Lost 4
I wake up the next morning and my first thought is of Angel. It’s not exactly an unusual experience. Ever since I met Angel he has been the first thing on my mind nearly every morning (apart from the odd occasion where my thoughts are consumed by lateness, or exams, or remnants of dreams of giant hotdog sausages chasing me down the street – don’t ask). Even in those very early days, before I realised I was in love with him, he occupied my mind. His infuriating Mystery Man attitude irritated me beyond belief and I was torn between the desire to tell him to ‘shove it’ and the urge to pin him to the ground and force his secrets out of him. Basically, he got under my skin and he’s stayed there ever since.
But this morning when I think of him it’s different to the dull ache I’ve been feeling in my gut since the day after my seventeenth birthday. This time I wake up excited, brimming with the anticipation of seeing him. I remember again what it was like to be sixteen, when I counted the minutes until we were together and the world seemed less scary just because he was in it. Today I wake full of hope, instead of depressed and empty. I literally leap up out of bed in my rush to find him, to see his face, to hear his voice, to reassure myself that yesterday actually happened.
But when I survey the room full of sleeping bodies I do not see him. After the initial fuzz of sleep has cleared from my head I begin to realise why. Sunlight streams in through the room’s floor to ceiling windows and it isn’t exactly a very vampire friendly environment. Tiptoeing my way out of the room, being careful not to disturb any of my sleeping friends, I methodically begin searching the rest of the school for him, checking all the darkened classrooms, but with no success. I am beginning to panic that Angel hasn’t come back after patrol, he could have been killed by a demon, or got caught out by the dawn. What if I lost him just as I thought I’d got him back?
I head back to the team’s designated bedroom and nudge Giles awake.
“Angel isn’t here.” I whisper urgently to my former Watcher. “He didn’t come back this morning.”
Giles yawns widely and fixes me with an irritated look. “Angel probably just went back to the mansion. He said he wanted to investigate the damage there, anyway.” Giles explains sleepily. “Now go back to bed, Buffy, it’s still far too early.” He rolls over away from me, turning towards the window. “Good Lord!” He exclaims suddenly, reaching for his glasses.
I follow his gaze out through the window and across the sports field. Gathered in the distance is a whole cavalcade of military vehicles and personnel. I suck in a surprised breath.
“Looks like the cavalry’s arrived.” I remark, raising my eyebrows slightly.
“Why didn’t you mention they were here before?” Asks Giles.
I blush slightly. “I, uh, didn’t notice.” It was true. I had been so occupied with finding Angel, that I had been completely oblivious to anything else. If the sky had fallen during the night then I probably wouldn’t have realised. “You know what I’m like before I’ve had my first cup of coffee.” I attempt a joke and Giles rolls his eyes, sighing heavily. I smile broadly at his response. This is the first sign of our old camaraderie returning and it is gratifying to see.
The others are beginning to stir at the sounds of our conversation and their eyes slide towards the windows, murmurs of surprise echoing at the sight they see outside. I don’t know why we are all so stunned really, it is only logical that outside help should come sometime. But being suspended in Sunnydale’s own special bubble of reality often makes you forget that outside of the town everything is different – normal – that life continues elsewhere even if it doesn’t here. It is amazing how quickly the this place works its magic on you, I have been back here less than 24 hours and already the rest of the world has begun to fall away. The thought of outside help hadn’t even crossed my mind, but now that it is here the relief I feel and can sense in the others is immense. This isn’t just our crisis any longer; someone else has come to deal with it.
After quickly getting ready to face the world, the small group of us, headed by Giles, set out towards the gathering of troops. I am slightly nervous about the meeting and strangely territorial as well. I resent having to hand over the responsibility of my town to other people. I have been away from Sunnydale for a whole year and yet I still think of it as mine, that’s the effect this place has on you. Once you’ve lived here it becomes part of you and you never really leave, no matter how far away you go.
The army leader is dismissive of Giles, assuming he has come to ask for aid, instead of giving it. He directs us impatiently to the supplies and medical tent, quickly turning back to the conference he is having with a junior officer.
“Um, pardon me, sir.” Giles continues his efforts to be heard. “But we do not require your assistance. We thought we’d come to better inform you about the crisis and the steps that have been taken so far to manage it.”
This caught the Colonel’s attention. “Steps taken so far? But I thought we were the first on the scene.”
