Title: Realtà (Reality)
Author: Leena
Email: ryme34123@yahoo.com
Distribution: , Hello Goodbye
Disclaimer: Everything you see here is not mine.
Synopsis: Angst, angst and more heartbreak. Story of my fic *g*
Warning: NO fluff, angsty and not happy. I AM a B/A shipper, just in case you may be doubting it after this fic, I just thought I'd write something a little depressing to balance out the fluff. Plus this fic=how I feel after I found out about Angel
Pairings: C/A, B/A
Timeline: Before You're Welcome, but Cordy has still awakened from her coma
Feedback: Oh yes please! I suck, I rule, whatever!
Credits: I looked up flight stuff on united.com and got the Italian translations at this site - trust me, I have NO knowledge of Italian, so excuse any errors
**********
Moving is always good. You can pick up, move to a new place, where no one knows you. It's almost like you're starting over. Key word there is almost. Except you're not starting over, because these niggling thoughts in the back of your head keep at you. You can escape your past, but you can't escape your thoughts. That's why, when I went to Italy, somehow I felt like I was abandoning my home. Not that I had any home to speak of, of course. I tried to pretend that I was a normal European woman. I walked around in my Gucci shoes and my flared and hand-made lilac skirts. Hell, I even dated a few Italian men. But it wasn't really fulfilling, you know? It felt like someone else had been tacked on to me. Someone that I was supposed to be.
Dawn seems to be fitting in okay. She's learning Italian. Of course, you really need to speak Italian to live here, so she picks it up a little fast. I have too, not as fast though. I miss my friends. I've accumulated some here, but I miss my real friends. The ones that I don't have to hide from. The ones who know that I'm not some highbrow bella donna, but rather a Slayer. Someone who is strong and resilient, but at the same time stubborn and increasingly selfish. Someone who used to love grapefruit juice and orange juice together, who had to deal with hard things but dealt with them because she didn't have a choice.
Now I'm simply a woman who wanders the narrow streets, occasionally slipping on a crooked cobble. I stare into quaint little shops where grazioso old women show me their looms, their trinkets, their expensive hand-made things. And small euro cars whiz by me with audacity and cleanliness that I don't think the US could ever possess. But despite the quaint aspects of this place, it doesn't feel like home. I wanted to come here to find Slayers, but gradually I find myself bored out of my mind, leaving all the projects of the Slayers to Andrew and Giles in England. I always just assumed that I was in charge, the leader of everything, because I was The One. But now I'm just One Of Many and I feel left out. For years I wanted a normal life, and now that I have one it seems mundane. What I wouldn't give for a cemetery.
I haven't seen any vamps in almost nine months. It's weird, how lacking this place is for evil. Maybe that's why I hate it so much. There are only so many Italian-dubbed movies I can see before I grow stanco of it all. Dawn is a nice companion, but I long for other companions. I guess it's true; you can't really change the essence of who you are, no matter how hard you try. For years I denied that my Slayerness was a part of me, but now that it's gone I feel as though I've taken it for granted. It's been ingrained in me. I'm constantly itching for a fight, a puzzle, something to break. My senses are always on high speed. But there's nothing to do here, other than sightsee. And I've seen the Aqueducts and learned about them so much that I think I could run my own personal tour.
I guess I don't choose to be alone. Maybe it's that I'm so used to the Scoobies that I'm afraid of meeting new people. Or maybe I'm just incapable socially. I have no idea. But I've been alone for so long, with the burden of so much on my shoulders, I fear that I can't really adjust to this new lifestyle. I thought I could handle it at first, then I encountered this lifestyle that honestly bores me to death. Giles sent me so much money that I think I have Dawn's college paid, and my retirement too, so there's not really much to do for work. Not that I'd really want to work in a panetteria or a junk shop anyway. Yeah, what a life, threading necklaces and selling antiques until I'm eighty. Plus, I've gained weight with all the torta and tiramisu and biscotti that I'm eating. Dawn says that I look good, but I just can't stay here much longer.
Next thing I know, a close friend is watching after Dawn and I'm on a plane to LA. I don't know exactly what I'm doing, going there, but my body is on fire with the need of a fight. What's a little ten-hour plane ride to LA? Pshaw. It won't hurt anything. I just think I need to see some resemblance of home, beat up some vamps, kick some ass. You know, Slayer-y things. LA isn't Sunnydale, but it's as close as I can get, and what better reason than to go see my father? It doesn't even matter that I have a layover in Philadelphia, and that I won't be arriving till 9:04 PM at night, or that no one will be there to pick me up. I glance out the window and frost it with my breath, tracing little designs and observing the inviting clouds.
After some ten hours later, not including the ever-disastrous baggage claim and the rental car, I collapse into my bed. A cheap motel a few blocks from my father's house. I would go there, but I don't think he's even there, and even if he were, I really don't want to hear him and Jackie fucking, or whatever her name is. Every week it's a different one. His business partner, his secretary, his client, etc. Sleep claims me, and I can't help but feel the sense of home surround and asphyxiate me.
I bite my nails. A nasty habit I picked up from hours upon hours of wandering around Rome. It leaves my nails short and stubby. And now, here I am, in front of this monstrous place, biting my fingers to the bone. I heard from a friend of a friend of Giles that Andrew had been sent here to take care of a Slayer or something. Not that I really was told, or even talked to. I know that they're trying to let me have my "normal life", but it would be nice to at least include me in something once in awhile. I mean, aren't I supposed to be the supreme decision maker around here? I guess I can understand where they're coming from. I shouldn't be like that. They're only trying to look out for me, protect me. But still, it's Angel, I should have known, I should have been the one to deal with it. Instead of hearing it through the grapevine.
I sigh and step forward. I must admit, this place is impressive, if evil. It's hard to even watch. Every time I see the gleam of the windows, I think about the phone call Angel and I shared at the beginning of the summer, when I came here. I didn't exactly talk about me, about the Slayers or otherwise, but instead forced him to explain his situation. Now I feel so selfish, for making him explain, for blaming him, and for pushing him away with some stupid cookie metaphor. If only I'd been here, maybe he still wouldn't be in this place. Maybe he'd have broken his contract, and I'd still be with the Slayage, and we'd find the curse cure. We'd fuck like something ravenous and keep going on with life, happy with each other. Instead I'm stuck in a revolving door or tedium in Europe, in a hole that I've dug myself into. No one to blame but me.
The whole building is intimidating. "Wolfram and Hart" the sign outside reads, and it rings off more like a threat than a title. Though I suppose any law firm is a threat. Angel's playing with fire here, not only dealing with monsters and creatures of the night, but lawyers. That's pretty heavy-duty, even for a Slayer such as myself. I wince at what I must look like to all these prim business people buzzing around. There are three on the elevator with me. They all keep looking at me nervously, as if they know that I'm the Slayer and I'm going to kick their ass. Instead I step out of the elevator without a word and startle a little at the massiveness.
My mouth goes a little dry, and my gum suddenly feels like a pebble inside of my mouth. I want to spit it out, but there don't seem to be any available trashcans around. So instead I just keep walking, keeping my cool and acting nonchalant. There are a zillion offices around; I don't even know how I'll be able to navigate. Everyone looks the same, I'm not sure I'll ever find a familiar face. It's then that I catch a blonde head out of my side view, right when I'm contemplating going up the stairs in front of me. Wait a minute, that's...? That can't be. What the hell is she doing behind a desk? I huff a little in surprise before stamping over in my Italian wedge sandals with hand-strung glass beads. Yes, they were expensive.
"Harmony?" I hiss, but she's on the phone and casually holds up her hand to signal that. I cock a hip and stand there, feeling my spite grow by the second. I slip a hand through my hair impatiently. Finally she sets the phone down and flashes me a smile.
"Sorry, this is a law firm, and all. Kinda busy."
"Aren't you evil?" I narrow my eyes.
"Well, duh, Buffy, this is an evil law firm. Did you think the Senior Partners were Care Bears or something?"
"Look, can I see Angel for a second? I flew ten hours to get here, I have jet lag, and I'd really just like to speak to him."
"Well, I would, but actually he's a little...preoccupied. He went over to-"
"Out," Wesley tersely interrupts, stepping out of nowhere. "Hello Buffy," I get a fleeting smile before I see a glare towards Harmony. "Angel isn't in right now, he's out visiting a...uh, a client." I can tell that I'm not getting the full story here, but that's the story of my life these days. He's hiding from me, and he's doing a sucky job of it too. I'm the Slayer, I'm not as dumb as my words can sometimes lead you to believe. Instead of balking at his bold-faced lie, I simply nod complacently. No need for a sticky mess to leave back in the states.
"Um, do you know when-when he'll be back?" I say as calmly as I can. I don't want to think of all the reasons why Wesley is restricting info from me.
"Actually, I'm not quite sure, but I can give him a number, if you like...?"
"No, that's okay. I guess I'll just come back later." I didn't mean to end the conversation so dejectedly, but there's something going on, and it's not exactly like I'm in the right mind to deal with it or anything.
"Wait, Buffy!" Wesley calls after me, but it's too late, I'm already descending the elevator. If I had stayed, would he have told me the truth? Probably not.
Should I come back tomorrow? Should I call Harmony and make an appointment? That sounds good. If Angel hears that it's me, maybe he'll keep the appointment and I won't be in danger of catching him at a bad time. Or seeing him holding something back. Would he lie to me like Wes? I spit out my gum on the sidewalk disdainfully and get into my rental car. How can I feel like such a stranger in the place of my birth?
