Buffy:
My breath
catches in my throat and I find it difficult to believe that the crumpled mess
in the middle of the room, lying in a pool of blood so dark it almost black, is
actually a person. A person I was speaking to just a couple of hours ago. A
person who was a friend to several of the people in this room. A friend of
Angel's.
I wrench my gaze away from Gunn's body to look over to
Angel. His expression is one of pure shock, turning quickly to intense rage.
His fists clench and unclench at his sides, his eyes flash slightly gold and
his mouth tightens in a hard line.
"Spike," he mutters with undisguised venom.
"But it doesn't look like a vampire attack," Riley interrupts.
"He hasn't been bitten."
Angel shakes his head, still keeping his eyes fixed on
the puddle of blood in the centre of the carpet. "This wasn't about feeding,
this was about revenge." He finally looks away, turning and striding out of
Giles' house, kicking the front door hard enough to knock it off its hinges in
the process.
"Angel…" A distraught Cordelia calls after him, but he
ignores her. 10 yards away, he stops abruptly, his back turned from the group,
his shoulders hunched and his posture tense. I automatically start towards him,
to comfort him, my heart aching in the wake of his pain. But Riley puts a
restraining hand on my arm, stopping me.
I turn on him, annoyed and confused. "What?"
"Just leave him alone, Buffy." Riley begs me uncertainly.
"You saw how angry he is."
"You actually believe he's going to hurt me?" I whisper
incredulously. "His friend's just been killed – he needs someone right now."
"That doesn't mean it has to be you," Riley replies. "He
has other people in his life – what about Cordelia or Wesley?"
"Do you really think either of them are in any state to
help Angel at the moment?" I hiss back. "They're barely coping themselves." I
look over to them and see that it is true. Cordy sits collapsed in the grass,
her head in her hands, Willow and Tara trying to offer some comfort. Wesley has
disappeared off a few metres away and is busy retching over Giles' shrubbery.
Our group is a disjointed mess, torn apart by too much tragedy in too short a
time.
Ignoring Riley, I start to go towards Angel again, but
this time he grabs my hand roughly, vestiges of anger starting to show in his
eyes. "Buffy…" he warns.
I shake him off easily. "I don't have time for your
jealousy now, Riley." I say with significant anger of my own. "Now, please will
you just leave, this is none of your business."
I don't even stop to see if he accedes to my request, my
only focus now being Angel. I hurry over to him, touching him lightly on the
back and feeling some of the tension seep out of him as I do so. I look up into
his frighteningly blank face and tears well in my eyes.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, brushing his cheek lightly
with my finger. "I really am sorry."
His features seem to collapse in on themselves as his
resolve finally crumbles. "Oh, Buffy…" he murmurs, burying his face in my neck.
I wrap my arms tightly around him, wanting him to have any small measure of
comfort I can offer, wanting to make everything better. His knees buckle and,
as one, we fall to the ground, Angel's body shaking with silent sobs as I rock
him soothingly in my embrace.
Spike is going to pay for doing this. And that's not just
a threat – it's a promise.
Anya:
Everyone is crying and I can't make them stop. They
should have stopped by now, shouldn't they? I didn't know humans' eyes could
leak that much fluid. It's like on the cartoons Xander enjoys watching, where
the character gets holes poked in him then he drinks a glass of water and it
spurts out everywhere. Only that's funny and this is only sad. And I don't like
sad things, they make me feel all unpleasant inside. It's much better to be
happy, happy and having sex. I wish Xander were here, he would make everything
okay again, he would get them to stop.
People are saying that Spike did this and I'm not sure
how that could be possible. I liked Spike, he always said what he thought. He
wasn't like all the rest of them who pretend that they like each other and that
everything is going to be fine, when clearly it isn't. Humans lie so much. They
hide their real feelings inside of them and try to project false ones that they
think will make other humans like them better.
I won't do that. I won't say anything that I don't mean.
I think everybody should be honest with one another – it makes things so much
simpler. If these people don't like me for who I am then I'll find some others
who do. After all there are six billion humans on the planet – it's not like
I'm short of any choice. But Xander seems to be attached to these ones, so I
have to stay with them. I keep telling him he should find some new friends who
don't expect him to risk his life all the time, but he says he wants to help
save the world and that I don't understand.
