Angel:
After seeing Xander and Anya out of the house, I head
back into the main room, hoping for a little time alone. I know seeing more of
people does me good and that's something Cordelia, Wesley and, up until a couple
of nights ago, Gunn are helping me out with. But I still need to take a break
from it occasionally. I need my time to sit and think – well, to brood, I
suppose – in between making the difficult effort to socialise. And at the
moment there are rather a lot of things on my mind to brood about.
But when I walk into the room, I find Buffy sat perched
on the edge of the chaise, her head bowed shyly, looking for all the world like
she never left. And I don't mean today, I mean months and months ago. Another
time where I would come home from patrol and she would just be there, waiting
for me or asleep in my bed, because the urge to see one another was just too
great to resist even for a couple more hours.
She turns her head in my direction and suddenly the spell
is broken, I am catapulted forwards in time one and a half years and the
reality of our current separation hits me hard in the gut.
"Buffy," I greet her guardedly.
"Angel," she responds in a small voice.
"Was there something else?"
She nods. "Yes, I, uh, I kind of needed to talk to you in
private."
I frown, the old ache in my heart starting to throb once
more. "I thought we covered everything last night."
Her eyes flash with anger and for a second I think she is
going to yell at me. But she doesn't and I am almost disappointed. So many
people who know what I am tiptoe around me, like they're afraid if they make me
mad I'll rip their head off or something. Buffy has never been nervous like
that, quite possibly because she's stronger than me to start with, but more
likely because that's just the kind of person she is. There's a fire inside her
that I love – that I noticed as soon as I saw her and have always loved – so to
see her deliberately douse down those flames bothers me slightly.
"This is something different," she answers tentatively,
standing up with her back to me and walking a few paces away. "I…" she begins
then trails off. "Spike!" She whirls around, a vaguely hysterical expression on
her face. "We need to sort out who is going to speak to him."
I know that's not all she has to discuss with me, because
I know Buffy and I can tell that she is hiding something. But for the moment at
least, I decide to play along. "You're not going alone to see him," I reply in
a wary tone of voice, aware that this statement – a virtual command on my part
– is likely to infuriate Buffy even more.
To my surprise she doesn't argue at all, but instead
issues her response in a rapid, staccato speech. "I didn't really think that
you'd…well, I, uh, I thought you were going to say that. But I should
definitely be the one to approach him. So, we should, um, go together. Yeah, I
guess that's the only solution. If you're okay with that. That's okay, right?"
I raise my eyebrows. "That's fine. I just want you to be
safe. But what about Riley?"
She sighs heavily. "Riley…"
"He seems a little uncomfortable with us being together,"
I try to put this tactfully considering what passed between Buffy and I
yesterday. We were here in this very room, kissing, lips hot and insistent, her
hands sliding over my skin… I swallow deeply, attempting to block this train of
thought. Definitely not something that should be in the forefront of my mind
right now. Not with Buffy standing only a few feet away from me, the curves of
her body showing clearly even underneath the baggy sweater she is wearing, her
lips slightly parted, her hair loose and unruly.
"Riley's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,"
Buffy begins, hugging herself with too thin arms. She's lost some weight since
I left and it piques my concern a little. Is it stress? Over exertion? Or is
she simply just forgetting to eat? I want to offer to take her out to lunch
somewhere, some little restaurant with tables out on the street, where we can
talk and laugh and not worry about any of darkness that fills either of our
lives. Then I remember than I can't. I can't even take her to that restaurant,
let alone relieve any of her worries. The only thing I'm good for is adding to
them.
"What about Riley?" I respond neutrally, trying not to
let any of the jealousy that consumes me every time his name is even mentioned
slip out.
"I gave him my answer to his proposal last night," she
refuses to look me in the eye as she speaks. "After we…well, you know…"
I nod, of course I know. We kissed, we exchanged words of
love, we fought. It's the story of our relationship. Every single time we meet,
we destroy another little piece of each other.
"I said yes," she whispers in a voice so low no human
could have heard it. But the word thunders in my ears. Yes. For a second
I don't understand what it means. Buffy's mine, isn't she? She can't possibly
have agreed to marry anyone else. She gave me her body, her blood, her heart,
her promise of forever. A voice inside me screams. No! We belong together! I
need her, so much…
I struggle to keep the shock out of my expression, the
shock and the anger and the heartbreak. Because I know I have no right to be
feeling any of these things. Buffy gave me everything she had and I had nothing
for her in return. I screwed her – literally and figuratively. I tore apart her
entire existence and then I just left her to pick up the pieces. I can hardly
blame her for moving on to someone else, can I? And yet, it hurts. It feels
like somebody just slammed a red-hot poker through my insides, only worse,
because that's physical pain and I know it will end and the wound will heal.