The next day I wake up the incessant ringing of my cell phone. It's Giles, asking me again if I'm all right, where I am, what I'm doing. I explain to him that I went to LA for a bit, and of course he freaks out and asks where, why, what Dawn is doing, where she is. He's worse than a nagging mother. Or a nagging hen, whatever. I have a headache. Eventually he lets me go, but not without dropping some oh-so-subtle hints about Angel and his intentions with Wolfram and Hart. I let them slide, because I really don't feel like getting into an argument. I heard about that whole thing about Andrew coming in, and as usual, trying to "take charge" despite the fact that he's a little idiot. Some day he's going to get his ass kicked, and I won't be there to protect him. He'll learn his lesson the hard way, and I'll laugh when I hear about it.
After talking with Giles, and calling Dawn to make sure she's okay, I call my father. This should be the hardest task of the day. He actually answers his cell phone, which is something short of a miracle. He's not home, though, he says, but Sylvia could give me key if I want. I decline; I don't really want to go through the maid to get the key, then stay in a house that makes me feel completely unwelcome. I'd rather stay in the shabby hotel room. Why am I even here? What could I hope to accomplish by coming here? I'm seriously regretting this idea.
*******
Seeing them together was something that I definitely didn't expect. Have you ever felt the feeling like your heart drops out of you? I've only felt it a few times, and they happened so long ago that I don't even remember what they feel like. Sometimes I struggle to remember that they're real. But this moment, this is real.
Cordelia, out of her coma, very awake, and in Angel's lap. I don't think I've ever struggled toward something that I couldn't have. Loved something that was unreachable, or didn't love me back. It was always the other way around. Spike loved me, I didn't love him. Riley loved me, I couldn't love him. I tried to, but it was impossible, and it took me a long time to face that. But now the reality is in front of me: I should have taken what I could get. I'm left empty handed, while a person that I love more than anyone is kissing someone like they would die. Like we used to kiss, used to touch. It's sickening.
I turn, covering my mouth in what must be shock. It can't be anything else. It's a cross between nausea and shock. I hurry off to the bathroom right as they start cuddling, nuzzling, kissing, whispering love words. I'm sure they're fucking on his office desk by the time I reach the toilet and empty my stomach.
He's gone, he's really gone, and it's all my fault. It's everything that I wanted, everything that I pushed away. I made him wait, and he couldn't; now someone else has taken him away. No, that's not true. I think he gave himself willingly over to her. I think that he willingly handed his body, his soul, over to hers. Maybe their destined and I'm just destined for loneliness. I start sobbing in the bathroom, shortly after my gag reflex calms down a little.
After a night of dreams, fantasies, nightmares, I wake up and start manically packing. I brush my teeth, don't bother to shower, and put on eyeliner. Anger, fear, depression, all mixing in and creating a confusing torrent of emotions that I can't sort out, and it only makes me ache worse. I wipe away my tears as I pack. For once I'm not bothering to hold in my sobs, to be the strong one. That girl is gone, this is Normal Girl, no- Slay girl. I'm not his girl, I'm not anyone else's. I'm Italian girl, Euro girl, girl who-doesn't-fucking-matter-anymore because she's not the only girl who can save the world. How does that diminish my worth? My self-worth? My keening creaks through the walls before I hear the phone ring.
I try to clear the tears out of my voice before I pick it up, but it doesn't help. It's still there. My voice is thick and heavy, and sobs are melting into the tone of it. I honestly didn't expect Wesley on the other end.
"Buffy?" He says in a hushed tone.
"What?" I snap, and I know he knows that I've been crying.
"I saw you here yesterday...why didn't you talk to anyone? You could have made an appointment."
"I didn't think I'd have to make an appointment to see my own damn ex- boyfriend, Wes." The waspishness is still lingering, along with the tears. I can feel the wetness slipping down my nose, making my neck moist and warm. I close my eyes.
"Well, perhaps if you had warned us-"
"Yeah, yeah I know, I wouldn't have seen Angel and Cordelia together. Whatever. I would have found out sooner or later."
"Is there some danger?"
"What?"
"That's why you're here, isn't it? There's something wrong with the Slayers."
"No, Wesley. Why do I have to have an excuse to come to fuckin' LA? I feel so unwanted in my hometown. I just wanted to get away from Italy for a little bit, but on second thought I'd rather stay there. At least people won't patronize me and lie to me at every turn."
"We just didn't want you to get hurt."
"Listen, is this all the phone call is about? Because I really don't have time for this. Really. I have a ten hour flight at eight 'o clock this evening, and I have to pack."
"Actually, I do have some news that might interest you."
"Really...?" I say with a little curiosity. "More secrets about Angel?"
"No actually this has to deal with...er, Spike. Spike is alive, rather."
"What?" He's alive? How the fuck did that happen? And how come no one ever tells me anything?
Suddenly there's a bang before the phone is dropped on the floor. Then there's some scuffling and a familiar British accent is there.
"Buffy?" He says in a rushed tone.
"Spike," I say slowly. I can't really deal with this. No, I can't. Please don't make me deal with this. Not Spike. Not Angel and Cordelia. I feel sick again.
"Buffy, it's really you?" All the surprise has drained out of my voice. I should have known that he'd be back, especially with that amulet.
"Yes, Spike, it's really me. And I'm guessing that's really you on the other end."
"What'sa matter?" He asks immediately. My sigh puffs into the phone. I can't really explain it, I don't know if I want to explain it. It all disgusts me, the whole thing disgusts me. I loved him so much...I love him so much, and he loves her. He touches her as if I never existed. My mind wanders off of Spike, and for a moment I feel guilty that he's so easily forgettable.
"I'm sorry," I say, the tears entering my voice again. "I'm sorry, I just...I can't do this. I can't talk to you right now."
"Buffy, wait-" I hear before I slam the phone down hard. I grasp my head before breaking into frustrated sobs again. I should have never come here. I should have stayed in Italy where it was safe and warm and there were olives. I should have met a nice Adonis and married and had children. I should have never come back to be ripped apart again before someone that I love more than anything that exists in this universe. It's too hard, I can't deal with all this shit anymore.
The thing that really gets me is that this bothers me so damn much. Now that I've had time to live out my life, I find him wandering into my thoughts more and more. Before I simply didn't have time to think about him, moon about him. So I simply assumed that the feelings were gone. Then he blows back into my life and suddenly I'm kissing him and those feelings rise up and rip me from my old mind frame and it's scary. Then I'm free from my Slayer duty and I'm confused and bored and itching constantly. And he's always there with me, and that scares me even more. I might be alone because of him, because I'm without him. I wish I could hate him, I wish so much. But no matter what he does, hell even when he's evil, I can't hate him. God, I don't even understand myself anymore.
*******
Isn't it silly when you expect happy endings? Today I went and saw a movie, by myself. I thought it would be an interesting romantic comedy, something to take my mind of the problems that I'm facing. Something to keep me occupied. Instead it forced my face into the cake that is Cordelia and Angel. It didn't have a happy ending; instead it had a dark and sordid ending. People were staring at me because I was sobbing so hard. They probably assumed the worst. But I expected a happy ending, one that would satisfy the audience and make them go "awww". Instead I got reality.
I can't decide if that's good or bad. Do we see movies to escape reality, or do we need to be reminded of it? In reality, there are no happy endings. Nothing ever ends, and nothing ever stays perfect for long, as I've come to learn. Instead things are a constant circle, of love, or hate. Sometimes things intertwine, and they're concentric circles of love and hate and lust. Different people, different circles, but I was never happy. So why would I expect to be happy now?
I know what you want to ask: "if you were with Angel, would that mean that you would never be happy?" That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Because despite the fact that we don't have happy endings, we do have things that last, and give us support. No, Angel wouldn't always make me happy, but he would be there for me, and I would be happier. That's the whole point, besides forever. But his circle has decided to drift over to Cordelia, to intertwine with hers so that they're both revolving on the same axis. So that they're both orbiting in each other's gravity forever. I think I'm going into the metaphors way too much. Why did I even think I would end up with him anyway?
So I decided to stay in LA for a few extra days. Here I am, in my hotel room, at a loss for what to do. I can't go back to Italy, because they look at me there like I'm a funny American. I can't stay here, because Angel is with her now. I guess I was meant to stay dead. At first I realized that I had some purpose when I was brought back into this world. But now that I'm left to my own life, and I'm still alone, that says something doesn't it? It says that the Slayer is destined to be alone, whether she's still the Slayer or not. It doesn't matter what Alternate Universe or Reality I would be born into, I would never have the perfect love life, I would never do well in high school, I would never be able to function without being alone on some basic level, being miserable. It seems as thought that's what I was created to do. My conception was one out of misery; look how my parents turned out. Now my mother is nothing but dust in the ground and my father copulates with everything that moves. And my love is with another. This should be a TV show. Except it doesn't have a happy ending. Do TV shows even have happy endings anymore? Or are they like reality too? I haven't watched TV in so long, I wouldn't know.
Spike's at my door when I walk home that day. In the morning I'm catching a flight; it was pushed back. I don't even know why I'm walking around LA. I can defend myself, but it still isn't a pretty place to look at. I guess I just want to be reminded of my childhood. Earlier today I went and visited Hemery. I haven't been there in a good eight or nine years. It looks really different. I don't know if it's me that's changed or the school itself. Or maybe it's just the times that have changed.
