husky. It sounds in my ear like a bell from the all too distant past and I
start in shock as I remember- what it was like to be with him. What it was
like to belong to him. "When I heard-I wanted to come and see you right
away. But I was afraid that you wouldn't want me here. We haven't exactly
been on the best terms since-"
"Since you got married and 'always' stopped meaning something?" I fill in
dryly. "I know. But. when my Mom died. you were the first person I wanted.
The *only* person I really wanted. And when Danny was killed. Angel, I would
wish for you to come. But you have a life now. I know that. You can't just
pick up and come back to see me whenever someone in my life leaves. Which
seems to happen a lot."
"Did you go to Giles' funeral?" he inquires quietly, and I nod, the water
beginning to numb the sting deep in my arm. The flesh is still red and I
stare at it curiously as he continues, "I couldn't get there in time. Cordy
had an important campaign that she was working on-and never mind. You don't
want to hear about this."
"It's ok," I answer dully, turning off the water and reaching up into the
cabinet for the first aid kit. "We both moved on. I really don't-"
"Don't what?" he asks softly.
"Don't love you anymore," I reply. "I mean, I still care, and sometimes I
think of you. but it's been so many years, hasn't it?"
"Since you stood in my doorway and promised me it would be forever?" he
finishes, smiling faintly. "Yeah, it has."
Tears burn my eyes suddenly and I sit across from him, spreading the
bandages and ointment in front of me like a shield. As I begin to spread the
anti-septic on the reddened patch of skin along my inner elbow, I talk,
slowly, "A long time ago, it would have really hurt to hear you talk about
Cordelia. And I was angry and sad when you married her. But I did-love
Danny. I married him, and had no regrets. I'm happy to hear about your life
now. I guess it's just the sixteen year old in me who still flinches when
she hears about you with someone else." I pause, my gaze flitting away from
his, as I tear off a long piece of sticky bandage. "It's stupid, isn't it?"
"What?" he whispers, low, and I look up at him.
"How long human beings hold onto things that'll never be."
"Not stupid, exactly," he shakes his head. "It's basic hope."
"And doesn't that just spring eternal," I grin, applying the white material
to the burn with careful fingers. "I mean. months after Danny died, I'd hear
a car in the driveway and think it was him. The phone would ring and I'd
smile, imagining hearing his voice on the other end of the line. telling me
it was a mistake and he was coming home. Sometimes I'd have dreams-" I break
off, thinking of the things my brain spins when I sleep. Kisses and lazy
backyard summer days with barbecues. We have children and Natalie doesn't
have cancer and sometimes Giles is there. But usually it's just Danny.
Danny, Danny. Him and me, with no cold wind and no planes. No bloody smiles
and black and white photos of the dead.
Angel's palm covers mine suddenly and he says, "You must have loved him a
lot, Buffy."
My throat is so tight, I'm afraid it'll explode. Swallowing as best as I
can, I shrug. "I wish I could be angry with him. I wish I could hate him.
Sometimes he gets really far away."
"The past has a habit of doing that," he says without inflection, and begins
to clean up the spilled coffee with long swipes of a blue and white checked
dishcloth. "Sometimes you get to the point where you just can't wait
anymore, can you?"
"What do you mean?" I ask, rubbing my tired and gritty eyes. Glancing
outside, I see the children across the street running through the sprinklers
with their youthful vigor. Every so often the girl, who's whip of red hair
keeps sticking to her cheeks, yells to her brother, that's it's "cold"!
"I'm not sure," he shakes his head and wrings out the cloth in the stainless
steel sink. Gripping the countertop with his big and powerful hands, he
regards me with the same Angel eyes I knew so long ago. "It did hurt when
you got married."
"You did it first," I remind him, my stomach roiling. The burn aches through
the layers of bandage. "It's funny, if you had asked me in High School. what
the future was going to be."
"It wouldn't have been this," he finishes for me and half-smiles. "I agree.
But then I guess I wonder what we expected."
Rising from my chair, I pad over to the screen door with sweaty feet, and
touch the wire mesh with unsure fingers. "We expected it to be forever. I
expected everything to last forever. Friendships, death, love. Instead.
everything just kind of faded away, didn't it? High School ended, you left,
and things became too difficult."
"When did you stop loving me?" he asks, and it's such a cruel question that
my belly tightens, vomit stinging the back of my teeth.
"Do you expect me to answer that?"
"Yes. Don't I deserve a time? A place?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a picture of Danny and me horsing
around in Willow's backyard. How long ago was that? I'm wearing a blue
sundress and he's in jeans and a worn out white T-Shirt. We're laughing- and
his hand rests comfortably along my middle. I realize it was taken when I
was pregnant.
That ended in tears. For both of us.
"It wasn't when you married Cordelia, if that's what you think," I respond
absently, my mind on long ago summer days. "It was. I guess it was when I
came back from Heaven." (Sometimes I envy Danny. Because I'm certain that's
where he is.) "I had nothing left. Nothing left to give anyone, really."
He nods bleakly, and suddenly he's the Angel that I knew- the one who loved
me and only me. The one that ignored Cordelia because she didn't have blonde
hair and Slayer skills. The one who would soothe my bruises with lotion
after patrol, and dance with me at my prom and kiss me in the darkness.
Taking a step towards him, I whisper, "I stopped knowing you. I'm sorry. You
became someone I didn't know."
Angel flinches and his fingers reach out to entwine with mine. "I became
someone I didn't even know. I'm sorry. so-"
"Stop saying you're sorry," I cry out. "I'm so fucking sick of everyone
apologizing to me for everything. I'm a widow, not someone who's been
betrayed."
He looks away and then drops my hand. "Buffy. there's something you should
know."
"What?" I ask. Bad-news face. But then, Angel always had it. That was what
sparked my interest in the beginning. It's funny how things change.
"Cordelia and I." he pauses. "We're divorced."
Part 3
His words echo for a moment in the stillness of the kitchen, and I push the
wealth of dark blonde hair off my neck, fanning the sweaty expanse of flesh
with trembling fingers. I look at him closely and notice the lines of
fatigue around his mouth and the bright purple smudges underneath those
dark, dark eyes. He looks a little older than I remember, and it's strange,
as he remained twenty for all those years that I knew him and loved him.
"You got divorced," I repeat his words in a blank tone that invites no
further discussion, but I know he'll want to explain.
"Yes," he surprises me by answering simply. "We did. About six months ago."
"I don't-"
"You don't what?" he asks softly, his fingers on the inner edge of my elbow,
which still burns slightly from the coffee.
"I'm not really sure what to say," I murmur. "Congratulations somehow
doesn't seem appropriate."
The left side of his mouth quirks and he half-smiles ever so slightly.
"Well, you never were one for social niceties."
"I was never one for niceties, period," I remind him, shrugging helplessly.
"I'm sorry about you and Cordy. I know you loved each other."
He nods. "Thank you. Love sometimes isn't enough though."
"That's the truth," I agree, and take a step back from him. I can smell the
wisps of heady cologne, and sweet sweat layering his skin and it's making me
dizzy. "Most things that break people up don't give a damn about love, do
they?"
Leaning against the wall, with a body that is sleek yet much more defined,
more solid, he scratches his chest and smiles sadly. "She didn't want
children. She wanted a career. I guess I couldn't give up my dream of having
a big family."
"Is that the reason you broke up?" I ask, not really wanting to know.
He shakes his head. "Not really. We just. we forgot all the reasons we were
together. It became. a friendship, too early. It became a convenience."
"I'm sorry," I offer inadequately. "I wish I could say something."
"It's all right."
"Angel-" I begin, but am interrupted when the phone rings suddenly.
Smiling apologetically, I reach over to answer it. "Hello?"
"Buffy. It's me."
"Natalie," I greet her gently, warmly. "How are you feeling?"
She laughs quietly, "Good. It's a good day."
"Are you calling because?" I break off and whisper, "Because of what the
doctor said yesterday? Did you go see him, Nat?"
She sighs, "Yes, I did. The operation is scheduled in another two weeks."
"Damn," I mutter and she laughs again, ruefully this time.
"I know. I'm not looking forward to it, either."
Turning away from Angel, I wind the phone cord around my finger as I speak
softly, "Do you want me to come up and see you?"
"I don't want you on a plane," she says sharply, and I breathe out.
"Nat."
"I know. It's irrational. But. I don't want to lose you, too, darling."
"Hey, it's you we should be worried about," I remind her. "I hope you're
getting lots of rest and not being a bad-Natalie."
Giggling like the girl she has always been, inside, despite her aged
appearance, she murmurs, "I'm trying to follow doctor's orders, I promise."
Trailing off for a moment, she then says, "It's the."
"Anniversary in a week," I finish. "I know."
"Are you planning on.?"
"Going to the grave?" I inquire quietly. "I'm not sure. I mean. it's a
marker and an empty space in the ground. He's not even there."
"He wouldn't be. He'd be with you," she says wistfully and I smile (No. He's
in Heaven, Natalie. I know, because I've been there. and don't worry. He's
safe and happy and thinks we're all doing fine. He's done. He's finished.)
God, how I envy him sometimes.
"Thank you," I murmur and mean it. "I love you."
"I love you too," she answers. "I'll call you tomorrow, darling."
"Ok. Bye."
"Bye."
Hanging up, I take a breath and then say, "Sorry- that was just Danny's-"
There's no one there. Padding over to the screen door, I press my nose to
the mesh shielding me from the outside, and look up and down the street. No
Angel. He left as he always did, without any sound or sign. I don't blame
him, really. I wouldn't want to be around me either.
Walking back to the table, I glance down and then swallow stiffly, realizing
what he saw. It's a basket of cards I had out and had been carefully leafing
through, searching for a particular birthday message Danny had written me
(Happy 25th, my sweet Buffy. Remember, age is just a number. We'll grow old
together, and I'll always be there to hold your hand, especially during the
plastic surgery we're both going to need as the years go on! Only kidding.
Love, your Danny)
but so far, I'd been unsuccessful.
All I'd found were cards that had congratulated me on my pregnancy.
Some were withered and bent from too many handlings. Stained with tears from
when I wept over them when it all ended in blood. One had a large brown
stain on it from when Danny and I had been reading them in bed. In bed with
us had been a large chocolate mousse cake. I smile absently at the memory
and pick up the card that must have spilled out of Angel's hands as I was on
the phone. The one that made him leave.
Opening it, I read the lines scrawled on the crisp white page and wince, my
face washing with pale.
Buffy and Danny,
Congratulations on the news of your upcoming parenthood! Willow told me the
news during our bi-annual phone call, and I'm thrilled for you. I really
hope you'll come to New York soon and drop by. Maybe when the baby comes?
You'll have to teach me all about motherhood, Buffy, as (don't tell Angel!!)
I'm expecting a little bundle of joy in about nine months. Don't spread the
word. I just wanted to share this news with you, my old friend.
Anyway, congratulations to you both!
Love and kisses,
Cordy
I sit down heavily in the polished wooden chairs, rubbing my aching neck
carefully. "She had an abortion," I say out loud to the room, which echoes
the words back to me. This house is so full of emptiness. Just like the one
on Revello Drive. "She had an abortion and didn't tell Angel."
I had forgotten about this little note. Filed it away at the back of my
mind- something to be tossed out. Angel having a baby with someone else?
Didn't want to know about it. It wasn't like I wanted to be the one carrying
his children (I was, of course, swollen with Danny's at that point and much
too happy to worry about past lovers), but it still stung. I knew Cordelia
had always resented me- just a little- and she wrote that card, in large
part to rub my face in her joy.
That was ok. I knew, that she always had a hard time with my place in his
heart. I had been the first person he loved in over two hundred years. But.
she was the last. And that. that, was the person who counted. Not the first,
but the last. My head aches, and I lean back, stretching the slim length of
my spine.
I wonder if he'll come back.
He always said he would. and I didn't believe him.
I don't really believe he will this time, either. I put the cards away and
give up hope of finding the words Danny wrote to me so many years ago.
They're simply ink now, anyway. He's not going to be here to hold my hand as
I get older.
