If We Could Only Find The Words
Story 6 in the "Words" Series
By Lori Bush
~**~ Feedback: lwbush@charter.net
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, etc. owns Buffy. You know the routine.
Summary: When your entire reality shifts, it's good to have a friend.
Pairing: None, although hints of B/X.
Rated: PG-13, one word could push it to R, but maybe not.
Continuity: Through "Once More, With Feeling" plus slight spoilers of what's next.
Author's Notes: All good series' must come to an end, right? This story switches POV between Buffy and Xander, but it should be pretty clear who it is talking when they are.
This follows "Famous Last Words," "Word To The Wise," and "Truer Words Never Spoken," and "The Words We Never Said," and "Four Letter Words." It might not make a lot of sense if you haven't read them, since some things that aren't exactly fleshed out here are explained there. This completes the set - collect 'em all. The title of this story was lifted nearly intact from a G/J story by the talented and awesome Melissa Flores, who used to write X/C stories, as well. Thanks, Misty.
Nobody bashed, and everybody bashed, again, sort of. Remember, the same people inhabit both realities, so it's a little hard to define actual bashing in this one.
Dedication: To Jen (Saturn Girl) at the Dead Xander list, 'cos she got me thinking about it in the first place. And of course, the Harem always gets recognition.
~**~
I'm watching Xander sleep. He does that a lot these days - he said he couldn't as a ghost, and he missed it, so he's making up for lost time. But he also couldn't eat, or touch things or talk so anyone else could hear him, and he isn't doing all that to extremes now. Just sleeping. I think it's an escape for him.
I can't say I blame him. If I had a safe place to hide and sort everything out, I'd do it as much as I could, too. But I do. I do have a safe place. He's just asleep right now.
It took quite a while to calm him down, that day we brought him back. He clung to me, sweaty and incoherent, for a very long time. He did finally let Giles wrap him in a blanket. I knew something was wrong when Xander didn't freak about being naked with everyone looking at him, but then, it's not like I thought everything would be fine. We'd just rescued him from Hell, and I know firsthand how traumatic an experience that can be.
I just didn't know how traumatic *his* experience there had been. I thought mine was bad, but his may have been worse. At least I felt that there was good I could have done there, if I'd bothered to make the effort. There was nothing he could do. He was watching every nightmare he'd ever had, and more than a few that were too twisted for him to ever consider, and not a soul could see or hear him trying to stop it all. Well, except Spike, who, I know better than anyone else, wasn't going to be any help, the way things were in that place.
Xander still hasn't told us nearly everything. We know now it was Anyanka that killed him, which also explains his major freak-out when he saw Anya upon his return. He's been a little skittish around Willow and Amy, too, which I'm pretty sure means that Wills got even worse after I left. And he insists I was there all along, which probably means Hell supplied him with a Buffy that was equally painful for him to watch after I came back here. But when he sleeps, his face is peaceful and unlined. It seems he doesn't have the nightmares I do, which is good. The hardest part for him is when he's awake. Which he will be soon - I know the signs. Yeah, I do watch him sleep a lot.
~**~
Before my eyes open, I can sense she's here. "Buffy?"
"Hey Xan." I peer up and there she stands. I wonder how long she's been there. She's here a lot when I wake up. I think the sleeping thing is starting to worry her a little, and that makes me smile. She's been paying attention. "Feeling better?"
And the thing is, I finally am, a little. When I first got back, I kept forgetting that this was real and all that had been, well, not. Nothing there was real except me, and for a while, just as I was getting there, Buffy. I kept walking into stuff I expected to walk through, and I avoided trying to touch people, forgetting it wasn't futile anymore. I'd forget to eat. But if I slept, it all went away, and I wasn't anywhere to be confused. I was just - sleeping. I like that a lot. So I sleep a lot.
I think I may try to stay up all the rest of the day today. It really is getting better. "Yeah, better," I reassure her, sitting up on the edge of the bed and combing my hair with my fingers. "I'm kinda hungry, too."
She smiles at that. She's been fussing over my eating habits, too. I understand, though. We have this connection now - nothing like the one I thought I had with Faith, but something soul deep. We'd both been there, and managed to make it back. She understood more than the others about adjusting to the real world again.
