Lost 6

Learning to Live with It

                 Cordelia is being discharged from hospital today. I wanted to go to LA with Xander, Mom and Giles to pick her up, but they convinced me it was a bad idea. I think they were probably right. To think of what Cordelia faces in her future now makes me ashamed to remember all the times I ever complained, or cried, or thought my life wasn’t worth living. Because what has happened to Cordy is far worse than anything that I have ever been through. Beautiful, confident, lively, self-assured Queen C, the girl who had everything anyone could have possibly wanted. Now, she’s battered and broken, all her privileges torn cruelly away from her, a shadow of her former self.

                They hadn’t expected her to survive after they pulled her out of the rubble. The army doctors knew her internal injuries were great – she had been trapped under a pile of twisted metal for many hours – but they rushed her to the nearest hospital in an army helicopter anyway, and performed emergency surgery.  And she made it. Always a fighter our Cordelia, always tougher than she looked. I bet sometimes now she wishes she wasn’t. It sounds awful and I hate my self for even thinking it, but if I were her, I would have wanted to die there in the Bronze where I was at my best, where I had the power and the control and was worshipped from afar. I would have wanted to go right then at the pinnacle of my life, instead of having it dragged out in the most tragic of ways.      

                I remember being at the hospital in LA when she came out of surgery. We were all there – Giles, Xander, Willow, Wesley – all expecting to hear the worst, because we’d seen her ashen face and the purple line of bruising across her belly. We’d all sensed death hanging over her and we thought that the surgery was just a formality, the last battle of a war already won. But then the doctors came out, each anonymously robed in their surgical scrubs – I can’t even recall their features or their names now, just green gowns and face masks – and they told us that she lived. She came through the operation and she was going to be okay. The relief we felt was palpable, smiles were shared and a feeling of hope filtered through to us. They’d had to remove Cordy’s spleen, but that didn’t matter did it? Who knew what that particular organ did, anyway? She’d survived. She’d got through the tragedy like our little gang always does. We were buoyed then by the notion that nothing can ever happen to us. Whatever life throws at us we cope, we come out the other side bruised and a little dented, but nonetheless intact. Because what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? Wrong.

                 Just as we were starting to celebrate, to plan how to get on with life now this latest catastrophe was averted, the doctor mentioned that there was something else he needed to discuss with us. Nobody was really worried, of course, Cordy was going to be fine, he’d just said so, so what else could there possibly be to worry about? That was when he dropped the bombshell. That was when the news came that made me feel sick and turned even Giles as white as a sheet. Although it had been Cordelia’s internal injuries they were initially most worried about – as these were the ones threatening her life – there had been another complication. When she had been hit by the metal beam falling from the roof of the Bronze she had fallen in a way that broke her backbone. Her body twisted and her spinal cord was severed clean through – Cordelia would never walk again.         

                Still reeling from the shock of the news, we tried to track down Cordy’s parents. They wouldn’t know how seriously ill their daughter was, but the harder we looked for them the more convinced we became they would never know. We found her mother’s body first, killed in a vampire attack about 24 hours after the initial catastrophe, just about the same time I must have been screwing Angel out in the street. Just imagining it brings a taste of bile to my mouth and a deep ache to my heart. A week later we discovered Cordelia’s father too – his body had been burnt beyond recognition and was only identified by dental records. To think about the tragedy on this scale – in terms of actual human loss rather than burnt out buildings or dry statistics – makes me feel so bitter, so hollow, so empty. And yet so lucky, because all the people I love survived. And I hate myself for feeling this little spark of satisfaction – that I’m all right, so nothing else matters. Then I hate myself even more, because this isn’t about me, it’s about Cordelia, the girl who had everything then lost it all.  

                 Before leaving the hospital, after hearing about Cordelia’s condition, some hospital official came over and whispered in Giles’ ear. There was the question of the medical bills. They would have to be settled somehow. Could we please provide Miss Chase’s insurance details? I wanted to lash out at the guy, to hit him, punch him. Cordelia was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, her face almost as white as the starched pillow case it rested upon, her long, tanned elegant legs now utterly useless, and he wanted to know about money. He wanted her to pay for something that was entirely not her fault, to present the doctors with a handsome cheque for cutting her open and removing bits of her and informing her that life as she knew it was now effectively over.

                 But I just stood there, feeling utterly alone as Willow sobbed in Xander’s arms (“I never meant for this to happen. Poor Cordelia. I didn’t hate her, not really. She was so full of life…”). Like she was dead already and maybe she was, or at least the girl we knew was. And Wesley paced back and forth, his movements nervous, anxiety tracing his features. And Giles turned utterly pale and murmured he would sort it out. He was the responsible adult here – he would fix things. Except he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. We were really on our own here. Alone like Cordelia is now.

                 After finding out about Cordelia’s parents, Giles went to see the Chase family lawyer in LA. It felt good for a while to let someone else do the worrying, to be returned to the status of a child in a world so ordinary as a law firm office. Secretaries went about their business and perfectly groomed attorneys swaggered down the halls. Everything was normal here, life was continuing as it always had and a group of scruffy teenagers, with messy hair and torn clothes, were all but ignored. Then Giles came out of the meeting, with an even graver look on his face. I thought it couldn’t possibly be more bad news. Surely the tragedy was over, things were supposed to be looking up from now.