Just another promise broken.
+ + +
Days melt and a week passes in relative peace. Willow and Tara come over for
dinner one night, and I make a light pasta. They bring brownies, and their
little girl, that they adopted three years ago. Her name is Katherine
(Katie), and she has eyes that are a clear, clear blue. Her smile is like
sunlight, her laugh like falling water. She has become my daughter as well
as Willow and Tara's, and I love them a little bit more for sharing her with
me.
We sit outside on the back deck, as she toddles on chubby legs, around and
around the flowers I planted last summer. The air is filled with the heavy
fragrance of roses and orange blossom. Lazily, I pat my belly and murmur, "I
think I'm getting fat."
"You're as thin as a rail," Tara reminds me in her soft tone, watching Katie
play, with that special glow a Mother has. "Dawn called me last night."
"Oh yeah?" I ask, interested, although that is nothing new. Dawn calls her
more than me. I think. something twisted and shattered between us when I was
sent to Heaven in her place. Nothing has ever really been the same. Not even
nine years has been able to heal it. "Did she have any news?"
Willow glances at her lover thoughtfully. "Maybe I should tell her. She
might freak out."
Tara smiles. "I don't think it's that bad, baby."
"Whaaat?" I ask, exasperated, and then I grin as Katie picks up a flower
from the grass and brings it to me.
"Here Buffy," she says in her slurry toddler voice. "Flower?"
"That's right," I take it and inhale the sweet scent. "Thanks honey."
Pecking her on the nose, and making her laugh, I watch her run back out onto
the lawn and then turn my attention back to the two Witches. "What did Dawn
tell you?"
"She's. she's seeing someone from our past."
"And that would be who?"
"Umm." Willow looks nervous.
"It's Spike, Buffy," Tara says firmly. "Dawn's been seeing Spike for the
last month. Apparently she's too weirded out by the whole thing to tell you.
She thinks you'll be angry."
I think for a moment. "Dawn and Spike. That's."
"Sick and wrong?" Willow asks, and Tara shushes her, looking at me
pensively.
Out of all of them, Tara's the only one who found out about Spike and me
(excluding Riley and Angel) and she knows I like to keep it that way. It
would just dredge up old wounds that I don't care to open. "That's. well,
it's new," I finally finish. "And strange. But it's not like I can fault her
for going out with a vampire, can I?"
Willow grins. "It seems to run in the family. Actually, I think your Mom was
even a little smitten with Spike at one point."
"He was a charmer," I reply wryly, thinking of him fondly for a moment. ((We
never had any harsh words after the breakup. Just small moments. After the
Armageddon, he left town. And I moved on.)) "Besides, 'whatever makes Dawnie
happy' is basically my philosophy."
They both glance at me sympathetically as Tara picks up a tired Katie and
snuggles her into her embrace. "Time for bed?" she whispers to the girl, who
shakes her head emphatically.
"I think that's a no," I laugh, and then tilt my head. "More coffee?"
"No, we should be getting home," Willow tugs on the ends of Katie's hair
playfully. "This one's sleepy. Thanks for dinner, though."
"Anything for my favourite girls," I smile, kissing each of them, quickly.
"What about doing it again? Next week?"
"Fine," Tara agrees, "but it's at our place. You just bring yourself."
"And that vanilla cake," Willow adds and I laugh quietly.
"Ok, sounds good."
Waving Goodbye to them, I begin to clear up the plates from the table on the
back deck, the musky night air stealing into my senses. Switching on the CD
Player that rests just inside the door ((We'd play it whenever we had
barbecues)), I listen to the strains of the Flamingos- "I Only Have Eyes for
You" wistfully. Too many memories of two different men.
"Familiar song," a voice says from the doorway.
"Yeah, it is," I look up. "What made you come back?"
Angel shrugs. "I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly. I had some things. well, I
realized some things I guess."
"That's ok," I answer, deciding not to bring up the card. "Nice night, isn't
it?"
He nods, his eyes burning into mine. "Buffy."
"Don't," I whisper. "Let's not ruin this, ok?"
"Ruin what?" he asks quietly, and I set down the dirty plates I'd been
gathering.
"I'm lonely."
He starts in shock and then inclines his head. In the faint darkness, he
looks like the Angel I knew so long ago- just a little older. I know I don't
look much like the sixteen year old Buffy that he fell in love with. Darker
hair, maybe a little thinner. And shadows in my eyes from losing too much.
"Dance with me?" he steps forward. "We could pretend for a while."
I smile sadly, and take his hands in mine, pressing our palms together. I
feel the light sweat on his fingers and lean close, into the body that I
once knew so well. "Yeah," I respond softly. "Let's do that."
Part 4
Shifting in my seat, I sip the steaming coffee handed to me by Willow only a
few short minutes ago and watch her rock Katie tenderly in her arms. Tara
slices some of the vanilla frosted cake I brought over, with a gleaming
knife, her pale hands moving swiftly as she places pieces of the dessert
onto plates and hands them out to us with her gentle smile.
When she sits down, she glances at me pensively. "So he just keeps showing
up? Without calling?"
I sigh heavily, shrugging. "That's Angel. He likes to make with the stealth.
He always has."
Willow nods. "Ain't that the truth."
"I think he thinks it adds to his edge," I joke miserably, poking at the
cake without any enthusiasm. It tastes like ashes crumbled in my mouth and I
stare at the metal prongs of the fork, wondering if it's possible to have no
appetite at all. "I just think it's creepy and annoying."
"Except you don't think it's creepy or annoying," Willow adds, her fingers
carefully smoothing back wisps of Katie's buttery blonde curls. "Because
it's Angel."
"Will," Tara cautions.
"No, it's ok," I protest serenely. "Seriously, guys, I don't even know what
he's doing here. he just seems. quieter, somehow. Different."
"He wasn't exactly man of a thousand words before," Willow points out, as
Tara tickles Katie's feet absently. The little girl giggles, her mouth
blowing tiny milky bubbles with each breath.
"True," I acknowledge.
"Is it." Tara pauses. "Is it ok to ask?"
"Ask what?"
She looks worried. "Are you. are you still in love with him, Buffy? I can't
believe I just asked that. Say you'll forgive me."
"I don't know if I can. That sounded like a Willow question, Tara," I grin,
and she adopts an offended expression.
"I'm not nosy!"
"Who said I'm nosy?" Willow cuts in and I laugh softly.
"I don't think there's any reunions left anymore," I answer her question
without any more preamble, catching my bottom lip between sharp teeth as I
stare at a fixed point between the ceiling and the start of dark purple
wall. "Or any happy endings. Especially not for Angel and me."
The Witches exchange a look, and then Katie opens her mouth in a giant yawn,
and I coo gently, reaching over to lift her welcome weight into my arms.
"May I put her to bed?" I ask her two mothers, and they nod. They both look
concerned, and I choose to ignore it. Everyone always looks concerned around
widows. Pretty soon you learn to block it out.
Katie sucks her thumb, her squashy little body in a yellow jumper plastered
across my chest as I ascend the stairs of Willow and Tara's home, the pale
green walls upstairs, soothing my nerves with their familiarity.
I switch on the night-light in Katie's room, the watery golden glow casting
strange shadows over us as I pad over to her bed, drawing back the thin
covers and placing her beneath them.
"Nighhht Buffny," she slurs slightly in her toddler voice as one of her
hands keeps a firm grip on my hair. Then, more clearly: "Love you."
"I love you too, Katie Watie Bo Batie," I tease her, and her tiny giggle is
smothered against my lips as I peck her gently and then lower myself down
upon the carpet, listening to her breathe as I think vague thoughts of
Winnie the Pooh and my Mother.
Mostly I think of the child I should have had.
The little girl that didn't last three months in my belly, much less three
years in the outside world.
Unconsciously, I touch my stomach and stare into space.
~~~
The house is quiet when I return, and no red lights blink on the answering
machine. For a moment I consider going upstairs and opening my bedside
drawer, where I have a little container of tapes. Each one is filled with
random, meaningless messages. "I love you" and "Want me to pick up a carton
of milk?" and "for crying out loud, don't forget to call the plumber again
cause I'm *not* fixing the shower, Danny". Those kind. Hundreds of them.
I didn't keep them for any sentimental reason, which is ironic when I look
back. I simply didn't know which garbage they went into - recyclable or
normal refuse, and so every single time the tape got full, I'd toss it into
a drawer and forget about it.
After he was killed, I came home and found one on the machine from him. It
was small, and very, very nondescript.
((Did you pick up the balloons for the barbecue? If not, I'll do it on my
way home. I'll call tonight, love. The taxi's coming in an hour to pick me
up. Be a sweet wife and leave the door unlocked. No one wants a repeat of
last time. Especially not the neighbors, I'd imagine. I miss you, Love you,
bye))
I fell on the floor as I was listening to it (everything else is hazy about
that day, but I remember that) and screamed and cried and threw anything I
could reach against the wall. But I kept the machine tucked against my
heart. It was all I had left then. Just a little bit of his voice.
Grazing my finger down the side of the counter, I cough at the well of dust
in the air and make a mental note to do some cleaning tomorrow. Yawning, I
walk up the stairs and into my room, breathing out in a jumbled rush as I
look at the window.
"Hey," Angel says quietly, not turning. "Sorry to startle you."
"You should be," I snap. "I think you took twenty years off my life just
now."
"Don't lie," he whispers. "You knew I was in the house. Unconsciously."
"Why? Because we have some mystical connection?" I toss off bitterly. "Give
me a break. I think that boiled down to one thing. Slayer. Vampire. Neither
of which applies to us anymore so-"
"Why are you so angry?"
"You really have to ask me that?" I murmur, falling back into the shadows to
lean against the wall.
He sighs. "I guess not. I just thought-"
"That time heals all wounds?" I finish wryly. "Never thought you'd be one
for cliché."
"Maybe I thought that we could start again."
"With what?" I ask. "Because there's nothing left to start with, Angel. And
I certainly don't want to be friends."
He turns suddenly, and grasps my arms lightly with his palms. Shivering
involuntarily, I gaze up at him. "Friends?" he repeats, and I nod, a ghost
of a grin playing on my lips.
"Maybe I don't want a friend."
His mouth slides over mine as he murmurs, "I could never be just your
friend."
Pulling away slightly, I look directly into his burning eyes. "Maybe that's
the problem."
"Buffy." he begins and I cut him off with a kiss, our first is almost ten
years. Not since our meeting when I came back from Heaven have I kissed him.
Clinging to his arms, I lean in, smelling his sweat and tasting his breath
as we move together like one body over to the bed ((new bed, new sheets, new
blankets, new pillows.)), his forehead pressed against mine.
My clothes come off easily and so do his. I discover a new scar when I drag
my hand over his hip, and I'm sure he notices the faded weal on my finger
((from where Natalie's dog bit me five years ago)) as he lifts my hands to
his mouth. I don't stop to think if this is a good idea as he kisses my lips
and strokes my cheeks, and I whisper - AngelAngelAngel- as he slides inside
me and makes me see bloody stars and candles dripping with glittery wax.
Everything shifts and breaks and I bite off a groan as he rolls off me and
takes me with him, the sheets in a messy tangle around us.
Closing my eyes, I don't think, I just sleep, and I hope that he'll be gone
by the morning and that this all a bad dream.
~~~
When I wake, he's looking at me. For a moment, I'm disoriented, my eyes
slightly fuzzy and I whisper, "Morning love---"
Love.
No.
It's not the man I called "love" each morning.
"Never mind," I finish. "I'm sorry."
His hand cups my shoulder. "Let me make you breakfast."
"What's my favourite breakfast, Angel?" I inquire quietly.
His eyes shutter. "I don't know. I'm sorry."
"So many sorry's," I mock. "We're a sad pair, aren't we?"
"Buffy."
"What was Cordelia's?"
"Buffy," he repeats, but warningly this time.
"What was it? I know you know."
He sighs and flops back, staring blankly at the ceiling for a moment before
replying, "Melon and coffee. Black, no sugar."
