Riley:
My alarm wakes me at six a.m. as usual and I pull my
aching body out of bed, heading into the bathroom to get myself a glass of
water before starting my daily exercise routine. One hundred push-ups, followed
by weights, followed by sit-ups then a two-mile run. But half way through the
push-ups I just give up. I am too tired from the events of last night, my head
pounds and my muscles are sore and that is nothing compared to the distraction
my mind faces.
Things were so much simpler a year ago. My life had
structure then, organisation. Every minute of my day was mapped out before me
and I had to do was stick to the plan and everything would turn out okay. I
took my vitamins every morning. I went jogging, came back, had a shower and a
healthy nutritional breakfast. By eight I was already at college, preparing for
Professor Walsh's lectures, familiarising myself with the academic material and
the work of various students. At the end of the day I reported to Initiative
HQ: there I was given a mission that I followed to the absolute letter, and in
reward I was presented with promotion and commendations. My friends were fellow
soldiers. We socialised in bars but never drank. We met girls and were always
polite and respectful at the end of the evening.
Everything was routine, familiar. My whole future was set
out in front of me. Success, happiness, a beautiful wife, 2.4 children and a
house in the suburbs – it was all there for the taking. I was stable, well adjusted,
responsible, every mother's dream son. Then I met her.
Buffy walked into my life and suddenly all that I had
wasn't enough anymore. At first I thought that she was just the same as all the
other girls I had dated: pretty, a bit ditzy, but generally smart and sweet.
Then I found out that she was the Slayer. I found out the truth and it shocked
me, it frightened me, but it also excited me. She was wild, she was dangerous,
she showed me a world I had never seen before, even through the eyes of the Initiative.
She associated with vampires, she and her friends dabbled in magic, she was
strong, powerful and dominating. Suddenly I realised that I craved the danger
she presented to me. I wanted the excitement. My average and routine life
wasn't enough anymore.
So, I fell into her existence of darkness and apocalypse,
of fighting and spell casting. And I became addicted to it all, to the
adrenaline rush, to the thrill I felt flash through me every time she entered a
room. I loved it. I loved her. And now – now I'm not so sure.
I'm in over my head. Maybe it started when Faith came
into town and switched bodies with Buffy. The first realisation that there were
things she faced everyday that I didn't understand, could never understand,
came to me then. Later I met Oz and the foundation of one of my basic beliefs
was shaken. The maxim demons bad, humans good didn't necessarily ring true
anymore and it threw me a little. But I picked myself up and dusted myself off
and tried to adjust my perspective of the world to fit the things I now saw in
it. Then Buffy told me about Angel.
She told me the tale of her lost love, of emotions that I
thought only existed in movies or trashy romance novels. It made me realise I
didn't really know her, I couldn't see into her heart and what lay there, she
wasn't really the girl I'd fallen in love with. But that only dragged me in
deeper. Buffy to me has always been a puzzle I have to figure out, and I know
that if I manage to find the answer then all that beauty, all that strength,
all the light that spills so brightly from her, it will all be mine. I'll have
won her heart finally and we will be together for the rest of our lives.
But in trying to fathom Buffy – living in her world and
stepping into the maze of her personality – I've somehow managed to lose
myself. Now I'm not sure whether I'm closer to the answer than when I started
or even further away from it. I just know that everything around me has
spiralled out of control and I have no idea what to do about it. All the things
that used to matter to me – the Initiative, my military career, my Ph.D.
studentship - they've all been lost by
the wayside. Even the little details that used to shape my existence, like my
daily regimens, seem insignificant now. After all, we are facing the end of the
world and what can be more important than that.
The thing is, though, I don't want to save the world
anymore. I've been there and I've done that. I've got the stories of action and
adventure to tell my grandchildren. Now I want to step away from the darkness
and the demons and have a chance of actually getting the grandchildren in the
first place. I want a normal life back and I want Buffy to share that with me –
God knows she deserves it. But I'm not sure that Buffy wants the same thing.
There's part of her that belongs in the night and as much as she tells me she
hates the slaying gig, that there's nothing she would like more than to be rid
of it, I think that if she had the choice, she would never give it up.