When I see him I almost want to turn around and walk away. It's not that I'm not happy that he's alive; I'm ecstatic. But the thing is, it only brings more complication into my life that I really don't want to have to deal with. I just need a few days to gather my wits together. After seeing Angel and Cordy together...like that, I just need a little time to myself. I don't need Spike's self-flagellation and begging in my ear. He's a good friend, and I do love him, but it's not support that I need right now. I don't want to seem unhappy to see him, or unenthusiastic, but I feel as though something has been taken out of me. A large chunk. I want to scream and sleep all at the same time.
"Spike," I say in greeting, and he grabs me and crushes me in an embrace. I lay limply, as though I'm a doll thrown over his shoulder. He always has kind of treated me like a doll, used me and idolized me.
"Oh God, Buffy," he says into my hair, and when he realizes that I'm not grabbing him back in a frantic hug, he lets go and peruses me with confused eyes.
"I'm sorry, Spike, I can't talk right now."
"Wait a minute!" He calls after, me, as I start to close the door. "Buffy, what the bloody hell is wrong with you? I'm here, I'm alive, that should mean something. Can we at least talk?"
I sigh a little and look back into my room before straight into his eyes. I then step aside. "Sure."
He immediately makes himself at home, sitting on my bed and looking up at me expectantly. "So why the long face? You see me, after you thought I was dead, and you act like it's nothing. Not to toot my own horn or anything but-"
"I saw Angel and Cordelia," I say through clenched teeth. Time has only made me more jealous and angry. How could she take what's mine? How could he give what's mine? I want to scream and claw my own eyes out, to cry until my voice goes away.
"Oh," he says. He's obviously at a loss for words. "Well, I never really understood what's going on between them, but I just assumed they were kind of...together. I mean, I didn't think you didn't know, I just didn't think you'd care and-"
"Wouldn't care? Wouldn't care?" My voice is rising to a high squeal. Why do I care so much? I pushed him away; I said that we don't live in each other's worlds anymore. "Spike, I don't know what to do. I hate my life." I scoot back on the bed and rest my back against the headboard. "I'm just so tired. And I thought if I came...well, if I came back things would be different, I would have support. I never expected to see-I didn't..." I trail off as sobs start to choke me.
"Oh Buffy," he says, and starts to come toward me but I put up a hand and purse my lips together.
"Please. I don't want anyone touching me."
A little silence passes before I decide to speak again. "I didn't think it would affect me so much." My voice is starting to take on a lilt, the lilt I get when sobs are hiding in my throat. "I mean, we barely know each other anymore. I guess I just figured...he would always wait for me. That I would be the only one."
"I know," he says soothingly, but somehow I can't help but think it's not soothing at all. "Maybe you should call him, get the full story."
"No," I shake my head and stare at the phone. "I don't think so. It would only complicate things. What right do I have to be jealous? None. He's his own person; he can live his own life. My petty issues shouldn't get in the way."
"But he cares about you, Buffy." I can hardly believe that Spike is urging me to fix things with Angel. I almost feel suspicious; maybe he has a secret agenda through all this. Not that things could get much worse.
"Spike, nothing you say is going to make me feel better, so please just leave."
"I'm not leaving till you call," he says, firmly holding the receiver of the phone in my face. It buzzes in my face and I turn away.
"What do you think that would accomplish?" I growl at him, before slamming the phone back down. "Go away, Spike, I just want to be alone. I have a plane to catch tomorrow morning. Oh fuck it, I'll just go to LAX now."
"No, Buffy," he says, trying to stop me from packing. "He still loves you."
"What the fuck would you know about it?" I spit. I don't intentionally take all my rage out on him; he's just there. And in the usual Buffy-fashion, I lash out at whatever comes near me. Luckily, Spike knows enough about me to not hate me after this. "You don't know anything! So shut up!"
"Bloody Hell I don't!" He shouts back, and I jump back a little. "I've known the Nancy Boy through thick and thin, Buffy. I've seen you two since you were in high school, and I know all the bleedin' drama that surrounds you two. I know your past isn't pretty, but I also know something else: you don't love me and you don't love anyone else." His face falters a little at the truth, but I stay silent. "The only one you've ever loved was Peaches. Fucked if I know why, but that's just the way things are, and that's the way they'll be forever. You can pretend to be with army boys or guys that use you, but you know that there's really only one for you."
I turn away. "What do you expect me to do?" I'm leaving in-" I check my watch "-ten hours to go to Italy, and the so-called love of my shitty life is banging the hell out of Cordelia Chase. Sorry, Spike, but I just don't buy the happy ending scenario. You can't just call someone and everything will be better, especially when we have less than half a day to work our shit out."
"Take another flight." He says it like it's the solution to all my problems.
"And what? Stay here for more heartbreak? No thank you, I'd rather just stay in Italy where nobody knows who I am."
"Buffy, you need someone who knows who you are. You can't keep pretending that you're normal when you're not; you're extraordinary. Angel knows it, I know it, everyone who really knows you knows it. Not those damned Italians and not anyone else who chooses to judge you. Why don't you at least get a little peace of mind and call him? You don't have to bring up anything with Cordelia, but at least make the bugger squirm. I mean, Christ, you two are worse than a soap opera. And Passions was at least a little more action and a little less talk."
I slip under the covers of my crappy hotel room and turn my back to him. "Goodnight Spike," I say quietly, and hear the angry slam of my door shortly after. I have a hard time going to sleep that night.
*******
Guilt overrides me on the way home. Home. Is that what I call Italy these days? Nowhere is my home. My home was sucked into the pit of Hell. How's that for cliché? I guess it was written into my destiny. No matter how many prophecies I try to avert, they always seem to come back and karmically bite me in the ass. I'll die early, yada yada yada. At this point, dying early really doesn't seem that bad. Seriously. Dawn can take care of herself, or if not she can move to England. Why the hell am I thinking about dying for a third time? I really must be crazy.
Get to the airport, no one waiting for me. Get home, no one there. The neighbors hail a casual 'ciao' my way. They don't really know me. They don't really wanna know me. I went all that way, and I didn't even get to kick some demon ass.
Of course, Dawn is coming home in about four and a half hours, and all I can think about is sleep. Unfortunately, I don't sleep very well on planes at all. I sleep horribly. All my qualities of courage fly out the window and I tremble like a little girl. Thus, no sleepage on a plane. Instead, I cling to a seat and stare out the window, with occasional distractions. But now that I'm grounded, all I can think about is the milky sleep that's clouding my brain. Emotionally, mentally, physically, I'm exhausted. Maybe I could just forget this whole thing...yeah, like that's going to happen. Every time I close my eyes I get disturbing images of Angel with Cordelia.
I wake up to someone knocking incessantly on the door. Dawn isn't supposed to be back until I call or come get her. I'm drowsy and half awake, and I'm almost sure that I look like shit. My eyes feel dry and scratchy from crying so much, and my insides feel hollowed out.
I should have expected it was he on the other side as soon as I opened the door. His nobility is very telling; he wouldn't let me just escape without talking to me, and no doubt Spike told him what I said. Probably prodded him to come here, just as he prodded me. Angel is so predictable in his heroics; he can't just leave well enough alone.
"Angel," I say dumbly, as though I can't believe he's there. But he is, and apparently he's holding a vase of silk flowers. Orchids, I think. Does he think this is going to make it all better? Does he think that he can placate me with flowers? I feel like knocking the expensive vase out of his hands and spitting in his face. Not that I have any right, of course, but I still feel betrayed. "What are you doing here?" I ask softly, feeling a frown coming on. The softness of my words belies the anger, the depression that I can feel.
"I came to talk to you. I heard...you were in LA."
"I was," I reply.
"Listen, can I come in for a second?" His voice is low, as if he's afraid I'll run away. Yeah right. I'm more likely to kick his ass than do that.
"Um, sure." I look back quickly to see that my apartment barely even looks lived in, let alone messy. It's not very personalized either. He seems to pick up on this as well, and a little sadness enters his face. Rage and tears boil inside of me, but I clamp them down. I take the silk flowers and set them down on a table near the door.
"So, why did you fly across the world, just to say hello?" I can't keep the acid out of my voice, no matter how hard I try.
"Actually," he says, in that way that hints of what's to come, "I came to talk to you about something. Something very important." He makes himself comfortable on my super chic white couch that's rarely ever used.
"Uh-huh," I say, going into the kitchen to put some tea on. It's an old habit. It also conveniently helps to keep me occupied and distracted when I'm in deep conversations. "So? Talk away."
"Why did you come to LA?" Well, at least he takes out the hard- hitting questions first. He's the Champion of blunt. I go back into the living room and sit down across from him, but avoid his eyes. Just seeing him again, especially after this whole debacle makes me kind of weak...mentally, physically, emotionally. Every which way.
"I actually just wanted to see my father, to come back to LA for a little bit. I...I missed it. And," my voice falters a little here, but honesty still comes out, "I came to see you." His head ducks down, in shame or just avoidance, I can't tell. "I just wanted to see some familiar faces, but not Andrew and Giles...because they never talk to me, and they're always handling this stupid 'Council' over in Britain and of course I can't go there because of my normal life and...I..." I trail off, "am rambling." I lean back dejectedly. Well, at least I was truthful. "So...um, Cordy's awake. At least that's good, right?" I know he can almost smell my tears; I'm not fooling anybody.
"Yeah," he says. He sounds a little choked. "We thought she was going to die. But at the last second she snapped out of it."