"Danny's was chocolate chip pancakes. He liked them with freshly squeezed
orange juice but I never made that unless it was his Birthday. Too much
work," I respond, without any inflection in my voice. "Isn't that funny.
That I still remember."
"No, it isn't funny," he answers huskily. "And I see your point. I see what
you're getting at. We don't know each other at all."
"We have a winner," I sneer, sitting up and getting out of bed. "And what do
we have for him? Right. A one way ticket out of town."
"Just like Danny's huh, Buffy?" Immediately, his voice breaks. "God, that
was unforgivable. I'm sorry."
Without turning around, I snarl so quietly I'm surprised he can hear me,
"Get out. And don't ever, ever come back."
Faint rustling sounds come from behind me, which I know are him making the
bed and pulling on his clothes. Finally, he says, "Before I go, I have
something to say to you."
"What is it?" I ask, my voice crackling with suppressed rage.
"Buffy, please. turn around."
"Say whatever you have to say, Angel," I snap, horrified at the sudden sting
of tears at the back of my throat. "Then leave. please."
"I was there," he says.
"Where?"
"I was there. At the airport, the night Danny's plane crashed."
Part 5
I turn slowly, regarding the man in front of me for a moment. His skin
shines faintly with sweat, and I can feel perspiration on my own body,
trickling down my spine, which is covered with a mint green sheet from the
bed. It smells like us, musky and salty, and I breathe out, trying to form a
coherent thought. What does he mean? Did he see Danny? Oh God. Am I going to
have to hear about his last moments at the airport?
Vomit swells in my throat for the barest of seconds and I gulp, pressing a
shaky hand to my breastbone. Finally I find my voice. "What do you mean,
Angel?"
He sighs heavily and scratches the sliver of belly, which is revealed by his
half-buttoned shirt. "I mean I. I was at the airport. I saw him."
An image of Danny's easy smile and chocolate brown hair swirls before my
eyes and I take a step backward. "Why didn't you tell me? Is this your idea
of a fun surprise?"
"No," he grimaces. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"How about, 'Hey Buffy, before we have sex, I just want you to know that I
saw your husband before he died.'" My mouth compresses as I look at him. "I
think that would have taken care of things, don't you?" Pausing, I clutch
desperately at the sheet, thinking. "Did you talk to him?"
"Yes," he answers without hesitation and I swallow, the tears stinging my
eyes sudden and brutal.
"What did he say?"
Angel looks at me with those eyes and then whispers, "He said you were mad
at him."
"I was," I respond dully. "Madder than hell. Isn't it funny, now I can
barely remember why it was so important for him to come back for that
fucking barbecue. We had dozens every summer." Trailing off, I sit down on a
chair in the corner where I throw my dirty clothes every night. "Did he
remember you?"
"Yes," Angel replies quietly. "We talked a little. Both of our flights were
delayed, and we met at the bar. So we sat together, and. when he went to
check on our planes, he took a bump and I guess he called you. When he came
back, he told me that you were angry."
"He talked about me to you." I say softly, not able to reconcile the idea in
my head. Of course, Danny didn't know the full history between Angel and me.
I hadn't filled him in, like I did with Riley, because I had learned. no
good came of boyfriends knowing you'd had an undying love with a vampire. No
good at all.
"Just a little. He showed me your picture. he kept it in his wallet."
One tear spills out of my eye. "I didn't know that."
"Yeah," Angel seems lost in memories, his expression one of glazed
remembrance. "It was of you sitting outside, I think it was summer. You were
wearing this white sundress, and your hair was long and around your
shoulders. You were laughing." He doesn't say anything for a moment and I
stare at him, stricken slightly. "It was beautiful. It was just. it was nice
knowing you were happy."
"I was," I reply blankly. "It was so. simple loving Danny. He was just one
of those people, you know? I had so much love in me for him. Things changed.
They got better after I ended things with Spike and I realized. I guess I
realized that maybe I should be living life instead of waiting for it to
end." My hands fiddle with an old shirt that was on the back of the seat. It
has a faint smell to it that reminds me I need to do a wash. "I really never
thought I'd love anyone again. It was a nice surprise. He was my light. at
the end of the tunnel. First it was Xander and Anya, and then. it was
Danny."
"I'm sorry," he says simply and I smile without warmth.
"Why? Because you think the light stopped being you when you and Cordelia
got together? Or when you told me to move on?"
"Buffy," he begins huskily, "I've always been sorry that I said those things
to you. But I."
"But you what? Couldn't resist telling the hard facts of life to the girl
who'd just been ripped out of Heaven?" I snap. "I get that you were broken
up when I died. I would have understood if you had needed to take a break.
But you falling for someone else right after. I couldn't get it."
"You didn't love me then," he says sharply. "You said it yourself. Heaven killed any love you'd had for me."
"Maybe it did," I reply coldly. "Maybe Spike was right. We sure were in love till it killed us both, weren't we?"
"Fuck what Spike said," he snarls, stalking towards me. "I was wrecked when you were killed. Do you have any idea how it felt to see Willow standing there, telling me you were gone? So I shut down. So I didn't want to get hurt again and I told you to move on. I thought I was doing what was best."
"Oh, right," I drawl lightly. "Of course. Doing what's right, that's all you do, isn't it Angel? Leaving me because it's for my own good. Telling me to move on because you want to feel free to fuck Cordelia-"
"That is <I>not</I> true," he rasps, grabbing my arms and hauling me out of the chair. I keep a tenuous hold on the sheet, wriggling out of his grasp. It takes effort. Slayer strength wasn't something I was allowed to keep after the End of Days. "I couldn't help it. I fell for her. She was my best friend."
"And best friends make the best lovers?" I whisper. "I get it."
"No, you don't," he says coolly. "She was all I had. Besides, people in
glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Buffy. I seem to remember you falling into bed with Spike right after we saw each other."
"More like we fell into a house," I return. "And don't you dare compare what I had with Spike with you marrying Cordelia. I <I>used</I> Spike. I slept with him. I cared about him. But at no point did I love him."
"Wasn't I allowed to love someone else?" he whispers. I can feel his breath, hot and sticky on my face. "Is that against the rules?"
"No," I return, suddenly weary. "I just never thought."
"That I'd get over you?"
I wince. "It wasn't fair of me to expect that you'd wait forever. But that's what I did expect. I can't help it. You left and I had other people in my life. But I always thought that someday you'd come back and make me feel something again."
He shakes his head. "Maybe that's what I'm doing now."
Breathing out, I shake my head as well. "It's way too late, Angel. Because I stopped waiting too."
"You had a good life with Danny, didn't you?" he asks suddenly and again I feel tears swell in my throat and swallow woodenly.
"The best life," I nod, gulping back a sob. "He was a good man. Isn't that such an over-used expression?" I laugh slightly. "But he was. A really good guy. Funny. Looked nice in jeans. He was great with Katie. Always rubbed my stomach when I was sick. Sometimes I still can't believe. that he's not here. And then there's other times when it's like he's been gone for sixty years and I'm an old lady telling the story of my husband that I lost when I was way too young."
Lightly, he takes my hand and rubs his thumb against my palm. "He seemed like a good guy when I talked to him, Buffy."
"Was he angry with me?" I inquire, not really wanting to know.
Angel shakes his head. "Not really. He seemed more. resigned. He laughed a little about it and said he would call you when he got to the hotel and smooth things over. He said you blew hot and cold, and that you'd get over it eventually."
I smile. "He knew me too well."
For a moment Angel gazes down at me and I see an expression that is akin to anguish enter his eyes. "I wished that I knew you as well as him. When I was talking to him, and he mentioned something about how the bar didn't make drinks like you... I realized that he had a piece of you I couldn't touch."
My belly aches and I incline my head. "That's true. But. you've always had a piece of me that no one else can touch, Angel." Painfully, I raise my hand to his face and touch his jaw, his eyebrow, running my fingers down the length of his cheek, much like I did when I was sixteen and his vampiric visage was beautiful in my eyes. "I loved you for a long time. I waited for a long time. But eventually. I just stopped. You married Cordy. I married Danny. Things became. things became less simple."
He cups my face with his hands and looks far into my eyes. "Do you ever wish. do you ever wish things had gone differently when I saw you? After you came back?"
"How can you ask me that?" I murmur huskily. "Either way I answer, it feels like a betrayal."
He nods. "Even being here feels like a betrayal. To everything."
"To Cordelia?" I inquire calmly, needing to know.
"I don't know. Yes, a little. Because she was my wife. I did love her. Not in. not in the same way that I loved you. But."
"I know," I respond softly. "I mean I understand. but you'd better go."
"Why?" he asks, and I step away, his hands sliding down my arms.
"Because I need to think. I can't think when you're near."
"Buffy." he touches my cheek and forces me to look at him. "Once you asked me to stay forever. Do you remember that?"
"Yes," I choke out, my breath hitching as I remember that innocent girl who sat on her mother's grave and needed to hear something would be there for always. But she learned nothing was. "I remember."
"This time. this time, it could be forever. I could promise you forever."
"Don't," I hold up my hand and struggle to control my breathing as I back away from him. Panicked. "Just go, please. Don't make promises. Just go."
When I spin around a few moments later, he's gone.
I stare at the rumpled sheets and the mess of my clothes on the floor and remember innocent, bygone days when I was part of the Scooby gang and I had Angel by my side, and everything was black and white. Now there are just too many shades of gray.
Sitting down on the bed, I pick up a picture of Xander, Willow, and me from High School that I always keep close by. For a brief moment I consider calling Xander in Bermuda just to see how he is and then think better of it. I don't know what time it is there and if I woke him and Anya up, there'd be hell to pay. Smiling faintly, I touch our images with my index finger. remembering.
I curl up in a ball on one side, falling into a heavy sleep.
I dream of my Mother.
~~~
The week begins to melt as soon as I go back to work. I manage a Calvin Klein boutique in the heart of Los Angeles. It's fairly decent money, and I even got to meet Calvin himself when he came in one day. Customers aren't of the good, of course, but I didn't live half my life as a Slayer for nothing. I can bull-shit with the best of them, and people are none the wiser. Danny certainly wasn't, as he never found out about the secret life I had for so long.
Sometimes I regret that, but then, I regret a lot of things and it doesn't do any good.
Willow and Tara come over with Katie for dinner on Thursday night, which is our tradition. The little girl eats way too much and then runs around outside like a bat out of Hell. Tara seems unfazed, but even Willow looks a little tired out by her energy. We watch old movies and then they sleep over, which isn't uncommon. They let me stay with them for weeks after Danny was killed.
As I make breakfast Friday morning, the phone rings.
"'Lo?" I answer, cradling it against my shoulder.
"Buffy?"
"Hey Nat," I speak warmly, as I flip bacon which sizzles in a pan of grease. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, darling. The doctor says I can go home tomorrow."
"That's great," I exclaim. "I wish I could be there. Is the cavalry
arriving?"
"Of course," she says dryly. "I think half of the Walker clan is turning out to give me a welcome home party. They think it's a surprise."
"How could they think they could fool you?" I laugh.
"Silly of them, isn't it?" she giggles, and then sobers quickly. "But enough about me. What's the matter, Buffy?"
"What?" I ask, thunderstruck. "What do you mean? I'm fine."
There's a dry 'I'm a <i>mother</i>, you imbecile' note to her voice when she speaks next. "Darling, you forget I know you, and very well too. Something's wrong- something's happened since we last talked."
Uncomfortable with mentioning Angel to her, even though I know she won't be judgmental, I hesitate as I reply, "Someone's come back into my life. Someone that I didn't think I'd ever see again." I turn down the heat on the scrambled eggs as I add a little more butter and salt to them. "It's just confused me, I guess."
"An ex-boyfriend, I suppose?" she answers dryly.
"How did you know?"
She laughs gently. "I've lived too long, Buffy. And men are always the
problem, as far as I've gleaned from experience. You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."
"It's not that, Natalie, it's just that-"
"You're not being disloyal to him, Buffy. You know that, don't you?"
