"Empty"
by Debbie Nockels
(May 2001)
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: "The Gift" and "There's No Place Like Plrtz Glrb"
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. They're owned by Joss Whedon (who ought to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, David Greenwalt, the WB, UPN, Fox, etc.
SUMMARY: Another take on what happened during and after Willow's visit, this time from Cordelia's POV.
NOTES: Many thanks to Joanna of the BA Ficshop (http://groups.yahoo.com/BA_Ficshop). Your comments and suggestions were invaluable.
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������ Have you ever noticed how the really big things in life tend to come at you from out of the blue, without any warning? For instance . . . a vampire kidnaps your boyfriend, so you go to the rescue and you burst into a room, ready to do battle for him, and find him kissing another girl. And that hurts even more than the iron spike that impales you a minute later. Or all of a sudden you find out that your rich dad hasn't paid his taxes in umpteen years and he's going to jail, so now there's no money and you're going to lose your home and not only can't you go to one of those great colleges you were dreaming about, the pricey ones, you have to get a job just to survive.
������ Or you've just returned from another dimension where you were first a slave and then a princess and a gorgeous hunk loved you and wanted to marry you, but you knew you didn't belong there, and even though you miss the hunk you're really happy to be back home again with your friends, all of you safe, and you come into the lobby with them and you're all laughing and making jokes . . . and suddenly one of your friends isn't smiling anymore. So you look over to where he's looking and you see you have a visitor. An old friend from the hometown you couldn't wait to get away from, someone you haven't seen in a couple of years, is sitting there on the couch, and then she stands up and you see the tears in her eyes and you hear her voice telling you - no, telling one of you, the one her gaze is focused on - that Buffy's dead.
������ And for one second, everything stops. Because Buffy can't be dead. Buffy's special. Buffy's the Slayer. How can she be dead? She's the strongest woman in the world; she kicks demon butt every single day. She can't be dead; she always comes out on top. But then Willow says that she died averting yet another apocalypse, and you know it's true. Because that's Buffy for you. Saving the world no matter what it costs. Even if it's her life.
������ Like I said, out of the blue - WHAM!. One minute I'm planning a "Home Sweet Home" celebration party, and the next minute . . . Buffy is dead.
������ Not that it's this life-shattering event to me, of course. I mean, yeah, it's one hell of a shock and I'm really upset about it and sorry and all, and a part of me still can't quite believe it, and the part of me that knows it did happen keeps wishing it hadn't, but . . . well, people die and that's just a part of life. Doyle died and for a while I thought I'd never stop crying - but I did. Eventually.
������ It's no different now. Buffy's dead. So a new Slayer will be called, somewhere, and life will go on just like it did before, except there'll be a Buffy-shaped hole in it for some of us, one that will hurt like hell for a long time. But over time, gradually, that hole will start growing smaller until it's barely noticeable anymore. For me anyway, and probably Wesley too. For the others, Xander and Willow and Giles and Dawn, the ones who were closest to her, it will take longer and the hole won't close as much. Especially for Dawn. Poor kid, it's only been a couple of months since her mother died and now her sister is gone too. God, I hope her dad isn't the same kind of loser that mine is, and that he shows up to take care of her.
������ But it's Angel I'm really worried about. What I said before, about Willow telling us - telling Angel - that Buffy was dead? Well, that's true, but it's not the whole truth. What really happened is that Angel . . . I don't know how, but he knew what Willow was going to say before she said it. He was the first one to see her sitting there, and even as he said her name the happy smile that was on his face faded and his eyes . . . I don't know if I can describe them. He looked like his worst nightmare had come true.
������ I mean, I realized pretty quickly that something was wrong. Willow's sitting there with her eyes all wet and a look on her face like - well, I knew it wasn't good news. My first thought was . . . okay, it's that something's happened to Xander, and he's in the hospital or something and asking for me. I know; pathetic much? And it's not like I really want him to be pining for me. Well . . . maybe I do. Just a little bit.
������ But then Angel says, "It's Buffy," and Willow nods and my Xander-thoughts go flying out the window. And Willow swallows and whispers, "She's dead," but Angel's saying it at the same time and their voices blend together and I'm hoping I've heard wrong. But then I turn to Wesley and see from his expression that he heard it too. And Gunn's face is full of sympathy but he's not a part of this because he didn't even know Buffy, and poor Fred is just looking confused and a little bit scared because she doesn't know what any of this is about, except that someone's died and her big handsome hero is standing there looking like the world just ended. That's what really happened.
������ That was two weeks ago and Angel hasn't come out of his room once. He just sits there with the lights off and the curtains closed, staring into space, like Christopher Reeve did in that old movie with Jane Seymour. I used to love that movie. The one where he went back in time like sixty years to find her and he accidentally got yanked back to the present but didn't want to live without her, so he sat in a chair and starved himself to death so he could be with her. Somewhere In Time, that's the name of it. I don't normally like mushy movies, but something about that one got to me, and I can't help thinking about it now.