"I'm...I'm happy for you two." I look away and somewhere behind me a kettle starts whistling. I don't know if I can hold up with this. Seriously, in a second I might just break down and throw this tea in his face and scream and cry. I get up and go to the small kitchen, and pour the tea, taking my time to think of what to say next.
"Buffy, I..." the china clatters a little when I set it down on the table, and I pretend that he hasn't said anything. "I came here to talk about what you saw."
"What do you mean?" Play dumb, Buffy, play dumb, it's always what you were best at. Just play dumb and maybe he'll leave before we get to the tears and the begging and all the 'I love yous' coming from my mouths and the 'I'm sorrys' and the 'I was wrongs'.
"I mean, me and Cordelia. Spike told me-"
"Spike's an ass," I say with a shaky laugh. I don't know if I'll make it through the next few words. He always has to rub it in, doesn't he? He always just has to come to see me personally, even if it's halfway around the fucking world, just to see me cry. "Spike doesn't know what he's talking about."
"He said that he talked to you...and you saw some things." I look down and my throat jumps when I try to swallow away the lump that's formed there. It's like coal.
"I don't know what I saw," I say quietly. I can tell that he's staring at me now.
"Look, Buffy, I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know." My voice is shaky. "It's your life, Angel, you shouldn't have come all this way just to reassure me. I was the one who made you wait." Be strong, be strong, be strong. You're the Slayer, you can do this.
"Buffy, it's not like that." At his blatant lie, my control snaps.
"It's not like that?" I snort. "It sure seemed like it when you guys were making out and she was in your lap." I cover my mouth instantly, mortified with what I've said. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business." GOD, my mind screams at me, do you have fucking Tourette's?
"No, it's okay, Buffy. I owe you an explanation."
"No you don't, Angel," I argue quietly, holding my hands in my lap. "We don't even know each other anymore, and you're a grown man. You've seen and done many more things than I could ever hope to achieve." A certain amount of pride enters my voice. "It's okay. You have your life." I try to smile, but it doesn't come out right.
"Buffy, just listen," he commands. "Cordelia and I...we know each other. Very well. And...she's different. Very different. She's woken up in a world where she doesn't know anyone, and I was there. I do love her, very much, Buffy." Oh God, the tears, they're coming and they're like citrus in my eyes. I wring my hands harder and grit my teeth, staring into my pristine carpet.
"Okay," I say. My voice is edging on a sob, and I tilt my head back a little to keep in the tears. "Is that it?" My voice is still calm. "Are you done rubbing my face in it?"
"Buffy, I didn't come halfway around the world just to tell you about my love life."
"Well, what did you come for? To make me cry? Because you're doing a damn good job of it," I snap unexpectedly. My body is shaking so hard that I don't know if I can walk. I seem glued to the seat and I don't even know if I can see him out without exploding into a fit of rage and tears. WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME? I want to scream, I would wait forever for you! I LOVE you, goddammit! Why did you have to go and fall in love with Cordelia?
"Buffy, I love you, you know that." His voice sounds like he's sad too, but I'm sure it's just an act. It's all an act.
"But you love her more," I remark, my voice becoming thick as the first tear makes itself known, tracking slowly down my face. I'm too weak to wipe it away.
"It's not that. I'll always love you it's just...we live differently now. We have different things to take care of."
"No, I have nothing to take care of." My voice comes out angry and slices to through the air, making him start a little in surprise. "No one fucking cares about me, anymore. I never thought that being a leader, being a Slayer, would define me as a person. Apparently it has. It was the only thing I had going for me, because now I'm nothing. Even Dawn doesn't look twice at me, just once before I give her lunch money in the morning. I have no job, no friends, no one that really knows me. And now you...you've slipped through my fingers, and it's all. My. Fault." I rub my cheek, trying to scrub the tears away.
"We can't be together, you know that."
"Why not? I'm cookies! Look at me! I'm so fucking ready for a relationship it's insane! Every day I want to kill a vamp, or just be around people I know." I hate begging, I hate doing this, but there's no other angle I can take. There's no other way I can tell him what I want. He seems resolute, distant, and I hate him for it. But I love him.
"Buffy, the curse..."
"And what, the curse doesn't apply to Cordelia? Suddenly all the magical rules of vampirism are just lifted?"
"Don't lash out, just let me explain."
"There is no explaining. The only thing I see is that I traveled halfway around the damn world to see you cuddled up next to someone else, and it tore at me. You're the only one that I've ever loved, and every time you see me, it's like you intentionally hurt me."
"I'm not intentionally hurting you," he says in a stern voice. "I love you, but I need you to know the truth. Yes, you made me wait; yes I got involved in something with Cordelia. But she doesn't give my perfect happiness. She makes me happy, but she doesn't compare to what we had. I love her a lot, she's known me for years, we're friends, and yes we're lovers, but it's not what we had. And that's all I have to settle for now, because I would rather have some happiness than no happiness. I can't be with you."
"Why not?" I sniff. I feel like I'm breaking inside. I feel like I'm fucking breaking. I don't know if I ever want to see his face again, it's too painful. "Why the fuck not, Angel?" I'm not screaming, but somehow my tone of voice is more deadly. "Just because we can't have sex and you and Cordy can, is that it? Or did I really suck so much in bed that you just can't stand it anymore? How can you even tell me these things? How can you say this to my face?"
He shakes his head; it looks as if he's at a loss for what to say. "Sometimes, when I look at you, just look at you, I feel as if I might lose my soul because you're so beautiful. And I can't take that risk. It wasn't only the sex, Buffy, it was you."
"But I want to be with you," I whine, and he comes towards me and kneels next to me.
"Buffy, you're truly beautiful, and you'll find someone who loves you. You just need to open yourself up."
"I can't believe you're saying this," I say, scooting away from him. "Don't you understand, Angel? I only love you, I only want to be with you. I don't love Spike, I didn't love Riley or Parker or Owen or any other boy that I was with. I. Love. You."
"I love you too," he permits a small smile.
"Then be with me. Please, stop doing this to me."
"Buffy." He says my name like I'm a child. A fucking child. His back is towards me.
"Get out." His head snaps over his shoulder, and his eyes are surprised. "You heard me, get out. Your reasons are utter bullshit. I can't believe I let...I can't believe I invited you in here. You're treating me like I'm worthless, Angel, like I'm a child. I don't care what you say; actions speak louder than words. You can't just leave me for Cordelia, you can't just come here and rub in my face the fact that you two are together and I love you and we're not. You can't even wait a year for me. You had to..." I start sobbing again, and I get up in a sudden rush of adrenaline. "Get out of my fucking house."
"Buffy, no, I won't leave on bad terms with you."
"Too bad, you're going to. I don't want to see you ever again. I don't care if I live the rest of my life in solitude, without you, just as long as the pain is removed."
Before he can say my name again, in that tender and condescending way of his, I push him, hard, so that he stumbles a little toward the front door. "Get. Out," I snarl, and he grabs my arms forcefully. He's grown stronger, because despite my struggles, he still hauls me into the bedroom and pins me on the bed. His face is in mine, and he's growling, and the tears only stream faster.
"Just let me go, Angel," I'm sobbing. I had no idea that this could affect me so much. I had no idea. "Let me go, let me go," I chant, pushing him.
"No," he says gruffly. "You are going to stop sobbing, Buffy."
"I loved you," I say a little hysterically. "I still love you. I love you so much that I'm scared I don't know how to live without you. And maybe that's unhealthy, but I would give anything to be with you. I would kill myself to be with you. And you...you just lie to me, to placate me. And you fly all the way here, because you can afford to do that, because you're so goddamn rich."
"I didn't lie." His voice is a little softer.
"I love you," a whispery moan escapes my throat that parallels a sob and I turn my face to the side. "Just leave me alone."
"Buffy, you have to understand, this is for us, it's for our own good, I'm just taking happiness where I can, I don't-"
All the fight has been taken out of me. I just lie limply on the bed as he lifts his body off of mine. "Just go. Leave me alone. Go back to Cordelia. It's where you belong. I'm sorry I yelled at you."
I turn on my belly and hear his retreating footsteps. My sobs are muffled in the coarse fabric of the sheets.
After two weeks of thinking about it, I've racked my brain and I can't think anymore. It's not that I'm necessarily trying to find a solution; there isn't one. He won't come back to me, and ultimately it's my fault for turning him away in the first place. Or maybe if I hadn't turned him away, he'd have cheated with Cordelia behind my back. I don't know. I don't know what kind of person he is anymore. I know that he doesn't love me, not the way I love him. And that's a strange feeling.
I've never loved someone who hasn't loved me back. I guess you could say that's because I've never really loved anyone, except one person. And he just betrayed me, humiliated me, rejected me. It's a horrible feeling, and I don't think it'll ever be fixed.
Can I find happiness? Of course. There are lots of other factors to my depression right now, factors that have nothing to do with Angel. But he was a large part, a large part of me that's been taken away and given to Cordelia. I don't know if I'll ever be full again, whole, without him. It makes me feel bent, empty, cold, hollow. And no one can ever know what's transpired between us except him and I.
Why did he even come in the first place? He only made things worse. It would have been better if he'd only left well enough alone and never came. Maybe it was an excuse to feel like a Champion, to defy the rep that he's built in his alliance with Wolfram and Hart. Or maybe he just loves crushing me; my will, my spirit, whatever. All I can do is move on with life normally, try to find someone to connect to, try to not to be alone. I don't know if that'll ever happen, though. Because I'm not normal, my life isn't supposed to be normal, and neither is my love.