I had to step in here. Giles was just being far too reserved and British about the whole thing. “Yeah, you are – what did you do, march here in formation?” I address him sarcastically, enjoying every minute of it. There are certain benefits to being the Slayer, which I had all but forgotten until now. Getting to tear shreds out of other people without fear of recourse is one of them. “Somebody had to take over here, while we were waiting for you to arrive.” I try to ignore the nagging voice in my head reminding me of my own lateness, as I speak.
The army man looks amazed that someone would dare speak to him like this. When he finally recovers his composure he motions for Giles to lead the way back to the school.
* * * * *
Over the past year I’ve had a lot of spare time to read. No friends, no social life, no hobbies, you have to fill up your time somehow. And I kind of regretted the fact that I’d never done much reading before, that I’d never even considered it worthwhile. I was always too busy, had more interesting, or exciting, or important things to do with my life. But I was walking home from work one night, looking forward only to an evening spent alone in front of the TV, when I passed a second hand book store. In amongst all the piles of battered paperbacks on display was an older volume, with a deep red dust jacket and the title written in faded gold leaf on its spine. It reminded me of something I’d seen Angel pouring over once. He’d always had a book open in his apartment, sometimes more than one.
Of course, the books Angel read were never ones I was going to pick up. Mainly because they were mostly in foreign languages and always old leather bound volumes by reportedly famous authors that I should have heard of, but hadn’t. Occasionally, when the chaos that was our lives back then calmed slightly, and we got the chance for some quiet time together, I would crawl into his lap and he would read to me. It was usually poetry, or some deep and meaningful passage from a book that he said made him think of me when he read it. Generally, I didn’t appreciate the words, just his deep, melodic voice washing over me as he recited them and his strong arms wrapped around my waist. I felt so safe then, so safe and so loved. I missed that feeling.
On that particular day I picked up the book and turned it over in my hands. It was heavy and dusty and starting to fall to pieces in places, but I thought of the many different people who had read the words on its pages before me as well as all those who had ever read the words of the novel, whether from this copy or another. Maybe even Angel had read it and so if I did too then it would be something we shared, a way of feeling closer to him. I went in and bought the book and when I got home, instead of staring vacantly at the TV all night, watching but not really seeing, I curled up in the corner of the sofa with my new purchase and I began to read.
The novel turned out to be Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. It was good, but not brilliant, not my type of thing really. Too old fashioned. But I’d enjoyed the experience of reading, immersing myself into another character’s life and forgetting mine for a while. It took me three straight evenings to get through the book and when I’d finished I felt at a loss for something to do. I was disappointed, restless, I’d got to the end of the story, now what? So, the next day I bought another book, something more modern that I thought would appeal to me a bit more. And after that I was hooked. I read a new book every week, always something different – thrillers, romances, classical literature, horror stories… It was my form of escapism. I could become engrossed in a book and Buffy would disappear. The effect was only temporary – I put the novel down and my life still existed beyond its pages – but it helped a lot, just to have a momentary interlude from my problems. I think that’s what kept me sane for a long time.
But, anyway, to my point. One of the books I read during this time was Day of the Tryffids by John Wyndham. It was about a world taken over by a genetically engineered race of intelligent and vicious plants. Sounds crazy, I know, but no more so than some of the things I’ve seen in my life, I can tell you. Anyway, all the humans in this world, apart from a very few, had gone blind one evening. And everywhere was plunged into absolute chaos. Whole societies broke down, as people were no longer able to maintain them. They were left just wandering the streets, trying to rebuild their lives from the wreckage of what was left. And that’s what it feels like I’m doing now.
Long talks with the army persuaded them to accept our help in cleaning up Sunnydale. This is, after all, our town and we are ultimately responsible for it. Plus we were worried about some of the dangers in the town, which the army might not exactly be equipped to deal with. Even in broad daylight it is dangerous. Vampires may have an intolerance to sunlight, but demons do not, and in the chaos they are no longer afraid to show themselves and attack during the day. In some respects it makes them even more worrying. They are not just mythical creatures restricted to the dark shadows of the night, they are real threats that impinge upon our daily lives.
So, at this exact moment in time I am walking the streets of my hometown, locating and dealing with all the corpses that line them. To say it is not a nice job is approximately the understatement of the millennium. It a hideous job and it makes me feel sick to the stomach to even contemplate doing it, but it is very necessary and I understand why the group nominated me for it. For a start the dead bodies will attract the demons and that’s makes any task relating to them a risky undertaking, all the better to be done by a Slayer. Secondly, the victims need identifying. I’m local to the area, even if I’ve been away recently, so that gives me a better chance of recognising people I know. Thirdly, it is a test. A challenge set by my friends in order to gauge my commitment. Cruel, yes. Fair, possibly.