                 He wouldn’t tell us what it was at first and we drove back to the town in silence. There were no words left to be said, no sentiment that could possibly make any of us feel any better and nobody had the heart to make small talk. Then before we all separated for the night, before we all went back to our individual sanctuaries in the arms of lovers or family, Giles related in sombre tones what the lawyer had told him. There was no money to pay the hospital bills, there was no money, period. Cordelia’s parents had lost it all to the IRS – of the whole of the Chase family fortune only their grand house in Sunnydale had remained (until just a few days ago when it was levelled to the ground). And there was no medical insurance either. Cordy’s father had traded in the policy to give himself some extra cash – it wasn’t exactly as if he had foreseen the whole town being destroyed in some freak Hellmouth-related disaster.

                 So, the crux of the matter is, Cordelia is in trouble. She will leave hospital a cripple and an orphan with a debt only marginally smaller than your average third world country’s hanging over her head. I guess that’s why nobody wanted me there. What was I going to say? Hi, Cordy! I know I never liked you when I knew you, but now I feel sorry for you, so I’m trying my hardest to be nice. What can anyone say to make her feel better? What can anyone do to relieve some of the Hell that must be her life right now? At the moment she needs real friends around her, and the saddest thing is: I’m not sure she ever had any.

* * * * *

                 I lie in bed with Angel, observing my new routine. I’m definitely a night person now. Without school or work of any sort, which requires my presence during the day, all my life is centred around the hours of darkness. Currently the two main focuses of energy in my life are Angel and slaying. Angel by definition is a creature of the night, he has always lived this way and now that I’m practically living with him, it is no hardship to adjust my habits to fit in with his. And with my new commitment to slaying I stay out longer and later, often not returning home until the sky begins to lighten in the East. Then I need to sleep through the rest of the day, just to recover from my hours of stressful exertion and fighting.

                 So, this is how it is that I am still resting around lunchtime on this particular Friday morning. Somehow it seems indulgent to be in bed during daylight hours, but the heavy drapes are drawn across the windows and the room’s only illumination is from the fire in the grate, so I suppose it could be any time really. Sometimes when I’m with him like this, cocooned in our own little dark world, I imagine our lives to be different. I dream we’re just an ordinary honeymooning couple in a castle in Scotland, that soon the butler will knock on the door with our breakfast and we’ll eat then dress and go out walking alone in the hills all day. Just us and the sky and the land and the fresh biting air. We’ll come back, exhausted, to a hot nourishing meal then we’ll collapse back into bed again, too tired to do anything but fall asleep holding one another.

                 Or we’re secret lovers escaping in a forbidden affair. We live in a city of millions and yet there exists only each other. Outside the sun burns brightly and the business people rush by, busy – always too busy to stop and look, to pause to enjoy the surroundings, to tell someone they love them. But we know what it’s like to have slow lazy days with no worries and no stress. We pretend we’re working then we escape and make love for hours, exchanging soft words and softer sighs, forever dreading the moment that we part.

                 Angel stirs gradually awake beside me. It is strange that no matter how quiet I am, or how still I lie next to him, he always awakes when I do. I think that maybe he senses the change in my breathing patterns, that even in his unconscious he watches over me, constantly monitoring my welfare.

                 “Hey,” I greet him quietly.

                 “Hey,” he returns with a bleary-eyed smile. In these moments, when he is at his most vulnerable, when he is tired or caught off guard, he looks so utterly human. I say that it doesn’t matter to me that he’s a vampire –and it doesn’t – but it’s always a factor that’s there, registered firmly in the front of my mind, sometimes even adding to the attraction if I am brutally honest with myself. He vampire, me Slayer – that’s always been the fundamental truth of our relationship and sometimes I treasure its uniqueness, while others I curse its perversity. But occasionally, like now, it seems like we are just two ordinary people in love. There are none of the complications or the barriers, just a soft, fuzzy warmth that stretches between us. 

                 “Morning, sunshine.” He brushes some hair off my face and kisses the tip of nose. I giggle helplessly in response to this, impulsively reaching over to tickle him. He doesn’t fight me, or use any of his vampire strength to stop me. His protests are cursory, weak, our supernatural abilities sidelined for the moment. This is just the two of us bonding in the way of any other couple, more about intimacy than sex. I push him down onto his back, continuing my assault with laughter in my eyes and on my lips. I straddle him and he catches my hands this time, ceasing their movements. I struggle briefly, good-naturedly, but the serious look in his eyes stops me. Our game is over for this morning.

                 “Did you sleep well?” I ask him, the formality of the question and the tone I delivered it in, seeming incongruous with the position I now occupy – my legs astride of him, perched on top of his abdomen.

                 “Fine,” he replies. “You?”

                 I climb off him, allowing Angel to pull himself up into a sitting position before cuddling up beside him once more. It’s like I can’t possibly be near him without us touching in some way, almost as though if we aren’t connected physically, if I’m not keeping hold of him tightly, then I’ll lose him again.

                 “Not very well actually,” I answer his question. “I keep…”

                 “Thinking about Cordelia?” He finishes for me. “Yes, I know.”

                 “But she’s lost so much in such a short time. I don’t know what to say or do to make things better for her.”

                 “You don’t have to make everything better for everybody.” He tells me sensibly. I understand his words I really do, but I’m the Slayer, I should be able to do something for this person I once considered to almost be a friend of mine.