They all try, and I do love them for it. I admit Anya was a bit angry at my initial reaction, which didn't make it much easier for me to be around her. I kept expecting her to go all vein-faced and start ripping parts off me, which made me a tad cold in her presence. Which fed her anger, which frightened me even more, and so forth. Giles finally got the story out of Buffy (I really could hardly tell *her* - I'd have never gotten through it with any of the others), and once he explained to An, she felt guilty and began avoiding me in order to make me more comfortable. Which made me uncomfortable, too. We couldn't seem to get it right. It still isn't, quite, but we're getting there. It helps to see her all couple-y with Giles, which is so not Anyanka that it soothes me. We'll work it out.
Once I got it through my head that I could touch people and they'd respond, I began doing it a lot. I think I may have freaked Tara a little with all the hugging, but Dawn's loved it. And I've noticed Buffy pets on her little sister more now, too. Buffy was the one that got me to touch people again, after all. She's always brushing back my hair, or holding my hand. I'm not sure she even realizes she's doing it, but it makes me feel more - solid - somehow. If I'm real to her, maybe I'm really real.
Willow, well, that person there just wasn't Willow. I always knew that. Looked like her, but wasn't. This was and is. 'Nuff said.
"So," I look up at her and smile brightly, realizing I've been silent for an inappropriate length of time, "Food?"
~**~
It's good to see him eating. It's good to see him doing anything, anytime. I was shocked at how much I missed him when he was gone, and I still am when I realize how protective of him I've become. I practically smother him.
He wouldn't go back to the apartment, which makes perfect sense to me. Remember, I found his body, and know how much he was tortured. I can understand why he wouldn't want to sit down to lunch at the table he bled to death all over, looking at the same things he saw as he died. We ran an ad, and sub-let it in nothing flat. It was a really nice apartment; it was just the mental pictures of it that sucked. He's living here with us now, in my room. And no, it's not that way - I'm sleeping in Dawn's room, in her other twin. We were going to put Xander in with Giles, but after some thought and discussion (the latter mostly from Anya, who objected to that plan strenuously, even though when Giles stays with her, it's at her place, both for my sake and Dawn's), we decided this would work better.
Xander quit his job to come after me, and I've already informed him he won't go back until *I* think he's ready. Apparently, his boss saw him in the mall last week, and is bugging to have him return, but I want to be sure he's okay, all the way, first. I'd hate for something to happen to him when I wasn't around to help. I've spoken to the man, covering with the story Giles and I concocted about Xander having hit his head and suffering from blackouts. The therapist that Dawn saw is willing to write us a medical excuse to that effect, since Xander's seeing her now, too. So am I - Giles' idea.
She's tried to get me to talk about my feelings for Xand. I can't. I think I'm still afraid of hurting him any further - I'm sure he isn't ready for that kind of thing yet. Although I'm not totally sure what kind of "thing" I'm talking about here, either.
See, I'm pretty sure he loved me, before. But I, for one, know how much trauma like he's been through can affect a person's emotions, and I also know, from some of the things he's said and some of the unguarded reactions I've noticed, that the Buffy that replaced me was a real case. Not that I wasn't, while I was there, but it's a safe bet she was even worse. Still, Dr. Michaelson says we should share together, since we both survived, so.
"Xan? Can we talk about, you know. It?" Smooth, Buffy. He stops, his spoon frozen in the air and tomato soup dripping back into the bowl, a look of resigned surprise on his face. Then the surprise fades, leaving just the resignation, and he nods slowly, lowering the spoon and swiping at his face with the napkin.
~**~
Don't know why that surprises me. Dr. Michaelson told me we should talk about the whole thing, and I'm sure she's said the same thing to Buffy. I guess I just thought I'd have longer to sort out what I felt and how to tell her about it. "What do you want to know?" I ask, and God, my voice sounds hollow. She shrugs, which I guess means she wants to know it all. I'm not sure if I'm dragged down by reliving that time, or by having to tell her the truth about some of what happened. 'Cos I don't know if I can make the sounds that would form the words that will express how awful it was.
I know she knows, at least some. She's the only one who can, who was really there. She met those people who were and weren't our friends all at the same time, so she can relate to all the externals I dealt with. But she's never known how I felt before - not really. And that was even when I had good and positive feelings. I don't know how to tell her I blamed her for so much of what went on there, even knowing now it wasn't really her, but my very own Hell-built custom-designed Buffy. But I'm also aware, knowing what I do about the others and how they were there, that there was the seed of the real thing inside, and that's why it was so painful. If I dig deep, I can even admit that that Willow could exist in my Willow. I know she's in there. This Willow just has better support and a stronger moral compass.