And that threatens me. I'm jealous that my girlfriend is
too busy saving humanity or fighting demons to just sit home and watch a movie
with me, or to go out for dinner, or to a club. Maybe that makes me
small-minded, but I don't think so. After all, how unreasonable is it to want
to spend just a little time alone in the company of the woman I love? But
instead she has to be out patrolling all the time or researching the latest
problem Sunnydale's Hellmouth has thrown up. She always takes on everything
herself, like last night when she insisted on staying to comfort Angel. He's
not her responsibility any more, she hardly ever even sees him nowadays. There
was absolutely no reason for her to have to rush over to console him like that.
No reason at all.
She still went, though, she still went to him and pushed
me away. I don't understand it. I don't get her fascination with Angel or why
she would want to spend time with him over me. I have so many things that he
hasn't. I'm human. I'd never hurt Buffy, I'd never leave her like he did, I'd
never shatter her heart into a million pieces. I can give her everything she
wants, sunshine, children, a normal life. But here we are again, right back to
the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Does Buffy want a normal life? Does
she even want me?
I have to know now. I have to find out what her answer is
to my proposal. She tried to defer replying until her mind was clearer, after
the problem of the forthcoming apocalypse was sorted out. And I know nothing
has been solved on that front, but she has still had nearly twenty-four hours
to weigh the decision in her mind. She must have made a choice by now, in her
heart at least if not in her head. If she doesn't want to marry me then I'd
prefer to find out sooner rather than later then we can sort things out, forget
I ever asked and move on. And if her answer is yes then I think we should have
the wedding this week, just in case the world does end. Then we will die
together, husband and wife, like it's supposed to be.
Taking a deep breath I pick up the phone and dial Buffy's
number.
Buffy:
My head spins and my heart pounds and I can barely even
remember breathe let alone form a single coherent thought. These are Angel's
fingers dancing over my skin, his lips on my lips, his hand in my hair, his
muscular body pressed against mine. I can hardly believe it is actually
happening, that this is real and not some dream of mine. I can't stop touching
him, stop tasting him, because at every instant I have to reassure myself that
I'm not just imagining this. He has just told me that he loves me and I didn't,
until this instant, realise how much I had doubted those words or how much of a
relief it would be to hear them once more.
He loves me and we're together and suddenly it feels like
I'm whole again, like a missing piece of me has been returned at last. Tears
stream down my face, tears of anguish for all the pain he has put me through
and of happiness that he is here finally and the that aching in my soul is now
soothed. But he kisses the tears away and I pull closer towards him, willing to
crawl inside his skin if only I could, just so that I could forever be a part
of him and we would never be separated once more.
Through
the dreamlike haze I register the soft whisper of fabric being torn from my
skin and the coolness of Angel's naked flesh against mine. God, I never want
this moment and its bittersweet pleasure to end…
Suddenly,
Angel goes tense below me, rolling out from underneath me. Confused and hurt, I
stare into his deep, soft, brown eyes, trying to find an explanation for why he
has stopped so abruptly. Then the noise finally penetrates my conscious mind.
The harsh jangle of a ringing telephone.
"Just
leave it," I implore, grabbing Angel's arm desperately and holding on tight
enough for my fingernails to leave little half-moon impressions. But the moment
has already been lost, the passionate atmosphere destroyed.
"It
could be important, Buffy," he answers quietly, yet firmly and I have no choice
but to let go of him – ignoring the livid red mark that remains on his pale
skin where we touched – and lean over to the beside cabinet to pick up the
phone.
"Hello,"
I answer, a little breathlessly.
"Buffy." The voice on the other end of the phone replies. Riley. It is Riley. My boyfriend is calling me and I'm here naked in bed with my ex-(and very nearly current)lover. Oh my God, I feel sick. Suddenly, excessively aware of my lack of clothing, almost as if Riley could see as well as hear me, I pull the sheets up to cover myself, guilt welling up inside me. Riley never did anything but love me and I repay him like this. What kind of a person am I, anyway?
"Hello,
Buffy?" Riley's soft voice comes again and I realise I haven't spoken yet.
"Yeah,
hi. I'm here," I manage to choke out. I glance, anxiously over my shoulder to
where Angel lies beside me, the look on my face telling him all he needs to
know about the identity of the caller. Turning back, I sense rather than see
Angel slowly putting back on his clothes. New tears brim in my eyes and I force
my attention onto Riley's call. "Was there anything that you wanted?"