Swallowing back the prick of tears, I nod, trembling. "I think I know. I
mean. it just feels so wrong to have feelings for <i>anyone</i> Nat. I loved Danny. I still love him. It still feels like I'm married."
"I know," she returns sadly. "I felt that way for a long time after his
father died. But I had to realize that whomever I was with afterwards. they were there because Julian wasn't. That's just the way it was."
A little stricken by her candor, I slump into a kitchen chair after turning off the oven. I can hear the shrieks of Katie as Willow and Tara play with her outside. If I crane my neck, I can see them out of the back windows. Thinking for a moment, I then respond, "I know you're right. That's the way it is. But it's hard to accept."
"Just remember please, that Danny wouldn't have begrudged you finding happiness," she reminds me.
"Oh, I know," I smile wanly. "I've always known that. Sometimes I think though, that maybe I wouldn't be the same way if it had been me on that plane."
She sighs. "If it had been you on that plane, I don't know what he would have done, Buffy. He thought the world of you. I'm showing my age with that expression, but it's true. Remember what he said in the vows?"
I lapse into memory, nodding. "Yes. He said. he said that he'd spend his life making sure I was happy and loved, and that since he met me. since he met me he'd wanted nothing more than to see my face each morning and dance with me under the stars each night." I press a hand to my face and am surprised when it comes away wet. I hadn't known I'd been crying. "Oh Nat. I miss him so much."
She's weeping as well, I can hear it. "Me too, love. I miss him too."
~~~
That night, as I soap myself in the shower, I think back to when Xander and Anya were in LA a few years ago and we all went out to dinner. Katie was with the sitter, and we went to some fancy restaurant that I can't remember the name of. I wore black, and Danny put on a suit for once. We propped up a picture of Giles on one empty place and pretended he was there. Xander told us stories from nightmare construction jobs his company had had, and Anya surprised the waiter by asking if he'd made the food, because it was horrible.
Xander made it into a joke, (he was used to Anya's ways by then), but I don't think the poor man ever recovered.
Danny had some kind of disgusting fish, and I ate bread sticks and told them that Dawnie was doing well in her courses at the Arts college she was attending in New York. Willow and Tara regaled Xander and Anya (and picture-Giles) with tales of Katie, and Danny talked about recent shipments at the art gallery, which I knew everyone found boring, but I blessed them for acting interested.
Afterwards, we went to some club and danced and danced, and I don't even remember laughing more than I did that night. We were all together again (most of us) and nothing else mattered but that. I had a husband and friends and a life, and how did it all get away from me so quickly?
Pressing my face to the tiled shower wall, which is slick with condensation and water, I start with shock when I feel hands slide around me. For a moment I think I'm having one of the hallucinations I did after Danny died. (I'd be somewhere, anywhere, and I'd feel his hands on my arms, or his breath on my neck, and think he was there. But, of course, he never was).
Quickly, I spin around and almost slip. Angel's eyes gaze into mine, and they're burning, and it almost hurts to look. He catches me before I fall, and my flushed body cleaves into his. "I can't promise anything," I breathe, clutching at his shoulders.
"I can," he rasps huskily, and kisses me hard and fast. My mouth gasps open as he pulls away, and slams me roughly against the wall. I love the pain it brings and welcome it. "I need you."
Admitting nothing, I nevertheless grasp the back of his neck and yank his lips back to mine. Soon, we lose ourselves in the sweaty steam and he's inside me again, and nothing- nothing else matters but that.
Part 6
Opening my eyes, I blink against the faint rays of sunshine coming through
the loosely pulled drapes. My skin is sweaty and I turn over, the heavy
weight of Angel's arm sliding down to my belly. His eyes are closed, and I
watch him for a moment, in sleep, as I have every morning for the past four
days.
His lips shine slightly from my lip-gloss, and they are bruised with kisses,
swollen from long moments between my legs, as I screamed, and gasped. My
throat aches and I swallow, remembering the taste of him in my mouth and the
wet trail my tongue left when I traveled down his body, exploring the world
of him through kisses. I suppose that's what the last days have been about.
Re-discovering each other. Getting to know the animal side that was denied
to us when I was seventeen and he was a monster in sheep's clothing.
After he left me, I began to mistake sex for love. Told Riley he knew me
best. Made buildings fall with Spike, and all the while, lost little bits of
myself in men who sought only to make me forget about Angel.
((I wanted to know what you felt, with Angel))
((Bet he couldn't make you scream, could he Slayer?))
Danny didn't know, and didn't really ask-and that was a blessing. Yes, there
were people in my life that still remembered (bygone days of musty libraries
and rain that bred Angelus), but they forgot, and soon, so did I. I lived my
life as Buffy Walker, swelled with child, wept over bloody underwear,
clothed celebrities, kissed someone goodbye each morning, and ended up a
widow.
I had normal for a while.
But I've never been able to keep anything good, for long.
Angel yawns, and reaches out, drawing me deep into the sweaty-sweet warmth
of his embrace. My breasts are crushed against his chest, and I pant a
little, stricken as always with a pulse of desire by his nearness. He kisses
me with his eyes closed, and then opens them, gazing at me seriously. "Why
are you always awake before me?"
I shrug, tangling our legs together. Softly, I kiss him, tasting buttered
popcorn and musk. "I like mornings."
"I think that would surprise some people," he answers lightly.
I nod. "Mornings haven't exactly been kind to me, I guess."
"But that's why you like them," he replies, and I look at him, surprised. He
continues quietly, "Because they can't shock you anymore. You figure you
know them like the back of your hand by now."
"Am I that easy to read?" I question ruefully, wrinkling my nose.
He shakes his head. "No, but I do know some things about you. Like that you
love Belgian waffles. Want me to make some?"
I smile at the tiny dig about knowing my favourite breakfast and shrug. "No,
stay with me a little longer."
Snuggling down in the blankets, he tugs me fully into his arms and smoothes
the fringe of hair back from my forehead. "Forever," he whispers and I
stiffen.
"Didn't we agree that we're putting an ixnay on the promises?"
"Buffy."
"I just want to pretend, Angel," I cut him off. "Don't make this
complicated."
"Pretend what?" he murmurs. "Pretend that I don't love you? Because you know
I do."
My breath hitches. The room is hot. Too hot. Shifting, I feel my thighs
stick to his from our sweat and cry low, "Don't say things like that. I
can't."
"Can't what?"
Silent for a few moments, I finally swallow and move, rolling away from him.
"I can't believe in it again. Nothing ever works out. There aren't any happy
endings. And I'm tired of pretending there are."
"Maybe the happy ending isn't so important," he sits up and curves his arms
around me from behind, holding me gently against his chest. I feel his
breath against my neck and try not to arch back into the haven of his
embrace. "Maybe it's what you do with the time you *do* have, Buffy."
"What are you saying, Angel?" I whisper. "You want us to take another crack
at being a normal, shiny-happy couple? Cause it didn't work out too well the
first time, did it?"
"Buffy," he kisses the back of my ear. "There wasn't any first time-oh."
trailing off, he lets go off my body and gets up, walking over to the
window, faint rays of sunshine playing over his naked form. I watch
dispassionately as he mutters, "You remembered."
Sighing wearily, I hug my knees to my chest and nod. "I remembered a long
time ago."
"When?" he inquires quietly, and I can tell he's frightened. He wasn't
expecting this.
"In Heaven," I answer without hesitation. "It gave me a lot more than just a
safe and happy home. It also gave me a host of memories to take back to Hell
with me." Shrugging bitterly, I twist the sheets between my fingers. "So,
yes, I remember the day you were human. I remember life without Dawn, and
life *with* Dawn. Pretty confusing, isn't it?"
"I'm sorry," he breathes out huskily.
"Don't be."
"How can I not be?" he asks roughly, his hands cupping my shoulders as he
forces me to look at him. Our eyes lock and burn and I feel myself shudder.
"You remembered what we could have had and then."
"And then we saw each other and you blew me off?" I finish and grin wryly.
"I'll accept sympathy on that point."
"Stop trying to make this into a joke," he replies immediately, kneeling
down beside the bed, his hands sliding down to grasp my waist. He doesn't
say anything for a long time and then he gazes up at me, his hand reaching
out to touch my cheek. "How did we get so lost, Buffy? How do you get to be
in love as we were and then just. drift apart?"
"I'm pretty sure someone in the relationship has to move to LA and get
married," I answer without inflection.
"Will you ever forgive my letting go?" he asks, half angrily, half sadly.
"I forgive it," I say softly. "But I don't think I'll ever understand it."
"How can you say that?" he rakes a hand through his hair and then grips the
side of the bed, leaning close. "You got married too, Buffy."
"I know," I sigh, and thread our fingers together like pieces of a puzzle
I'm trying desperately to solve. "And don't think we weren't happy-" Tears
sting my eyes and I blink them back, staring over his shoulder to a place he
can't see. "We were. I loved him *so* much. But it was different. I. I dated
him for two years and we were happy. I mean, we were *happy*. how often does
that happen in Buffy Summers' world?"
He smiles at my dry comment and nods at the truth of it. "Not often."
"Spike told me once that he liked seeing me happy." I pause. "But that was a
lie. He never really did. He liked it when I was bad- when I was treating
him like my bitch. Kicking him around." Thinking for a moment, I shake my
head. "We were such a fucked up couple. For a long time I thought I had
really loved him and that I made a mistake breaking up with him-"
"Buffy."
"I know, I know- stupid."
"Not stupid," he says gently. "Just. confused. Spike isn't worthy of you and
never has been."
Patting the place on the bed next to me, I then watch him sit down, leaning
against the headboard. Crawling onto his lap, I cuddle against his bare
chest and murmur; "I had a point somewhere in that big, huge tangent. That
Spike never liked seeing me happy. Riley only wanted to see me madly in love
with him, worried about him. But Danny. he liked me smiling. So I did. A
lot. and soon, it just became normal, you know? I became that happy Buffy
person that I always wanted to be."
"I've met that girl," he whispers gruffly against my ear, and drops a kiss
on my head. I know he's referring to the day of ice cream and sunshine and I
smile sadly.
"I guess you have."
+ + +
Cradling the phone against my ear, I whip up the cream for the strawberry
cheesecake I'm making and smile as Anya snarls, "And I told Xander, if he's
going to be out there supervising the work all day, the *least* he could do
was come home and satisfy me sexually at lunch time-"
"Fascinating," I interrupt. "He must have been so pleased."
"Actually, he wasn't as pleased as I thought he would be," Anya tells me,
sounding a little put out. "He got this funny look on his face and wouldn't
talk for a while." She pauses, "of course that could have been because his
co-workers were nearby."
Choking back a giggle, I shrug, pouring out some vanilla extract and adding
a touch more sugar to the ivory mixture. "Maybe you embarrassed him, An."
"It isn't as if we don't talk about sex *all* the time," she mutters. "I
don't see what the difference is if people are around."
"I didn't think you would," I reply affectionately. "How's the little tyke,
by the way? Displaying any demonic tendencies yet?"
She laughs a little. "He's just like his Dad. Which may not be a good
thing."
"No, a little Xander is of the good. Besides, kids make things nicer."
Thinking of Connor (never used to think of him. But now his father is back
in my life and I can't avoid it any longer) for a moment, I peek around the
corner, watching Angel talking to Willow and Tara as Katie sits on his knee.
She took to him immediately, and for the last hour has been using his body
as her personal jungle gym. He doesn't seem to mind though, and occasionally
tickles her, making her shriek with laughter. Sighing wistfully, I murmur,
"A lot nicer. And a lot harder too."
"Yes," Anya agrees. "Sometimes he cries at night. I make Xander get up, but
he says I have to as well. I don't see why. After all, I went through all
that pain to have him, why should I get up at *night*? I'm still tired."
Laughing, I spread the graham cracker crust at the bottom of the dish and
then add the cream cheese, quickly spreading it with a hot, chunky
strawberry and jelly mixture. "I see your point. Maybe you guys could do an
alternating thing."
"I suppose so," she lets out all her breath in a huff and then I can almost
hear her smile over the phone line. "How is it there? It's lovely and warm
here."
