Apocalypse: Sunnydale, Part III cont.
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(Author's note: Zazen is a type of Buddhist Meditation... it's the whole kneeling for hours part.)
Angel didn't see Buffy when she returned. In fact, he left town himself. Instead of moving back to his old apartment, he hiked to the farthest edge of the community and sat.
Someone had taken the time and the trouble to build a glade here, complete with a riverlet and a copse of giant oak, birch, and willow trees. Birds and butterflies flew about, and the river's edge was densely populated with bugs and toads.
He sat zazen for hours on end, watching the minutes trickle by as only an immortal could. He bathed in the cool water, and ate only what he had brought with him. He had too much to think about to be around anyone else right now. Long a loner, he had come to rely on peace and solitude to help him work through his problems.
Angel felt as though everything and everyone he had come to love had been torn away from him, once again. The irony was, it wasn't his curse, or the war, or any other thing about him or his destiny that was coming between him and his life, it was Buffy herself, who had once been his life. He was upset to find that some part of him resented her for it.
As he sat, he struggled to find his center again. What was it, now? Once, there had been Buffy. Then, his work. Then, the war. And for the past few years, it had been Jeremy and Willow and Rhea.
He realized suddenly that after all these years, he still didn't know himself, except in relation to others, and the world around him. He had no idea who he thought he was.
It was a situation he would have to remedy, and soon. He would find no other true answers until he had.
The only thing he knew for certain was that he didn't want to lose his family... the children, or his work on the land. It made him happy, to be connected to life that way... raising people, and raising plant life. These things were solid and sure for him, and he would fight to keep them.
//Oh, God, am I getting THAT hokey?//
He sighed. How did he feel about Willow? And Buffy? His emotions for both women were so tangled up in one another, he couldn't seem to pull them apart. He loved Willow, he could honestly say that, but how, and why? Did he love her as his mate, because she was kind and giving , beautiful, brilliant, and strong? Or did he love her because she was the last tie to what had been, before? Did he love her because of her connection with Buffy? Did he love her in a way that was built to transcend time, space, and obstacles the way that he loved the Slayer?
No. They had been thrown together by sad circumstance, not because they were irresistibly drawn to one another. They had fallen into one another's lives because of Buffy's children. They'd ended up in each other's arms because of Buffy's death -- or rather, her mistakenly assumed death -- as a comfort, for one another. Nothing more. No matter how attractive and desirable he found Willow, no matter how much he respected and liked her, what they shared was nothing like that deep, abiding passion he held for Buffy.
It had been a long time since Angel had let those old feelings come to the surface. It had been a long time since his life had sprung from his certainty that he was meant to love Buffy, even if he couldn't be with her, until the end of time. He had shoved all of that deep inside the recesses of his heart, and built his new life, like an airtight fortress, around it. He didn't know if he had the strength to let it out anymore, even if he wanted to. He wasn't certain if he even knew how. And... there was still the unknown factor: how Buffy herself felt...
Could it be possible that they had lost that connection, forever? That the one lifeline he'd clung to for so many years -- that had brought him back from Hell and through a war -- had simply vanished?
There was only one way for him to find out, and he didn't think he had the strength to do that, either.
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Willow sat in her office at the clinic, waiting for Buffy to be done with the latest in her long line of debriefings. She was supposed to stop by when she was finished, and the two of them would have dinner with the children at the house.
Buffy had been home for nearly a week, and Willow had hardly seen her at all, she was so busy. The two women hadn't yet had a chance to spend five minutes alone together. And there was so much for them to talk about: Where Buffy had been, how she'd survived and escaped... and how she'd found Spike, of all people.
They'd need to rehash all the years that they'd been apart. That's what best friends did. They'd talk about the way the community had grown, about everything that had happened tot he children... about how weird it was to see Buffy's name on the War Memorial wall.
And, inevitably, they would talk about Willow herself... and that would, sooner or later, lead to Angel... and that was where things could get ugly.
Buffy still didn't know that he was here, among them, let alone that the vampire had lived in Willow's home... slept in her bed... raised Buffy's children with her.