This is an injury that's never going to get any better.
"I wanted to be the one to tell you," she gives me a
small, apologetic smile.
"Thank you," I mutter meaninglessly, a triumph of automatic
manners over rational thought. Thank you for what? For getting engaged to some
meathead of a college student only hours after you said you loved me? Or maybe
for managing to salvage some part of your life after I crushed your heart with
my rejection. Pain works both ways and I suppose I can understand why Buffy is
dealing with hers in this way. That doesn't mean I condone it, however.
I shake my head. "You're making a mistake."
"Why?" She asks with hostility. "Because I'm not spending
the rest of my life moping after you. We can't be together, remember? You can't
be around me!"
"This just isn't something you should be rushing into," I
force myself to remain calm as I argue with her. "Marriage is a huge
commitment."
"Yeah, I know," she adopts a sarcastic tone. "I've heard
of it. It's where you exchange rings and vow to be together always, right?"
I recoil from her words slightly, unable to think of a
convincing comeback. I know whatever I say will have no effect anyway. Firstly,
our relationship is far too complex and confusing for any of my words to ever
have objective meaning. Any criticism of Riley that I make Buffy will
automatically assume to come from my jealousy and hatred of him. And she'd
probably be right too. Secondly, Buffy has made her mind up and she is the most
stubborn, bloody-minded person I have ever met. The more people argue against
her, the more determined she will become to disregard them.
"Speaking of rings," she tries to carry off the same
flippant manner, but her cracked voice betrays her. "I think you should have
yours back." Her hands shake as she pulls the silver Claddagh I remember so
well from her finger. She extends her palm out to me, with the ring balanced
inside, waiting for me to take it.
I look down at the jewellery, recalling more clearly than
ever the night when I gave it her. It used to be my mother's – it was one of
the few things I took from my home in Ireland when I left it. Matching rings:
one to wear myself, and one to give to my sweetheart. Two hundred and fifty
years I kept hold of those rings. Kept them in a box of souvenirs from my kills
as Angelus. Wore them on a chain around my neck when I had nothing more to my
name than the clothes on my back. Never once thought of giving the tiny silver
ring to anyone else – until I met Buffy, that is.
I force my eyes to meet with hers, my gaze steady and
surer than it has been all day. "Keep it," I answer. "It wasn't meant to be
returned."
Then I turn around and walk out on her, desperate to be
alone with my thoughts. Aimlessly, I wonder through the dark and dusty rooms of
the mansion, struggling harder than ever not to feel her presence in every
single one of them.
Cordelia:
"That's a total load of crap!" I explode at Willow,
unapologetic for neither my bad language nor my hostile attitude. Wesley
touches my arm reprovingly, but I shake him off. "Well it is!"
"You're not even slightly worried over Angel's soul?"
Willow asks me anxiously, her hair bobbing about her face as she speaks. Idly I
notice her split ends showing and wonder if now is a good time to tell her.
"If I were working for a homicidal maniac, then I'd be
worried," Xander's annoying ex-demon girlfriend butts in oh so usefully. "It
would decimate your business' client base."
"Doesn't she come with an off button?" I complain
exasperatedly. I'd forgotten exactly how annoying all these people are. And how
biased against Angel. I really don't see what they have against him, well,
apart from his long history of maiming and killing, of course. But that's all
in the past. Can't they learn to forgive, be bigger people?
"You know, when we're all dead. I'm not going to be here
to say I told you so," Xander responds.
"Nobody is going to die!" I snap back at him. "Angel's
soul is fine, thank you very much!"
"But, Tara…" Willow begins plaintively, except I
interrupt her.
"Well, excuse me if I'm going to be just a teeny bit
sceptical over the insane mumblings of some new age lesbo. Just because you're sleeping
with her, Willow, doesn't mean her every word is – "
"Cordelia!" Angel growls. "That's enough!"
I immediately fall silent, knowing I have gone too far.
Angel hasn't uttered a single word since Willow raised the concern over his
soul, leaving the rest of us to argue it out. Now, though, he feels compelled
to leap to the defence of the very person who was levelling the accusations in
the first place. If only the others could see past Angelus to this person
underneath, then maybe they'd be more willing to give Angel a second chance.
"I-I, have to, um…uh, excuse me," Tara gets up to leave
the room her cheeks flaming and I feel a pang of guilt.