You see they don’t know if I’m here to stay again, or if I’m going to run away as soon as things get difficult. The actions I took, no matter what their justification, wounded my friends deeply. I failed them and I betrayed them and they won’t forgive that easily, so I’m going to have to earn their trust back. And this is the first step. This is where I have to prove to them that they can rely on me once more, that I’m ready to accept the duties and responsibilities that come with my life in Sunnydale. And that’s fine, I see their point of view completely – they don’t want to let me back into their lives again unless they know I’m going to remain there for good. But the problem is I’m not sure if I’m up to that yet.
The way the others see it is that the experience of Angelus and sending Angel to Hell triggered off some sort of breakdown in me. Something snapped and I just couldn’t take life in Sunnydale anymore, so I had to get away. And that’s true, that’s exactly what did happen. I suffered an emotional overload so I shut down. I closed off my heart and my memory and removed myself from everything that stirred any sorts of feelings in me whatsoever. But then my friends think I’ve had a year to recover from this breakdown, that it’s been a whole twelve months and now I should be fine. In fact, according to them, I should have been fine ages ago and the only reason I didn’t call them or come home was through cowardice or apathy. They couldn’t be more wrong.
I have not healed progressively throughout the year, if anything my emotional problems have become worse. Before they were acute and reactive to the situation I was in. I was grieving and guilty and distraught, no wonder I wasn’t acting rationally. But gradually, as time passed, the new behaviours I had picked up in order to cope with my circumstances became ingrained. They were part of who I was and hence who I still am now. So, it’s difficult for me. I am anxious all the time and easily upset. I’m insecure and my self-confidence is shattered. I’ve acquired about ten different nervous mannerisms, of which smoking was only one. I’m offhand and distant, reluctant to talk at length to others and never revealing information about myself. I’m paranoid that everyone dislikes me or is afraid of what I might be able to do to them. And I have a constant and nagging sense of guilt and self-hatred.
It’s the guilt that pushes me on, however. It’s the feeling that I have to make up for the indiscretions I have committed in the past or for not being the kind, good and strong person I should have been. I get the sense that this is how Angel feels all the time. He has this tremendous burden weighing him down, this voice in his head telling him he doesn’t deserve to be loved or to be cared for. He believes the only way his existence can be worthwhile is if he is trying to make amends for the things he has done in the past. And that’s what I’m trying to do now. I’m trying to apologise with my actions, I’m trying to fix things between me and my friends.
It’s so hard though. It seems to be an endless road along which each step is excruciatingly slow and difficult. It would be so much easier just to give up now. I want desperately to turn away from the carnage, to not have the sickly sweet smell of decaying bodies beginning to rise up into my nostrils. I want to run away from the body of Mrs Hyatt, the lady who lived six doors down from me on my road. I never really knew her, but it still hurts that she’s dead. It kills me inside that if I’d been here I might have been able to save her. And I know that if I leave now, if I steal one of the cars abandoned on the edge of town then I would be able to put all this behind me. I would find a nice bar to sit in and have a drink, then I could catch a bus as far away as possible and find a nice safe life without reminders. God that sounds attractive just about now.
But I know it’s not possible. I know wherever I go these bodies will follow me. They’ll dance on the edge of my conscious mind and walk through my dreams until they begin to drive me over the edge again. And then they’ll be no second chances, no falling into Angel’s arms and no warm hands of friendship extended to me once again. I’m stuck walking down this road, no matter how much its stones hurt my feet to tread on them.
Victim number 19 is zipped into a body bag and loaded into the back of an unmarked truck. Photographs have been taken and the body’s identity and position recorded. It’s another statistic now, another name on another government list, rather than an individual person who suffered a tragic end. In a way this depersonalisation helps, it’s what I’ve become so practised at – not seeing people as individuals but rather has problems to be dealt with, obstacles getting in my way as I struggle through another day. I even lost the sense of my own identity, I was just a hollow shell going through the motions. So, I can understand what they’re doing and sympathise with why, but I can’t let myself become a part of this. I need to be able to feel the human emotions, to see the shock and the terror on the dead victims’ faces, in order to stop myself from going down that route again. I don’t want to be a shell again; I want to be full of the emotions that have begun to reawaken in me since I returned to Sunnydale.