-Fin-
Author: Leena
Email: ryme34123@yahoo.com
Distribution: , Hello Goodbye
Disclaimer: Everything you see here is not mine.
Synopsis: Angst, angst and more heartbreak. Story of my fic *g*
Warning: NO fluff, angsty and not happy. I AM a B/A shipper, just in case you may be doubting it after this fic, I just thought I'd write something a little depressing to balance out the fluff. Plus this fic=how I feel after I found out about Angel
Pairings: C/A, B/A
Timeline: Before You're Welcome, but Cordy has still awakened from her coma
Feedback: Oh yes please! I suck, I rule, whatever!
Credits: I looked up flight stuff on united.com and got the Italian translations at this site - trust me, I have NO knowledge of Italian, so excuse any errors
**********
Moving is always good. You can pick up, move to a new place, where no one knows you. It's almost like you're starting over. Key word there is almost. Except you're not starting over, because these niggling thoughts in the back of your head keep at you. You can escape your past, but you can't escape your thoughts. That's why, when I went to Italy, somehow I felt like I was abandoning my home. Not that I had any home to speak of, of course. I tried to pretend that I was a normal European woman. I walked around in my Gucci shoes and my flared and hand-made lilac skirts. Hell, I even dated a few Italian men. But it wasn't really fulfilling, you know? It felt like someone else had been tacked on to me. Someone that I was supposed to be.
Dawn seems to be fitting in okay. She's learning Italian. Of course, you really need to speak Italian to live here, so she picks it up a little fast. I have too, not as fast though. I miss my friends. I've accumulated some here, but I miss my real friends. The ones that I don't have to hide from. The ones who know that I'm not some highbrow bella donna, but rather a Slayer. Someone who is strong and resilient, but at the same time stubborn and increasingly selfish. Someone who used to love grapefruit juice and orange juice together, who had to deal with hard things but dealt with them because she didn't have a choice.
Now I'm simply a woman who wanders the narrow streets, occasionally slipping on a crooked cobble. I stare into quaint little shops where grazioso old women show me their looms, their trinkets, their expensive hand-made things. And small euro cars whiz by me with audacity and cleanliness that I don't think the US could ever possess. But despite the quaint aspects of this place, it doesn't feel like home. I wanted to come here to find Slayers, but gradually I find myself bored out of my mind, leaving all the projects of the Slayers to Andrew and Giles in England. I always just assumed that I was in charge, the leader of everything, because I was The One. But now I'm just One Of Many and I feel left out. For years I wanted a normal life, and now that I have one it seems mundane. What I wouldn't give for a cemetery.
I haven't seen any vamps in almost nine months. It's weird, how lacking this place is for evil. Maybe that's why I hate it so much. There are only so many Italian-dubbed movies I can see before I grow stanco of it all. Dawn is a nice companion, but I long for other companions. I guess it's true; you can't really change the essence of who you are, no matter how hard you try. For years I denied that my Slayerness was a part of me, but now that it's gone I feel as though I've taken it for granted. It's been ingrained in me. I'm constantly itching for a fight, a puzzle, something to break. My senses are always on high speed. But there's nothing to do here, other than sightsee. And I've seen the Aqueducts and learned about them so much that I think I could run my own personal tour.
I guess I don't choose to be alone. Maybe it's that I'm so used to the Scoobies that I'm afraid of meeting new people. Or maybe I'm just incapable socially. I have no idea. But I've been alone for so long, with the burden of so much on my shoulders, I fear that I can't really adjust to this new lifestyle. I thought I could handle it at first, then I encountered this lifestyle that honestly bores me to death. Giles sent me so much money that I think I have Dawn's college paid, and my retirement too, so there's not really much to do for work. Not that I'd really want to work in a panetteria or a junk shop anyway. Yeah, what a life, threading necklaces and selling antiques until I'm eighty. Plus, I've gained weight with all the torta and tiramisu and biscotti that I'm eating. Dawn says that I look good, but I just can't stay here much longer.
Next thing I know, a close friend is watching after Dawn and I'm on a plane to LA. I don't know exactly what I'm doing, going there, but my body is on fire with the need of a fight. What's a little ten-hour plane ride to LA? Pshaw. It won't hurt anything. I just think I need to see some resemblance of home, beat up some vamps, kick some ass. You know, Slayer-y things. LA isn't Sunnydale, but it's as close as I can get, and what better reason than to go see my father? It doesn't even matter that I have a layover in Philadelphia, and that I won't be arriving till 9:04 PM at night, or that no one will be there to pick me up. I glance out the window and frost it with my breath, tracing little designs and observing the inviting clouds.
After some ten hours later, not including the ever-disastrous baggage claim and the rental car, I collapse into my bed. A cheap motel a few blocks from my father's house. I would go there, but I don't think he's even there, and even if he were, I really don't want to hear him and Jackie fucking, or whatever her name is. Every week it's a different one. His business partner, his secretary, his client, etc. Sleep claims me, and I can't help but feel the sense of home surround and asphyxiate me.
I bite my nails. A nasty habit I picked up from hours upon hours of wandering around Rome. It leaves my nails short and stubby. And now, here I am, in front of this monstrous place, biting my fingers to the bone. I heard from a friend of a friend of Giles that Andrew had been sent here to take care of a Slayer or something. Not that I really was told, or even talked to. I know that they're trying to let me have my "normal life", but it would be nice to at least include me in something once in awhile. I mean, aren't I supposed to be the supreme decision maker around here? I guess I can understand where they're coming from. I shouldn't be like that. They're only trying to look out for me, protect me. But still, it's Angel, I should have known, I should have been the one to deal with it. Instead of hearing it through the grapevine.
I sigh and step forward. I must admit, this place is impressive, if evil. It's hard to even watch. Every time I see the gleam of the windows, I think about the phone call Angel and I shared at the beginning of the summer, when I came here. I didn't exactly talk about me, about the Slayers or otherwise, but instead forced him to explain his situation. Now I feel so selfish, for making him explain, for blaming him, and for pushing him away with some stupid cookie metaphor. If only I'd been here, maybe he still wouldn't be in this place. Maybe he'd have broken his contract, and I'd still be with the Slayage, and we'd find the curse cure. We'd fuck like something ravenous and keep going on with life, happy with each other. Instead I'm stuck in a revolving door or tedium in Europe, in a hole that I've dug myself into. No one to blame but me.
The whole building is intimidating. "Wolfram and Hart" the sign outside reads, and it rings off more like a threat than a title. Though I suppose any law firm is a threat. Angel's playing with fire here, not only dealing with monsters and creatures of the night, but lawyers. That's pretty heavy-duty, even for a Slayer such as myself. I wince at what I must look like to all these prim business people buzzing around. There are three on the elevator with me. They all keep looking at me nervously, as if they know that I'm the Slayer and I'm going to kick their ass. Instead I step out of the elevator without a word and startle a little at the massiveness.
My mouth goes a little dry, and my gum suddenly feels like a pebble inside of my mouth. I want to spit it out, but there don't seem to be any available trashcans around. So instead I just keep walking, keeping my cool and acting nonchalant. There are a zillion offices around; I don't even know how I'll be able to navigate. Everyone looks the same, I'm not sure I'll ever find a familiar face. It's then that I catch a blonde head out of my side view, right when I'm contemplating going up the stairs in front of me. Wait a minute, that's...? That can't be. What the hell is she doing behind a desk? I huff a little in surprise before stamping over in my Italian wedge sandals with hand-strung glass beads. Yes, they were expensive.
"Harmony?" I hiss, but she's on the phone and casually holds up her hand to signal that. I cock a hip and stand there, feeling my spite grow by the second. I slip a hand through my hair impatiently. Finally she sets the phone down and flashes me a smile.
"Sorry, this is a law firm, and all. Kinda busy."
"Aren't you evil?" I narrow my eyes.
"Well, duh, Buffy, this is an evil law firm. Did you think the Senior Partners were Care Bears or something?"
"Look, can I see Angel for a second? I flew ten hours to get here, I have jet lag, and I'd really just like to speak to him."
"Well, I would, but actually he's a little...preoccupied. He went over to-"
"Out," Wesley tersely interrupts, stepping out of nowhere. "Hello Buffy," I get a fleeting smile before I see a glare towards Harmony. "Angel isn't in right now, he's out visiting a...uh, a client." I can tell that I'm not getting the full story here, but that's the story of my life these days. He's hiding from me, and he's doing a sucky job of it too. I'm the Slayer, I'm not as dumb as my words can sometimes lead you to believe. Instead of balking at his bold-faced lie, I simply nod complacently. No need for a sticky mess to leave back in the states.
"Um, do you know when-when he'll be back?" I say as calmly as I can. I don't want to think of all the reasons why Wesley is restricting info from me.
"Actually, I'm not quite sure, but I can give him a number, if you like...?"
"No, that's okay. I guess I'll just come back later." I didn't mean to end the conversation so dejectedly, but there's something going on, and it's not exactly like I'm in the right mind to deal with it or anything.
"Wait, Buffy!" Wesley calls after me, but it's too late, I'm already descending the elevator. If I had stayed, would he have told me the truth? Probably not.
Should I come back tomorrow? Should I call Harmony and make an appointment? That sounds good. If Angel hears that it's me, maybe he'll keep the appointment and I won't be in danger of catching him at a bad time. Or seeing him holding something back. Would he lie to me like Wes? I spit out my gum on the sidewalk disdainfully and get into my rental car. How can I feel like such a stranger in the place of my birth?
