Pity

by

Princess McPhee

Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, UPN, WB, all not me.

Author's Note: IMPORTANT! This is written not as if Buffy is in the mental state she is now. Rather, this is written as though all the same events transpired, but Buffy's mental state is still close to what she was like immediately after coming back to life. Just to clear things up.

Summary: Buffy goes to Angel for help, and he wonders if he can help her this time, or if she's too far gone.

Rating: PG-13

I step out of the car, not sure what's going on. All I know is that Buffy isn't hurt, isn't physically hurt, anyway, but she wants to meet me. Why? That, I couldn't tell you.

It's the same place we met when I had to see her, had to make sure with my own eyes, that she was alive. Had to feel her arms in my larger hands, had to run my chin over her head and revel in the softness of her hair. I had to make sure it wasn't a trick or a hoax, because I couldn't have lived through that.

Am I here because of Conner? I think so, in part, but I know there's more to it than that. There's something going on, something that Buffy can't handle. Something that she thinks I can make right.

Even before Giles was gone, it's always been her pattern. If something in life appears insurmountable, run to Angel. When I lived in Sunnydale, she came to me every time a big bad seemed too big for her to take care of on her own. When I moved, she still did, only less often. I like to think it was because I was farther away, but the reality of it was that I had hurt her, and she ran to Riley for a long time, then.

But she asked me to stay when her mother died, and everything looked so bleak.

She came to me when she was back from the dead and couldn't deal.

Now, she's come to me for some other reason. I only hope I can help her. That's the problem with being her backup. Frequently I can't actually help her, and it makes me feel terrible. So often, she'd be better off back in Sunnydale, with people who can comfort her and help make her life better. She says that I'm the only person who actually can comfort her, but I find that hard to believe, since she always goes away with more tears in her eyes than she comes to me with.

I hate hurting her.

She steps from her car, and slams the door behind her. She's angry. These many years of knowing her haven't taught me nothing about her personal body language.

She starts towards me, across the huge parking lot of the deserted Kmart we use for these midnight meetings. She's limping. I resist the urge to run to her and see how she's hurt, and how badly, and why, and instead, shove my hands in my pockets and wait silently.

Cordelia says I'm spooky when I do this. She says that I'm so still and pale and eerie that I look like exactly what I am: A vampire. Whenever I remind her of that fact, she always gets louder and shriller and tells me that I shouldn't be all spooky, though, because I'm 'not like other vampires'. I don't know how she ever comes to any of the conclusions she makes. It's Cordy-logic. We're all used to it by now.

Buffy reaches me, and stops, five feet away. I can see a bruise on her cheek, but otherwise, she doesn't appear badly hurt. She doesn't favor the foot that she's limping on, which makes me wonder why she does, but I push it aside. "Hello."

Buffy nods curtly, and then I see the tears falling down her cheeks. Not quickly, or steadily, just every once in a while. I step towards her, closing the distance by a foot. She draws her long coat around herself more tightly, but doesn't back away, and I wonder again what's going on.

We stand like this for a long while. Then Buffy starts to fidget. I wait longer, knowing that she will spill it eventually. But as we wait, the smells surrounding her start to fill my nose, and I start to notice how strong a few of them are.

First of all, she's angry. But I already knew that. Angry and sad. And she smells like demon. But she's the Slayer, that's no unusual.

She smells like Willow and Dawn, and a tiny bit like Xander and Anya and Tara. It's funny to me, a hard thing to get used to that she no longer smells like Giles. I can't remember a time when Buffy and Giles weren't synonymous. It just smells... wrong.

However, amongst all of this, the most overwhelming scent on her person is Spike.

I'm used to her smelling like my childe, now. That doesn't mean I like it, but Spike's been helping the Sunnydale gang for long enough that Buffy frequently smells a little like him, like she does with all the people she spends time with. But today, it's strong. It's overwhelming almost. And there's blood mixed in with his scent. At first I wonder if he bit her, but then I realize that there are no marks on her wrists or neck, where a vampire would bite. Besides, Spike can't bite her.

I know she would kill him if she thought he could.

Fire rushes through my veins as I come to my only remaining option. The only other reason a person would smell this strongly of another is if they were intimately involved.