                 “I feel so useless, though.” I complain. “I mean everyone else is at least making an effort to help her.” It was true. Giles and Wesley are sorting out the paperwork at the hospital. Xander is busy being the overly concerned friend/ex-boyfriend, fetching magazines for her, telling jokes to try and cheer her up. Willow has produced more baked goods than one person could possibly consume in a lifetime. And even Mom is demonstrating her caring side, having agreed to take Cordelia in once she leaves the hospital. Our new house is ready now, a basic brick-built, three-bedroom family home. And this makes for another dilemma eating away at the back of my mind. Mom wants me to come back and live with her, to return to the way life used to be between us, only this time with Cordelia as an extra addition to the household. But I don’t know if I can. Can I bring myself to give up the independence and freedom I’ve gotten so used to, to relinquish my sanctuary that is the mansion and to live with an overprotective mother and a crippled ex-cheerleader as housemates. God, to think of it in those terms, my life sounds just like a bad soap opera. Except I can’t switch off at the end of the evening, I have to keep living through it.

                 I sigh deeply. “I don’t know what I can do.”

                 “Just be there for her,” Angel says, planting a kiss on my forehead as he does so.

                 “You think I should go and live back home.”

                 He shifts uncomfortably beneath me, knowing he is on stony ground here. The alternative to me moving back with Mom would be to stay in the mansion with him. At the moment I am currently dividing my time between the temporary housing on the edge of town and here, Angel’s home being a convenient and quiet place to sleep through the day after patrolling. But to make the commitment of properly moving in together, that would be a huge step in any relationship, let alone that of a 250-year-old vampire with an 18-year-old Slayer. Things would change between us if we lived together and I’m not even sure we’re used to them as they are yet.

                 But things would change between us too, if I moved back in with Mom. I would have to answer to her again. I wouldn’t have the same freedom to come and go as I pleased. There would be no more long afternoons spent languidly lying in bed with Angel. No matter how many fences he and my Mom have mended in my absence, I’m still not sure she is entirely comfortable with the thought of a vampire having his wicked way with her little girl.

                 “I think you should fix things with Joyce.” Angel informs me.

                 “They are fixed.”

                 He says nothing in response to this, giving me that silent treatment that I hate. It’s supposed to be his way of making me think through my words and analyse them, or something, eventually reaching the conclusion that I’m totally wrong and he’s totally right. But I guess it works, because now I’m wondering whether there are still issues left between Mom and me that aren’t resolved. We were never really close, anyway. I mean what do teenage girls usually bond over with their mothers? Love troubles? No, I guess the whole ‘my boyfriend’s a formerly evil monster 240 years older than me’ conversation wouldn’t have gone down very well. We could have discussed hobbies and extra-curricular activities, but I never really thought vampire slaying and averting the apocalypse counted as Mom-sponsored activities. All that leaves is school, and sure we talked about that, except our little chats usually focused on whether or not she thought I was going to get kicked out that semester. I love my Mom and I know that she loves me, and up until now that’s always been enough to get us through. So, why do I feel as if there should be so much more?

* * * * *

                “Hey, B!” I hear the sound of a voice calling me, and turn to see Faith striding towards me, a vision in leather. I am still wary of her even after nearly a month has passed. She seems too wild, too uncontrolled, she lets her emotions show too easily. I guess these would be attributes I would normally admire, considering the uptight, anally retentive side to my personality, but she just doesn’t seem to be the right character to be a Slayer. I’m all about emotional detachment when I slay, my energies are channelled and my actions disciplined, and compared to how Kendra was, my style is practically the height of casual relaxation. But Faith fights like no other warrior I have ever seen before. She has battle rage – her eyes gleam with passion and her fists flail wildly, reducing her opponents to a bloody pulp before they even have a chance to realise what is happening to them. She has no tactics, no carefully choreographed moves or skills with weaponry. She is simply a whirlwind of power and aggression, destroying everything in her wake. And I worry that someday she’ll lose her tenuous concept of what’s right and wrong and it won’t be just demons she destroys anymore.

                 But for now, she still counts as an ally, and a sister Slayer at that – someone I feel a deep and automatic loyalty to. Images of Kendra’s slashed throat still haunt my dreams, and I would do anything to prevent a similar fate befalling Faith.

                 “Hey,” I return, slowing down my pace, so she can catch me up.

                 “I saw some of your commando guys last night.” She informs me. “And they were mega-inconspicuous, I can tell you. Standing round in a big group all in their army fatigues, talking into those little walkie-talkie things.”

                 “What were they doing?” I ask anxiously. Angel doesn’t trust these people, so I don’t trust them, especially when this group of government-sponsored demon hunters could conceivably be out to stake my boyfriend.

                 Faith shrugs. “Something pretty weird. They had these little handheld machine thingies and they kept walking up and down taking readings. I was tracking this vamp and he led me right to them. The craziest thing was, though, when they spotted the vampire they didn’t kill it. They just zapped it with this tazer-gun then tied it up and drove off with it.” She frowned. “Bunch of wackos – what the point of hunting vamps if you’re not going to bother finishing off the job?”

                 My mind whirls. Soldiers who kidnap vampires. What are they trying to do, build up some kind of undead army? I tell myself I’ve seen too many episodes of The X Files, after all how unrealistic is the idea of a government conspiracy to develop an evil fighting force of enslaved vampires? Probably about as unrealistic as the idea that said vampires exist in the first place.