������ Except Angel isn't starving himself. At first I thought he was trying to. For three days we brought him blood and for three days he ignored it like he ignored our presence, letting the bags pile up on the table. But then Wesley and I told him flat out that if he didn't start eating we were going to feed it to him through a tube, and he kind of blinked and came back from wherever he'd been and looked at the bag of blood in my hand as if he'd never seen one before. Then he took it and drank it down and handed the empty bag back to me and . . .
������ And then he was Staring Guy again. And that's pretty much the way it's been ever since. Wesley and I bring him blood, he drinks it, and that's that. At least he's moving around now. For four or five days he didn't budge from that chair. I know because Wesley and Gunn and I are taking turns sleeping in the room next door. Then one night Wes heard Angel get up and walk across the room, and then he heard a drawer open and close. The next morning, when he looked in, Angel was holding a photograph of Buffy. At least he was staring at something, not just into space.
������ And then a couple of days after that I heard the shower running, and when I saw him at lunchtime he had on different clothes and he was sitting on his bed, and I thought he was starting to come out of it. But that evening when we brought him his meal he was back in the chair again, gazing at the photograph and not even aware of us, like usual.
<><><><><><><><><>
������ A month has passed - six weeks since Buffy died - and Angel's out of his room and going about the business of helping the hopeless - has been for several weeks now. On the surface everything looks normal again. But I'm still worried. Because things aren't back to normal. He isn't.
������ Angel was Mr. Reclusive for another week after he took that shower. He took others, every day or so, which was encouraging, but he still stayed in his room and kept his door closed, only opening it to take the blood we handed him and then close it again without a word.
������ So one night Wes and I gathered our courage and went to confront him. We didn't want another catastrophe like the Darla thing, when Angel was going all broody and dark and we didn't even realize what was happening until it was too late. We really dropped the ball on that one, and we weren't going to let it happen again. So we decided to talk to him. Not nag him or reproach him for the way he was acting - like we did last time, which was the absolute wrong thing to do - but just talk to him, let him know how much we care about him, how concerned we are. How much we want to help.
������ Or maybe just listening would be even better; we didn't do much of that last time either.
������ Anyway, we knocked but instead of coming to the door we heard his voice telling us to come in, and when we did he said, "I've been expecting you." He was standing over by the window, gazing out into the night. "I'm sorry I've been worrying you again," he said, with his back turned. "Thank you for being so patient with me."
������ This wasn't at all what we'd expected, so we were kind of taken aback. I looked at Wesley and he looked at me, then we both looked back at the unmoving figure at the window. "Angel, we understand what you're going through," Wesley said hesitantly. "We know how difficult this is for you - "
������ "Thank you," Angel said, cutting him off firmly but gently. "I know you do. But life goes on and so must we. So what do we have going, anything? Do we have a client?"
������ And we discussed business for a while before saying goodnight and going home - or, in my case, to the room next door. Because even though Angel said we didn't need to worry, that he wasn't going to do anything foolish, I'm not convinced. Because, you see, I saw his eyes. As we were leaving he finally turned around and walked with us to the door, winding up the conversation, and . . . I saw his eyes.
������ Angel's eyes have always been one of his best features, always expressing whatever he was feeling, whether he was angry or brooding or, more recently, happy. But that night . . . they were different. Not different like they were during the Darla thing. Then his eyes were turned inward. Not literally. I mean like he was constantly replaying his dreams about Darla in his mind, and his eyes were seeing her instead of whatever was really there. Of course I didn't understand that until later but that's what it was.
������ That night they were just . . . empty. Like there was nothing behind them. No thoughts, no feelings . . . no hope. Like nothing in the world mattered anymore. Blank. And they've been like that ever since - when he talks to us, while he's researching, even when he's fighting.
������ And I'm scared. I don't want to lose Angel again; it was hard enough the first time, when he fired us and forgot about everything except finding Darla and going after Wolfram & Hart. I know how much Buffy meant to him. He told me once that in his two hundred and whatever years of existence, she's the only woman he's ever loved. Of course that loses a little bit of its poignancy when you know that for more than half that time he was a vampire without a soul, and couldn't love anyone. Obsess over, maybe, but not love.
������ But even so it's a really moving thought. I know I had to blink hard when he said it, and I remember wondering if I would ever love anyone that much - and if anyone would ever love me like that. So I know - or at least, I can imagine how devastated he is by her death. It's as if the Angel we see every day and talk to and work with is only a shell and the real Angel is off somewhere else, some place where Buffy is still alive and they're able to be together.
������ Like I said, I'm scared. I try to tell myself that we have to be patient, that in time he'll come out of it and be the old Angel again, because I have to believe that. I have to. I lost Xander, I lost my father and my money and my home. And Doyle. I can't lose Angel.
������ But I'm afraid I already have.
THE END
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