"Sweaty and gross, thanks," I reply, placing cold strawberries on top of the
jelly. "Maybe I should come and see you sometime soon."
"That'd be nice," she squeals. "Extra work for me, of course. But Alex and
Xander would like to see you."
Grinning at her bluntness, I then add the whipped cream and sprinkle some
sugar over top. "I have to go, An. But I'll think about it. Tell Xand I'm
sorry I missed him."
"I will," she replies. "If I don't forget."
"How reassuring. Bye."
"Goodbye."
Still smiling (Anya does that to me), I place the cheesecake on a tray with
a pot of coffee and a plastic container of juice for Katie. Walking out to
the back deck, I accept their help with the tray, laying it on the table and
distributing the food and coffee with Tara's help.
"Willow was just telling me Dawn called them last night," Angel informs me,
lifting Katie in the air gently. The little girl smiles at him and bounces
on his lap, her little pink skirt twirling around her.
Touching Angel's face, she murmurs, "Pretty."
I laugh. "She's *already* in love with you, you bastard?"
He flushes. "I'm a novelty, I'm sure."
Willow shakes her head. "Her heart, once won- is won forever." Smirking at
him, she raises her eyebrows. "You've got a life-long admirer. Better not--
*go* anywhere."
"Willow," Tara admonishes quietly, and I sip my coffee, not commenting.
Angel regards my oldest friend steadily, finally responding with a firm,
"I'm not planning on it, Willow."
She grins, nodding. "Didn't think so."
"How's the cake?" I finally break in.
"Excellent," Angel smiles slightly at me.
Katie climbs off his lap and walks unsteadily over to me. Lifting her into
my arms, I regard her seriously for a moment, finally pursing my lips and
wrinkling my nose at her, which makes her laugh. Pecking her downy soft
cheek, I enfold her in my embrace, where she stays contentedly, and begins
to eat the strawberries off my cake. "What did you say about Dawnie, Angel?"
"She called us last night," Willow breaks in, and shrugs. "At one of her
book signings- she ran into Cordelia. Small world, isn't it?"
My chest feels tight, and I look down. "Certainly is. What else did she say?
Still shacked up with our favourite Big Bad?"
Tara reaches over to buckle one wayward strap of one of Katie's sandals, and
looks at me pensively. "I think so. She mentioned that he was coming over
for dinner last night. It doesn't seem too serious, Buffy."
"It had better not be," I answer without any real rancor.
"Don't worry. Even *I* had those kind of thoughts about Spike. It passes,"
Willow puts in and I blanch, glaring at her.
"Did I say I *wanted* to know about your-fantasies about Spike?"
"I wouldn't call them fantasies, exactly," she teases me, "more like full
blown movies with surround sound and-"
"Stop!" I cry, giggling. "You realize people can *hear* you, right?"
Tara glances at her lover with a slight upward curve to her generous mouth.
"Oh, don't worry about me Buffy. I know all about it. Adds spice, doesn't it
baby?" Stuttering only slightly, she looks down at the ground. "Of course
*you* two don't want to know about that."
"You'd be right," I reply sardonically, and then inquire; "What else did
Dawn say? I swear, it's been weeks since she's called me."
"Just that she hopes you're ok," Tara says and then looks quickly at Angel.
"And that she-"
"She wants a goodbye before you leave again," Willow finishes, rolling her
eyes. "She always was a bit of a brat, wasn't she?" But I can see the
challenging note in her expression. She doesn't trust Angel (can I blame
her? I'm not even sure I do)
Angel half smiles and then does the smallest and yet most important thing.
He reaches across the table and links our hands. I feel his palm press
against mine and suddenly we're a couple-we're a couple *in front* of
people. We haven't been for such a long time. His eyes gaze into mine and I
stare (god, I'm drowning), and then nod. He nods as well and turns back to
my friends. "I'm not going anywhere that would require me saying goodbye to
Dawn. Tell her I'd be happy for her to come visit though. I haven't seen her
in a long time."
"I'm sure she'd like that," Tara says softly, always the peacemaker.
"I think she would too," Willow adds, and then our eyes meet and she winks
at me.
I remember her shudders of withdrawal, and her coffee-induced twitches in
High School and the "bitch" about Riley's wife and the way she loved Danny
and am once again thankful that she's on my side. Looking down, I notice
that Katie's asleep and motion to Tara, who croons quietly and lifts the
little girl onto her chest.
"Go say goodbye," Angel murmurs to me, pressing a quick, hot kiss on the
back of my neck. "I'll clear up."
"Thanks," I answer weakly, already feeling the trembles of desire in my
belly.
When I come back after seeing the girls off, all the dishes are stacked in
the sink and he's sitting out on the porch, on the swing, with it's huge,
navy awning. Staring up at the stars, I sit down beside him and mutter
teasingly, "I thought you were going to do the dishes."
"Later," he whispers, and suddenly kneels in front of me, dipping in for a
kiss and then spreading my legs with his large, strong hands. Shuddering, I
feel my back settle into the curve of the swing, as he tugs down my panties
with his fingers, lifting my skirt and baring me to his gaze.
Angel bends, dragging his tongue - just once- down my hot center and as I
struggle with his belt, he helps me, drawing down the zipper and sliding up
and into me in one smooth motion. Trembling, gasping for breath, I see the
stars spin crazily as he moves, his head against my breasts and the
throbbing of his heart starting between my legs and traveling throughout my
entire body. He slams into me with all the force of a thousand yesterdays we
never had, and I bite my lips, tasting crimson as I try to keep from
screaming.
"Love- love---" he bites off between clenched teeth his hands cupping my
face. "For-forever."
Remembering whispered words from a rainy night too long ago, I let my eyes shutter closed as the spasms rock both of our bodies, and the night melts into any inky black blur.
Part 7
There was no warning.
There never is any. At all.
+ + +
The air is sweet and heavy in the backyard, and I lie on the grass, sweaty
in a sleek black bikini Dawn made me buy when I visited her in New York a
few years ago. Every so often, the bees drone in the fragrant orange
blossoms blooming to my left, and I flinch, not so much afraid of the pain
of the sting- but simply the anticipation of it. Music plays on the radio
next to my ear, but I can't really hear it- I'm listening to the distant
buzz of the lawnmower, as Angel cuts the front lawn.
It's one of those lazy Saturdays, and I don't plan on doing much.
Dawn called last night for the first time in ages and told me how things
were going. I carefully asked her about Spike, not wanting to sound too
judgmental, but my little sister has grown up, and she wasn't in the least
angry at my questions. She told me that their relationship was a casual one,
mostly borne out of a shared remembrance of the past. Understanding, I
didn't press. However, I heard real tenderness in her voice when she spoke
of him, and it worried me. I know all too well what a seductive spell Spike
can weave, but I try to remember that he cares for Dawn, and wouldn't hurt
her.
Right.
Naïve, till the end.
She seemed genuinely happy to hear about Angel though. But told me that if
he left again, she was going to kick his ass. Tentatively she mentioned
Danny, and I reassured her-no one would ever take his place. She loved him.
a lot, and I know it still hurts- the idea of me with someone else. How can
I blame her for feeling that way? It hurts me too.
Turning over on my belly, I squint against the sun and glance over to the
side of the house, where I can see Angel's back, glistening in the light. My
mouth dries, and I lick suddenly chapped lips, shaking my head at the throb
in my stomach. You'd think after a month of him back in my life, a few weeks
of constant sex- I'd be at least a little sated.
You'd think.
"Want me to do the back?" he calls over the roar of the mower.
"No!" I call back, waving him over to my side.
Shutting off the mower, he lopes over and sprawls on his back beside me, the
scent of his very male sweat reaching my nose. "Mmm." I breathe and lean in,
arcing one arm over his waist. "You smell kinda. manly."
"Well I've been doing manly work," he reminds me with a slight smile,
curving his palm against the back of my head and bringing me up for a sweet
kiss. He tastes like the strawberries we had for breakfast, and I lick his
bottom lip, tugging on it with my teeth. "I'm gonna need that, Buffy."
I laugh softly, and throw my thigh over his legs, feeling the scratchy hair
on his calves against my flesh. He kisses me again, arching his eyebrows as
I slide my hands down his stomach and under his shorts, to the warm skin
beneath.
"Don't the neighbors have windows?"
Panting slightly, I feel him throb underneath my palms and at his bitten-off
groan, whisper; "Do you care?"
He tears off my bikini bottoms, and dips his fingers between my legs, the
hardness and heaviness of them inside me making me whimper. My back bows as
I drive down on his hand, the sound of our frantic kisses and sighs filling
my ears. Rolling me beneath him, he throws the blanket over our lower
bodies, and I yank down his shorts as fast as I can, almost screaming to
feel him inside me. The sweaty fringe of my hair falls over my eyes as I
stare up into the burn of his gaze, feeling the strength, the heat of him as
he slams inside me.
His lips crush mine; swallowing my cries, as he moves, slowly at first, but
soon faster, harder, deeper, and I grip his back, my fingers slipping over
his skin. "Buffy." he groans into my lips, his tongue drowning in the
recesses of my mouth, and I move frantically, desperate, searching. Driving
back, he thrusts deep, and our pelvic bones grind together as his hot seed
floods my insides and drips down my inner thighs. It's the feel of him- the
life and the power and the *Angel* that makes me convulse, and mindless, I
scream into his shoulder, the taste of his sweat and sweet musk filling my
mouth.
As he moves off me, I catch him in another quick kiss and then flop down
once more, blades of grass sticking wetly to my back. He slides my bikini
bottoms back up my legs before pulling his shorts back on. Lying back down
again, he kisses me briefly.
"You have nice stamina," I tease breathily, referring to our morning spent
in bed.
Smiling without opening his eyes, he reaches over and laces his fingers
through mine. "I think it's you, love."
"Nope," I murmur, pressing his palm into mine and inexplicably, feeling
tears pricking my eyes. "My stamina left years ago. Along with the Slayer
strength. and strangely, my love of chocolate. But then again, I think that
has something to do with the pregnancy thing. Eating something a hundred
times a day because of cravings makes it lose it's appeal."
He is silent for a moment. "I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"Because. I couldn't be there for you during that."
"You didn't need to be," I remind him. "Angel. I was married."
He seems about to say something, and then pauses. "I know. So was I. But.
when I heard about you losing your baby, Buffy-"
"It's ok," I break in, closing my eyes to the sunshine. "Really, I had
people with me to get through that. And it was a long time ago." Memories
play behind my eyelids as I take a breath and then murmur, "And I guess
while we're making with the apologies, I should say sorry about Connor. You
know I wish I could have been there- to fight. To take some of the
responsibility from you."
"I had to fight that battle alone," he whispers. "It's over, it doesn't
matter now."
But of course it does. Neither of us voices that truth aloud though, and I
listen mutely to the bees, wondering if a sting would hurt more than this
moment.
+ + +
Throwing my keys on the side table, I think for the hundredth time that I
hate Mondays, and kick off my fashionably high heel shoes, padding into the
kitchen on bare feet. The floor is wonderfully cool, and I wriggle my toes
as I grab a ripe peach from a bowl on the counter, biting into it with sharp
teeth. The juice spurts past my lips and drips down my tongue, and I think
naughtily of Angel for a moment, leaning against the counter and imagining
the heat of him against my mouth.
The phone jangles and I jerk guiltily, wiping my lips and reaching for the
receiver. "'Lo?" I mumble, through a mouthful of fruit.
"Hello darling."
"Nat," I murmur warmly and swallow. "Sorry, just got in from work."
"Oh that explains it. I was trying you earlier." she pauses. "I thought you
were taking some time off?"
"I was," I explain. "But I decided I'd taken too much after a while. So how
are you?"
She sighs. "Better, I guess. The doctor called yesterday and said it's gone
into remission."
"But that's wonderful!" I exclaim and she sighs again.
"I know. but I'm too afraid to hope."
"Stop that," I chide her gently. "You're better. you're *getting* better."
Darkly I think of the past, and bloody dreams and lie, "I *know* you're
going to be fine."