                 “Where did you see them?”

                 Faith scrunches up her brow in thought. “Over by that little wood in Sunny Rest,” she refers to one of the towns 12 cemeteries. Needless to say, we have a high mortality rate here, even barring epic apocalypse-induced natural disasters. “Then they drove away down Charles Street, heading east.”

                 I think about this for a moment. “That’s towards the college campus, isn’t it? Go and tell Giles what you saw and then get him and the gang to meet me at the entrance to UC-Sunnydale,” I order Faith. For a second she looks like she’s going to object to me taking charge, but then her expression of belligerence changes to one I think might actually be approaching respect and she turns to leave.

                 “What are you gonna do in the meantime,” she throws back over her shoulder before I have walked out of hearing distance.

                 “Find Angel,” I call back, suddenly more worried than ever for his safety.

* * * * *

                 I soon locate Angel on one of his regular patrol routes. Since my return to Sunnydale, we have taken to dividing the town into three distinct sectors, one each for Angel, Faith and I to patrol in. Giles had initially insisted on this separation, knowing from previous experience how…distracted…Angel and I could get from the task in hand when patrolling together. I think he also noticed the possible tension that would arise from Faith and I working as a team, as well as the definite tension that would occur if I had to send Faith and Angel off every night to work together (I’ve never really thought of myself as a jealous or possessive person, but Angel is mine and mine alone, and no pouty-lipped, overly made-up, leather-clad slut is going to take him away from me – okay, calming down now, please excuse the outburst…).

                The arrangement works pretty well actually. As soon as the sun sets the whole gang heads to the library for a briefing on what to expect that evening – things like, demons to watch out for, strange events that have been occurring around the town, you know, the usual Hellmouth-related stuff. Then we do our separate sweeps of the area, sometimes accompanied by a few slayerettes (though, this happens much less than I would have hoped – things between Willow, Xander and me are still a little awkward). Patrolling lasts until around midnight when we reconvene at the library to list the edited highlights of the evening. Giles then starts yawning his head off, subtly suggesting that he would like to get home to bed, and the party breaks up. After that Angel and I usually team up and continue the slayage throughout the rest of the night, hunting down the demons that are inconsiderate enough to confine their activities to the early hours of the morning when the streets are dark and silent and all the sensible folk are in bed already. I don’t know what Faith does, during this time, but whatever it is keeps her sleeping in until noon everyday, so I’m not sure I actually want to know exactly.

                I love those pre-dawn hours spent with Angel. It is our time, even more than lazy mornings spent in bed are. Because when we’re out together in the night it is our natural environment. We are two predators, bonding in a way I had never imagined possible. This is why, I think, most of our relationship has been conducted in graveyards. We are not a normal couple and it is foolish to even pretend to be anymore. We don’t go to the movies or out to dinner – Angel doesn’t even eat (or at least not in front of me, thank goodness). We hunt together, me because it is my destiny and Angel for reasons too long and complicated to possibly list here. We understand that darker side of one another – the part that enjoys the chase, the kill, the sweet taste of victory. We show our true selves to one another and in doing so open up a link between us, down which flows respect, admiration, sexual attraction and a soul deep love.

                Sometimes I just stand by and watch him fight, and it turns me on incredibly. Each and every one of my nerve endings tingle with desire, longing for the feel of that powerful body, with its rippling muscles, its strong arms, its graceful movements, touching mine. The fine, long fingers that clutch the stake, I need on my skin. The broad chest that easily absorbs the blows rained down upon it, I need pressed up against me. The mouth set in a hard, grim line, I need gently kissing my neck. I know that the very tools he uses in the name destruction and death can also be used in love and pleasure; and it thrills me. Maybe I should worry about this attraction to the dark side – there’s probably some repressed Freudian reason for it, something to do with my toilet training as a child, perhaps – but I don’t. I just enjoy it, embrace it, because it’s inextricably linked to the lighter parts of my relationship with Angel. The love we share for one another is as pure as it is dangerous and I accept the joy of being with him as well worth its risks.

                Sometimes, on slow nights, we talk for hours. He’ll sit leaning against a gravestone and I’ll rest in his lap, his arms around my waist, our hands entwined. Our conversations range from the serious to the downright stupid. He’ll let me babble on for ages about the plotlines of my favourite soap opera or the time I went to summer camp when I was 12. And he says he likes the sound of my voice, that he cares about the most insignificant things I mention just because they’re important to me. Then there are the deeper discussions, about his past and mine. I confessed what it was like for me when my parents divorced and he told me about growing up in Ireland. Some of his stories were even funny when he told them – trying to imagine Angel as a young boy especially made me laugh – but most were just heart wrenchingly sad. If it’s possible I love him even more after hearing them, because he has borne their burden on his soul alone for two and a half centuries. But now he isn’t alone anymore, now we have each other to share these things with and my heart swells just at the thought of it.

                Tonight, though, is more about business than bonding. I need to find out what this group of soldiers is about and what kind of threat they present to my town. I know I’m being wildly territorial here, but it’s not just by home they’re intruding upon – it’s my Calling. It’s my business (and Faith’s) to guard the Hellmouth, and now these strangers are trying to take over the job. The Slayer system has been in operation for thousands of years, long before men came along with fancy guns and technological equipment. They’re disturbing the natural order of things, and quite honestly, it’s disturbing me as much as it disturbs Angel. I think it freaks Faith out a little too, though she’d never admit it. But just the fact she saw the commandoes last night and didn’t try to approach them is out of character enough for me to know that she is, at least, slightly wigged. We all sense something off about these guys, which makes us anxious to track them down as soon as possible. Because rather the devil you know than the devil you don’t, right? Or some other suitable platitude – Giles is way better at thinking up these things than me.