"I hated you." She looks like I slapped her. Damn. All that time of being able to say whatever I was thinking and nobody hearing me weakened my already fragile mind-to-mouth filter. Stuff just pops out sometimes. "I mean, not you - her. The one there. And only sometimes." Okay - I'm in it now. Might's well go down all three times. I'll do my best to be gentle. "You, she, whoever- you didn't care about anyone. You kept defending Willow, and you wouldn't listen when I tried to tell you she was over her head. You only cared about Dawn when it was convenient or a crisis. You didn't pay enough attention to me to know I was freaking about marrying Anya, which was what drove her to kill me. You fucking *slept* with *Spike*. It was Angel all over again, but worse - way worse. I loved you, you know - it was part of what pissed Anyanka off. Once I was dead, my body was there for *three days* before you so much as noticed I was gone and found me." I slam my fist down on the table, and tomato soup goes flying from the bowl, decorating my white t-shirt in bloody-looking splotches. "You let me die because *you* wanted to die. And then I was of no use to anyone." I will not cry; I *will* not cry. I will *not* cry. Oh, God, I forgot all about being gentle.
~**~
Every word out of his mouth is like a body blow. I know he has all those false memories of the Xander that was there in my hell before he got there, but the feelings they evoke are all his. And he's crying, because even with all that pain he's carrying, I can tell he didn't want me to know, that he wanted to protect me from his own feelings. He's always tried to protect me. I realized that before we brought him back. And I know he's completely right about me - that's why I can't let him slip away, can't let him block his feelings here like I did there, which led to me becoming the Buffy he hated. I've spent most of our relationship pushing Xander away - it's time I pulled him closer so he can heal properly.
"You're right," I tell him softly, and tentatively reach to touch his hand. My touch makes him jump, and I can see on his face that he wasn't expecting *that* response. He's wide-eyed, tear-stained and there are nasty red blotches of soup all over his face and shirt. I realize that this is what he probably looked like when Anyanka began her torture, and I shudder involuntarily. Gotta regroup for a minute.
"I thought I'd been in heaven, and you guys had pulled me out. I never once thought about how much you were left with to deal with, how much you and Willow and Dawn and even Spike were hurting. I'd been at peace, or so I believed, and so *I* had the right to hate being back. Spike fed that feeling in me, so instead of going to the people that could make it better, I selfishly chose to turn to the one who made it worse. It justified my pain. I couldn't think straight there. It's part of the whole deal."
He's not crying anymore - that's good. "Yeah," he says gruffly. "I couldn't either." I slip my fingers between his, stroking the back of his hand with my free one.
"I'm not going for excuses here, Xan. I made plenty of bad mistakes before I did my portal drop, too. I was wrong in what I did there, and even though lots of it was before you showed up in Hell, you got blessed with the fallout. Part of the still bad is that I now see clearly everything I could have done differently, and I have nightmares about it every night." It's true, too. Dawn's threatened more than once since Xander moved in to make me sleep on the couch, since I moan and thrash and wake her up.
"I don't dream. It's all going on like a film loop in my head all the time I'm awake, though. It really is getting better." I see him starting to really process what he'd said before. "Buff, I'm sor."
"No!" I snap, more harshly than I'd intended, and he tries to pull his hand away, but I won't let him. I take a minute to soften my tone. "Don't say you're sorry you said all that. You needed to. I needed you to. Neither of us can get better if we don't let all the poison out of the wounds."
"What did I do to you?" he asks after a few minutes semi-uncomfortable silence, and I'm puzzled by the question. He can tell. "I mean, we hurt you by pulling you out of heaven," he explains, "or at least you thought so, but that wouldn't be enough torture, by the standards of whatever it is that runs that place. I must have done something else."
I consider not answering this. Admitting what I felt could open doors I'm not sure I'm ready to walk through. But not answering takes me right back to my nightmares, or even further, back to my freshman year in college when I pushed Xander right into Anya's arms when I thought I was too good to hang with a townie. Of course, not long after that, I decided I was too good to hang with anyone from my old bunch, and nearly got myself killed by the freaking Initiative for my conceit. It probably all started then, if I were totally honest. And I'm not going to do that again. The nightmare began when I pushed him away, and I need him so much more now, or maybe I just finally know how much I've always needed him.
"You were happy, or at least you looked happy, with Anya. When I found out you were getting married, it was like the last nail in the coffin. I never would say I wanted you, but I couldn't deal with the fact that she had you. I thought I'd lost you permanently - then you died, and even any slight hope I still had died with you." It's not fair, the next statement I have to make, but I have to say what I felt, or his own emotional outpouring is cheapened. "You left me," I whisper, as reluctant to put it on him as he was to blame his suffering on me.