For the first three days, Buffy had been in quarantine, suffering from some demon fever that no one had ever heard of. Then she went from one high-level defense meeting to another, that never included anyone less than a General. Hush hush. Top Secret. No Willow's.
She hadn't even been allowed to see the children for more than five minutes, so there was no one who knew her tie to Angel who would tell her. Willow had been to see Buffy, allowed into quarantine briefly by her medical clearance. But the thick glass between them had killed any hope of communication, besides smiles and tears of greeting and gratitude.
Not that Willow had any inkling how she would tell her, anyway.
So, dinner promised to be... interesting. And the days that would follow, even more so. Buffy would want to be with her family again. She would want to know everything.
Willow sighed and pulled off her glasses. Why couldn't anything having to do with her best friend ever be simple?
She missed Angel. Whenever anything problematic came up, they always sat down and worked it out rationally, logically, until they got through it. Actually, Angel usually thought logically, and she usually was the one to yell or cry. She wished fervently that he would be with her, to help her thought this, as he had so many things before. But she herself had asked him to go away, and go away he had. No one had seen or heard from him in days.
With Angel gone walkabout, an escape reminiscent of his tragic brooding days, all of the really hard work was left for her. It wasn't the first time she had borne so heavy a burden alone.
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Willow was able to pretend all through dinner. In fact, she had hardly had to pretend, with the happy chatter of the children and Buffy's hilarious stories of life on the front.
Leave it to Buffy to cast a positive light on being a prisoner of war. Her story of how Spike had found her, and almost fallen off a cliff in shock, had them all in stitches.
But once the kids were safely tucked in bed, and the two women sat with glasses of wine by the fire, there was no room left for pretending. Buffy's demeanor became immediately darker, as if she too had been putting on a brighter face for the sake of her son and daughter.
Buffy sighed deeply, sinking into the soft cushions of the couch. "I never realized how much I missed upholstered furniture," she said.
Willow sat down beside her, and sipped her wine, "It is handy," she agreed.
She and Angel had put it to good use many times...
"They're like strangers...The kids..." Buffy said suddenly.
Willow turned and looked at her best friend. She looked sad and unhealthy, too thin, and she seemed to sag into herself as she hadn't in the past. Her skin still had a creepy yellow tint to it, although it wasn't nearly the thick, ghostly gold it had been when she first returned.
"It won't be like that forever," Willow told her, "You just have to get to know them again, that's all. They're good kids... smart. They've missed you."
Buffy bowed her head, "I missed them, too," she looked up into Willow's face for the first time, "And you. Every day, I thought about you all. I hoped... prayed... you would all be safe... and happy."
"We have been, mostly," Willow said.
Buffy moved closer to her, "Will... I have to thank you. For taking care of Jeremy and Rhea. For helping them grow up to be so wonderful... for... everything."
Willow shook her head, feeling guilty for all that she still had to tell Buffy, "Don't. I wouldn't have it any other way," she took a deep breath and set her glass down on the end table. She noticed one of Angel's ancient volumes of Voltaire, sitting there," It wasn't just me, Buffy. The whole community has been there for them."
Buffy watched her best friend closely. Her body language was so odd, all of a sudden... tense. She tried to dismiss it to the time they'd spent apart, but something nagged just at the edge of her mind... something Willow wasn't telling her. Something in the air of the community that she'd felt the moment she'd returned.
Willow knew she could feel it, too.
//Well, no time like the present...// she thought bitterly.
"Buffy... a lot has happened, since you've been gone. There are... things you should... you should know."
Buffy felt her chest tighten with fear, "What... like... what, Willow?" Everyone was dead now, weren't they? What else could there be?
//Better to get it out. Say it all at once. Don't hesitate. Don't stutter. Just tell her. She'll understand.//
"Two years after you were taken..." Willow felt her strength and resolve drain out of her in a single moment. In her mind, she saw Angel's kind eyes and his genuine smile.
//I owe him this. I owe them both this. For everything they've given me.//
Buffy leaned in toward her, her face full of fear, "What? What happened after I left?" She reached out and took her old friend's hand, "Willow, you can tell me. It's okay."