                Anyway, this is how I find myself sneaking through the undergrowth of the college campus, listening out for any tell tale sound of voices or footsteps, and hearing none, letting my mind wonder to other – pleasanter – things. I know exactly where Angel is, 25 yards to my left, not from the noise he is making – he moves silently, like a shadow in the night – but from the way he synchronises his movements with mine and because I can always feel him now, whenever he is near. Suddenly an almighty crash sounds from close behind me, the unmistakable sound of wood splitting and bushes being flattened. Like a bullet out of a gun, a vampire in full game face comes sprinting out of the trees behind me. He runs straight past me, barely noticing my presence and I give chase, a stake appearing in my hand before I even realise I have reached for one.

                I corner the vampire in a courtyard between the university buildings. He stops dead, backed up against a wall, his eyes glinting a feral gold, his expression undoubtedly that of fear. This is new. I’ve fought vampires before and some have known immediately they were going to meet their final death at the hands of my stake. Others have even fled from me, but I have never seen one who was so obviously scared. Usually they are cocky, so convinced of their own immortality that even seconds before turning to dust, the only expression I ever see in their faces is one of disbelief. I trade a few blows with the vampire, his panicked state making him a more ferocious fighter. Finally I see a staking opportunity and panting heavily from the exertions of my fight, I thrust forward to finish the job, stepping back in satisfaction as dust rains down upon me.

                Then suddenly I feel rough hands grab me from behind. They push me up against the wall, smashing my face into the brickwork, hard fingers gripping my shoulder, a knee thrust into the small of my back. At first I am utterly confused. I think it must be Angel, he likes to watch me fight and this wouldn’t be the first time he’s pinned me to a wall (if you get my meaning). But it feels all wrong, the hands are too harsh, too violent, Angel always touches me gently, with reverence, like I’m a precious object that would break if he mishandled it. The fingers don’t burn my skin like his do and the butterflies that dance in my stomach are due to fear not arousal. I smell cheap soap and the underlying scent of stale perspiration rather than earth and spices. This is a person holding me like this, a person who is obviously less than friendly. My mind clears slightly and I realise it is not one but two men with their hands gripping me tightly. I get panicked visions of gang rape and start to struggle, my Slayer strength throwing one of them off, until I feel a gentle pinprick in my side and quickly weaken.

                My body goes limp and refuses to obey orders, but my mind is still racing. I realise they have drugged me, why I have no idea. Why would any people possibly want to do this to me? I flop against the wall and the rough hands turn me around, being more careful with me now that I no longer present a threat. The first sight I catch of my assailants is one of khaki, olive green clothes in rough, cheap fabrics. My eyes travel up to their faces and I first recognise the guy picking himself up off the floor – he is the African-American commando from the other night, the one doing all the yelling. Then secondly I turn to see identity of the man holding me up – Riley Finn.

                “What are you doing?” I ask in a voice that is barely my own. I meant the question as a demand, but due to the drugs and the utter helplessness I feel, it comes our more of a plea.

                “Neutralising a threat.” The black guy says, with a glint of excitement in his eye. It makes me sick to actually think he enjoys attacking and terrorising young women.

                “I don’t understand.”

                “Don’t worry, we’ll explain it all to you soon enough.” The guy unhitches a length of rope from his belt and I know instantly they are going to use it to tie me up. The idea appals me, I will be bound and gagged, a prisoner at their mercy, a victim. It’s an anathema for a Slayer to be put in such a vulnerable position. I’m usually the powerful one, the one who does the rescuing, not one who needs to call for help.

                I open my mouth wide to scream, but Riley senses my intentions a split second before I can actually cry out and clamps his hand over my mouth. I taste dirt and motor oil and I want to gag.

                “Just keep quiet, Buffy and we won’t have to hurt you,” he says to me in a hushed and surprisingly gentle tone.

                “You won’t be hurting her anyway.”

                The two soldiers both look up at the sound of the deep, growling voice, heavy with implied threat. I don’t have to bother looking, I know it’s Angel and the panic within me quickly subsides. He won’t let anything happen to me, not before becoming dust first.

                “Why don’t you just mind your own business, vampire?” The second soldier pulls his weapon out of its holster and points it at Angel.

                “What you gonna do, shoot me? If you think that’ll kill me then you’re even more ignorant than you look.” He jeers in a tone chillingly akin to Angelus’. A shiver of fear passes down my spine as I transported back to those nightmarish months where my one-true love was also my mortal enemy. I look up at him and see the swagger in his walk and the smirk on his face, but then his eyes meet with mine. Love and concern briefly flashes his expression and suddenly it’s not Angelus before me its Angel, who’ll do anything to protect me.

                “I think it’ll slow you down long enough for me to get a stake in you,” the commando continues his verbal threats, but he has barely finished the sentence when Angel barrels into him at an inhuman speed. In the blur of movement I see Angel’s features switch to their demonic appearance, as the gun flies out of the soldier’s hand and lands with a dull metallic clatter on the ground 10 feet away. An expression of surprise at the speed of the attack registers on the man’s face just before Angel smashes his skull against the wall behind him and he falls to the ground, unconscious.