So, my stomach churns and my heart aches with every new corpse we come across and I have long since cried all the tears I have in me. Still I proceed, however. I carry on because it is so difficult, because I need to do this not just for my friends, but for myself in order to prove that I am still worthy of something, that there’s still something of Buffy’s strength and courage left in me. And there must be, as with each new body we reach I think this is it, I’ve had enough, I’m just going to collapse right now. But I don’t. I reach down deeper inside of me, to reserves I hadn’t even realised I possessed and I keep going. I march steadily onwards, sometimes faltering, stumbling, occasionally stopping to vomit up the remains of my breakfast, but always continuing with the task in hand. I can do this…
Shouts echo from across the street, from the dilapidated ruins of the Bronze. They’ve found someone in there, someone alive. I rush over and my heart leaps up into my throat as I catch a glimpse of long tanned legs, streaked with dirt and blood, and dark, matted hair framing a familiar face.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God… Cordelia.
Absolute horror rushes through me as I realise I hadn’t even missed her amongst the others. I hadn’t even noticed her absence or asked about her and they hadn’t mentioned anything. Did they just assume she was dead? Did they search for her amongst the survivors and not find her? Suddenly I realise how deeply this disaster must have scarred my friends. Just because everyone important to me has made it through the crisis, doesn’t mean that’s true for my friends. What about their parents? Their families? I didn’t even think to ask if Willow’s Mom and Dad were okay, or Xander’s. I was too self-centred and self-absorbed. It never even crossed my mind to wonder where Cordelia was.
I walk slowly over to the body lying prone on the ground. Cordelia’s eyes are closed and she is unconscious, but I can still see her chest rising and falling slightly as she breathes.
“Cordy?” I whisper anxiously.
“You know her?” An army type guy currently measuring Cordelia’s pulse asks.
I nod. “She-she’s a friend of mine.” I answer, feeling bad about the lie. She and I were never really friends, if we were then I would have thought of her at least once during my absence from Sunnydale. I would have included her in the category of those I let down, and I would have cared about seeing her on my return. Why wasn’t she in the library with the rest of them when they performed the ritual? Poor Cordelia. Poor Xander, how is he going to deal with this?
“Is she going to be all right?” I address the army guy, who seems to know what he’s doing.
He flashes a worried look in my direction. “A beam fell on her,” he explains. “She’s suffered some pretty severe internal injuries. She’s probably going to need surgery.”
“But you can help her, right?” I ask desperately. They have to be able to help her. Too many people have died already – I won’t see it happen to Cordelia.
“We’ll do our best.” He reassures me, but as he says the words a little bit of hope inside me dies. Even if Cordy does survive then her life will be irrevocably changed by all of this, everyone’s lives will. It’s not just a case of cleaning up the area then forgetting anything ever happened. I realise right here, right now, that nothing in Sunnydale can ever be the same again.
* * * * *
I exit the medical tent the army have set up and lean tiredly against the side of one of their trucks. I feel exhausted, drained and the urge to just run away has never been greater. But instead of escaping, I force myself to stand up straight and head back to the school. I dare not even ask if things could possibly get any worse for fear that I will tempt fate. When I sought out Xander and told him about finding Cordy injured but alive, he had turned as white as a sheet and rushed off to the medical tent. Willow and I ran after him, to check if he was okay, but when he reached Cordelia he just took hold of her hand and started crying. He repeated over and over again, “What have I done, what have I done, what have I done…?”, until I could no longer bear to listen.
I turned to walk out only to notice Willow also with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Are you okay, Will?” I asked her worriedly. She shook her head.
“It’s our fault.” She said quietly.
“No, it’s not, of course it’s not.” I reply. “You didn’t know what was going to happen with the ritual-”
“No.” Willow interrupted me. “I’m not talking about that. I mean it’s mine and Xander’s fault Cordelia was hurt. She should have been in the library with us, but she wasn’t.”
“Why not?” I asked apprehensively.
Willow emitted another audible sob. “We, that is Xander and me, we – I split him and Cordelia up. Xander cheated on her with me and she could never forgive him.” She said the last few words very rapidly and looked away from me guiltily.
“You and Xander?” I exclaimed, astounded. “But what about Oz?”
Willow moaned slightly before answering. “Oz, he t-took me back, but Xander and Cordy never made up. She refused to be friends with any of any more. That’s why she wasn’t there. If Xander and I hadn’t…then they would still be together and Cordelia would be all right.”
