New Homes
She tried her best to make him comfortable on the couch, but no matter how many pillows she positioned under him, he winced. Not that a half dilapidated mansion is one for comfort, especially after dragging your ex-boyfriend from a high school closet all the way over here.
"Sorry, sorry," she muttered.
He grimaced. "It's alright, really." An awkward silence as Buffy stepped back from the couch.
There were too many unsaid things.
"Okay," Buffy said, going into high gear—as usual, whenever something like this happened. Do, don't think, and thus keep calm. It's what gave her enough strength to get him from the school to the mansion—she had decided his apartment was too far away. Angel was too weak to go all the way across town.
"Umm...I'll go get some...food, for you. If that's okay?" She was a little reluctant to leave him. As much as she had loved and trusted him...he had just come back from purgatory. Just came back after she had sent him into hundreds of years of torture. Just came back after a reign of terror. He could still be unstable, or need her somehow...
But then she did want to leave. She was full of shame, of guilt, and she wanted somehow to apologize, but what could she say? I'm sorry I sent you into hundreds of years of hell because I had to carry out my duty as a Slayer. I'm sorry I couldn't pull myself together.
I'm sorry I love you too much to bear.
No, she had to get out. She couldn't stay anymore. Couldn't face the consequences of her mistake anymore. She wanted to cry, to collapse and break down; but what right did she have to break down in front of him?
"Yes," Angel nodded. "Food." He tried to get back up, but she took a step back quickly. He winced and leaned back down.
"Don't strain yourself," she said, and set off out of the mansion and into the night, glad for the cover of darkness as tears rolled down her cheek.