                Riley gapes at Angel, his eyes wide and fearful. He moves the hand that currently grips my right arm down to his waist, reaching for the radio strapped there.

                “I don’t think you want to do that, boy.” Angel snarls, putting more malice into the simple diminutive than ever could be loaded into the most abusive profanity. I feel Riley shudder next to me, but still he tries to keep up his front of bravado.

                “Why not?”

                “Because there’s no way your friends could ever get here fast enough to stop me killing you.”

                “Angel,” I warn him wearily. I know he will kill for me without hesitation, but I don’t want him to have to. He has enough human lives on his conscience already, without adding more in my name. Besides, I don’t think Riley Finn particularly deserves to die for this. I have no idea what his motives are for kidnapping and drugging me, but I’m guessing the plan wasn’t his in the first place. He seems to me more misguided than evil, and if we play our cards right here, then he could be a very useful source of information on the commando group.

                “If he harms one hair on your head then I’ll rip him to shreds.” Angel’s face shifts back to its human features as he speaks to me. His voice having lost some of its earlier edge, I sense more underlying worry than hostility.

                “He’s not going to hurt me, are you Riley?” I say in a conciliatory tone, twisting round in his grasp to meet his gaze.

                He seems utterly confused. “I-I’m supposed to be following orders.” His hand hovers above the radio again and Angel takes a threatening step towards us.

                “Let her go. Now.” The growl is back, as are the hard inexpressive eyes.

                “Just do as he says, Riley.” I hiss into the soldier’s ear. Riley’s eyes flick apprehensively between Angel and me, their gaze finally settling on his unconscious comrade. He finally comes to a decision, loosening his hold on me and stepping a few feet away. Angel rushes immediately to my side, holding me up as I stumble due to the effects of whatever substance Riley injected me with.

                “Are you all right?” He asks worriedly, smoothing my hair back and pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead.

                “They gave me some drug, so I couldn’t fight back.” I answer. “I’m still a little wobbly, but I think I’ll be okay.”

                He gently lets me go, his hands waiting to steady me as I experimentally try walking a few steps. My legs are weak and I stumble a little, feeling like one of those newly born deer or antelope you see on TV, learning to walk for the first time. A burst of static sounds loudly from behind me and I automatically twist towards the direction of the noise. The movement makes my head spin and I shut my eyes for a second while I try to regain my balance. When I open them again, I see Angel has Riley by the throat, just about cutting off his air supply. In his other hand Angel holds the radio Riley has been so desperate to use for the last five minutes. Tinny, metallic voices come out of it, each imploring Riley to respond. Angel crushes the device in his fist, effectively silencing it.

                “You just don’t give up, do you kid?” He snarls. “Clearly you haven’t got much more sense than your friend over there.”

                “Angel,” I say, suddenly utterly exhausted – obviously yet another fun side effect of the cocktail of narcotics I have just been given. “Just leave it, please, and let’s go.”

                He throws Riley carelessly across the courtyard, leaving the commando slumped in heap against the far wall. I try to glare at him sternly, a reprimand for his violent behaviour, but I don’t think I quite manage it somehow. I guess it’s because if I was in the same situation, and if it was somebody threatening to hurt him, then there’s no way I would show any mercy either. Besides, I can tell from the way Angel gave up the fight so easily when I asked him to, that his instinct wasn’t to kill but to protect. And it’s amazing how safe it makes me feel just to know that.

                Angel scoops me up into his arms and I utter protesting squeals, which he studiously ignores. Then without a single glance back at the two unconscious soldiers, he carries me away back into the thicket of trees and we disappear together into the darkness.

* * * * *

                 “So, you say these commandoes were trying to kidnap you?” Giles removes his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose, the familiar gesture indicating how concerned he actually is.

                 “Yup,” I reply with more bravado than I felt at the time. “They were all ready to truss me up and take me back to their secret headquarters, wherever they may be.”

                 “Perhaps you should have let them take you, then we’d know,” Xander remarks flippantly and Angel glares at him.

                 “And Faith saw them yesterday, doing the same to a vampire.” Wesley says thoughtfully. “Hmm, sounds rather on the suspicious side to me.”

                 I roll my eyes. “Really? Coz I thought that beating up and drugging innocent young women was actually a nice, neighbourly thing to do.”

                 “Well, to be perfectly honest,” Wesley answers. “You’re not exactly the definition of innocent.”

                 Now, I’m pretty sure that underneath all that British blunder and hoity-toity accent, Wesley is insulting me there. “Hey!”

                 “What I mean is,” he back pedals furiously, faced with the spectre of an angry Slayer and her over-protective vampire boyfriend. “You’re the Slayer, and your encounter with Mr Finn and his associates the other evening would have demonstrated that to them. This was not a random attack – you were targeted specifically.”

                 “Well, commando guy number two-”

                 “The one whose head Angel kindly reshaped?” Xander interrupts me and I nod before continuing.

                 “He said something about me being a threat they had to neutralise.”

                 “A threat to what?” Oz asks quietly.

                 “All those demons they’re in league with, probably.” Faith suggests.

                 “But you saw them capture a vampire,” I point out.

                “Capture not kill. If they’re on the side of the good guys then why aren’t they just staking all these vamps instead of taking them home to play?”

