Disclaimer: Not mine, but the property of the God otherwise called Joss.
Author's Notes: No real spoilers present, but I personally place it after Older and Far Away. Oh, and if anyone's wondering why I wrote in present tense—I don't really know myself. ;) But please, send the feedback, lemme know if it's annoying or if it works.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The rain pelts down gently, hits the windowpanes and slides down almost sideways, because of the wind outside. It reminds Buffy of the movie Twister, when they showed the rain sliding sideways on the truck windows. Wasn't it a sign of a cyclone or something wild like that? Buffy tilts her head slightly, attempts to get a better look out the window of the Expresso Pump. Just looks like a thunderstorm to her. Nice and regular.
She looks back down at the cup between her hands, feeling the warmth radiating from the coffee into her skin. It's a foreign feeling, in a way, because she remembers when another body used to be able to lend warmth to her, but now the only body is cold. Not that she really minds it, but she knows it's unnatural, and she's just so very tired of being unnatural.
Buffy hears the sound of footsteps, the slight squish from wet soles and the shift of damp clothing. She looks up as he comes to her, and she smiles when he slides into the seat opposite of her. He looks a little different, but in that not really sort of way, which makes perfect sense, really.
"Thanks for getting here so fast…" she starts, her fingers beginning to drum against her coffee cup. "I know your life's busy…"
"Don't have to apologize," he assures the Slayer, and he offers a small, brief kind of smile that's actually reassuring to her. "I'm here because I could manage it."
Buffy's fingers pause in their drumming, and her smile becomes gentle instead of nervous; real instead of forced. He's a calming influence, and she had forgotten that in their time apart for one another. It's a shame really, that he hadn't been in Sunnydale for so long, because God only knows how much a calm, rational mind would have helped her in the long run. "Thanks for being here, then," she decides slowly, before clearing her throat. "I'm kinda about to ask a lot from you. I thought you should know."
He thinks about this for a long moment, weighs the weight Buffy's put behind these words. His fingers gently with something at his wrist—a bracelet with a few charms on it, perhaps? Or perhaps it's just the sleeve of his coat? She can't really see, to be honest, and it's out of her mind and gone when she sees him nod. "All right. I'm prepared to deal with that."
"All right," Buffy agrees, another slow breath slipping through the lungs. She's thought about this for so long, that she's not sure if she can get the words to form, get her lips to move right. "Six months. I-I want to leave here, for six months. And I want you to be there with me. Or me be where you are, I guess… It's not like I need someplace special to go. But—I need to leave. There… There used to be lines in me, y'know? I used to be able to see things…" She can feel the tears building up in her eyes, and while so much of her is sick of crying, there's another part of her that's relieved she can still do it in front of people, instead of hiding it away. "I'm a blur now. S-Some tangled blob of being and—a person can't go on like that. I'm no good to anyone like this, I know you understand that…"
She feels him reach across the table, feels his hand rest on hers lightly. He wants to comfort her, and he knows how to do it without overstepping any lines. He can see how fragile she is inside, Buffy knows he does, and he knows he has to work with that. It's so good to have someone recognize that in her. "Hey—I do," he assures her in his quiet sort of way. "No explanation needed. But, y'know I kinda gotta ask… Dawn?"
Buffy clears her throat, her free hand sliding up to her eyes, though the tears never fell, and there's nothing to brush away. "There's—this exchange thing, for a semester. School sponsored, school paid. It's in England, so if she needs someone, Giles'll be there… She doesn't know yet, because I originally said no." She smiles, little more than a rueful tilt of her lips. "It's not my fault she's so—unmanageable right now. And it's not hers either. But I can't take care of myself. Let alone her. I think it'll do her good."
He just nods slowly; the proverbial wheels are turning again and she finds herself wondering—like she used to do often when they were both a little younger—how exactly his mind is working. Then again, she remembers, looking inside people's heads is more often than not a dreadful time.
"The others—they don't know I'm here." It wasn't a question, and Buffy's both surprised and a little pleased he's managed to somehow know her well enough to know this.
"They don't know I want to leave," she admits, taking a sip of her coffee. It's still a bit warm, surprisingly. "But they will. Tomorrow at seven. Pick me up at my house?"
"Buffy," he starts, and she knows he's about to say something quite serious, something that really is going to mean something. "I'm not going to ask you if you're sure—not my style. So… Are you positive?"
The sound of quiet laughter rings out through the coffee shop as the pair stands up to leave the store. The rain has died down to a gentle mist now. Nice and regular. No cyclone or anything wild like that. When he and Buffy reach the glass door, she stops him with a hand on his arm, and draws him into a gentle, meaningful hug. "Thank you—truly. I mean it, Oz."
Oz's arms slipped around Buffy's thin body, and for once his emotions played readily on his features. It certainly meant a lot to her to see the display. "Glad to do it. All about the sharing of the spiritual calm. It's a lot like sharing—something pleasant to share."
As Buffy walks away from Oz and his zebra striped van, in the gentle mist falling about her, she brings up the styrofoam cup, ready to take a sip of her coffee. Then, however, she pulls it back, and drops the cup into the nearest trashcan. It's cold now. And, while that isn't bad really, it is unnatural. Though it will be hard and take her a hell of a long time to stop, Buffy's done with being unnatural.
Nothing's wrong with Buffy, not really—and she's going to learn to be okay with that.