The next day I wake up the incessant ringing of my cell phone. It's Giles, asking me again if I'm all right, where I am, what I'm doing. I explain to him that I went to LA for a bit, and of course he freaks out and asks where, why, what Dawn is doing, where she is. He's worse than a nagging mother. Or a nagging hen, whatever. I have a headache. Eventually he lets me go, but not without dropping some oh-so-subtle hints about Angel and his intentions with Wolfram and Hart. I let them slide, because I really don't feel like getting into an argument. I heard about that whole thing about Andrew coming in, and as usual, trying to "take charge" despite the fact that he's a little idiot. Some day he's going to get his ass kicked, and I won't be there to protect him. He'll learn his lesson the hard way, and I'll laugh when I hear about it.
After talking with Giles, and calling Dawn to make sure she's okay, I call my father. This should be the hardest task of the day. He actually answers his cell phone, which is something short of a miracle. He's not home, though, he says, but Sylvia could give me key if I want. I decline; I don't really want to go through the maid to get the key, then stay in a house that makes me feel completely unwelcome. I'd rather stay in the shabby hotel room. Why am I even here? What could I hope to accomplish by coming here? I'm seriously regretting this idea.
*******
Seeing them together was something that I definitely didn't expect. Have you ever felt the feeling like your heart drops out of you? I've only felt it a few times, and they happened so long ago that I don't even remember what they feel like. Sometimes I struggle to remember that they're real. But this moment, this is real.
Cordelia, out of her coma, very awake, and in Angel's lap. I don't think I've ever struggled toward something that I couldn't have. Loved something that was unreachable, or didn't love me back. It was always the other way around. Spike loved me, I didn't love him. Riley loved me, I couldn't love him. I tried to, but it was impossible, and it took me a long time to face that. But now the reality is in front of me: I should have taken what I could get. I'm left empty handed, while a person that I love more than anyone is kissing someone like they would die. Like we used to kiss, used to touch. It's sickening.
I turn, covering my mouth in what must be shock. It can't be anything else. It's a cross between nausea and shock. I hurry off to the bathroom right as they start cuddling, nuzzling, kissing, whispering love words. I'm sure they're fucking on his office desk by the time I reach the toilet and empty my stomach.
He's gone, he's really gone, and it's all my fault. It's everything that I wanted, everything that I pushed away. I made him wait, and he couldn't; now someone else has taken him away. No, that's not true. I think he gave himself willingly over to her. I think that he willingly handed his body, his soul, over to hers. Maybe their destined and I'm just destined for loneliness. I start sobbing in the bathroom, shortly after my gag reflex calms down a little.
After a night of dreams, fantasies, nightmares, I wake up and start manically packing. I brush my teeth, don't bother to shower, and put on eyeliner. Anger, fear, depression, all mixing in and creating a confusing torrent of emotions that I can't sort out, and it only makes me ache worse. I wipe away my tears as I pack. For once I'm not bothering to hold in my sobs, to be the strong one. That girl is gone, this is Normal Girl, no- Slay girl. I'm not his girl, I'm not anyone else's. I'm Italian girl, Euro girl, girl who-doesn't-fucking-matter-anymore because she's not the only girl who can save the world. How does that diminish my worth? My self-worth? My keening creaks through the walls before I hear the phone ring.
I try to clear the tears out of my voice before I pick it up, but it doesn't help. It's still there. My voice is thick and heavy, and sobs are melting into the tone of it. I honestly didn't expect Wesley on the other end.
"Buffy?" He says in a hushed tone.
"What?" I snap, and I know he knows that I've been crying.
"I saw you here yesterday...why didn't you talk to anyone? You could have made an appointment."
"I didn't think I'd have to make an appointment to see my own damn ex- boyfriend, Wes." The waspishness is still lingering, along with the tears. I can feel the wetness slipping down my nose, making my neck moist and warm. I close my eyes.
"Well, perhaps if you had warned us-"
"Yeah, yeah I know, I wouldn't have seen Angel and Cordelia together. Whatever. I would have found out sooner or later."
"Is there some danger?"
"What?"
"That's why you're here, isn't it? There's something wrong with the Slayers."
"No, Wesley. Why do I have to have an excuse to come to fuckin' LA? I feel so unwanted in my hometown. I just wanted to get away from Italy for a little bit, but on second thought I'd rather stay there. At least people won't patronize me and lie to me at every turn."
"We just didn't want you to get hurt."
"Listen, is this all the phone call is about? Because I really don't have time for this. Really. I have a ten hour flight at eight 'o clock this evening, and I have to pack."
"Actually, I do have some news that might interest you."
"Really...?" I say with a little curiosity. "More secrets about Angel?"
"No actually this has to deal with...er, Spike. Spike is alive, rather."
"What?" He's alive? How the fuck did that happen? And how come no one ever tells me anything?
Suddenly there's a bang before the phone is dropped on the floor. Then there's some scuffling and a familiar British accent is there.
"Buffy?" He says in a rushed tone.
"Spike," I say slowly. I can't really deal with this. No, I can't. Please don't make me deal with this. Not Spike. Not Angel and Cordelia. I feel sick again.
"Buffy, it's really you?" All the surprise has drained out of my voice. I should have known that he'd be back, especially with that amulet.
"Yes, Spike, it's really me. And I'm guessing that's really you on the other end."
"What'sa matter?" He asks immediately. My sigh puffs into the phone. I can't really explain it, I don't know if I want to explain it. It all disgusts me, the whole thing disgusts me. I loved him so much...I love him so much, and he loves her. He touches her as if I never existed. My mind wanders off of Spike, and for a moment I feel guilty that he's so easily forgettable.
"I'm sorry," I say, the tears entering my voice again. "I'm sorry, I just...I can't do this. I can't talk to you right now."
"Buffy, wait-" I hear before I slam the phone down hard. I grasp my head before breaking into frustrated sobs again. I should have never come here. I should have stayed in Italy where it was safe and warm and there were olives. I should have met a nice Adonis and married and had children. I should have never come back to be ripped apart again before someone that I love more than anything that exists in this universe. It's too hard, I can't deal with all this shit anymore.
The thing that really gets me is that this bothers me so damn much. Now that I've had time to live out my life, I find him wandering into my thoughts more and more. Before I simply didn't have time to think about him, moon about him. So I simply assumed that the feelings were gone. Then he blows back into my life and suddenly I'm kissing him and those feelings rise up and rip me from my old mind frame and it's scary. Then I'm free from my Slayer duty and I'm confused and bored and itching constantly. And he's always there with me, and that scares me even more. I might be alone because of him, because I'm without him. I wish I could hate him, I wish so much. But no matter what he does, hell even when he's evil, I can't hate him. God, I don't even understand myself anymore.
*******
Isn't it silly when you expect happy endings? Today I went and saw a movie, by myself. I thought it would be an interesting romantic comedy, something to take my mind of the problems that I'm facing. Something to keep me occupied. Instead it forced my face into the cake that is Cordelia and Angel. It didn't have a happy ending; instead it had a dark and sordid ending. People were staring at me because I was sobbing so hard. They probably assumed the worst. But I expected a happy ending, one that would satisfy the audience and make them go "awww". Instead I got reality.
I can't decide if that's good or bad. Do we see movies to escape reality, or do we need to be reminded of it? In reality, there are no happy endings. Nothing ever ends, and nothing ever stays perfect for long, as I've come to learn. Instead things are a constant circle, of love, or hate. Sometimes things intertwine, and they're concentric circles of love and hate and lust. Different people, different circles, but I was never happy. So why would I expect to be happy now?
I know what you want to ask: "if you were with Angel, would that mean that you would never be happy?" That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Because despite the fact that we don't have happy endings, we do have things that last, and give us support. No, Angel wouldn't always make me happy, but he would be there for me, and I would be happier. That's the whole point, besides forever. But his circle has decided to drift over to Cordelia, to intertwine with hers so that they're both revolving on the same axis. So that they're both orbiting in each other's gravity forever. I think I'm going into the metaphors way too much. Why did I even think I would end up with him anyway?
So I decided to stay in LA for a few extra days. Here I am, in my hotel room, at a loss for what to do. I can't go back to Italy, because they look at me there like I'm a funny American. I can't stay here, because Angel is with her now. I guess I was meant to stay dead. At first I realized that I had some purpose when I was brought back into this world. But now that I'm left to my own life, and I'm still alone, that says something doesn't it? It says that the Slayer is destined to be alone, whether she's still the Slayer or not. It doesn't matter what Alternate Universe or Reality I would be born into, I would never have the perfect love life, I would never do well in high school, I would never be able to function without being alone on some basic level, being miserable. It seems as thought that's what I was created to do. My conception was one out of misery; look how my parents turned out. Now my mother is nothing but dust in the ground and my father copulates with everything that moves. And my love is with another. This should be a TV show. Except it doesn't have a happy ending. Do TV shows even have happy endings anymore? Or are they like reality too? I haven't watched TV in so long, I wouldn't know.
Spike's at my door when I walk home that day. In the morning I'm catching a flight; it was pushed back. I don't even know why I'm walking around LA. I can defend myself, but it still isn't a pretty place to look at. I guess I just want to be reminded of my childhood. Earlier today I went and visited Hemery. I haven't been there in a good eight or nine years. It looks really different. I don't know if it's me that's changed or the school itself. Or maybe it's just the times that have changed.