                 “And why didn’t they try to kill me right away?”

                 “Maybe,” Giles suggests thoughtfully. “They were under the impression Buffy was as dangerous and hostile as the vampires they hunt. After all they have seen you, er, fraternising with a vampire, whom they can’t possibly know to be ensouled. And killing those demons the other night was ample demonstration of your supernatural strength.”

                 “But we saved Riley’s life that night.”

                 “But for what purpose you never made it clear. He could have been under the impression you were trying to make him your victim instead of the demons’. And then you ran away when the rest of the soldiers arrived – not exactly the behaviour of an innocent person.”

                 “Can people stop going on about my innocence, or apparent lack of it,” I complain. “You’re starting to give me a complex.”

                 “I still can’t believe Riley would do such a thing,” Willow speaks up for the first time. “He seemed so nice, so normal.”

                 “Yeah, just Sunnydale’s average Joe, government-contracted demon hunter.” Quips Xander.

                 I nod in agreement. “I guess it just goes to show that you never really know someone until you, uh, actually know them.”

                 “Never judge a book by its cover.” Giles adds – told you he’s better with the proverbs than I am.

                 “Would anybody like anything to eat or drink? I have chocolate chip cookies.”

                 I blush furiously. “Mom! We’re in the middle of a serious discussion here.” I knew it was a bad idea to hold the meeting in the living room of our new house. I just knew it!

                 “Did somebody mention cookies?” Wesley pipes up and I groan loudly.

                 “Actually, a cup of tea would be quite lovely Mrs Summers.” Giles says and soon all of my friends are issuing refreshment orders. Mom gives me her ‘I told you so’ look and I give her my ‘don’t you dare look at me like that’ look. But then I grin even in spite of myself, because of the comfortable familiarity of the situation. It feels like we’re finally getting our mother-daughter relationship back, complete with her embarrassing behaviour and my teenage angst. I guess Angel was right (though I’m never going to admit that to him) moving back in with Mom was the right thing to do, it seems to have broken down the finally few barriers between us and I can’t help but be glad about that.

                 “Would you like anything Angel?” Mom asks politely and I offer her a broad smile. Maybe things will be different between us from now on – more open and accepting. I’ll be able to talk to her about Angel and about slaying without worrying what her reaction will be.

                 “No, thank you.” He declines with equally good manners.

                 Mom laughs nervously. “Good, because I’m actually running a little low on blood products.”

                 OK, I take it all back. Living with Mom is not acceptable. I can just see it turning out to be a hideously mortifying experience. She cracks another joke about keeping a couple of bags of ‘O positive’ in the refrigerator just in case Angel stops by for dinner and I sink deeper into my seat, covering my face with my hands. What have I done?

* * * * *

                 The meeting breaks up about three-quarters of an hour later, strangely enough just about around the time when all the cookies got finished. I see Angel to the door, stepping out onto the porch with him to say goodbye. He wraps his arms around my waist, his hands snaking under the material of my top to touch the bare skin underneath. We kiss passionately, reminding me of the time we spent together when I was sixteen, before Angelus ever encroached upon our relationship. Then kissing was all we ever did and we made an art of it. We could just make-out for hours, barely a word ever passing between us, because we didn’t need to speak aloud for our feelings to be understood. I knew he loved me long before he ever said it, as it was obvious from the way he kissed me – deep, tender and intense – like no one else has ever kissed me before or since.

                 It is so clichéd the way we stand here now, making-out on the porch, like a couple of horny teenagers. Well, I guess one of us is actually a horny teenager, but the other is a lot older and should know better. I start to giggle at the line my thoughts are taking, there’s just so much random babble in my head right now and the realisation of this is the best thing that’s happened to me in months. I’m happy. I’m actually starting to be happy again. I mean, I have a long way to go yet. My life in Sunnydale is far from sorted out – things are still awkward between me and my friends, new school semesters start in a month’s time and I have no idea what I’m going to be doing, plus the fact some mysterious army group tried to abduct me this evening – but I’m me again, I’m Buffy Summers. I slay, I add unnecessary stress to the lives of my mother and Watcher, I spend far too long sucking face with my vampire boyfriend, I bitch and moan and grouse about whatever insignificant complaint I can think of. Basically, I’m doing good.

                 “What is it?” Angel asks as my laughter continues.         

                “I don’t want you to go,” I catch his lips in another soft kiss.

                 “And that’s funny, how?”

                 I shake my head, this time deepening the kiss, so it leaves me breathless when I finally pull away. “It’s not. I love you.”

                 He smiles, amused by my odd behaviour and sudden change of subject. He knows me well enough by now to not be surprised by either. “I love you too. Do you want me to stay a little longer?”

                 “No,” I answer reluctantly, leaning against his chest, my head tucked underneath his chin. “It’s okay, you’re going to have to leave me alone with them sometime.”

                 “Okay.” We pull apart and stand hand in hand to exchange one last brief, light kiss. “See you tomorrow,” he says as he starts to walk away, keeping hold of my hand until the last minute.

                 “Bright and early!” I call after him with a grin.

                 “Just not too bright,” he calls back before melting away into the night.