He's right. I don't understand so many things. In a whole
millennium of being a vengeance demon I never faced anything as complicated or
as difficult as being human. Back then it was easy; I would just wish boils or
blinding torment or death by elephant stampede onto some unsuspecting male then
I'd disappear off to exact some more revenge. I was never around for the
consequences or the regrets. But now my whole life is a tangle of confused
emotions. I cannot say or do or think anything, without worrying about what
will happen in response. Now it's not just other hearts that can be broken,
it's my own as well.
I am petrified that something will happen to Xander,
because then I will be alone and I can't face that. I was alone when I was
first turned human and it was the worst experience of my life. I was helpless
and empty and everything appeared unfathomable and scary. Xander helps make
sense of things. He's special and his friends don't seem to get that. I try to
tell them, but they don't listen when I say how important Xander is. He must
be, because when I see him my stomach gets butterflies in it and when he
touches me my skin goes all tingly. And when he's not here I wish he were. That
has to mean something, right? Something extraordinary about Xander that I see
and nobody else does.
People
are still scattered around sobbing and I don't know what to do. The more they
cry, the more I feel like joining in with them and it's just another thing I
don't understand. I didn't even know the dead person, we just met last night
and I didn't even like him. He was rude, noisy and arrogant and he spoke
strangely. And I never cry, I hate crying – it makes your eyes go all red and
puffy. What good does crying do, anyway? It doesn't make you feel better, it
just makes you worse. And it doesn't make the problem go away. It's such a silly
human behavioural trait. And yet, I find I can't help myself joining in with
it.
Cordelia:
Sometimes I
wonder what I'm doing here, why my life is filled with darkness and demons when
it should be California sunshine and Hollywood parties. I'm not the Slayer;
this isn't my sacred birthright. I didn't used to be a demon or an evil
soulless monster and I have no redemption to seek. So, why must I face so much
death and despair? How did I end up with these people and in this situation? I
suppose I like helping people, it feels good to make a difference in their
lives. I can even forgive the visions, because the little bit of pain I
experience every so often is nothing compared to what the people I see are
going through. And I care about Angel. I want him to have his shanshu, I
want him to start to forgive himself and be able finally find some happiness.
He is my family now. Him and Wesley – and Gunn.
I'd never really seen death until Doyle died. I'd led
such a sheltered existence up until then. Sheltered in the sense of vampires
and demons jumping out of every shadow at me, but I still never actually truly
realised the threat they posed. When I was in high school it was all kind of
like a game that I never took very seriously. I mean, we always won the battle
against evil, so much so that I became convinced that it would never be any
different. I saw horrible things. I saw strangers suffer. I saw Angel become
Angelus and I witnessed Buffy's heartbreak. I was even there when Ms Calendar
died. But it never really hit me. It was always other people's pain, someone
else's problem. It never actually seemed real until Doyle died then
suddenly everything came home to me. This is life and death we are dealing
with. The stakes are as high as they can be and there is nothing to stop us
losing it all.
When Doyle was killed I grew up. A lot. I stopped being
Queen C, shallow and superficial. Some of my dreams of being a famous actress
even slipped away. Back then it had seemed a certainty. Hang with Angel for a
while until my inevitable stardom kicked in. But all at once the foundation for
my life was kicked away and everything seemed more uncertain, the future more
frightening. I was lucky. I had good friends to help me through, friends who
shared my pain and who knew what to say and what to do. I got over Doyle. The
hurt faded a little more each day, until eventually I'd forgotten how sharp it
was in the first place.
Now I remember. The memories come flooding back in bright
Technicolor and Dolby Surround Sound. The shock comes first, the denial that
this is happening. It's so difficult to believe it's true. I only saw Gunn a
couple of hours ago. He was so alive then. He was just his usual brash
self. He and Buffy's dolt of a boyfriend (what has happened to that girl's
taste in men?), Riley, got into a furious, impassioned fight, Angel pulled them
apart, then Gunn stormed out. He said he was going for a walk and that he'd be
back when the real action started happening. But he was late. We had to leave
without him, in the rush and the panic, we forgot about him. He must have
walked back straight into Spike's trap. I knew it was a bad idea to trust that
vampire. But for once I wish I'd been wrong.