“Oh, Willow…” I began. “You can’t possibly blame yourself for that…” I reached out to give her a reassuring hug, but she slipped out of my grasp, instead heading over towards Xander and placing her arms round his shoulders. I watched the pair comfort each other for a moment, suddenly feeling very out of place, then crept out of the tent.
On my way back across the field one of the army guys stops to talk to me. I vaguely recognise him as the junior officer from this morning, registering that he was also one of the party who found Cordelia.
“Hey,” he called. “Buffy, isn’t it?”
I nod without saying anything, continuing my brisk walk. He falls into step beside me.
“Riley Finn.” He attempts to introduce himself, but on getting no response just carries on speaking. “You handled yourself pretty well today, especially standing up to the Colonel like that.”
“Thanks.” I answer brusquely, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment, let alone some pathetic GI Joe look-a-like army guy.
“No, I mean it, really.” He continued doggedly, obviously oblivious to the hostile hints I have been dropping. “You were really great dealing with those bodies. There’re not many people who would have been able to cope with that. You must be someone special.”
I whirl around at this, disbelievingly. Is the guy trying to hit on me now or something? How’s that for tasteless? I stare straight into his face, adopting my most aggressive stance. “You don’t know anything about me.” I tell him, before marching off in the opposite direction. I don’t want to go back to the school now, I’ve had just about all I can take for the day. Now I have only one destination in mind. The mansion.
* * * * *
Maybe this is selfish of me, abandoning my duties yet again to disappear off to find Angel, but I can’t help it. He has been hovering in the back of my thoughts all day, always there setting me on edge, making me impatient to see him again. I cannot calm down, or rest until we are together once more. Only in his presence can I truly relax and cast away all the anxieties and worries I am suffering. I feel a twinge of guilt that I am just disappearing again, not telling anyone where I’m going, but just heading off to the mansion without a second thought for anyone else but myself. I should be staying behind, working extra hard to sort things out at the school. After a whole year of shirking my responsibilities I should be there making amends, trying to behave like the model Slayer, and daughter, and friend. But I can’t concentrate on any of these things, until I’ve sorted out the confusing mess that is my relationship with Angel. I can only rebuild one bridge at a time and he has to be first on my list of priorities.
I have no illusions things are going to get any better for me once this crisis is over. At the moment I’m too distracted by the disaster to be hit with the true stresses of returning to Sunnydale and being Buffy. But once things are sorted out properly I will have to work on reconstructing my life here, which isn’t exactly going to be easy. For start, there’s the task of moving back home, regaining my Mom’s trust, and reconciling her to my life as the Slayer. Speaking of which, there’s my Sacred Duties. I will have to go back to taking them seriously, rather than just slaying when I feel the urge. And I will become responsible for protecting my friends and family again – when I make a decision or take a risk I will have to think of them as well as myself. Then there’s school. I have a horrible feeling Mom will make me go back and take my senior year, whereas everyone I know will already have gone off to college. And finally I have to put things straight with my friends – they may be glad to see that I’m all right, but that doesn’t mean they forgive me and I’m sensing that it will be a long time before they do so completely.
I have all this to deal with, all these important problems and yet what I’m most concerned about is Angel. There is a simple reason for this, a truth that I only just realised throughout the past year. With Angel at my side nothing seems quite as bad. He makes me stronger, more able to deal with everything else life throws at me. So, I want to sort things out with him before I face anyone else, because I know with him there it will all be less daunting and less hurtful. There will be at least one light in darkness, one force to anchor me to Sunnydale and inspire me to keep on trying. I’m still on my Alcoholics Anonymous mentality. Cope with each day as it comes, each hour, each minute. One step at a time. And the first step I choose to take is towards Angel. When I rebuild my life I need him as my foundation.
And until I can be sure that he will be there for me like that, that things between us can be mended, then I can’t concentrate on dealing with any other problems. I can’t devote all my energy to cleaning up the town, or comforting Willow, or regaining Giles trust, because I’m distracted all the time. Distracted by thoughts of Angel and a morbid fear we won’t be able to sort things out. That is what bothers me the most, you see, the worry that somehow our relationship will just collapse in on itself. We’ll still be alive and well and fighting the good fight, we’ll just find it impossible to be together. When we give up on each other like that, then I’ll know there’s a problem, because it’ll mean love is no longer enough. It’ll extinguish any hope I ever had of fairness or happiness in this world and then I will truly be lost.