                 Smiling I re-enter the house and decide to use some of my good mood to cheer Cordy up. She refused to attend the Scooby meeting this evening and just remained in her room, feigning tiredness. Xander, Will and Oz all went in to see her, but she just snapped at them to go away. I suppose I can understand why she’d be upset – anyone would be in her position. But I’m worried about her, anyway. She needs to be around people right now, to get some semblance of a life back, otherwise she’ll just wither away into unhappiness, and believe me, I know – that’s what happened to me. I refused to let my friends help me and things got so bad that I completely lost sight of who I was and how I wanted to live my life. And I am not going to let that happen to Cordelia.

                 I knock on her door lightly, knowing she won’t be asleep. Firstly, because up until about ten minutes ago we were all making enough noise to wake the dead and secondly because I’m guessing insomnia is pretty much commonplace for Cordelia now. She doesn’t answer, but I go in anyway, determined to at least get a conversation out of her before I head up to bed myself.

                 “Cordelia, do you want anything before I say goodnight?”

                 “How about some peace and quiet? Or is that too much to ask?”

                 I wince at the harsh tone of the reply. At least she hasn’t lost any of her spirit, her patented Queen C bitchiness, she’s going to need that a lot in order to get through the coming months.

                 “Actually, I was hoping we could talk,” I try hopefully.

                 “About what,” she snaps back at me. “About how it feels to be a cripple and an orphan, or about how sorry you feel for me?”

                 “Cordelia-”

                  “Just don’t bother, Buffy. I don’t need your pity and I don’t need your charity either.” Her voice breaks a little. “Well, I guess I do need your charity, otherwise I’d have nowhere else to go.”

                 I move over towards the bed and switch on the table lamp there, as I do so, I see the tears glistening on Cordelia’s cheeks. Her eyes are red and sore and I can tell she’s been crying all evening. I have never seen Cordelia cry before and I suppose I didn’t actually think she could.

                 “I’m so sorry,” I tell her emotionally.

                 “What for,” she replies in a flat tone. “Saying sorry won’t bring them back. It won’t make me able to walk again.”

                 “No, that’s not what I’m sorry for-” I begin and then break off. “I mean I am sorry about that, obviously, but that’s not what I was talking about.” I stop my blustering and try to actually think before I speak. I had no idea that this would actually be so difficult. There are so many things I want to say to Cordelia, but everything in my head sounds trite and falsely sentimental. I start over again.

                 “I’m sorry that I never got to know you properly before this happened. You were dating one of my best friends and I barely even gave you a second thought.” I pause briefly before deciding to be totally honest. “Actually, that’s a lie. I did think about you – usually not very nice thoughts. Kind of ‘who-does-that-stuck-up-bitch-think-she-is?’ thoughts. I never really liked you much.”

                 Cordy smiles. A tiny smile, but a victory nonetheless. Go team Buffy. I would have insulted people more often if I’d known it had this much of a therapeutic effect.

                 “It’s all right – I never liked you much either.” She confesses, which I am a little stung by, but I guess I can forgive. What did I expect after all, for her to admit to being my biggest fan and that all the jibes about my poor fashion sense were actually out of jealousy? 

                 “Well, we’re stuck with each other now,” I attempt to joke.

                 “No, you’re stuck with me.” She replies, her pessimistic tone returning, and I begin to worry that I’ve undone all my previous good work.

                 “It’s not like that. I want you here. Me and Mom both do. It’ll be fun. All girls together, you know.”

                 “Yeah, you’ll have a great time lifting me in and out of the shower and helping me dress myself. Then we can go on trips where you push me about in my wheelchair.”

                 “It won’t be like this for long,” I try to persuade her. “You’ll soon learn to cope on your own. Lots of people live with disabilities.”

                 “Yes, but what if I don’t want to,” she says in a dark tone.

                 I feel utterly out of my depth, how am I supposed to persuade someone their life is worth living after they’ve lost so much. I’m not sure that I can, but I know I have to try. “Listen, I’m not saying that this is anything like what you’re going through, but when I became the Slayer, everything changed for me like it’s gotta be changing for you now.”

                 Cordelia gives me a bored look, like she’s heard all the motivational speeches before and not a single one got through to her. But she doesn’t interrupt, so I take that as a sign to continue.

                 “It doesn’t mean your life’s over, it just means it’s going to be different from now on.”

                 “Yeah, different like utterly helpless and hopeless different.”

                 I simply don’t know what else to say to her. I can’t change the truth of the situation and that’s the only thing that could help her right now. I stand up from where I was kneeling by the bed and speak in a quiet, defeated voice. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Try to get some sleep, okay?”

                 I flick the light off again and turn to go, when I hear her calling after me.

                 “Buffy, what did you want to do with your life – before you became the Slayer, I mean?”

                 I stop and think about the question. “I don’t know. For a while I wanted to be an ice skater, or maybe a dancer. I thought I had my whole future to decide what to do in.”

                 “I wanted to be a model, or an actress.” She tells me in a sad voice. “Then I was going to get married to somebody very rich and live in a big house with a maid and a pool and take holidays in Europe. None of that’s going to happen now is it?”

                 I deliberately avoid answering her directly. “I gave up dreaming about being an ice skater a long time ago. Not because I couldn’t do it, but because I stopped wanting to. I don’t know what I want now, except to be happy. And I’m pretty sure that can still happen for you if you let it. You just need to give it some time.”

                 I shut the door quietly behind me and head upstairs to bed, suddenly very tired. Time can’t heal everything, but it does a pretty good job on most problems, which is something I’m just about beginning to learn.

Chapter Seven