Gunn doesn't deserve this end. He was impulsive and he
was mixed up and he was filled with a burning rage at the world, but underneath
it all he cared. He made out he was a tough guy – which he actually was,
I guess – but really he was just another person who's struggling to get through
life as best he can. He was just the same as all of us – lost, as hopeless as
the people we try to help everyday. He needed us, we were his friends, his
family, we were supposed to be there for him. And yet we let him die alone. He
was only in Sunnydale because Angel asked him to come. He doesn't belong here,
this wasn't his battle to fight, but he ended up a casualty of it anyway. It's
just not fair.
There is supposed to be an order to things. Our lives and
our destinies are controlled by the Powers That Be. I've seen enough prophecies
fulfilled to know this is fact. But the more I think about it, the more I've
come to believe that fate is cruel. The PTB are supposed to be a force for
good. They're supposed to stop the bad things from happening, but they seem to
contribute to them more than anything else. Look at Angel. It was his destiny
to meet Buffy and to guide her through her slaying – apparently he even had
some stinky demon recruit him for the purpose. But then the Powers had to screw
it all up for him. They made him fall in love with her, then they stepped in
with that curse thingie and tore Angel and Buffy apart. Now he has to spend
eternity with a broken heart, because he can never be together with the person
he loves.
As much as I pretend to dislike a lot of the people here
and as much as I insult them, I still have a great respect for them all and
everything they do. Especially Buffy. She never asked to be the Slayer. She
didn't volunteer for the job, she just got landed with it. But she does it,
anyway. She works her ass off to kill the demons and protect the innocent and
save the world. She's been to hell and back – literally – and she still fights
on, not because she hasn't got a choice, but because she wants to. She actually
believes in what she's doing. Everyone gathered here in this little group tries
so hard and cares so much, and yet still they get dumped on from a great
height. Did I say it wasn't fair? Well, I was wrong – it's beyond unfair. It
sucks on a titanic scale and there's not a damn thing we can do to change it.
I don't want to be in the middle of this darkness any
longer. I don't want to watch the rest of my friends being wounded and dying
one by one. I don't want to see broken bodies and blood stained walls. And if
the world is going to end then that's not something I want to hear about. I
miss being shallow and ignorant with nothing more to worry about than my date
to junior prom. If this is growth and enlightenment then I wish I'd stayed
small minded. I wish for anything that will take this pain away, because I
can't deal with it anymore.
Angel:
It's my fault. I shouldn't have brought Gunn here. I
shouldn't have forgotten about him when I rushed off to save Buffy. I shouldn't
have made Spike angry like that. In fact I shouldn't have Made Spike in the
first place. I watched Drusilla do it. I watched her turn him and from that
moment on he was my whipping boy. He was the one I abused, the one I vented my
anger upon. Ultimately, I moulded him into the seething mass of resentment and
pain he is today. So, who could possibly be to blame for this tragedy other
than me?
In
some ways I feel this is a desecration to Gunn's memory – for me just to distil
my emotions about his death down into my standard feelings of guilt. Like I'm
just classifying this atrocity alongside all the rest I've committed, as if his
death is just one of the thousands of others on my conscience. But it's not.
It's more than that. He was my friend, my ally. It's like losing Doyle again. I'm
the warrior here. I'm the one with the strength and the debt to be paid to
society. So, why is it always my right hand men, the people who selflessly
agree to help, for no reason other than their strength of will and the good
they have inside them, that must suffer the consequences of my actions.
Again it's my fault. I hurt everyone who gets close to me. Anyone would think I
was cursed or something.
Of
course thinking of grief and of curses drags my thoughts back around to Buffy.
Buffy my fiery, golden Slayer, who has so much kindness and love in her heart
and whom I have crushed so mercilessly in the past. Now she has her arms
wrapped tightly around me, her warm body pressed up against mine. We were
crying together for a long time and for a moment I forgot. As she wept for my
pain I forgot that she doesn't belong to me anymore, that we aren't together
and it is only for the sake of her caring nature and our past love that she
comforts me now. Our hearts aren't joined now as they once were. My tears are
no longer hers.