"Thanks, darling," she smiles through the line, her voice reminding me of
dry linens and the arms of Mother.
((When I woke in the coffin, I screamed for my Mother.
Soundless screams of pure terror. Garbled words and squeaks and incoherent
jumbles.
Mom. Mom. Mom.))
My head hurts and I press my palms to it, speaking calmly into the phone,
"Believe me Nat, you're going to be utterly and completely *fabulous* by the
time you get rid of that hideous wig."
She laughs heartily, "You bad girl. what a horrible thing to say."
"It really is," I agree, liking her laugh. I rarely hear it out here in LA.
Sometimes I think of moving out to Minnesota to be with her. Of taking care
of her and shoveling snow and taking long walks and forgetting about work
and everything else but Danny's mother. Sometimes I think that getting away
from LA and it's ghosts would be good for me. I can feel the pull of Sunnydale every single day.
"Is Angel home yet?" she asks, and I glance at the clock.
"No, he's not due back for another few hours. Had some scouting to do at the
Four Seasons, I think."
"Are you two planning anything special tonight?"
I smile. "Not at all. Just dinner. maybe a movie or something. I have laundry to do- the ultimate mood killer."
She giggles softly. "I assume there'll be some football on, conveniently."
"No doubt," I agree dryly. "Did Dawn call you today?"
"Yes, she did actually," Natalie replies, sounding a little surprised. "Did she finally get in touch with you? She didn't mention anything to me."
"Oh yeah," I say wryly. "Finally. I swear, that girl. it's like a punishment to talk to me or something."
"I'm sure it's no such thing," she argues gently. "Dawn loves you, Buffy. It's just normal sibling troubles."
I smile, thinking of all of our "troubles". If only she knew. "I guess you're probably right. But you could have colored me stunned when she called, really, Nat. It's down to once a month now. She used to call every week."
A knock at the door startles me. "Sorry, I have to go. Someone's at the door. Can I call you back a little later?"
"Don't worry about it," she answers fondly. "Say hi to Angel for me."
"Will do, Nat. Love you."
"I love you, Buffy."
"Bye."
"Goodbye."
Setting the phone down, I walk down the hall to the door, as the bell rings again. "Coming, coming," I shout, not really annoyed. It's probably the kids across the street, selling those damn chocolate bars again. Well, I'll buy one. Maybe two. The little boy has eyes like Danny's. A little navy, a little brown.
Grasping the doorknob, I open the door and look up.
There is no warning.
There never is any. At all.
"Cordelia," I say blankly.
"Buffy," she greets me quietly, sleek in a black suit and heels. "Can I come in? I have something to show you."
Part 8
The things you try to tell yourself to make yourself forget
I am not worried
If it's love, then, she said, 'We're gonna have to think about
the consequences'
She can't stop shaking, and I can't stop touching
her"
"Anna Begins" - Counting Crows
I stare at Cordelia for a moment, at the sleek bell of hair cut to frame her
face, the eyes that have stared into Angel's, the hands that have cupped his
face, the finger that wore his wedding ring. Shifting my weight from one
foot to the other, I lick suddenly dry lips and regard the woman that I know
I should hate. But all I can see is the girl I knew in High School, who
kissed Xander and drove in her Queen C car and mocked me- never letting me
become high on myself just because I was the Slayer and had Angel.
The last time I saw her was on my wedding day, when I was a blushing bride
and didn't care. Didn't care that she had Angel by her side. Didn't care
that she wore mint green and was fresh and young and beautiful. Didn't care
that he so obviously loved her, and that I was simply- and finally. his ex.
Nothing more, nothing less. Because I had someone - I had Danny and my
friends, and I was putting it all behind me like everyone had always wanted.
Angelus and Faith and the sword and the blood and Acathla's open, gasping
mouth-shushing it all into a whispery past that didn't deserve recognition.
Didn't deserve remembrance.
But now she stands in front of me and I realize the line between us has been
blurred.
Angel was supposed to be mine.
But he became hers. and how can we get past that?
"Cordelia," I greet her calmly, a little blankly, and release my hair from
it's tight ponytail. "How are you?"
She opens her mouth and reveals straight white teeth, smiling slightly.
"You're so polite, Buffy."
"I'm sorry, are we being rude now?"
"Isn't that the proper etiquette between the ex and the new girlfriend?"
I pause for a moment, and blink. "Well I was never rude to *you*, was I?"
"Touché," she says, acknowledging the truth of that statement. "Can I come
in?"
Stepping aside, I breathe in and smell flowers and expensive perfume.
Sunshine spills through the open windows as she walks through to the
kitchen, not bothering to take off her heels, which leave tiny black marks
against the shiny floor. Sitting down at the table, she arches one carefully
manicured brow. "Coffee?"
"That depends," I say and she looks startled.
"On what?"
"On why you're here."
"Blunt till the end," she observes, tapping her fingernails against the
surface of the table, the tiny clacking sounds like hammers to my brain. I
have a headache and she isn't helping. For a moment I consider asking her
what in the hell she's even *doing* here, why she thinks she can disrupt my
life just as I'm getting it back again.? But of course, I remain silent,
thinking of what to say.
"That's me." Filling the filter with rich, ground coffee, I switch on the
power light and turn back to lover's ex-wife, raising my eyebrows. "So what
do you have to show me?"
Her eyes glance down and she fidgets nervously, saying simply, "You deserve
to see this. No matter how I might feel about you. I think you should see
this."
+ + +
The cup of coffee shakes precariously between my trembling fingers, and I
remember with a sickening flash when Angel re-entered my life and I was
burned. In more ways than one. My arm still aches a little sometimes, and I
wonder if I should have gone to a doctor. Setting down the china, I gaze at
Cordelia mutely, as she clicks off the television set, placing the remote
control beside her with fluid movements. She's graceful. Something I'll
never be.
I hate her suddenly. For showing me this and making me realize that I'm
living a lie.
"I." trailing off, I press my hands to my flushed cheeks. "I can't believe
it. Why. why didn't he tell me?"
"He has a white knight complex, Buffy, you know that," she responds quietly.
"He wanted to save you. I guess because you saved him so many times. Who can
understand the ballad of Buffy and Angel?"
My head snaps up and I glare at her. "Can you *please* save the cattiness
for another time?"
"Fine. If you save the wounded puppy act."
Breathing out, I swallow and still taste traces of the succulent peach I ate
earlier today. It feels like eons have passed since I spoke to Natalie on
the phone and went to answer the door. Innocently, expecting nothing. There
is no warning, of course. There never is. "I understand you're hurt over
what happened-"
"I'm not hurt," she replies coolly. "Being hurt implies that I care. I
don't."
"How can't you? He was your *husband*. you married him. When you lose that."
"We weren't like you and Danny, Buffy," she cuts me off, sipping the coffee
brittly. "We didn't even get a tragic ending. Just a quiet, angry one. where
no one walked away with their dignity intact."
For a moment I'm speechless, and when I finally respond, my voice is low and
cold. "You think I *like* what ending Danny and I got?"
She sighs. "No, I didn't mean that."
"My husband's dead, Cordelia. From this tape, I know that Angel has been
lying to me all along. about his reasons for being here. Do you think that
this is fun for me? That any of it has been a picnic? You haven't been here
for so long. You don't know-"
"I know that sometimes I'd come home and see him looking at your picture-"
breaking off, she bites her lip. "Look, you *weren't* with us for a long
time. And I don't mean when we were married. I mean back when we worked in
LA, and we were best friends. I watched him go through your death, and your
return, and I saw him finally. start to notice me. I didn't know I wanted
it, but I fell in love with him too. I didn't want things to end badly."
Pausing, she looks at me with razor sharp eyes, her lashes heavily coated
with mascara. "And then of course he went running back to you. To his
precious Buffy."
Her words curdle my stomach, and I pick up the tape. "And now we know why.
So I don't think I'll count that as a victory, if that's all right by you,
Cordy."
"I didn't know we were competing."
"We shouldn't be," I bite off. "We're adults, after all."
Taking another drink of her coffee, she looks at me. "He found that card I
wrote you, didn't he?"
"What?" I ask, taken aback.
"That card I wrote you. congratulating you on your baby. Telling you about
mine. Angel found it, didn't he? That's how he knew?"
The aromatic brew is hot on my tongue, and I taste the bitterness of it, the
slight sweetness of the cream and sugar as I remember the basket of cards
and the swinging screen door from his departure. The stickiness of the night
and how we danced in the darkness, to a song from long ago. I hate her for
hurting him that way. "Yes, that's how he knew."
Her eyes are probing as she gazes at me. "You want to ask me why, don't
you?"
"To be honest, Cordy, I really don't want to know."
"It was everything," she responds, as if I haven't spoken. "Career, of
course. Angel wasn't always 'all there'-he just couldn't stand being in New
York without his powers. Couldn't save anyone, and that drove him crazy."
She laughs shortly, without humour, her throat working as she takes another
sip from the cup. "I guess. maybe I thought because were best friends, and
we worked together, and we were *so* close-that that was supposed to be it?
That was supposed to be love? I don't know. Maybe we fooled ourselves into
thinking something was there that just wasn't."
As she trails off, her eyes glazed with memories, I look away, out the
window, feeling the warm wash of the breeze across my face. Two children are
playing in the yard next door, and the bright green grass shines in the sun.
They're wearing shrunken bathing suits, dousing each other with jets of
water at every opportunity. I think they're sisters, or else they might as
well be-I see them together all the time. The little one with brown hair
reminds me of Dawnie as a child.
I miss my sister sometimes.
She's the only one left who's known me since *I* was a child.
"You don't have to tell me this," I finally murmur, my palms sweating
slightly. I itch to get out of my suit, pull on cut-offs and lie outside in
the brilliant afternoon. I yearn to go back to when I didn't know these
things, to when Cordelia and Angel were just another couple I knew. To when
it didn't hurt to think of them together. To when I could force out thoughts
of my little baby who never even breathed.
To when the only other person who knew the pain of that loss, of that stolen
life, was alive. Was with me. Tears sting the back of my throat, and I
stand, walking over to the window, wondering if Angel will be home soon, and
what I'm going to say to him. What he would say if he walked in and saw his
ex-wife sitting on the living room couch drinking coffee with a damning tape
by her side.
"I think you should leave, Cordy," I say softly, without malice.
She sighs and I hear her stand. "Have a nice life, Buffy."
"You too," I respond, and she leaves, the front door banging slightly as it
shuts behind her.
I stand, for a long time, staring into space.
+ + +
That how he finds me when he comes home from work. I feel the hot brush of
his lips against the side of my neck, and his large hands slide around to
press against the slight swell of my belly. Is he imagining me pregnant, I
wonder? Does he want me to have a little baby that will talk like him and
look like me and grow up to make the same mistakes her parents did? I try to
breathe and almost choke. I'm suffocating. Everything is wrong, distorted.
"Cordelia came to see me today," I say baldly, and he flinches.
Not responding, he draws away from me and cups my shoulders, twisting me
around. When he sees the dullness to my eyes, he swears under his breath.
"What did she say to you?"
"Nothing much," I lie. "Why didn't you tell me why you really came here?"
"What do you mean?" he asks, and I close my heart to how sweaty and
wonderful he looks in worn jeans and a black t-shirt which clings to his
chest. He looks like Angel. He looks like everything that I've tried to
shush away. Everything they always wanted me to forget.
"You came out of guilt."
Shaking his head, he looks deep into my eyes. "No I didn't."
"Yes you did. You gave your ticket to Danny. That's why he was on that
plane. Because of you. Because you wanted to fix things for us, so you said,
'take my ticket', and he did-and he died. And then you showed up here, like
Mr. Fucking White Knight, trying to save me. trying to help me-"
"Buffy-"
"Well I don't need your fucking *pity*, Angel! I'm not Faith. I'm not a soul
that needs saving-"
Gripping my arms, he yanks me towards him and shakes me a little, as he
growls, "*How* can you think that's why I would come here? You know why I
came here."
"Why is that?" I jeer breathlessly, our eyes locking. "Needed to get laid?
