Valley Of The Shadow
by Debbie Nockels
COPYRIGHT: November 2000
RATING: �PG
SPOILERS: �Seasons 1-5 of BtVS, through "Shadow"
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, the WB, Fox, etc.
SUMMARY: �Angel returns to Sunnydale for Joyce's funeral.
NOTES: �Okay, first of all, I haven't read any spoilers that predict that Joyce will die - I haven't read any spoilers, period. �I sincerely hope she doesn't die. �But this idea came to me, and I had to write it. �Actually, the idea was suggested by Sherry (slangen2), who wanted to know if I'd considered writing a fic where Angel comes to Sunnydale to help Buffy cope with Joyce's illness, and of course during that everyone realizes that she still loves him. �"No," I told her, "I hadn't, and didn't think I would" - but a seed was planted, and this is the result. �Thank you, Sherry.
NOTE2: This was written before Riley left, for anyone who's confused by his presence here. :-)
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������ " �I am the resurrection and the life,' saith the Lord; �he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.' "
������ From where he watched he couldn't hear the minister, but he knew the words. �He ought to, as many funerals as he'd attended, even though his presence at them had mostly been in mockery or sadistic triumph - for he'd been the cause of most of them.
������ The late afternoon sun shone palely through the clouds in the dreary winter sky, fitting ambiance for a funeral. �The mourners were gathered into two distinct clusters. �One group, composed of a smartly dressed woman in her sixties, a tall, willow young man in his thirties, and another woman much younger than the first, possibly forty, he assumed were business associates.
������ The other group he knew very well indeed - that is, except for the young woman beside Willow. �Her he didn't recognize. �Nor the stocky middle-aged man with the grim face standing next to Buffy, although he was fairly confident it must be her father. �Come to think of it, he didn't know who the young girl was either; the one who was crying and who Buffy's father had his arms around. �But with one other exception the rest were old acquaintances - as humans considered these things, anyway. �The remaining exception stood beside Buffy. �Riley Finn, the man who'd replaced him in Buffy's life.
������ Wesley and Cordelia stood together, slightly apart from the others. �Xander stared at the ground, his expression somber, as was Anya's as she leaned against him. �Willow's hands were linked with her companion's; the aura of love between them was almost palpable. �But he spared only a glance for these others; they were not his concern. �It was Buffy he'd come here for; Buffy he watched unwaveringly, Buffy for whom his heart ached.
������ " 'Earth to earth; ashes to ashes; and dust to dust.' "
������ He saw Giles, standing behind Buffy, look at her with a worried expression and put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. �Riley, on Buffy's other side, had his arm around her comfortingly. �Buffy gave no sign of being aware of either of them. �Even from this distance he could tell that her eyes were bleak. �Bleak and dry.
������ The service finally droned to an end, and the trio of business associates drifted over to the family to offer their condolences. �Buffy smiled and shook hands and, he was sure, made the appropriate responses, but it was mechanical, all on the surface. �When the last person, the elderly woman, had shaken her hand and proceeded at a sorrowful pace to her car, she resumed staring at the casket.
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������ "Buffy." �Her father touched her arm. �"It's time to go."
������ Go? �Go where? she wondered. �Back to the house that was no longer a home, because the person who'd made it their home was gone forever? �"You go on," she said. "I'll be there in a little while. �I have to say goodbye first."
������ Hank Summers looked helplessly at his eldest daughter. �Nothing in his life had prepared him for this. �Joyce had always handled illnesses and funerals - even when his own parents died, she'd been the one to take care of all the dozens of details that spring up following a death. �But now Joyce was gone, Dawn was a wreck, and Buffy an emotionless robot. �He didn't know what to do.
������ "I'll bring her home," Riley told him quietly. �Hank turned to him with utmost gratitude. �"Thank you." �He gave Buffy one more concerned look, then helped Dawn across the immaculate lawn.
������ "Buffy, I'm so sorry." �Wesley approached, Cordelia at his side. �"I hardly knew your mother but she seemed like a fine person."