~**~
My arms are out to hold her even as she's crawling into my lap. We've never admitted out loud before how much we need each other. There's no going back now. "I'll never leave you." She curls up against my chest and I'm stroking her hair. I've said that before, I could swear, but never when I was so sure she heard me. "Hell can't hurt us anymore when we've faced the demons inside, can it?"
"We're not out of the woods yet," she murmurs, muffled by my dirty t-shirt, and then she giggles a little. "Can I just sleep here? This feels so good."
I think she's joking, until she goes all quiet for a bit, and then starts breathing deeply and evenly. She said she'd been having nightmares, so she probably hasn't slept well for a long time. I'm not sure if I should just sit here and hold her until she wakes up, or take her up and tuck her in her bed. Finally I decide on a compromise, and carry her carefully out to the sofa, which is a hell of a lot easier on my back than the kitchen chair. If I nestle into the corner, it's quite comfortable. She snuggles a bit more deeply into my chest as I settle in.
We're *not* out of the woods yet. We've said a lot of things, but danced around saying others. I'm not sure if the others are ready to be said. But we've stepped off a ledge into a new world of honesty and trust, and we've done it together. I'm thinking that the opposite of hell isn't necessarily heaven, but just the right attitude about real life. I can live with that, if Buffy can.
~**~
~**~ Feedback: lwbush@charter.net
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, etc. owns Buffy. You know the routine.
Summary: When your entire reality shifts, it's good to have a friend.
Pairing: None, although hints of B/X.
Rated: PG-13, one word could push it to R, but maybe not.
Continuity: Through "Once More, With Feeling" plus slight spoilers of what's next.
Author's Notes: All good series' must come to an end, right? This story switches POV between Buffy and Xander, but it should be pretty clear who it is talking when they are.
This follows "Famous Last Words," "Word To The Wise," and "Truer Words Never Spoken," and "The Words We Never Said," and "Four Letter Words." It might not make a lot of sense if you haven't read them, since some things that aren't exactly fleshed out here are explained there. This completes the set - collect 'em all. The title of this story was lifted nearly intact from a G/J story by the talented and awesome Melissa Flores, who used to write X/C stories, as well. Thanks, Misty.
Nobody bashed, and everybody bashed, again, sort of. Remember, the same people inhabit both realities, so it's a little hard to define actual bashing in this one.
Dedication: To Jen (Saturn Girl) at the Dead Xander list, 'cos she got me thinking about it in the first place. And of course, the Harem always gets recognition.
~**~
I'm watching Xander sleep. He does that a lot these days - he said he couldn't as a ghost, and he missed it, so he's making up for lost time. But he also couldn't eat, or touch things or talk so anyone else could hear him, and he isn't doing all that to extremes now. Just sleeping. I think it's an escape for him.
I can't say I blame him. If I had a safe place to hide and sort everything out, I'd do it as much as I could, too. But I do. I do have a safe place. He's just asleep right now.
It took quite a while to calm him down, that day we brought him back. He clung to me, sweaty and incoherent, for a very long time. He did finally let Giles wrap him in a blanket. I knew something was wrong when Xander didn't freak about being naked with everyone looking at him, but then, it's not like I thought everything would be fine. We'd just rescued him from Hell, and I know firsthand how traumatic an experience that can be.
I just didn't know how traumatic *his* experience there had been. I thought mine was bad, but his may have been worse. At least I felt that there was good I could have done there, if I'd bothered to make the effort. There was nothing he could do. He was watching every nightmare he'd ever had, and more than a few that were too twisted for him to ever consider, and not a soul could see or hear him trying to stop it all. Well, except Spike, who, I know better than anyone else, wasn't going to be any help, the way things were in that place.
Xander still hasn't told us nearly everything. We know now it was Anyanka that killed him, which also explains his major freak-out when he saw Anya upon his return. He's been a little skittish around Willow and Amy, too, which I'm pretty sure means that Wills got even worse after I left. And he insists I was there all along, which probably means Hell supplied him with a Buffy that was equally painful for him to watch after I came back here. But when he sleeps, his face is peaceful and unlined. It seems he doesn't have the nightmares I do, which is good. The hardest part for him is when he's awake. Which he will be soon - I know the signs. Yeah, I do watch him sleep a lot.
~**~
Before my eyes open, I can sense she's here. "Buffy?"
"Hey Xan." I peer up and there she stands. I wonder how long she's been there. She's here a lot when I wake up. I think the sleeping thing is starting to worry her a little, and that makes me smile. She's been paying attention. "Feeling better?"