But we haven’t quite reached that point yet, I realise as I enter the mansion and immediately sense his presence. The building had survived remarkably well, considering. The framework is still standing and all the damage that has occurred is superficial. There is a hole in the roof and the interior is a shambles, but otherwise it has fared much better than most other structures in town. I get the feeling this has something to do with the place itself. There’s something different and magical about it, which is probably why Angelus chose to live here initially. There were many finer places in town he could have chosen if he wanted the best, but instead he chose here, perhaps because the house had a power he could sense. After all it was where the vortex to Hell opened up and where Angel returned to this earth.
So far I have tried to forget that morning when I saw Angel in the mansion and thought it a hallucination. It is too painful to think that had I not written it off as a trick of my mind and run out then so much heartache could have been saved. Angel and I wouldn’t have lost a whole nine months with one another. I could have mended the scars inflicted upon him by Hell, instead of leaving his rehabilitation to Drusilla, because God knows what damage that must have done. If I’d returned then, my friends would have been much quicker to forgive me, much more understanding. I would have been present for the opening of the Hellmouth and I could have helped deal with the crisis. Things would have been so much different and inevitably better.
But you can’t change the past and I have long given up trying to do so. What’s done is done and I can only hope that the damage my actions caused is still repairable.
Angel appears in the hallway before me, his hair rumpled and his eyes bleary from sleep. The sight causes a pang of desire to flash through my gut. He looks so strong and yet so vulnerable at the same time. And of course, don’t forget sexy. He looks very, very sexy. Memories from last night drift across my mind and it’s all I can do not to rush straight over there and launch myself into his arms right there and then. But I also remember the huge number of unresolved issues between us, not all of which can be addressed by sex. And I’m not even sure if he’d want to right now. I mean, I’m not exactly looking at my most attractive. I haven’t changed clothes or showered in a good thirty-six hours. My hair is greasy and I doubt I smell good. But then the first time we slept together I must have looked about as alluring as a drowned rat, so to be honest I’m completely at a loss to know what Angel finds attractive in me.
“Buffy,” he says, jolting me out of my reverie.
“Angel,” I return, smiling shyly at him.
He motions for me to follow him back into the room he has just come from and I do so, impressed when I enter at the effort he has made to clean up the place. The room nearly looks normal, the heavy curtains covering the window still hung in place, illumination provided by candelabra and a fire lit in the grate, and a bed made up in the centre of the floor, dishevelled covers indicating its recent occupation. I drag my gaze away from the mattress and back to Angel, drinking in every inch of his appearance from his bare feet right up to his own eyes, which study me with equal scrutiny.
“So,” I begin awkwardly when I have committed his image to memory. “You said we should talk…”
“We should.” He agrees and sits heavily down on the bed. I perch next to him – there is no other seating in the room – and stare straight-ahead, waiting for him to speak.
“Where’ve you been all this time, Buffy?” He asks gently, taking care not to make the question too demanding.
“Around.” I say noncommittally. “Nowhere, everywhere. I never stayed in one place for long.”
“Why?” He asks in the most fundamental sense. This is his way of asking me to tell him everything, why I ran away, why this past year was so difficult for me, why I came back. He wants me to tell him my story and I do, spilling out every little detail to him, every little hurt. I talk about missing him, about feeling guilty, about Julia and the jobs I’ve worked, about the dreams and seeing Angelus, about my anxieties, my tears and about seeing Sunnydale on the news and just knowing I had to return. When I get to meeting him again, I trail off blushing. There are still some things just too awkward to discuss with him.
Angel seems to understand this, however, and gently brushes a stray hair out of my face, filling the gap in our conversation. I tip my head instinctively, leaning it against the palm that slides past my cheek. My eyes lock with Angel’s and we stay like that for a long time, just lost in each other’s gaze. Eventually he lowers his hand and turns back away from me.
“So, what about you?” I ask, trying to inject some lightness into my tone. The atmosphere between us is so heavy, so loaded with unanswered questions and unspoken desires. I want to relieve it before I either have to jump him or run out crying.
“What about me?” He asks with a smile in his voice, automatically picking up my change of pace.
“Well,” I begin getting up off the bed and wandering about the room. “For a start, when did you get so pally with my Mom?”
He follows me over to the fireplace and stokes it thoughtfully. I am grateful for the heat it provides – no matter how warm it is outside the mansion always seems cold and gloomy. When Angel has finished his task he fixes me with an expression of mock seriousness. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you this, Buffy.” He pauses dramatically. “But your mother and I have been seeing each other for the past couple of months.”