"Sorry!" I call after her, feeling seven sets of eyes
simultaneously glaring at me. "What?" I glare back at them – the patented
Cordelia Chase 'if looks could kill' stare. "I've apologised already. What more
do you want, blood?"
Xander looks about to make some facetious comment,
probably some derogatory remark aimed at Angel, but upon sensing the tension in
the room decides against it. Instead, Angel himself speaks.
"I've had my soul for over a century," he reassures the
group. "And it's highly unlikely I'm going to lose it again now."
"You lost it before, didn't you?" Riley interjects.
Buffy turns away abruptly and an uncomfortable silence
settles over the room. Has the guy got no tact whatsoever? Even I, who have
upon occasion been accused of being a little forthright, know not to mention
the totally taboo subject of Angel and Buffy's seventeenth birthday sexcapades.
Angel hesitates slightly before gracing the lunkhead with
an answer. "There were exceptional circumstances then. Circumstances, which we
are all aware aren't going to be repeated."
"I should hope not," is all Riley manages to mumble in
reply.
"But, but, you understand why we're concerned, right?"
Willow asks nervously.
Angel nods. "Of course, but I can assure you, it's
groundless."
"Maybe there's another explanation for Tara's vision,"
Wesley suggests helpfully.
"Maybe," Willow looks unconvinced.
"Why don't we discuss it with Mr Giles when we visit him
in hospital tomorrow morning?" Wes continues to sweet talk Willow. How come
he's never this charming with me? I swear it's the lesbian thing – one
suggestion of any girl-on-girl action and guys just can't see past the end of
their penis.
"Well, if that's everything covered," I jump in before
anyone else can speak. "Is it okay if I go now? There's a late night movie I
was hoping to catch."
"Didn't know you were into that sort of thing, Cordy,"
Xander quips and I send a withering look in his direction.
"Well, I might be, if dating you hadn't put me off sex
for life."
"Then clearly I have performed a worthwhile service to
all mankind," he shoots back at me.
I advance towards him, the comeback of the millennium
just about to spill from my lips, when Wesley grabs my arm from behind.
"Time to go I think, Cordelia."
"Hey, I haven't finished by argument with Xander!" I
protest.
"That is precisely the point of my removing you now,"
Wesley replies. "As much as I relish the idea of listening to your highly
intellectual discourse, I really think we should be leaving now before the
exchange degenerates into spit-balling and hair-pulling."
"I haven't finished with you yet, Harris!" I threaten as
Wesley drags me out the door. Xander's only response is to stick his tongue out
at me and wiggle his fingers in his ears. At the sight of this I flounce away,
independently of Wesley's coaxing, and go to sit and sulk in the car. This day
must rank one of the worst I have ever had.
We spent the morning going through Gunn's things, since
none of his 'crew' as he called them, seemed willing to do so. It was
incredibly sad exactly how little he had. The only personal items were
photographs and letters from his sister, which I kept, because I didn't think
it was right they be just thrown away in the trash. They weren't just old
scribbled notes and crumpled pictures, they were memories and I wanted to keep
hold of them because of it. We handed out his weapons between his friends –
because God knows they'll need them, the kind of hardship they face – and
donated all the clothes we found to a homeless shelter. Then that was it, every
trace of Charles Gunn wiped from the earth, almost as if he were never here in
the first place. All for the sake of one angry vampire, whom I told
everybody we couldn't trust. But did they listen. Oh no, nobody ever pays
attention to Cordelia. She's just good for fashion advice and visions. That's
it. That's all there is to me.
I glance back over at the house, and the lighted window
where the rest of the gang are still discussing the plan to save the world. I
don't really have a movie to watch. I just wanted to get out of there because I
felt useless. There was nothing I could do, no way in which I could contribute.
Angel and Buffy are the fighters. Willow and Tara help out with magic spells.
Riley co-ordinated with the soldiers, who were here earlier finalising the
details of tomorrow night's demon massacre. Wesley gets to be book guy, Xander
just manages to belong somehow and even Anya knows the odd esoteric fact from
her 1100 years of life. But me, I just get in the way making stupid comments
and irritating the Hell out of people. But on the plus side, I look damn good
doing it, which is more than I can say for a few of the others. Somebody should
tell that Tara girl that blue eye shadow went out in the seventies…
I turn to Wesley thoughtfully. "Do you think we'll do it?
I mean, do you think we'll manage to save the world."
He smiles back at me slightly. "We've never failed
before."
I roll my eyes at him. "But it only takes once doesn't
it?"
He remains silent as he starts up the car and we drive
away into the night.
End of Part Fourteen