When I see him I almost want to turn around and walk away. It's not that I'm not happy that he's alive; I'm ecstatic. But the thing is, it only brings more complication into my life that I really don't want to have to deal with. I just need a few days to gather my wits together. After seeing Angel and Cordy together...like that, I just need a little time to myself. I don't need Spike's self-flagellation and begging in my ear. He's a good friend, and I do love him, but it's not support that I need right now. I don't want to seem unhappy to see him, or unenthusiastic, but I feel as though something has been taken out of me. A large chunk. I want to scream and sleep all at the same time.
"Spike," I say in greeting, and he grabs me and crushes me in an embrace. I lay limply, as though I'm a doll thrown over his shoulder. He always has kind of treated me like a doll, used me and idolized me.
"Oh God, Buffy," he says into my hair, and when he realizes that I'm not grabbing him back in a frantic hug, he lets go and peruses me with confused eyes.
"I'm sorry, Spike, I can't talk right now."
"Wait a minute!" He calls after, me, as I start to close the door. "Buffy, what the bloody hell is wrong with you? I'm here, I'm alive, that should mean something. Can we at least talk?"
I sigh a little and look back into my room before straight into his eyes. I then step aside. "Sure."
He immediately makes himself at home, sitting on my bed and looking up at me expectantly. "So why the long face? You see me, after you thought I was dead, and you act like it's nothing. Not to toot my own horn or anything but-"
"I saw Angel and Cordelia," I say through clenched teeth. Time has only made me more jealous and angry. How could she take what's mine? How could he give what's mine? I want to scream and claw my own eyes out, to cry until my voice goes away.
"Oh," he says. He's obviously at a loss for words. "Well, I never really understood what's going on between them, but I just assumed they were kind of...together. I mean, I didn't think you didn't know, I just didn't think you'd care and-"
"Wouldn't care? Wouldn't care?" My voice is rising to a high squeal. Why do I care so much? I pushed him away; I said that we don't live in each other's worlds anymore. "Spike, I don't know what to do. I hate my life." I scoot back on the bed and rest my back against the headboard. "I'm just so tired. And I thought if I came...well, if I came back things would be different, I would have support. I never expected to see-I didn't..." I trail off as sobs start to choke me.
"Oh Buffy," he says, and starts to come toward me but I put up a hand and purse my lips together.
"Please. I don't want anyone touching me."
A little silence passes before I decide to speak again. "I didn't think it would affect me so much." My voice is starting to take on a lilt, the lilt I get when sobs are hiding in my throat. "I mean, we barely know each other anymore. I guess I just figured...he would always wait for me. That I would be the only one."
"I know," he says soothingly, but somehow I can't help but think it's not soothing at all. "Maybe you should call him, get the full story."
"No," I shake my head and stare at the phone. "I don't think so. It would only complicate things. What right do I have to be jealous? None. He's his own person; he can live his own life. My petty issues shouldn't get in the way."
"But he cares about you, Buffy." I can hardly believe that Spike is urging me to fix things with Angel. I almost feel suspicious; maybe he has a secret agenda through all this. Not that things could get much worse.
"Spike, nothing you say is going to make me feel better, so please just leave."
"I'm not leaving till you call," he says, firmly holding the receiver of the phone in my face. It buzzes in my face and I turn away.
"What do you think that would accomplish?" I growl at him, before slamming the phone back down. "Go away, Spike, I just want to be alone. I have a plane to catch tomorrow morning. Oh fuck it, I'll just go to LAX now."
"No, Buffy," he says, trying to stop me from packing. "He still loves you."
"What the fuck would you know about it?" I spit. I don't intentionally take all my rage out on him; he's just there. And in the usual Buffy-fashion, I lash out at whatever comes near me. Luckily, Spike knows enough about me to not hate me after this. "You don't know anything! So shut up!"
"Bloody Hell I don't!" He shouts back, and I jump back a little. "I've known the Nancy Boy through thick and thin, Buffy. I've seen you two since you were in high school, and I know all the bleedin' drama that surrounds you two. I know your past isn't pretty, but I also know something else: you don't love me and you don't love anyone else." His face falters a little at the truth, but I stay silent. "The only one you've ever loved was Peaches. Fucked if I know why, but that's just the way things are, and that's the way they'll be forever. You can pretend to be with army boys or guys that use you, but you know that there's really only one for you."
I turn away. "What do you expect me to do?" I'm leaving in-" I check my watch "-ten hours to go to Italy, and the so-called love of my shitty life is banging the hell out of Cordelia Chase. Sorry, Spike, but I just don't buy the happy ending scenario. You can't just call someone and everything will be better, especially when we have less than half a day to work our shit out."
"Take another flight." He says it like it's the solution to all my problems.
"And what? Stay here for more heartbreak? No thank you, I'd rather just stay in Italy where nobody knows who I am."
"Buffy, you need someone who knows who you are. You can't keep pretending that you're normal when you're not; you're extraordinary. Angel knows it, I know it, everyone who really knows you knows it. Not those damned Italians and not anyone else who chooses to judge you. Why don't you at least get a little peace of mind and call him? You don't have to bring up anything with Cordelia, but at least make the bugger squirm. I mean, Christ, you two are worse than a soap opera. And Passions was at least a little more action and a little less talk."
I slip under the covers of my crappy hotel room and turn my back to him. "Goodnight Spike," I say quietly, and hear the angry slam of my door shortly after. I have a hard time going to sleep that night.
*******
Guilt overrides me on the way home. Home. Is that what I call Italy these days? Nowhere is my home. My home was sucked into the pit of Hell. How's that for cliché? I guess it was written into my destiny. No matter how many prophecies I try to avert, they always seem to come back and karmically bite me in the ass. I'll die early, yada yada yada. At this point, dying early really doesn't seem that bad. Seriously. Dawn can take care of herself, or if not she can move to England. Why the hell am I thinking about dying for a third time? I really must be crazy.
Get to the airport, no one waiting for me. Get home, no one there. The neighbors hail a casual 'ciao' my way. They don't really know me. They don't really wanna know me. I went all that way, and I didn't even get to kick some demon ass.
Of course, Dawn is coming home in about four and a half hours, and all I can think about is sleep. Unfortunately, I don't sleep very well on planes at all. I sleep horribly. All my qualities of courage fly out the window and I tremble like a little girl. Thus, no sleepage on a plane. Instead, I cling to a seat and stare out the window, with occasional distractions. But now that I'm grounded, all I can think about is the milky sleep that's clouding my brain. Emotionally, mentally, physically, I'm exhausted. Maybe I could just forget this whole thing...yeah, like that's going to happen. Every time I close my eyes I get disturbing images of Angel with Cordelia.
I wake up to someone knocking incessantly on the door. Dawn isn't supposed to be back until I call or come get her. I'm drowsy and half awake, and I'm almost sure that I look like shit. My eyes feel dry and scratchy from crying so much, and my insides feel hollowed out.
I should have expected it was he on the other side as soon as I opened the door. His nobility is very telling; he wouldn't let me just escape without talking to me, and no doubt Spike told him what I said. Probably prodded him to come here, just as he prodded me. Angel is so predictable in his heroics; he can't just leave well enough alone.
"Angel," I say dumbly, as though I can't believe he's there. But he is, and apparently he's holding a vase of silk flowers. Orchids, I think. Does he think this is going to make it all better? Does he think that he can placate me with flowers? I feel like knocking the expensive vase out of his hands and spitting in his face. Not that I have any right, of course, but I still feel betrayed. "What are you doing here?" I ask softly, feeling a frown coming on. The softness of my words belies the anger, the depression that I can feel.
"I came to talk to you. I heard...you were in LA."
"I was," I reply.
"Listen, can I come in for a second?" His voice is low, as if he's afraid I'll run away. Yeah right. I'm more likely to kick his ass than do that.
"Um, sure." I look back quickly to see that my apartment barely even looks lived in, let alone messy. It's not very personalized either. He seems to pick up on this as well, and a little sadness enters his face. Rage and tears boil inside of me, but I clamp them down. I take the silk flowers and set them down on a table near the door.
"So, why did you fly across the world, just to say hello?" I can't keep the acid out of my voice, no matter how hard I try.
"Actually," he says, in that way that hints of what's to come, "I came to talk to you about something. Something very important." He makes himself comfortable on my super chic white couch that's rarely ever used.
"Uh-huh," I say, going into the kitchen to put some tea on. It's an old habit. It also conveniently helps to keep me occupied and distracted when I'm in deep conversations. "So? Talk away."
"Why did you come to LA?" Well, at least he takes out the hard- hitting questions first. He's the Champion of blunt. I go back into the living room and sit down across from him, but avoid his eyes. Just seeing him again, especially after this whole debacle makes me kind of weak...mentally, physically, emotionally. Every which way.
"I actually just wanted to see my father, to come back to LA for a little bit. I...I missed it. And," my voice falters a little here, but honesty still comes out, "I came to see you." His head ducks down, in shame or just avoidance, I can't tell. "I just wanted to see some familiar faces, but not Andrew and Giles...because they never talk to me, and they're always handling this stupid 'Council' over in Britain and of course I can't go there because of my normal life and...I..." I trail off, "am rambling." I lean back dejectedly. Well, at least I was truthful. "So...um, Cordy's awake. At least that's good, right?" I know he can almost smell my tears; I'm not fooling anybody.
"Yeah," he says. He sounds a little choked. "We thought she was going to die. But at the last second she snapped out of it."