Missing Cordy? What was it, Angel-"
"I love you," he cuts me off, his voice husky, roughened with emotion.
"That's why. That's always why."
"Is that *why* you married Cordy?"
Letting go of me, he shakes his head, running one hand through his hair. His
muscles ripple slightly underneath tanned flesh, and I suppress the
completely unwelcome stab of desire that pools in my stomach, wishing I
could be immune to him. Just once.
"Well, is it?" I ask, but quietly this time. Wanting to know. Wanting to
know everything.
"In part, yes," he answers and it's like a punch to the solar plexus. I
hadn't really believed it until he said it.
"But. why.? When we met you told me-you told me to move on. You told me to
fucking *grow up* and let the dream die. was that all lies? Did you mean any
of it?" Taking a step forward, I grasp his arm and wrench him towards me.
"Did you break my heart for *nothing*?"
His eyes are tortured, anguished, and he shakes me off, turning away.
"If you think that broke your heart." he pauses, and I hear him swallow,
fighting back the tears. "Imagine. imagine Willow coming to see you, imagine
seeing her white, white skin. Knowing. Knowing something was wrong. Imagine
her telling you that I had committed suicide. Jumped from a 20 foot tower to
save my sister, to save the whole fucking world. and imagine wishing-that
the world *had* ended. Just so you could have one last moment."
My lower lip trembles as I watch him and I whisper, "Are you forgetting? I
do know what it's like to see you die."
He nods, spinning back around and my heart twists as I see the tears on his
face.
"I went away for three months, and I convinced myself. that everything would
be fine. I made myself believe that forever didn't mean anything. That a
promise the Powers had made to me wasn't important. That I had to move on.
That I had to-stop wishing for the impossible."
"What was the impossible?" I inquire softly, and he looks at me.
"You know."
I do. Us. Together, in the end, till the end. A stupid fucking fairytale
that we fooled ourselves into believing would come true.
"When we met that time, after Heaven. Angel, did you still want me? Still
love me?"
He draws in a ragged breath, his voice low. "More than anything."
"Oh." I can say nothing more than that.
"I did give him my ticket," he informs me quietly. "I wanted you to be
happy. wanted you to have him home for your barbecue. I wanted to picture
you as you looked in the picture he showed me-happy, in the sunlight. I
guess it just wasn't how I remembered you and I needed to think that---"
"That leaving me was a good thing?"
He looks so lost that I open my arms. "Come here."
"What?"
"Angel. please-"
Taking a step forward, he lets himself be enveloped in my arms and I tug off
his T-shirt, unbuttoning my suit jacket and unzipping my pants, stepping out
of them as I watch him struggle to understand what's happening. "Buffy?"
"I need you." I whisper without shame and unbuckle his jeans, pushing him
down on the couch, the warmth of his skin rising in the stillness, heating
my palms to burning. I can't feel the breeze from outside anymore. All I can
feel is him inside my mouth, the faint saltiness on my tongue more
satisfying than any peach could ever be. His hands grip my hair, as he
groans, my fingers tickling the silky line of hair on his stomach. Rising
up, I envelop him, my breasts crushed to his chest, my sticky skin melding
with his as he sits up, moving against me with all the strength that I used
to see when we fought side by side in the night.
"Buffy." the word is slightly slurred in the drugging force of our kisses,
and I gasp with the mixed pleasure and pain as he drives into me as if there
is something to prove. As he floods my womb with heat, I scream, throwing my
head back, the sun shining in my eyes with a blinding flash.
+ + +
It's early morning when I awaken.
Faintly, I hear birds chirping outside and have vague thoughts of the thorn
birds, singing in their death throes as I sit up in the warm bedroom,
glancing to the side where my lover should be. Instead there's a piece of
paper. Shaking slightly, I pick it up.
Buffy,
I'm going away for a while. So you can have time to heal. I came too soon,
and I had no right to expect anything from you so soon after Danny's death.
If you need me, just call my work number. I left it by the phone.
I never wanted to make you think I came back because of guilt, or because I
wanted to rush you into something you weren't ready for. I've had long years
to regret things I've done, but one thing I will never regret is loving you,
Buffy. I have always loved you, and I will always love you. Some things
don't change.
That's why I showed up at your door, that day.
And that's why if you need me, I'll always be there.
A
Letting Angel's letter, his goodbye, fall to the bed, I get up and stare out
the window. The birds still sing in the sunshine morning, and I think, in my
belly, I can feel our baby's first fluttering kick.
Part 9
A bee is buzzing close to my ear and its twitches are making me nervous.
Everywhere I look there are glittering trees, glittering like gold,
glittering like diamonds caught in faint sunlight. My Mother holds my hand,
her fingers soft as butter, and I lean against her arm, which melts into
mine. Warm. Dry linen and the smell of burning pancakes. Danny made great
pancakes.
Oh, this glittering world.
Don'tgivemesongs.
"He'll always give you something to sing about, Buffy," my Mother whispers,
and her voice becomes that of the bee's. Buzzing, buzzing. I swat at the
offending insect vaguely, absently, and am surprised when it alights on my
finger, a flash of yellow and black brilliance against the blue of a
Sunnydale sky.
"Maybe too much has happened," I respond softly, gazing up, up, up into the
leaves of the trees, which sway in the pinkish breeze. "Maybe he'll always
leave when things get rough."
Her lips brush my cheek, and she smells of home and windchimes and I gulp
back milky sobs, afraid, as the bee whirls around my hand, leaving tiny red
marks on my palm. Frightened of the anticipation of the sting, not the pain
itself. "But he comes back, doesn't he?" she asks, and I touch the swell of
my stomach, feeling my baby's hands rising up to meet mine.
"I'm not sure if I love---"
The shrill jangle of the telephone awakens me, and I slide from sleep with a
messy jolt, blinking up at the sun as I turn over on the grass, glancing at
the gardening tools to my left. My cheeks sting and I realize I've been
crying. Leaving muddy streaks across my face, I wipe at the salt and ascend
the steps of the deck, grabbing the phone and lifting it to my ear.
"Lo?"
"Hello darling."
"Natalie," I breathe out, smiling slightly. "Hi."
"I'm sorry- were you busy?"
"Noooo." I murmur, opening the fridge and leaning down to grab a strawberry.
My head still muzzy from the dreaming, I bang my elbow against the side of
the stove and curse under my breath. "Sorry. I seem to be a little clumsy
today."
"Danny loved that about you," she reminds me, and I can hear the affection
in her voice.
"Yeah well, no one ever said he was smart," I tease lightly, biting into the
ripe fruit and tasting the tiny seeds as they spill against my tongue. "But
I remember that too. When I tripped at that party- and he laughed for about
three hours afterward?"
She giggles girlishly. "I remember that. Weren't you walking past that older
man's table--?"
"And my dress caught on his overly pointy shoe, yes, yes," I remind her,
exasperated even as I laugh. "But it really wasn't my fault."
"I know it wasn't dear," she assures me and then pauses, as if she's
considering. "Has he called?"
I stare pointedly at the wall, blinking as I attempt to ignore the sting at
the back of my throat. I haven't told her about their switching tickets-
about the fact that because Angel is alive, Danny is dead. She just wouldn't
understand and I can't blame her, because I really don't either. "No. No
ringing phones."
The strawberry suddenly feels sour, and I recoil, tossing the rest of it in
the sink and wiping my palms against my cut-offs. They ache and gazing down,
I notice tiny red welts criss-crossing my thumb and forefinger. Bees. "I
don't think he is going to call anyway. He's made up his mind."
"But Buffy-" she clears her throat. "The baby needs a father."
"Willow can be the father," I reply stubbornly. "She acts manly
occasionally."
Natalie sighs and with a slight edge to her tone, says, "Buffy."
"I know. I just don't know, Nat. I don't know if I can. can forgive him for
everything."
She doesn't ask what 'everything' is, and instead answers, "If you can't-
then you might lose him forever. Do you want that, Buffy?"
Stricken, I stare at the grey mesh of the screen door and shake my head.
"No. No, I don't want that. But. Nat. I don't know if I love him."
"I got the feeling you always loved him, Buffy. All the time," she responds
softly, and I immediately feel my stomach curdle with guilt.
"It's-" hesitating, I swallow and press a shaking hand to my belly. "What
Angel and I had-it was complicated and sometimes it made me miserable. But
then. something happened and I just lost what I had for him, and I thought
I'd never get it back. Danny made me happy, Natalie. Please don't think that
I-"
"I know you loved my son," she cuts me off gently, firmly. "That's never a
question. But. he isn't here anymore. And your life-Buffy, you have to make
something of it. That's what would have made him happy, proud- to know that
you were strong enough to get on with it."
I'm silent for a moment and then I breathe out, leaning back into the cool
door of the refrigerator. "Thank you, Nat."
"You're welcome darling. Are you going out tonight?"
"Probably to dinner with the girls. Will you call tomorrow? I know you have
to go to the doctor's."
"I do. All right-I'll call within the next few days. Have a nice time
tonight, dear. And remember what I said."
"I will. Bye, Nat."
"Bye, love."
As I hang up the phone, I stare into space, wondering if I'll ever fit into
this world-wondering if Angel is one of the things I'll just never, ever be
able to have. If he's glittering, just out of reach, like Danny and my
Mother, who both mourn me in my dreams.
+ + +
Taking a long, deep drink of coffee, I sit back in the swing on Willow and
Tara's back porch and shake my head. "No, he hasn't called. No calling."
Tara tucks a sheaf of blonde hair behind her ear and glances worriedly at
Willow before murmuring, "What exactly happened between you two, Buffy? We
still don't really know."
"Nothing much," I lie. "I saw the tape. We fought. He left."
"What was on the tape though? I mean, we know that they switched tickets,
and that that evil bitch Cordelia showed it to you, but other than that-"
"Willow," Tara admonishes her and I smile.
"It s'ok, Tar," I gaze to my right, at Katie, who is sitting next to the
flowerbed, picking blades of grass slowly and methodically. She's sleepy,
and I can tell her eyelids are drooping. Involuntarily my hand strays to my
stomach and I finish absently, "She is an evil bitch."
Willow laughs, picking up her plate and walking inside for a moment. Her
voice is muffled as she calls, "So *what* was on the tape?"
"Well, since Angel works for a travel agency, he usually films the places he
goes to- I guess for research's sake. Anyway, he was filming the airport,
and he must have left it on as he was talking to Danny. you can't really see
them. Just the edges of their sleeves, but you can hear them talking- plain
as day. And he offered him the ticket." Getting up, I say flatly, "and my
husband died. End of story."
Tip-toeing up to Katie, I lift her in my arms, and she shrieks with drowsy
laughter, giggling as I tickle her, cuddling her into my chest. "Wanna
sleep, Katie Watie?" I ask, and she shakes her head.
"No. No bed."
"Too bad, kiddo," Willow announces as she returns, and eyes me
sympathetically. "You've gotta have a bath, and then we'll read you a
story." Lifting her daughter from my embrace and into her own, she smiles,
and whispers, "Come on, sweetie pie, you can splash me as much as you want."
Pecking my cheek, she lets Katie give me a kiss, and then goes into the
house. Collapsing into the chair opposite Tara, I look at her and grin. "How
am I ever going to be a good Mom like you two?"
"You'll be an excellent mother," she assures me, and then pauses, "Because
your mother was amazing."
"That she was," I agree and tilt my head back, letting my eyes drift over
the bowl of stars. "It's starting to get dark earlier. Soon it'll be Fall."
"It's always the same," she answers quietly. "Seasons come and go."
"You think I should call him, don't you?"
"It's not for me to say, Buffy. It's your decision."
"Once you asked me if I loved Spike," I whisper. "You told me it was ok if I
did-and I didn't answer. I never loved him. I mean, for a while- I thought I
did- because everything was so empty and he was the only thing that filled
all the space. But that was all it was- just filler. I've only ever loved
two men."
"Do you feel guilty? I mean. for loving Angel?"