������ "Thank you," she replied. �"She was." �To Riley's surprise, she didn't ask the obvious (to him) question about Angel's whereabouts, something he wondered about greatly.
������ Cordelia now spoke, hesitantly. �"Buffy, I know we haven't been exactly the best of friends, or at all, but . . . if there's anything I can do please let me know."
������ Buffy managed a slight smile. �"I will. �Thanks." �There was a short silence, then with goodbye nods Cordy and Wesley left.
������ "I'd like to be alone for a minute," Buffy now said. �She cast an appealing glance upward. �Riley nodded. �"I'll wait by the car." �She smiled her thanks and turned her attention back to the casket. �He walked up the gentle slope, joining Giles and the others as they waited by the curb.
������ "How is she?" Giles inquired.
������ Riley shook his head. �"Not good. �A few tears now and then, but not the big storm I know she's holding back."
������ "Riley, you have to help her," Willow urged. �"She can't keep locking up her grief like this."
������ "I know." Riley made a helpless gesture with his hands. �"But what can I do? �If I try to press her, she just walks away. �She's so far away now I don't even know if I can reach her at all."
������ Giles sighed. �"Throughout her mother's illness Buffy felt she needed to be strong, for Dawn's sake as well as for Joyce's. �I fear that it has now become a habit, and we all know how hard habits are to break."
������ "If she doesn't break this one, it'll end up breaking her," Cordelia offered, surprisingly.
������ "I'm very much afraid you're right." �With worried frowns, they all looked down to where Buffy stood at the grave site of her mother.
������ Buffy put her hand on the pearly surface of the casket. �It really was a beautiful shade of silvery gray, and the enormous spray of flowers atop it were Joyce's favorite Peace roses. �"I'm sorry, Mom. �I'm sorry for all the worry I caused you. �I should have told you about being the Slayer long before I did, then at least you wouldn't have thought that I was involved in a gang."
������ She smiled faintly. �"Of course, you would still have worried anyway." �The smile faded. �"I love you and I miss you so much." �Tears threatened, but she forced them back, blinking hard. �"Goodbye."
������ Angel watched her trudge up the hill, get into a car with Riley at the wheel, and drive off, followed by the rest of the gang. �Only two hours until the sun set - less if he didn't mind getting the equivalent of a mild sunburn - and then he'd make his way to Buffy's house. �Hopefully he'd find a chance to speak to her alone, without Riley's presence. �He couldn't help it; the mere sight of that youngster made his hackles rise, and the last thing Buffy needed right now was another confrontation between the two of them.
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������ Giles looked around as a motion caught the corner of his eye. �It was Buffy, disappearing into the kitchen. �He waited a few moments to see if anyone else - Riley, for instance - had noticed, but apparently he was the only one. �Xander and Anya had left about forty minutes earlier; Willow and Tara had valiantly hung in there until the silences grew just too awkward; they'd been gone about twenty minutes. �Hank was sitting on the couch with Dawn, trying to get to know Riley, who like the well-mannered young man he was, was politely answering all his questions. �Giles slipped away just in time to see the back door close behind Buffy.
������ Standing on the back porch, Buffy lifted her face to the almost dark sky and closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself. �It was cold, at least for Southern California - in the mid-fifties - but the real chill was inside herself. �She felt like a pillar of ice, cold and numb. �All at once something moved, not physically, but somewhere inside, a feeling she'd experienced before. �Her heart, her soul - she had never been sure just where she felt it, but she knew what it was. �She opened her eyes and there he was, walking across the backyard toward her.
������ "Buffy." �He held out his arms and she went into them without a thought.
������ "Angel. �I knew you'd come." �His arms folded about her and held her close; she felt him drop a kiss on the top of her head. �A huge sigh shuddered through her body.
������ "Why didn't you tell me? �I would have come sooner."
������ Buffy shook her head. �"I couldn't," she said, her voice muffled by his sweater. �"I had to be strong, and if you'd been here. . . ." �She didn't finish.
������ Angel kissed the top of her head again. �"Even Slayers are allowed to grieve, Buffy."