Author's Notes: No real spoilers present, but I personally place it after Older and Far Away. Oh, and if anyone's wondering why I wrote in present tense—I don't really know myself. ;) But please, send the feedback, lemme know if it's annoying or if it works.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The rain pelts down gently, hits the windowpanes and slides down almost sideways, because of the wind outside. It reminds Buffy of the movie Twister, when they showed the rain sliding sideways on the truck windows. Wasn't it a sign of a cyclone or something wild like that? Buffy tilts her head slightly, attempts to get a better look out the window of the Expresso Pump. Just looks like a thunderstorm to her. Nice and regular.
She looks back down at the cup between her hands, feeling the warmth radiating from the coffee into her skin. It's a foreign feeling, in a way, because she remembers when another body used to be able to lend warmth to her, but now the only body is cold. Not that she really minds it, but she knows it's unnatural, and she's just so very tired of being unnatural.
Buffy hears the sound of footsteps, the slight squish from wet soles and the shift of damp clothing. She looks up as he comes to her, and she smiles when he slides into the seat opposite of her. He looks a little different, but in that not really sort of way, which makes perfect sense, really.
"Thanks for getting here so fast…" she starts, her fingers beginning to drum against her coffee cup. "I know your life's busy…"
"Don't have to apologize," he assures the Slayer, and he offers a small, brief kind of smile that's actually reassuring to her. "I'm here because I could manage it."
Buffy's fingers pause in their drumming, and her smile becomes gentle instead of nervous; real instead of forced. He's a calming influence, and she had forgotten that in their time apart for one another. It's a shame really, that he hadn't been in Sunnydale for so long, because God only knows how much a calm, rational mind would have helped her in the long run. "Thanks for being here, then," she decides slowly, before clearing her throat. "I'm kinda about to ask a lot from you. I thought you should know."
He thinks about this for a long moment, weighs the weight Buffy's put behind these words. His fingers gently with something at his wrist—a bracelet with a few charms on it, perhaps? Or perhaps it's just the sleeve of his coat? She can't really see, to be honest, and it's out of her mind and gone when she sees him nod. "All right. I'm prepared to deal with that."
"All right," Buffy agrees, another slow breath slipping through the lungs. She's thought about this for so long, that she's not sure if she can get the words to form, get her lips to move right. "Six months. I-I want to leave here, for six months. And I want you to be there with me. Or me be where you are, I guess… It's not like I need someplace special to go. But—I need to leave. There… There used to be lines in me, y'know? I used to be able to see things…" She can feel the tears building up in her eyes, and while so much of her is sick of crying, there's another part of her that's relieved she can still do it in front of people, instead of hiding it away. "I'm a blur now. S-Some tangled blob of being and—a person can't go on like that. I'm no good to anyone like this, I know you understand that…"
She feels him reach across the table, feels his hand rest on hers lightly. He wants to comfort her, and he knows how to do it without overstepping any lines. He can see how fragile she is inside, Buffy knows he does, and he knows he has to work with that. It's so good to have someone recognize that in her. "Hey—I do," he assures her in his quiet sort of way. "No explanation needed. But, y'know I kinda gotta ask… Dawn?"
Buffy clears her throat, her free hand sliding up to her eyes, though the tears never fell, and there's nothing to brush away. "There's—this exchange thing, for a semester. School sponsored, school paid. It's in England, so if she needs someone, Giles'll be there… She doesn't know yet, because I originally said no." She smiles, little more than a rueful tilt of her lips. "It's not my fault she's so—unmanageable right now. And it's not hers either. But I can't take care of myself. Let alone her. I think it'll do her good."
He just nods slowly; the proverbial wheels are turning again and she finds herself wondering—like she used to do often when they were both a little younger—how exactly his mind is working. Then again, she remembers, looking inside people's heads is more often than not a dreadful time.
"The others—they don't know I'm here." It wasn't a question, and Buffy's both surprised and a little pleased he's managed to somehow know her well enough to know this.
"They don't know I want to leave," she admits, taking a sip of her coffee. It's still a bit warm, surprisingly. "But they will. Tomorrow at seven. Pick me up at my house?"
"Buffy," he starts, and she knows he's about to say something quite serious, something that really is going to mean something. "I'm not going to ask you if you're sure—not my style. So… Are you positive?"
The sound of quiet laughter rings out through the coffee shop as the pair stands up to leave the store. The rain has died down to a gentle mist now. Nice and regular. No cyclone or anything wild like that. When he and Buffy reach the glass door, she stops him with a hand on his arm, and draws him into a gentle, meaningful hug. "Thank you—truly. I mean it, Oz."
Oz's arms slipped around Buffy's thin body, and for once his emotions played readily on his features. It certainly meant a lot to her to see the display. "Glad to do it. All about the sharing of the spiritual calm. It's a lot like sharing—something pleasant to share."
As Buffy walks away from Oz and his zebra striped van, in the gentle mist falling about her, she brings up the styrofoam cup, ready to take a sip of her coffee. Then, however, she pulls it back, and drops the cup into the nearest trashcan. It's cold now. And, while that isn't bad really, it is unnatural. Though it will be hard and take her a hell of a long time to stop, Buffy's done with being unnatural.
Nothing's wrong with Buffy, not really—and she's going to learn to be okay with that.