"I don't know if I do," I tell her. "I thought Heaven killed everything in
me for him. I thought it made this new Buffy that just didn't feel the same
way. but now I don't know. It just feels like if I lost him again-if I let
him in- like only he can get in- and I lost him--- what would happen to me?
I'd probably die, Tara. I feel like I would die."
She breathes out, and then lays a hand on my arm. Her skin is cool and soft,
and she says, "Maybe you would. But that's the risk. And you have to ask
yourself if he's worth it- worth dying for, worth-worth loving. I know
Willow and Katie are worth it-I know if I lost them, I wouldn't want to
live- but I still keep them with me every day. Because it's. it's them. And
I love them more than myself."
The stars make me remember. Dancing in warm arms in the sweaty air, to a
song from long ago. "I know what you mean."
+ + +
My bed is lonely, and the sheets smell of him. I haven't washed them since
he left- and that was over two weeks ago. I have an idea that it's
disgusting- but I really don't care. Pieces of him are all I have left, and
I may put on a brave front around others, but sometimes I think I'm going to
crumble. Crumble like so much dust to the wind, and dissolve into the air-
so he can never find me and hurt me again.
Padding down the stairs to the kitchen, I notice the answering machine light
blinking red in the darkened room. Clicking on the button, I reach for a
bottle of water that rests on the counter, and hear the tape whirr, as it
runs. A voice. His voice.
"I love you."
That's it.
That's enough.
Reaching for the phone, I begin to dial.
Part 10
Staring at the ceiling, I turn over in bed, my sweaty skin sticking to the linen as I inhale the sweet, sunshine morning and smell strawberries and a blue, blue sky. Everything is calm and drowsy, the breeze flowing through the window hot, and the fan beside my bed whirring faintly in the near silence. Folding my fingers underneath my belly, I curve them against firm skin and imagine feeling my baby's tiny palms meshing with mine. Smiling slightly, I remember calling my doctor after seeing the three pink lines on the store bought test, how he told me it was a miracle, a blessed thing (he's a little religious) and how I agreed with him, and then went and threw up in the bathroom at work. Then I sat at my desk in the back, absently doodling as I thought of how I'd tell Angel, what I'd wear, the cadence of my voice, how I'd smile. but it all ended with Cordy's sharp voice, one videotape and fevered kisses on the couch.
It's been close to a month since he left the letter and left my life, and maybe things just aren't going to get better. Even his travel agency doesn't know where he is. I left a message (probably sounded a little desperate) and the secretary assured me it'd be passed on. Right. Because I'm just *that* naïve, I decided to believe her.
Dawn called me last night and told me that she and Spike are getting serious, and in the same breath told me not to worry. I informed her that those two sentences together were guaranteed to make my head explode and in a firm voice she reminded me that she was old enough to make her own decisions and then said softly, "And besides, I've always loved him. I thought you knew that."
I didn't say anything for a moment and then I let all my breath out in a rush, whispering, "Well then I guess you'll have to do what you feel will make you happy. I just wish-"
"Wish it wasn't him?" she asked me, and I paused, hesitating.
"I wish it wasn't someone who I know will hurt you."
I could almost see her bitter smile, her jerky nod, and she responded, "Love is pain. But I can't not be with him, Buffy. I just can't. I feel like I would die."
Shaken, I leaned back against the counter, feeling its bite into my back. "You're right. You have to do it then. Just don't call me and tell me you're expecting a little vampire. Because I couldn't handle that right now."
She laughed and it sounded so girlish, so young, that tears stung my throat.
"Don't worry so much," she reprimanded me and we hung up soon after.
Maybe if I knew that they'd be happy, I could be happier for her. Maybe if I didn't know what it felt like to have him inside me- how it felt to have him bruise me, I could wish them fairytale endings, and sweet kisses, but I can't and I have a feeling I never will. But I do want my sister to feel content, to feel complete. She's been so lost for so many years. Raw and naked and bleeding from her birth into a world that never really wanted her, into a world she was supposed to destroy. I know that she hopes she'll find that *life* she has been seeking, with Spike. I'm just so afraid he'll only bring her monsters.
Just like me.
I hear the ringing of the doorbell and sit up, the sheets falling in warm folds around my naked waist. Wiping a rivulet of perspiration from my forehead, I tug on a worn T-shirt and an old pair of boxer shorts Angel left lying on the hamper, padding downstairs to the hallway. As I pass through the kitchen, I glance instinctively at the answering machine and feel like kicking it when I see no red light.
Opening the door, I look up, and the breath hitches in my throat. "Angel."
He stands there, looking sweaty and utterly wonderful in a tight black T-shirt and old jeans, his hair mussed, as if he'd just ran a careless and shaking hand through it's dark strands. "Buffy," he greets me huskily, nodding towards the open doorway. "Mind if I come in?"
"Be my guest," I murmur, stepping aside and ignoring the hungry desire pooling in my belly at the scent of him, which fills my nostrils. "Did you get my message?"
"The secretary passed it on," he says over his shoulder, making his way through to the kitchen. I follow him and watch as he lays down his bag, gripping the counter with powerful hands. "But it was a little vague."
" 'Come home' is vague?" I inquire, raising my eyebrows.
He turns, regarding me for a moment. "There was no reason. Just an order."
"It wasn't an order, actually," I correct him quietly. "It was arequest."
"You knew I'd come," he shakes his head and his mouth twists. "I can't help it."
"Can't help what?" I ask, and he slides a hand down my arm, feeling me tremble.
"What do you want?" he wonders aloud, stepping closer, and I feel dizzy for a moment at his nearness, my thighs tightening. His mouth brushes mine, hot and sticky, and I go up on my tiptoes, looping my arms around his neck.
"You know what I want."
"What?" he persists, curving his palms into the small of my back, gathering the fabric of my shirt into his hands.
"You," I tell him softly. "And our baby."
"What?" he rears back, slipping from my grasp.
"I'm pregnant, Angel."
"Buffy-" he breaks off, blinking, and then looks at me, in the sun-lit kitchen, his eyes dark and unfathomable. "Is that why you called me? Is that why you needed me to come home?"
"No-"
Slashing a hand through the air, he interrupts, "You haven'teven said-"
"Said what?"
"If you love me," he says roughly.
I stare at him, and the tears burn in my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you doubt it, but sometimes I don't know-don't know if I *can* love you again. Sometimes I wonder if all the pain would be worth it, if I could stand to risk it all. I keep thinking, 'what if he leaves again?', or 'what if he dies'? And I just know I couldn't stand it."
"I'm not going to leave," he tells me firmly, his voice choked, as he grips my shoulders and forces me to look at him. "Sometimes I lie awake at night and wish to Hell I'd never left in the first place, but sometimes I think it's good that I did. We both needed to grow Buffy. You know Sunnydale was drowning us. The love we had back then. it would've killed us eventually. It almost did."
"I know," I whisper, and my head flops against his chest, weary and aching. "And what if it all gets too hard again? What if one of us just can't take it? I couldn't handle it. Angel, I don't think I could get over losing you again."
"I can't guarantee that one of us won't want out at some point, Buffy," he murmurs, dropping a kiss on my forehead, and cupping my face in his palms. "But I do know that I love you, and that has never changed. It's just gotten stronger."
Sighing, I take a breath, my stomach turning over as I say softly, "I love you too. And I want our baby. I want a life with you. No matter what that brings."
His mouth curves into the half-smile I remember, and he lifts me up, into his arms. "I want it too." His fingers rest above my belly for a moment, and he tickles my belly button absently. "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"
"A boy," I answer certainly and then cock my head. "Maybe we should name him Xander."
Gazing at me with genuine horror, he shakes his head. "Please no."
Laughing a little, I rub my cheek against his. "Please don't feel guilty about coming back. I know you do."
"A year. I can't help feeling like it just wasn't long enough, Buffy," he says quietly.
"No amount of time would have been 'long enough'"," I whisper. "He's always going to be in my heart, and I'm always going to love him. But things. they're different now. Everything has changed, and I have to believe that he would want me to be happy. I guess I still feel guilty."
"Guilty that you're with me?" he inquires gently, stroking my hair.
"Not exactly. Just. guilty that I still have a life when he doesn't."
Angel is silent for a moment, and then he tilts his head. "You know. I remember when I died back then. and when I came close to death many times after that, my only thoughts were of you. My last wishes were always that you would find some happiness, some peace, some joy- from life. And I think Danny would say the same if he was here right now."
"Actually he'd probably tell you to get your hands off of me," I grin weakly through the salty tears, and he smiles faintly, brushing a lock of hair away from my face.
"As would I if the situation were reversed," he replies teasingly, and then gathers me into his embrace. "It's going to take time for the guilt to fade. But I'm not going anywhere."
We stand for long moments, wrapped in each other's arms, content to remain still, unmoving, lost in a desperate dream. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up, that it can't be real, but it remains unbroken, and I start to believe suddenly, that things may someday be all right.
I don't believe in forever. Seasons come and go, and time continues, but things change, and planes crash, and there's something inside of me- some *innocence* - that I will never be able to get back.
I don't believe in forever.
But I do believe in Angel.
+ + +
*Five years later*
The sand is grainy beneath my feet, and I step to the ocean's edge, laughing as the cool water splashes over my toes. Andrew tugs at my hand, his tiny grip surprisingly fierce, and I suppress a yelp as he yanks me over to the pile of huge rocks we run to every day as part of our morning routine.
"Want to see the fish, Mommy," he explains, his huge dark eyes gazing up at me.
Ruffling the mess of blonde hair on his head, I nod. "Look, they're under that rock over there, baby. Don't slip now."
"I can do it," he tells me with all the grown-up assurance of a
five-year-old, and my heart swells with simple motherly love.
"I know you can, Andy. Here, take some of this food. you can toss it to them."
Cupping some in his little palms, he trots over to an overhang a few feet away, under my watchful gaze. As he carefully sprinkles the powder into the seawater, I feel warm arms encircle me and curve back into my husband's chest.
Yawning, I look up at the sky, which the sun is splitting, dawning into a new day. "Coffee?" I murmur, and smile as the mug is placed against my lips. "You're my hero."
"Always wanted to hear those words come out of your mouth," Angel says, his hands rubbing lazily over my belly. "Did he eat anything?"
"Some cereal, I think," I laugh quietly. "Didn't you notice it all over the floor? I didn't have time to clean it up before he ran outside."
"Is that what that was?" he grins, kissing the back of my neck. "I managed to ignore it."
"I'm sure you did," I nod, and wave as our son glances up, checking to see if we're still there, as all young children seem to do periodically. "I'll do it when we get back in."
"I'm just teasing," he informs me chidingly. "It's done, love. Only problem is- we don't have any milk left. That seemed to be the main hit and run victim this morning."
Sipping the coffee, I feel the warmth spill through my insides, and sigh contentedly. "Who cares? It's a beautiful day."
"You're right," he agrees, and spins me around, lifting me up in his arms. His mouth is hot, and tastes of sea-salt and home. The sky brightens with the pink of a new day, and I gaze up at our house overlooking the Cape, saying my daily thank you to the higher power for making us decide to move here, and for letting us be happy- even through our ups and downs.
"Could you watch him for a little while?" I ask, kissing his nose absently. "I've got to make up Natalie's room. She'll be arriving tomorrow and I just remembered that the sheets are dirty- the ones I was planning on using."
He nods, and after pecking me one last time, lopes over to Andrew, lifting him into his arms and swinging him up, up, up, until he's one with the glittering sky. I smile at his shrieks of delighted laughter, watching them- my two boys, as they start to run near the water's edge.
My life has never really been about death, it's been about learning to live with remembering. What was lost, what has been found. I have- and the guilt, the sorrow- it's faded, a little.
Tara *was* right, all those years ago, when she told me it was worth it. I've found something- something real. I love Angel and Andrew more than myself, and they are worth dying for- but more importantly, they're worth *living* for.
I never wanted songs and once, long ago- a man gave me something to sing about when I thought I was empty. When he died, I thought it was over- thought there was no music left inside me- no *life*.
But I was wrong.
I've found it again, and I'll be damned if I let it go.
I glance at them once more, smile a little, and then turn to walk back into the house.
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