������ "I couldn't do anything, Angel," she whispered. �"I watched her dying a little more each day, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. �Isn't that ironic? �I'm the Slayer, maybe the most powerful woman alive. �I can kill vampires and fight demons and prevent Armageddon, but I couldn't save my own mother." �Tears welled up and began spilling over onto her cheeks. �
������ She gave a little sob, and then another, and then broke down completely. �"Oh, God, Angel, she's dead. �My mother's dead!" �She couldn't speak anymore, only cry.
������ Angel held her; it was all he could do. �Finally, when her crying didn't abate, he picked her up and carried her over to the wrought iron bench, where he sat down, Buffy still in his arms. �She curled up on his lap and cried even harder, huge gulping sobs that came from the depths of her aching heart and shook her entire body.
������ "Shh," he whispered, his own eyes wet. �"It's okay, mavourneen. �You don't have to be strong anymore. �It's okay." �He smoothed her hair and instinctively began a slight rocking motion, crooning softly.
������ Giles, watching discreetly through the kitchen window, breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. �"Thank you, Angel," he murmured. �He turned and almost jumped out of his skin. �Riley was standing not two feet from him, also looking through the window at Buffy and Angel. �"Er . . . Riley." �Giles cast around desperately for something to say.
������ "Did you call him?"
������ Giles braced himself. �"I did, yes. �He had a right to know, Riley, and - " He stopped, not wanting to say to Buffy's boyfriend that Buffy would have wanted Angel to know.
������ "It's all right," Riley said quietly. �"I know how it is between them. �I've known for a long time. �The important thing is that now she can start to heal." �Despite his brave words, hurt and pain were clearly revealed on his honest features. �Giles clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically, then turned and left Riley standing there, staring out the window.
������ Angel glanced down. �After what seemed like hours, Buffy had finally cried herself out, and almost immediately fallen asleep. �He brushed a few silky strands of hair off her face, regarding her tear-swollen features with immense tenderness and love and sorrow. �Sorrow for all the hurt she was going through and that there wasn't anything he could do to make it better. �Hearing footsteps, he looked up.
������ "Is she asleep?" Giles whispered.
������ Angel nodded. �"I think if I can get her to her bedroom without waking her, she'll sleep through the night. �Will you get the door for me?" �Giles led the way, holding the kitchen door open for Angel to pass through. �He carried Buffy through the house, surprised to find it empty.
������ "Where is everyone?"
������ "Mr. Summers took Dawn out to dinner. �Riley . . . went home."
������ Dawn? thought Angel. �He faltered a moment, suddenly stricken with dizziness, and leaned against the wall until it passed, which it did in a few seconds. �Of course, Dawn was the girl he'd seen with Buffy's father. �How could he not have recognized Buffy's little sister, even if she had grown since he'd last seen her? �She hadn't changed that much. �It just showed how worry could affect even a vampire's memory.
������ Giles opened the door to Buffy's bedroom, and preceded them, pulling down the covers on the bed. �Angel carefully set her down, removing his arm from behind her neck with care so as not to wake her. �Giles helped him take off her shoes and cover her with the sheet and quilt. �At that point Angel recalled Giles' other comment.
������ "Did you say that Riley went home?"
������ "Yes," Giles said.
������ Angel swelled with indignation. "How could he leave her alone? Doesn't he know the pain she's in?" Illogically overlooking the fact that he hardly wanted the ex-commando to be here just now, that it would, in fact, be extremely awkward if Riley were here.
������ "He knows," Giles said quietly. Angel was speechless at such callous indifference on Riley's part to the woman he claimed to love. Giles continued. �"He . . . saw you, Angel. �Out in the yard."
������ Angel looked at him sharply. �"Saw me with Buffy, you mean?" �Giles nodded. �Angel bit his lip. �"Damn. �Is that going to cause trouble for her? �She can't handle a scene right now."
������ �I don't think so. �Right now I'm feeling very sorry for Riley."
������ "What?" �Angel was surprised. �"Why?"
