Run Runaway
[I like black and white
Dream in black and white
You like black
and white
Run runaway
See chameleon
Lying there in the sun
All
things to everyone
Run runaway
---"Run Runaway" (Great Big Sea)]
Sunset. Rupert Giles cleared away the dishes as Buffy kneeled in his doorway checking her supplies. She didn't often join him for dinner before she went patrolling, but her mother had a show at the gallery, Dawn was at a sleepover and ever since Riley left…well, he had been keeping a closer eye on her. Today, they had been working on some new sparring routines, and had topped off the day with some gourmet sandwiches from a take-out restaurant down the street. Nothing heavy---she did have patrolling after all---but enough that he could feel like he was taking care of her. Sometimes he couldn't get over how much she had changed, had matured since they first had met. She was…
"Geez Giles, if this is how long it takes to clean up take-out, I'd hate to see what would happen if I let you cook!"
He smiled. "You ready for patrol?"
Buffy nodded. "Stakes, holy water, the works. It's been pretty quiet though. Lucky for me 'cause the gang is going out, and I could so go for finishing patrol early."
"Well, one can hope."
She gave him an affectionate hug. "Night Giles."
He watched her hurry out, smiling fondly. Neither of them noticed the gray pick-up truck parked across the road, or the familiar if slightly bedraggled girl who gingerly climbed out of the driver's door the moment Buffy was out of sight. She was severely under-dressed for the chilly evening, in loose black pants and a white tanktop. The inadequate clothing left much of her torso exposed, and considering the web of obvious bruises snaking across her back and shoulders, that seemed deliberate: trying to avoid making it worse with the friction of clothing. Shivering only partly from the cold, she banged on Giles' door and when he opened it, eyes alight with surprise, then concern, she muttered "thank god, I thought she'd never leave" and collapsed in his arms.
By the time Cordelia came to on Giles' couch a few minutes later, he had already figured out a few things. When she fainted on him, he had been tempted to call 911, but the bruises were a purplish-yellow that seemed a few days old and the only other obvious injury, a patchwork of scratches on her arm, was scabbed over. He looked outside and saw that she had arrived here with her own transport and under her own power: if she wanted a doctor, she could have found one herself, and he had to assume she had her reasons for coming here instead. Something had clearly happened. In Los Angeles her closest friend was Wesley, and Giles was the only other watcher she knew. Sunnydale was her hometown, and she must have run away to it on instinct. Fight or flight, the most primal human response. It had to be bad. His second impulse had been to call in the gang because the poor girl looked like she could use some friends, but something told him to wait on that. Giles was sufficiently close to her that she could talk freely, but not so close that confiding in him would be awkward. She had come to him, and as soon as she woke up, he suspected she would tell him why.
He had put her down carefully, but the bruises still seemed sensitive and she sucked in a breath painfully the second her eyes fluttered open. Wordlessly, he helped her into as comfortable a sitting position as she could manage, saying nothing as he sat down himself. She took a few big gulps of air, trying to calm herself, eyes not meeting his until she had managed a solid minute of normal breathing.
"Hi Giles," she said quietly.
"Hello Cordelia. Can I get you anything?"
"Tylenol, or something stronger if you have it. Water."
He nodded, rising again and reminding himself to stay centered. He had a lot of questions about how she got to his door in the state she was in, but he had to let her tell the story at her own pace. She was clearly in distress, and as surprised as he was to see her, she had to have her reasons for coming as she did.
He handed her the pills and the water, running his eyes appraisingly across the scratches on her arm.
"It's not from a demon," she sighed, following his gaze with her own. "There's this law firm…" she trailed off.
A human had done this to her? "Do you want to tell me about the bruises?" he asked. Start small, with the most obvious things, he reminded himself. Work up to the bigger traumas, the ones that made her run away, after.
She gave a tiny shrug. "A fight, same as any other. Bad guys versus us. One of them had a grudge, and clocked me with his prosthetic hand," she said. "Nothing big. I just…" her eyes teared. "I just had to get away, Giles. I just need a break."
Her voice cracked. "I'm so good at pretending everything is fine, it's why I had to come here. It would freak Wesley out if he knew how I was really feeling, and Gunn has his own stuff to worry about. And Angel…"
She crumpled into full-fledged sobbing as he watched helplessly. "What about Angel?" he prodded gently.
She sucked in a breath. "He's beige, Giles. His aura…we know this demon, he's anagogic---he reads auras. And he told us…Angel isn't dark. But he's beige. They are driving him crazy and now his aura is beige. He doesn't care about us anymore."
A year ago, if someone had mentioned the name "Angel," Giles would instantly have thought of Buffy. But now…Cordelia was linked to him. She got visions for him, and because of his "good fight" she had been drafted into some kind of higher calling. Buffy had always been destined to be the slayer. But Cordelia…she had a chance at a normal life, or as normal a life as one could have growing up on a Hellmouth. Even after her friendship with Xander got her involved with Buffy (and with himself: he had to admit that he was responsible for this girl as much as for the others) she still had a shot. She got out of the Hellmouth, but Angel brought her back into the Hell-fight. And now…
He took her hand very gently and waited out the shuddering breaths as she tried to control herself. "Cordelia?"
"I just needed a break, Giles," she repeated softly. "It's always something, you know? A demon, or a vampire, or a vision…I'm just so tired. I just…I had to get away from there, had to just…go away and pretend for awhile that everything is normal. No vampires. No hand-to-hand combat, stakes, cross-bows, rituals, spells or incantations. No Powers-That-Be. No Hellmouth. No devils…and no…Angels…" She choked again, and Giles tightened his grip on her hand.
"It's all right," he soothed. Poor thing, she was still a child and she hadn't chosen this. If she weren't covered in bruises, he would hold her until she stopped shaking…
At that moment, Buffy walked in.