For a second I just stare at him, but then I see the corners of his mouth twisting up in a smile and I burst out laughing. Soon I am giggling helplessly, clutching my side and gasping for breath as the hysterics over take me. I collapse back against the wall then slide down it, sitting in an unceremonious heap on the floor as I try to control the last of my laughter. Angel positions himself next to me and waits for my breathing to return to normal.
“Are you done?” He asks finally.
I nod. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “When did you develop a sense of humour?” I quip back at him.
“Oh, I’ve always had a sense of humour.” He answers. “I just hide it better than most people.”
I smile at this, hearing the truth behind the words. Angel has a beautiful personality, he is loving, kind, generous, considerate. But he is so crippled by guilt and pain that more often than not these traits never get the chance to surface, and he just appears dark and brooding. I think that’s one of the things I love about him, that when we’re together I get to see the real Angel, not just the defensive one he presents to the rest of the world. I lean my head against his shoulder.
“Seriously, though, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be one of my Mom’s favourite people.”
He thinks about this for a moment. “I wasn’t at first, but then we found that we have a few important things in common.”
“What?”
“We both love you more than anything else in the world.” He replies quietly. I am silent in the wake of this statement. Once again Angel has robbed me of the ability to even think, let alone speak a coherent sentence. My mind boggles at the way he can say such beautiful, romantic, sentiment-filled things so matter-of-factly. There is no fanfare behind his words, they are not meant as a grand gesture but simply as a statement of truth.
I snuggle into him, wrapping my left arm, which isn’t already pressed against him, across his chest. Closing my eyes, I just enjoy the feeling of having him near, revelling in the knowledge that he still loves me. “I missed you.” I whisper to him. “I thought I’d die without you.”
I feel the slight pressure of his lips on the top of my head, kissing my hair. With my free hand I trace patterns over the hard, defined muscles of his chest and shoulders, the thin cotton vest he is wearing providing only a meagre barrier to my touch.
“What was it like when you came back?” I ask in a small voice, temporarily halting the movement of my fingers while he answers.
“Difficult.” He sighs deeply, causing my body to rise and fall with his. “Drusilla, she didn’t know about the restoration, so she expected Angelus to be back. She wanted me to do all these things – to drink people or to hurt them. And I couldn’t. Sometimes…sometimes I wondered if I’d ever left Hell at all, or if it was just another trick being played on me.”
“Oh,” I say in reply. I am glad of his honesty, it’s good that he won’t lie to me. We shouldn’t have secrets – not now. But it hurts soul deep to hear of this suffering I inflicted upon him. “I’m sorry -”
“No, Buffy.” He halts me. “You shouldn’t be. You didn’t have any choice.” His voice gains conviction. “I deserved to go to Hell for everything I did.”
“But-but, I was here when you were returned.” I confess tearfully. “I was here and I could have helped you and I ran away...”
He tilts my head so that our gazes meet once more. “Shush, Buffy, shush.” He murmurs and I can just look at him, just fall silently into those dark, intense eyes of his. They truly are windows to the soul, because when I look now I can see everything that is Angel. Love, sorrow, compassion, forgiveness, concern, guilt. But in Angelus’ eyes I saw only nothingness.
“We’ve both done things we regret,” he continues to soothe me. “We’ve both made mistakes, but we have to put those behind us now. They’re in the past. There’s nothing you could ever do, Buffy, that I wouldn’t forgive. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I breathe in return, capturing his face in the palm of my hand. The seconds take hours to tick by as our lips draw closer together, pulled as if by some invisible magnetic force. Then they touch in the lightest of kisses, soft, tentative, unsure. This is so unlike last night, this is slow, decided. Whereas before we were acting impulsively, passionately, out of desperation to be close to one another, now we are making a rational decision that this is what we want. There is nowhere else in the world I would rather be that here, brushing my lips gently across Angel’s.
I push more forcefully against his mouth, taking things up a notch. He responds immediately, grazing my bottom lip with blunt teeth, wrestling his tongue with mine and capturing my shoulders in his strong grasp. I entangle my hand in his hair, pressing his face closer to mine, deepening the kiss until finally all my oxygen is used up and I must pull away from him, gasping for breath. My heart is racing with anticipation as Angel reverently traces the contours of my face then tips my chin up with his finger, capturing my lips in a sweet, tender kiss before standing and offering me his hand. I take it and he leads me over to the bed, sitting me down on its edge.