"I'm...I'm happy for you two." I look away and somewhere behind me a kettle starts whistling. I don't know if I can hold up with this. Seriously, in a second I might just break down and throw this tea in his face and scream and cry. I get up and go to the small kitchen, and pour the tea, taking my time to think of what to say next.
"Buffy, I..." the china clatters a little when I set it down on the table, and I pretend that he hasn't said anything. "I came here to talk about what you saw."
"What do you mean?" Play dumb, Buffy, play dumb, it's always what you were best at. Just play dumb and maybe he'll leave before we get to the tears and the begging and all the 'I love yous' coming from my mouths and the 'I'm sorrys' and the 'I was wrongs'.
"I mean, me and Cordelia. Spike told me-"
"Spike's an ass," I say with a shaky laugh. I don't know if I'll make it through the next few words. He always has to rub it in, doesn't he? He always just has to come to see me personally, even if it's halfway around the fucking world, just to see me cry. "Spike doesn't know what he's talking about."
"He said that he talked to you...and you saw some things." I look down and my throat jumps when I try to swallow away the lump that's formed there. It's like coal.
"I don't know what I saw," I say quietly. I can tell that he's staring at me now.
"Look, Buffy, I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know." My voice is shaky. "It's your life, Angel, you shouldn't have come all this way just to reassure me. I was the one who made you wait." Be strong, be strong, be strong. You're the Slayer, you can do this.
"Buffy, it's not like that." At his blatant lie, my control snaps.
"It's not like that?" I snort. "It sure seemed like it when you guys were making out and she was in your lap." I cover my mouth instantly, mortified with what I've said. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business." GOD, my mind screams at me, do you have fucking Tourette's?
"No, it's okay, Buffy. I owe you an explanation."
"No you don't, Angel," I argue quietly, holding my hands in my lap. "We don't even know each other anymore, and you're a grown man. You've seen and done many more things than I could ever hope to achieve." A certain amount of pride enters my voice. "It's okay. You have your life." I try to smile, but it doesn't come out right.
"Buffy, just listen," he commands. "Cordelia and I...we know each other. Very well. And...she's different. Very different. She's woken up in a world where she doesn't know anyone, and I was there. I do love her, very much, Buffy." Oh God, the tears, they're coming and they're like citrus in my eyes. I wring my hands harder and grit my teeth, staring into my pristine carpet.
"Okay," I say. My voice is edging on a sob, and I tilt my head back a little to keep in the tears. "Is that it?" My voice is still calm. "Are you done rubbing my face in it?"
"Buffy, I didn't come halfway around the world just to tell you about my love life."
"Well, what did you come for? To make me cry? Because you're doing a damn good job of it," I snap unexpectedly. My body is shaking so hard that I don't know if I can walk. I seem glued to the seat and I don't even know if I can see him out without exploding into a fit of rage and tears. WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME? I want to scream, I would wait forever for you! I LOVE you, goddammit! Why did you have to go and fall in love with Cordelia?
"Buffy, I love you, you know that." His voice sounds like he's sad too, but I'm sure it's just an act. It's all an act.
"But you love her more," I remark, my voice becoming thick as the first tear makes itself known, tracking slowly down my face. I'm too weak to wipe it away.
"It's not that. I'll always love you it's just...we live differently now. We have different things to take care of."
"No, I have nothing to take care of." My voice comes out angry and slices to through the air, making him start a little in surprise. "No one fucking cares about me, anymore. I never thought that being a leader, being a Slayer, would define me as a person. Apparently it has. It was the only thing I had going for me, because now I'm nothing. Even Dawn doesn't look twice at me, just once before I give her lunch money in the morning. I have no job, no friends, no one that really knows me. And now you...you've slipped through my fingers, and it's all. My. Fault." I rub my cheek, trying to scrub the tears away.
"We can't be together, you know that."
"Why not? I'm cookies! Look at me! I'm so fucking ready for a relationship it's insane! Every day I want to kill a vamp, or just be around people I know." I hate begging, I hate doing this, but there's no other angle I can take. There's no other way I can tell him what I want. He seems resolute, distant, and I hate him for it. But I love him.
"Buffy, the curse..."
"And what, the curse doesn't apply to Cordelia? Suddenly all the magical rules of vampirism are just lifted?"
"Don't lash out, just let me explain."
"There is no explaining. The only thing I see is that I traveled halfway around the damn world to see you cuddled up next to someone else, and it tore at me. You're the only one that I've ever loved, and every time you see me, it's like you intentionally hurt me."
"I'm not intentionally hurting you," he says in a stern voice. "I love you, but I need you to know the truth. Yes, you made me wait; yes I got involved in something with Cordelia. But she doesn't give my perfect happiness. She makes me happy, but she doesn't compare to what we had. I love her a lot, she's known me for years, we're friends, and yes we're lovers, but it's not what we had. And that's all I have to settle for now, because I would rather have some happiness than no happiness. I can't be with you."
"Why not?" I sniff. I feel like I'm breaking inside. I feel like I'm fucking breaking. I don't know if I ever want to see his face again, it's too painful. "Why the fuck not, Angel?" I'm not screaming, but somehow my tone of voice is more deadly. "Just because we can't have sex and you and Cordy can, is that it? Or did I really suck so much in bed that you just can't stand it anymore? How can you even tell me these things? How can you say this to my face?"
He shakes his head; it looks as if he's at a loss for what to say. "Sometimes, when I look at you, just look at you, I feel as if I might lose my soul because you're so beautiful. And I can't take that risk. It wasn't only the sex, Buffy, it was you."
"But I want to be with you," I whine, and he comes towards me and kneels next to me.
"Buffy, you're truly beautiful, and you'll find someone who loves you. You just need to open yourself up."
"I can't believe you're saying this," I say, scooting away from him. "Don't you understand, Angel? I only love you, I only want to be with you. I don't love Spike, I didn't love Riley or Parker or Owen or any other boy that I was with. I. Love. You."
"I love you too," he permits a small smile.
"Then be with me. Please, stop doing this to me."
"Buffy." He says my name like I'm a child. A fucking child. His back is towards me.
"Get out." His head snaps over his shoulder, and his eyes are surprised. "You heard me, get out. Your reasons are utter bullshit. I can't believe I let...I can't believe I invited you in here. You're treating me like I'm worthless, Angel, like I'm a child. I don't care what you say; actions speak louder than words. You can't just leave me for Cordelia, you can't just come here and rub in my face the fact that you two are together and I love you and we're not. You can't even wait a year for me. You had to..." I start sobbing again, and I get up in a sudden rush of adrenaline. "Get out of my fucking house."
"Buffy, no, I won't leave on bad terms with you."
"Too bad, you're going to. I don't want to see you ever again. I don't care if I live the rest of my life in solitude, without you, just as long as the pain is removed."
Before he can say my name again, in that tender and condescending way of his, I push him, hard, so that he stumbles a little toward the front door. "Get. Out," I snarl, and he grabs my arms forcefully. He's grown stronger, because despite my struggles, he still hauls me into the bedroom and pins me on the bed. His face is in mine, and he's growling, and the tears only stream faster.
"Just let me go, Angel," I'm sobbing. I had no idea that this could affect me so much. I had no idea. "Let me go, let me go," I chant, pushing him.
"No," he says gruffly. "You are going to stop sobbing, Buffy."
"I loved you," I say a little hysterically. "I still love you. I love you so much that I'm scared I don't know how to live without you. And maybe that's unhealthy, but I would give anything to be with you. I would kill myself to be with you. And you...you just lie to me, to placate me. And you fly all the way here, because you can afford to do that, because you're so goddamn rich."
"I didn't lie." His voice is a little softer.
"I love you," a whispery moan escapes my throat that parallels a sob and I turn my face to the side. "Just leave me alone."
"Buffy, you have to understand, this is for us, it's for our own good, I'm just taking happiness where I can, I don't-"
All the fight has been taken out of me. I just lie limply on the bed as he lifts his body off of mine. "Just go. Leave me alone. Go back to Cordelia. It's where you belong. I'm sorry I yelled at you."
I turn on my belly and hear his retreating footsteps. My sobs are muffled in the coarse fabric of the sheets.
After two weeks of thinking about it, I've racked my brain and I can't think anymore. It's not that I'm necessarily trying to find a solution; there isn't one. He won't come back to me, and ultimately it's my fault for turning him away in the first place. Or maybe if I hadn't turned him away, he'd have cheated with Cordelia behind my back. I don't know. I don't know what kind of person he is anymore. I know that he doesn't love me, not the way I love him. And that's a strange feeling.
I've never loved someone who hasn't loved me back. I guess you could say that's because I've never really loved anyone, except one person. And he just betrayed me, humiliated me, rejected me. It's a horrible feeling, and I don't think it'll ever be fixed.
Can I find happiness? Of course. There are lots of other factors to my depression right now, factors that have nothing to do with Angel. But he was a large part, a large part of me that's been taken away and given to Cordelia. I don't know if I'll ever be full again, whole, without him. It makes me feel bent, empty, cold, hollow. And no one can ever know what's transpired between us except him and I.
Why did he even come in the first place? He only made things worse. It would have been better if he'd only left well enough alone and never came. Maybe it was an excuse to feel like a Champion, to defy the rep that he's built in his alliance with Wolfram and Hart. Or maybe he just loves crushing me; my will, my spirit, whatever. All I can do is move on with life normally, try to find someone to connect to, try to not to be alone. I don't know if that'll ever happen, though. Because I'm not normal, my life isn't supposed to be normal, and neither is my love.
-Fin-