***
Buffy took in the scene somberly, brow furrowing in confusion.
"Just checking in after pa…is that Cordelia? Giles, What's going on?"
Cordelia shrugged her hand out of Giles' grip and surreptitiously wiped away a tear. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just visiting."
"Suddenly visiting Giles in the middle of the night. Even I've never done that unless something was wrong."
Cordelia took a shaky breath, her control wavering. "Can you give us a few minutes?"
Buffy narrowed her eye suspiciously. "Why? Is something…is Angel…"
"No," she said quickly. "Just…please?"
She suddenly noticed the bruises. "Cordelia, are you…"
"Please!" moaned Cordelia. "I just…I need a break. I just…don't need…people to see me like…everything will be fine, I just need a few minutes…"
Buffy backed out of Giles' door. "All right," she said warily. "But you look…well, I'll check on you in a bit."
She shut the door softly, and Giles held out his hand. She was shaking again, the effort of putting on a face for them exhausting her.
"I'm all alone now," she moaned. "Angel thinks he can just go all dark and it won't affect anyone else, like he's the only one who's been branded special project of the Powers-That-Be…"
She took a deep breath. "Giles, you know me. I'm not some weepy little fraidy cat. But I have my limits too, you know? I'm just tired. The last time I cried…really cried…was when Doyle died. And since then…the visions… Is it selfish to curse those damn Powers for springing them on me? Never any warning, never any chance to prepare, to somehow make them easier…I feel like they could kill me they hurt so much, but how can I complain when they save people's lives?"
She shifted her position on the couch, wincing as her bruised back scraped against the cushions. "Why can't it ever be just about me?" she said quietly. "Why does the fate of the world always have to come first?"
He cleared his throat. "You have a higher purpose, Cordelia. But that doesn't mean you can't take care of yourself. It's ok to want a break, to get sad, even to wallow sometimes. And it's ok to ask for help in dealing with it."
He smiled gently. "And there is nothing wrong with admitting that you are better at looking brave than feeling brave. You have friends, and you can ask them to take care of you. You can't bottle up your feelings anymore, do you understand? It isn't healthy."
She attempted a half-hearted smile. "Just…Wesley can be so over-protective, and I am not that great with the fighting parts. The vision stuff is like my only contribution."
He nodded. "But there are people you can talk to." He squeezed her hand. "You have friends outside of Los Angeles, you know. And you don't have to drive two hours to talk to them. Even Hellmouths have phone service."
At last, her smile was genuine. "All right, Dad, I promise to check in from time to time. Head off the angst-repression-tantrums…"
"You know where to find me," he said gently. "And you'll know when you need to."
They sat in silence for a moment, then Cordelia nodded to the door, giving the all-clear for Giles to let Buffy in.
"Cordelia? Is everything…"
"Much better, thanks. Sorry I snapped at you."
Her gaze wandered to the train-track scrapes on Cordelia's arm. "Are you…"
"Fight with an evil lawyer. Clubbed with a prosthetic hand. But I got him in my own way!" She mimed poking someone in the eye.
Buffy smiled. "Well, some of us are going to the Bronze tonight. Wanna come? They just did a big remodeling…"
"Well, I look like crap and I'm all …"
"We'll manage," said Buffy firmly. "You look like you can use a night out."
When Cordelia rose, she was encouragingly steady on her feet. Giles pointed her to the bathroom so she could clean herself up, and Buffy faced him anxiously.
"What was that about, Giles? Is she ok?"
He nodded. "Just a bit burned out. She needed to vent, and didn't think she could do it there. They tend to be…a bit protective."
Buffy nodded. "We haven't talked a lot since she's moved, and L.A. can be scary. I had no idea things were bad enough to...I mean, to run away…"
"There are things about her life that you don't know, Buffy. She's changed a lot in the past two years."
He lowered his voice as they heard the water shut off in the bathroom. "She has a lot going on right now, but I impressed upon her the importance of sharing her feelings more regularly, so they don't build up the point where she has to run away again. She'll mend, I think." His eyes shone solemnly. "Take her out, Buffy. Give her a night of normal, teenage fun. You both could use it."
Cordelia emerged from the bathroom, face washed and hair brushed. "You ready?" she asked.
Buffy nodded. "Just let me grab my stuff…"
She turned to Giles. "Thanks for listening."
He smiled. "Any time."
"And Giles?"
"Umm?"
"Gunn's probably gonna call about his truck, which I sort of borrowed without asking. Tell him it's fine, I'm fine, and the two of us will be back by late afternoon."
Under the circumstances, he didn't feel he should reprimand her about the truck theft. "Done. Frankly, I'm amazed it's taken them this long to track you down."
"And one more thing: the conversation we had…private. Not a word to Wesley about what I told you. I came to Sunnydale to visit friends, that's all."
"Of course."
She held his gaze. "I mean it. No please-take-care-of-the-fragile-girly-girl stuff or anything. Not a word."
He doubted they knew how personally she had been taking things, and how deeply the stress of the past few weeks had penetrated. He hoped she would change her mind about confiding in them, her closest friends in Los Angeles. But for now, he was content that at least he knew. He understood why she would want to save face with Wesley and Gunn. Over time, she might open up more to them, stop covering her vulnerability with the Queen C veneer she still slipped into when she felt powerless. But for now…she had him. And she knew she could have him any time she needed him. She knew she didn't have to let it get this bad. So for now, he was content to finish this night as he began it, with Buffy kneeling in his doorway checking her supplies. Somewhere underneath the stakes and daggers, she had stashed the perfect shade of lipstick to bring out Cordelia's eyes, and she wasn't leaving for the Bronze until she found it.