“Everything
you are, everything you’ll be,
Touches
the current of love so deep in me.
Every
sigh in the night, every tear that you cry…
Seduces
me.”
I am still nervous around him like this. Perhaps it’s just my relative inexperience in awe of his 250 years’ worth. Perhaps we still haven’t completely healed the wounds inflicted by my seventeenth birthday. Perhaps it’s just in expectation of what’s to come. He kneels before me and slips off my shoes, running his short nails down the sole of each of my bare feet, causing my toes to curl over pleasurably. Then he slides his hands up over the outside of my legs, skimming my hips and stopping on my waist. I open my legs, allowing him to shuffle closer to me and our lips meet in a long passionate kiss.
“And
all that I am, and all that I’ll be,
Means
nothing at all if you can’t be with me.
Your
most innocent kiss, or your sweetest caress…
Seduces
me.”
He eases my top off over my head, exposing my breasts to him. He takes both in his hands, the nipples springing to attention under his touch, then lowers his lips to plant kisses all across my chest. While his tongue sweeps in circles around my left breast his fingers wonder over my back, running up and down my spine, sending delightful shivers through me. I drop my head to rest it on his shoulder and begin to lave at the sensitive areas around his neck. We make this deliberately slow, savouring every moment, every touch, every taste. This time is our time, the world outside no longer exists. Whereas my problems will still be present when this afternoon is gone, now they are pushed completely from my head. The painful history between Angel and me is forgotten, as is our uncertain future. All that exists is the love and desire we feel in this moment.
“I
don’t care about tomorrow,
I’ve
given up on yesterday.
Here
and now are all that matters,
Right
here with you is where I’ll stay.”
I slide off his vest running my fingers across his chest. His body is as hard, smooth and cool as marble. He is perfection itself and he is mine. Every muscle, every sinew, every inch of pale flesh, they all belong to me right at this moment. He exists solely for me and I for him. The black drawstring pants he was wearing fall easily to the floor and I drink in the magnificent sight of his naked form towering over me. His erection hovers close to my lips and I plant a tentative kiss on its tip. Gaining in boldness I move my tongue in long strokes along his length, eventually taking him inside my mouth, while his hands brush over my hair and shoulders.
“Everything
in this world, every voice in the night,
Every
little thing of beauty shining through in your eyes,
And
all that is you, becomes part of me too,
Because
all that is you…
Seduces
me.”
Smiling he pulls away from me, pushing me back on to the bed as he does so. In one smooth movement he divests me of the rest of my clothing and plunges his fingers into my already throbbing centre. Sliding into and out of me with a fluid rhythm he brings his mouth down to my clitoris flicking gently at it with his tongue. I can only stand this dual stimulation for so long and soon I am rushing towards the edge of my pleasure, stretching the boundaries of my body, as my climax rips through me and white spots float before my eyes. I gasp wildly and pull Angel’s face up to mine for a few hurried kisses. As our lip contact becomes more insistent I suddenly break it off, flipping him over and climbing on top of his chest, my legs straddling him.
“And
if I should die tomorrow,
I’ll
go down with a smile on my face.
I
thank God I’ve ever known you,
I fall
down on my knees for the every day.”
Carefully I lift myself up then lower back down onto him, taking him inside me. I rock my hips gently forward, matching my thrusts easily with his below me. As I ride him he captures my hands and our fingers entwine. Arousal begins to build again inside me, my head light with the blood rushing through it. I feel so full with him inside me, completed. My fists clench automatically, digging my nails into his palms, as we come together, our synchronicity perfect as always. As the waves of pleasure finally ebb away, tears fall down my cheeks. Our eyes meet and lock on each other.
“I love you.” We whisper simultaneously, the first words we have spoken for a long time.
I roll off him and snuggle into his chest, unable to hide the hide the smile that rises to my lips. He kisses me tenderly on the forehead, wrapping me in his strong embrace. I close my eyes, suddenly very tired. Vaguely I feel warm bedcovers being pulled up over my still naked body before drifting off into unconsciousness. My last thought is that the dream I’ve had for so long is finally coming true. I’m finally falling asleep safe in Angel’s arms, just as I’ve always wanted to. And this time he will still be here when I wake up.
“Every sigh in the night, every tear that you cry,
Seduces me,
Seduces me.
And all that is you, seduces me.”
(Notes ~ Song lyrics belong to Celine Dion, btw!)