Anger speeds through me as I stare down at Buffy, putting the pieces together. "You slept with Spike?" I ask in a low, enraged tone.

She nods wordlessly.

"And you felt the need to come out here and tell me?"

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

I don't know what to say. I'm not usually the one doing the talking in our relationship. So, I settle for an old standby. "Why?" I ask softly, and I know the hurt reflects in my voice, even as the anger tries to drown it out.

She looks at me for the first time, and I can only feel sympathy for her. There are so many things in her eyes, I know she's incredibly confused. I want to be mad, but I can't. She's in pain, and I can't be mad at Buffy in pain.

"Why what?" She says. "Why did I fuck Spike, or why did I feel the need to tell you?"

"I don't know," I say softly.

"Well, I can't answer the first one," She says, anger at herself apparent in her tone. "So, I might as well try and tackle the second one." She settles down on the edge of a planter-box, about waist high on her. It doesn't creak or bend under her weight, so I settle myself down next to her, and wait.

"A million different reasons, I guess. I felt guilty. I haven't had sex in like, a year. And I just can't deal, I guess. Too many things are going on.

"Willow resurrected Amy. Amy, the rat? That Amy. Then Amy went out and showed her how to get loaded, the black-magic, witch way, not to mention they wreaked havoc on the Bronze. I think I heard Willow turned some guys into sheep. Luckily, she turned them back."

My mind is reeling, Spike forgotten for a moment. Willow, doing all of this? Amy, Amy I could see, even though I'd only known her for a short period of time, but Willow? And what did Tara think of all this?

"Tara?" I ask softly.

Buffy shakes her head. "She left Willow a couple of weeks ago. She saw Willow's magic-addiction before any of us did, and she left her."

Buffy looks down at her hands. "Willow took Dawn with her last night, to go to this guy, Raq, to get doped up. Magically. Then a demon attacked them, and she stole a car to get away from it. She crashed the car. Dawn has a broken arm."

It just gets better and better, doesn't it?

"What happened? Where is she?"

Buffy looks everywhere but at me. "She quit magic. She saw what happened last night, and she begged me to help her, told me she couldn't stop. She was shaking and sweating all last night and this morning, withdrawal from Raq's magic, I guess, but she was better when I left. Xander's with her."

We sit for a long moment. Then Buffy starts to talk again.

"Giles is gone, and as much as he wants me to learn to handle things, I can't do this. I can't take care of Dawn and Willow, I can't handle Spike and his crazy chip, and I can't get any help. Tara won't come close to Willow or Spike, Xander and Spike are worse than Spike alone, and Anya's pretty much useless in anything demanding any kind of tact at all."

"Wait. Spike and his 'crazy' chip?" I ask.

Buffy looks down at her hands again, and speaks softly, as if ashamed. "It doesn't work on me."

I'm stunned. "And this..." I indicate her bruised body, hoping that it isn't worse than it looked at first glance.

Buffy shakes her head. "I started it," She says softly, ashamedly. "I was fighting with him... and then I just kissed him."

Anger flows through my body, but mostly I feel the arrow through my heart. It hurts, real pain, like there is actually is something skewered through my chest. Why does she need to tell me this?

I want to get mad at her, but I can't. I really can't. She's so small and vulnerable right now, and she's not the same girl I used to know. Sure, she can take care of herself, but she's really fragile. She's as determined as that girl I used to know, but she's different somehow.

She's not as strong. And I can't seem to be more than upset with her.

"I'm sorry," She whispers, sensing how upset I am.

I lean over and fold her into my arms. I have no clue how I feel at the moment, or what I'm going to do, but I do know that Buffy's upset, and my instinct to comfort her is just as strong as it used to be. There's almost nothing I can do about it.

"Spike's chip..." I ask gently.

Buffy's arms around me go stiff, and she pulls away a few inches, but stays near me. "He says I 'came back wrong'. I'd rather have it put a different way, but he's right, if you don't want to nitpick about semantics."

I don't say anything, knowing that there's nothing that can be said to make things better. Instead, I just rub up and down her arms, pulling her against me in a tight embrace. We still embrace as lovers. It's a habit we could never quell.

Suddenly, she's looking up to me, and my lips descend to hers of their own accord. Kissing her is heavenly... another habit we could never quite get rid of.