"I
thought we should talk," he replies. "About what I asked you the other day."
Somehow
I gain the capacity to feel even worse than I already did. Riley wants to discuss
us possibly getting married in the presence of the guy I almost (okay did and
would have even more if allowed the opportunity) cheated on him with. And what
of Angel's feelings through all of this: what must he be thinking now? The
tears well up and over my eyelids, falling silently down my cheeks. "I can't
right now, Riley," I answer him. "Maybe we should meet up later. I want to get
the whole gang together, anyway – we need to talk about what we're going to do
next." I deliberately change the subject to slaying business, a nice neutral
topic, something I can focus on in the hopes that my personal problems will
just fade into the background.
"Sure,"
he says, with what I imagine to be some hostility. "Where do you want to meet –
Giles'?"
"That's
probably not going to be a good idea," I point out, images of last night's
tragedy forcing their way, unbidden, into my head. This morning Giles' home
would most likely be swarming with police and ambulance crews as they made the
gruesome discovery of Gunn's body. "Why don't you come over here?"
"Yeah,
sorry. I forgot. I'll see you in about fifteen minutes."
I
look desperately around. Quarter of an hour was nowhere near enough time to get
myself together before facing Riley. I still needed to dress and shower, and he
would wonder what Angel was doing here too. "No, wait," I interrupt before he
can put the phone down. "I, uh, wanted to go and see Giles first this morning.
The doctor said it would do him good to have visitors. How about you get here
about noon, and I'll fetch some takeout on the way back from the hospital – we
can make it a lunch meeting."
"I
was hoping we'd have some time alone to talk."
"We
will," I reassure him in a strained voice. "We will – but later, okay?"
"Okay,"
he agrees then hangs up the phone.
I
replace the receiver gently back into its cradle then wrap my arms around
myself in a gesture that brings me little comfort. I stay sat there, silent and
unmoving, for at least a minute, before turning around to look at Angel. His
expression is serious, his eyes once again covered by their hard emotionless
cast.
"That
was Riley," I whisper with a slight smile, trying to find the tiniest bit of
good humour buried deep down somewhere inside me.
"I
know," Angel replies impassively.
"He,
uh, he asked me to marry him," I say, trying to suppress vaguely hysterical
laughter.
Angel
abruptly loses his poker face, shock flashing like lightning across his
features. Then all at once it is gone, whatever emotions he is feeling pushed
deep down within himself. He once told me that the person he shares his pain
with is himself, nobody else, no friends or lovers to share the burden. I
remember those words now, then spoken in anger, and realise just how true they
are. Angel has been hiding his true feelings for so long that he no longer
remembers how to do anything else.
"What
are you going to tell him?" Angel asks.
I
look down at my naked body, covered still only a thin cotton sheet, then back
up at Angel, his hair rumpled and his shirt not quite fully buttoned. "What do
you think I'm going to tell him?" I reply acerbically.
Angel
studies his hands intently, refusing to meet my gaze. "I don't know. I really
don't know."
Giles:
I didn't think it was actually possible to hurt quite
this much. The only pain I have ever felt equal to this was upon finding
Jenny's body, but that was entirely different. That was an internal pain, one
much less easily healed. This is just pain of muscle and tissue, of nerves and
skin. It will fade in time, as will the scars. And it won't suddenly come
shooting back in the dead of night when I least expect it, or in the shopping
centre when a dark haired woman walks past and I catch the faintest aroma of her
perfume. So, I suppose in way it's a good pain – one that at least lets me
know I'm still alive.
I've never been in a coma before, and I suppose later on
I will begin to appreciate it as an interesting experience, something to be
studied and researched. But right now the pain in my skull and in every cell of
my body is just too great to be indulging in intellectual exercises. And the
dreams are still too vivid.
I'd like to say there was a light, that I floated above
my body in some way and watched the doctors working on me, something in the
nature of what is expected. But it was nothing like that, perhaps because I was
never really dying, just very ill. Instead I had visions, nightmares, of pain
and death. Of Buffy's fear and blood soaked walls, of the flames that put me in
this very hospital encompassing everyone and everything. And when I awoke I
knew something was very seriously wrong.