Remembering,
I pull reluctantly away, struggling to sit up and look around me. Giles' front
yard is empty and silent. The last thing I remember is it being full of people,
shocked and grieving. Where did they all go and why did I not notice them
leave?
"What happened to everyone?" I ask Buffy, my voice hoarse
with disuse.
She brushes a handful of hair out of her face, rubbing
her red eyes tiredly. "I think they went home. Willow said Cordy and Wes were
going to say with her and Tara."
I nod my head vaguely, glad that my two best friends are
not alone right now. "And Riley?"
She shrugs. "I sent him away. He wasn't been much help
right now, anyway."
"Buffy…" I admonish her with little enthusiasm. I am too
emotionally drained right now to lecture her on how she shouldn't be pushing
the man she loves away – not if she wants to hold on to her relationship with
him. And of course, the fact that I actually secretly want them to break up
doesn't exactly add strength to my argument.
"He didn't need me, you did." She says matter-of-factly,
looking straight into my eyes with that piercing, honest gaze, which takes me
so vividly back to when she was sixteen and telling me that she didn't care
what I was or what I'd done, she loved me anyway because she couldn't help it.
I swallow deeply, suddenly nervous to be in her company,
because my feelings are spilling over. I'm not sure I'll be able to resist the
urge to kiss her much longer. "You shouldn't have to worry about what I need
anymore," I tell her, climbing unsteadily to my feet and turning away.
She grabs my arm abruptly, her skin burning mine even
through the protective layers of my coat and shirt. I twist back around to look
at her and see her face is flushed and her eyes are flashing with anger. For a
second I think she is going to yell at me for my comment; that this moment is
going to degenerate into another rerun of all the old pain and hurts.
("I can't believe you're breaking up with me!")
("I have someone in my life now – someone that I love. I
trust him. I know him.")
Then her face softens and her eyes glisten with unshed
tears. She smiles sadly. "Since when did I ever do anything I should where you
were concerned?"
("I wish I wished you dead, but I don't – I can't.")
I don't say anything in response to this – what is there
even to be said? So, we just stand there, facing one another, our history
stretching out between us in the form of an awkward silence. Every kiss, every
touch, every word I have ever heard her utter to me, every hurt, every tear
that she cried: it all comes rushing back to be in that moment. And I am
reminded violently, like a punch to the solar plexus, of how inevitable our
love has always been. How inevitable and how impossible.
She reaches over to graze my hand briefly with hers, like
she wants to touch me but is afraid to, something I understand exactly. "Come
home with me," she asks quietly and simply.
"What?" I reply, confused as to what exactly she wants
from me.
"I'm living back with my Mom," she clarifies. "I just
thought you shouldn't be on your own tonight. And you can't stay here, now,
after…" she trails off, gesturing towards Giles' house where I slept last
night.
"I can find a motel room," I insist, but Buffy is having
none of it.
"Angel, your friend just died, the end of the world is
imminent and I'm not letting you stay in some skanky motel room to brood alone.
Either you come with me or I'm going with you. And I don't think the two of us
together, alone in a motel all night is a very good idea, do you?"
She means it as a joke but it falls completely flat as
the serious basis to her point hangs in the air between us. There is another
tense silence, during which we try desperately to look anywhere but at each
other. Eventually I speak.
"I'm still not sure this is a good-"
"Just stop arguing and come with me," she interrupts,
yawning widely. "I would like to get some sleep sometime this evening."
Suddenly realising how tired I am myself, I lose all will
to protest with her and let her lead me over to the car. Vague worries nag at
the back of my mind over how Joyce – and Dawn, for that matter – will react to
this. But by now I don't really have the energy left to care, and neither has
Buffy, apparently, as she is already asleep on my shoulder when I start the
engine of the car and begin the short and reassuringly familiar drive to her
house.
A/N ~ Gosh, I didn't end on a cliffhanger – I must be
losing my touch *g*. Thanks for reading and for all the great reviews. See ya
next time…