She pulls away. "I'm sorry," She whispers again. "About Spike, about everything. I owe apologies to so many people, for not being there, for failing in my duty, for making the wrong choices. I'm falling apart, Angel, I can't handle this. I wanted you so much... wanted your comfort... Spike was only there. In the right place at the right time."

I'm still silent, just contemplating, but she takes it as anger. "I don't love him. Hell, I don't even like him! But he was convenient, Angel." She's weeping.

"Like you think Darla was last spring." I can't seem to keep the bite out of my statement. And I'm not just guessing, here, I know her too well. That's what she's thinking about.

"I wasn't thinking that." The hurt that I would think her capable of thinking such a thing about me is almost ironic, considering what did happen with Darla.

"It's true."

"Oh."

There's silence for long moments, then she speaks again. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Just being here. Not exploding when you learned about Spike. Everything you've ever done for me."

"You're welcome." I don't tell her that the only reason I'm not raging mad about the Spike incident is because I believe she is so far gone that perhaps she's not responsible for her actions. I'm don't want to be incredibly egotistical, but I believe that in her current state, she is perfectly capable of taking Spike and using him to pretend its me. I'm sad, more than anything.

Mostly about the fact that I pity her. I've felt many things towards Buffy in the past, but I have never, ever felt pity for her. Empathy, perhaps sympathy, but never pity. That she is now worthy of it, makes me ache within the deepest reaches of my heart, and though I want to be screaming, raging mad at her, I can't be.

She sits contentedly in my arms, pushing against me like a little child does when they're scared, for a while. We're both quiet, my arms around her holding her up more than I realize, and her tears eventually stop.

She looks up at me. "Make me feel something, Angel."

"You know we can't..."

She nods. "I know. Just kiss me. Touch me. Please, you're the only one who can make me feel more than dead right now, Angel." She's pleading, and so I nod, as always, unable to refuse her anything.

I couldn't take advantage of her tonight, even if it wouldn't mean my soul. She's so far gone.. she's almost childlike. Despite this, I push my hands up the back of her shirt, and rub the skin on her back gently. She sighs, and cuddles into me again.

My hands run along her warm flesh as I wonder what the hell I'm doing. Something in the back of my head screams at me, but there is something louder, something that brings out the primal urges to touch her and mark her my own. To make her mine again, to take her back from the others whose scent she is covered in.

She may bear the scent of others, but she bears no one's mark but mine. I run my hand lightly over it, and she moans softly, and arches her neck back. I don't want to bite her, have no real urge to do such a thing, but I vamp out and softly press my canines against the lighter, scarred skin. She moans again.

I wish the screaming in my head would shut up, but I can't push it away. And in a way, that's good. In a very large way. Because if that screaming went away, my soul would go with it.

Because if I could be touching my lover, could be kissing her like I am, could make her mine forever, and there was no screaming in my head, there were no worries about Angelus, that would be perfect happiness.

We'll stay here, late into the night, and cuddle and hold each other tight, kissing occasionally. If it gets really cold, we'll retreat to one of the cars, but we try not to. It makes memories somewhere we have to see, every day.

I know that if she goes back to Sunnydale in the morning, I have to be prepared to lose her, soon. She won't go on purpose, she couldn't do that to her friends and sister, but she's fading away, losing her functioning power and physical strength slowly but surely. And soon, she will leave us forever.

So, I do the drastic and incredibly crazy. I ask something of her that I may wonder about for the rest of my life, but I know I could never regret any action that might help save her.

I ask her to come with me, back to Los Angeles.

"Why?" She asks, dully.

"Because you need to get away from it all, and heal. Because you're losing it in Sunnydale, and because you and I both know that you're not coming back from this without some help, something which it sounds like your friends are too busy to give."

She pauses for a while. "I can't."

"Why?"

"I can't leave Dawn."

I force her to face me, though I can tell she desperately doesn't want to. "Buffy. Dawn needs her big sister, and she won't have one pretty soon, if you don't let me help you."

"I'm not just going to give up and die, Angel." She sounds vaguely offended, but she can't even muster the energy to get that right.

"Aren't you?" I ask, and she seems to deflate.

"When?" She asks dejectedly.

"Now."

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