Since then I've been waiting. Drifting in and out of
sleep due to the pain medication I've been given, but still waiting
nonetheless. Anticipating the news that I know will reach me soon. I've never
been very in tune with supernatural vibrations or blessed with any powers of
precognition or the like. I've always stuck to the bare facts and the musty
books and left the fortune telling to those with the gift for it. Buffy with
her prophetic dreams, Cordelia with her visions and even upon occasion
Drusilla's insane ramblings. But now, perhaps because of my weakened state or
perhaps just because of the huge significance of the events, I can feel the
vibrations of the Hellmouth reaching out, can almost scent the evil in the air.
Something bad is happening and it sends a chill through my bones.
Eventually I get some news. I have a visitor. Buffy
Summers, would I like to see her? I could almost kiss the nurse who told me (if
it didn't hurt to move so much) out of pure relief. With the news that Buffy is
safe and well and here to see me, comes the acknowledgement of my deepest and
most unspoken fear – that Buffy had died whilst I was unconscious and it was
this cosmic upset (the loss of one of the most important warriors for good)
that I had been feeling. By spirits rise somewhat as Buffy walks into the room,
then plummet once again as I see the expression on her face.
She looks truly and utterly depressed, possibly the most
down I've ever seen her – save the morning after her seventeenth birthday. She
offers me a weak smile and sits heavily down in the chair next to my bed.
"Has something happened, Buffy?" I try to speak, but it
comes out as more of a croak. Smoke inhalation the doctors have told me.
Affects the vocal cords. A few days and I'll be fine. It is just my body that's
been injured after all, nothing deeper than skin and flesh.
Tears spring into Buffy's eyes and she reached out to
grip my hand tightly. "I messed up Giles. I really messed up."
Fear grips my heart anew. "Is everyone else okay?"
She shakes her head. "I called Angel for help and one of
his friends was killed last night – by Spike."
"Spike?" I whisper incredulously, my throat feeling like
I've swallowed a sheet of rough grade sandpaper. "But the chip?"
Buffy shakes her head. "Gone. Angel thinks that the group
of demons we were worried about – the ones who set the fire – offered to remove
it for him, in exchange for…"
"What?" I prompt, wanting to ask more questions but
fearing my voice box won't allow it.
"In exchange for him distracting me, while the demons
finished their ritual." She rushes the sentence out in one long breath, the
memories obviously traumatic for her.
"The
demons completed the ritual?" I ask in a flurry of panic, bringing on a
coughing fit. My chest burns painfully for every wracking cough that
reverberates through it and I struggle to breathe. Buffy gets a look of pure
alarm on her face and she stands up to call for the nurse, her cries getting
fainter and further away as the world around me starts to fade to black. Strong
hands lift my body, propping me up into a sitting position and an oxygen mask
is slipped over my face. Gradually the coughing fit subsides and I begin to
breathe normally again.
The
nurse lowers me back onto the bed, this time with a couple of pillows raising
my torso at an angle, so as to allow my chest to clear of mucus. She fixes
Buffy with a disapproving look.
"Perhaps
you should consider cutting your visit a little short Miss Summers, until Mr
Giles is a little more recovered."
I
shake my head vigorously, reaching up to dislodge the mask. "No, I want her to
stay."
This
time I am the recipient of the disapproving look, which I try to match with a
stare of my own. Finally the nurse simply relents, limiting Buffy's visit to
five minutes more only, but leaving us alone for the remainder of the duration.
"The
ritual?" I ask Buffy almost immediately after the nurse is out of hearing.
She
nods ruefully. "They got it done, right on time. Only Willow managed to cast a
spell at the last minute that delays whatever apocalyptic fun we're to look
forward to by seven days." She drops her head into her hands. "I'm so sorry
Giles, but if we don't come up with something pretty spectacular in a week's
time then…"
She
doesn't finish her sentence, and I think it's because she is afraid to, that if
she speaks the truth out loud it will actually make it real, not just some
hideous nightmare we're all trapped in. I cover her hand with mine, trying to
offer comfort, while my practised Watcher's brain is already trying to chip
away at the problem. Seven days. So much can be changed in that time – there
must be something we can do.
"Buffy,"
my rasping voice gains her attention immediately. "I think I may have an idea…"
To be continued…