������ Giles looked straight at him. �"Because he really loves her."
������ "I know," Angel said shortly, not wanting to think about that relationship.
������ Giles continued, "But Buffy doesn't love him, and I'm afraid that he knows it."
������ Angel licked his lips. �"You . . . don't think Buffy loves him?" �Giles just gave him a look. �"She loves you, Angel. �I think that's pretty obvious." �He straightened. �"Well, I'm going now. �Are you staying here with Buffy?"
������ Angel nodded absently, his mind on what Giles had just said. �"As long as I can, yes." �Until the approaching dawn would force him to leave, he meant. �Giles nodded, understanding. �"Good night, then. �I'll, er, leave a note for Mr. Summers that Buffy is sleeping." �
������ "Good night," Angel replied. �Giles left the room, and he was alone with Buffy. �Angel knelt beside the bed and took Buffy's hand. �A couple of hours passed, and still she slept. �Mr. Summers and Dawn had come home - he'd heard them discussing Giles' note - and gone to bed with only a quick look-in on Buffy which he'd easily evaded by stepping into her closet, as he'd done once before, years ago. �Once they'd settled in, silence reigned again except for muffled sobs from Dawn's room, and before long those also ceased.
������ The night wore on. ��Weariness tugged at Angel's eyelids, but he fought against falling asleep, not wanting to miss a moment of being with Buffy. �Finally he could resist no longer, and, kicking off his shoes, stretched out on the bed next to her, telling himself it couldn't do any harm just to catch a few winks. �He quickly fell into a sleep almost as exhausted as Buffy's. �
������ "Angel."
������ He stirred, slow to rouse.
������ "Angel, wake up."
������ He opened his eyes. �Buffy was awake, lying on her side facing him. �"Hi."
������ "Hi," she whispered. �"It'll be sunrise in a couple of hours."
������ Angel already knew that. �"How are you feeling?"
������ Buffy managed a wan smile even as her eyes filled. �"Terrible, of course. �What do you think?"
������ Angel stroked her hair off her face. �"I think that you're grieving for your mother," he said softly, "and that you'll continue to grieve for a long time. �And that's the way it should be, Buffy. �You loved your mother and now she's gone, and some part of you will always mourn her passing."
������ Her tears spilled over. �"Yes." �She cried for a short while, snuggled against him, then there was a few minutes where they simply held each other in silence. �Finally she said, "Thank you for coming, Angel."
������ "Anytime," he murmured, looking into her eyes. �"You know that."
������ "I know," she murmured in reply. �They moved closer and kissed. �For Angel the touch of her lips after so long was like being reborn. �For Buffy, it was coming home again. �When finally, reluctantly, they parted, she asked, "You're going back to Los Angeles when you leave here, aren't you?"
������ "I have to." �He met her eyes.
������ "I know." �And he knew that she did, that she'd accepted, however reluctantly, that they couldn't be together. �That acceptance did nothing for the pain they both felt, however. �Suddenly Angel found himself telling her something he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't reveal.
������ "Buffy, there's a prophecy that someday, after the End of Days, if I survive, I'll become human."
������ "What?" �She looked dazed.
������ "I don't know when," he hurried to add, "I mean, it could be decades from now, or I might not survive the final battle - "
������ "Human?" she interrupted. �"Really human? �No curse? �No happiness clause?"
������ "It might not happen for years," he repeated. �The growing light in her eyes kept him from protesting any further.
������ "I'll wait," she said simply. �"If I'm still around, I'll be waiting for you."
������ Silently he kissed her again, wishing with all his soul that he didn't have to leave. �But his vampiric senses told him the dawn was approaching fast, and he'd have to hustle to make it back to L.A. before the sun rose dangerously high.
������ Buffy went with him to the front porch. �Silently they faced each other and exchanged a long farewell kiss, then silently Angel turned and walked to his car. �Another long look, then Angel got inside his car and drove off. �Buffy watched for a minute before slowly walking back into the house.
������ And from his car, parked two houses down, Riley saw it all.
THE END
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