Willow looked into Buffy's warm hazel eyes, which seemed a startling green against her yellowed skin. "I haven't been raising the children alone, Buffy..." she hesitated, uncertain she had the strength to go on, "Angel's been with me."
Buffy abruptly let go of Willow's hand and snapped bolt upright. "What did you say?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Willow looked down at her hands, "Angel has been living her for three years. He came back when they liberated the Might, in Washington."
Buffy slumped back against the couch. She blinked furiously, unable to even process the thought. Angel? Alive? Here?
"Angel's here? Alive?" She thought aloud.
Willow nodded, "As alive as he's ever been."
Buffy was completely at a loss. She had imagined that Angel died years ago, in the LA Underground. But not only was he alive, he was here, maybe nearby...
//But if he's here, he must know I'm back.//
"Where is he?" she asked Willow, "Why didn't he come tonight?"
Willow frowned, never more upset at Angel's brooding-loner behavior, "When we... when he heard you were coming back, he... he left."
Buffy looked back at her once again, her eyes quickly filling with tears, "He left?" No. He wouldn't...
"No, no," Willow said quickly, "Not left, left. Left like... he needed some time. We... we thought you were dead, Buffy. We held on for a long time, but..." Willow sighed, unsure of how to continue. She hadn't even gotten to the worst part, yet. She felt confused by the old pain, when Buffy sat right there, beside her.
"I can't believe it," Buffy said, "I can't believe he's... alive..."
Willow screwed her face up into a tense frown, "There's more," she said, "There's something you should know. About Angel and I."
Buffy looked at her, and immediately knew what Willow was going to say. She shouldn't have been surprised, shouldn't have been hurt -- it was the natural thing to happen, after all... They both thought she was dead... they were old friends... the only two left...
But it hurt, anyway. As Willow explained how she and Angel had clung to one another in pain, fear, loneliness and desperation, Buffy couldn't help but let a decade of tears burst from her tired eyes.
Angel... her sweet Angel. Beloved, so long lost, to her... since long before the world had torn their world apart, he had been missing from her life.
But Willow had had him. For three years, he had been by her side... in her arms. Willow had possessed what she had only dreamed of, since she was 16 years old. Buffy was so jealous, so irrationally and unfairly angry, she had to suppress the urge to flee.
This was her home. Her family, whatever they might have done in her absence. They were alive, and they were well. She would just have to find a way to deal with the rest.
Buffy had been killed by a vampire; tortured and beaten and shot in battle, and ill almost to death with a wasting demon fever. She had almost starved to death, almost frozen to death. All of her friends and family were dead, and everything she had ever known and loved, destroyed. She had lost her husband, her mother, everything. And Angel had broken her heart himself, over and over again. But nothing... nothing she ever experienced before had ever ripped through her like this news.
She realized suddenly that Willow had stopped talking, and was staring at her, waiting for her to say something.
Buffy looked up at her friend -- 1/4 of the only family she had left in the world. The one who had stood by her, through everything Hell had thrown at them, for twenty years. What could she say? What she and Angel had shared had ended years ago.
"I'm sorry, Buffy," Willow went on, "We were... it hurt us both so badly, to think you were gone. We were so lonely, and the kids were like a bond between us... and a tie to you," she looked at Buffy, her big brown eyes begging for forgiveness, "Please... I hope you understand. Please don't be angry."
Buffy looked at her for a long moment. Then, she gave her friend a sad half-smile, and said, "How could I be angry at you, Will? How could I be angry that two of the people I care most about in the world cared enough about me to take care of each other, and my children?" She reached out and took Willow's hand, noticing, for the first time, that she was starting to show signs of age, "I'm not angry. Of course, it's weird, I mean...but... It doesn't matter. That's the past. I love you. And I'm just glad to be home."
Relief washed through Willow, and she felt the palpable tension seem to lift from the room. She grabbed Buffy and clung to her, tears spilling down her face. She could feel Buffy's matching tears, puddling on her shirt.
"I'm so glad you're here, too, Buffy! I missed you so much!" she cried.
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