And the thing is, I finally am, a little. When I first got back, I kept forgetting that this was real and all that had been, well, not. Nothing there was real except me, and for a while, just as I was getting there, Buffy. I kept walking into stuff I expected to walk through, and I avoided trying to touch people, forgetting it wasn't futile anymore. I'd forget to eat. But if I slept, it all went away, and I wasn't anywhere to be confused. I was just - sleeping. I like that a lot. So I sleep a lot.
I think I may try to stay up all the rest of the day today. It really is getting better. "Yeah, better," I reassure her, sitting up on the edge of the bed and combing my hair with my fingers. "I'm kinda hungry, too."
She smiles at that. She's been fussing over my eating habits, too. I understand, though. We have this connection now - nothing like the one I thought I had with Faith, but something soul deep. We'd both been there, and managed to make it back. She understood more than the others about adjusting to the real world again.
They all try, and I do love them for it. I admit Anya was a bit angry at my initial reaction, which didn't make it much easier for me to be around her. I kept expecting her to go all vein-faced and start ripping parts off me, which made me a tad cold in her presence. Which fed her anger, which frightened me even more, and so forth. Giles finally got the story out of Buffy (I really could hardly tell *her* - I'd have never gotten through it with any of the others), and once he explained to An, she felt guilty and began avoiding me in order to make me more comfortable. Which made me uncomfortable, too. We couldn't seem to get it right. It still isn't, quite, but we're getting there. It helps to see her all couple-y with Giles, which is so not Anyanka that it soothes me. We'll work it out.
Once I got it through my head that I could touch people and they'd respond, I began doing it a lot. I think I may have freaked Tara a little with all the hugging, but Dawn's loved it. And I've noticed Buffy pets on her little sister more now, too. Buffy was the one that got me to touch people again, after all. She's always brushing back my hair, or holding my hand. I'm not sure she even realizes she's doing it, but it makes me feel more - solid - somehow. If I'm real to her, maybe I'm really real.
Willow, well, that person there just wasn't Willow. I always knew that. Looked like her, but wasn't. This was and is. 'Nuff said.
"So," I look up at her and smile brightly, realizing I've been silent for an inappropriate length of time, "Food?"
~**~
It's good to see him eating. It's good to see him doing anything, anytime. I was shocked at how much I missed him when he was gone, and I still am when I realize how protective of him I've become. I practically smother him.
He wouldn't go back to the apartment, which makes perfect sense to me. Remember, I found his body, and know how much he was tortured. I can understand why he wouldn't want to sit down to lunch at the table he bled to death all over, looking at the same things he saw as he died. We ran an ad, and sub-let it in nothing flat. It was a really nice apartment; it was just the mental pictures of it that sucked. He's living here with us now, in my room. And no, it's not that way - I'm sleeping in Dawn's room, in her other twin. We were going to put Xander in with Giles, but after some thought and discussion (the latter mostly from Anya, who objected to that plan strenuously, even though when Giles stays with her, it's at her place, both for my sake and Dawn's), we decided this would work better.
Xander quit his job to come after me, and I've already informed him he won't go back until *I* think he's ready. Apparently, his boss saw him in the mall last week, and is bugging to have him return, but I want to be sure he's okay, all the way, first. I'd hate for something to happen to him when I wasn't around to help. I've spoken to the man, covering with the story Giles and I concocted about Xander having hit his head and suffering from blackouts. The therapist that Dawn saw is willing to write us a medical excuse to that effect, since Xander's seeing her now, too. So am I - Giles' idea.
She's tried to get me to talk about my feelings for Xand. I can't. I think I'm still afraid of hurting him any further - I'm sure he isn't ready for that kind of thing yet. Although I'm not totally sure what kind of "thing" I'm talking about here, either.
See, I'm pretty sure he loved me, before. But I, for one, know how much trauma like he's been through can affect a person's emotions, and I also know, from some of the things he's said and some of the unguarded reactions I've noticed, that the Buffy that replaced me was a real case. Not that I wasn't, while I was there, but it's a safe bet she was even worse. Still, Dr. Michaelson says we should share together, since we both survived, so.
"Xan? Can we talk about, you know. It?" Smooth, Buffy. He stops, his spoon frozen in the air and tomato soup dripping back into the bowl, a look of resigned surprise on his face. Then the surprise fades, leaving just the resignation, and he nods slowly, lowering the spoon and swiping at his face with the napkin.
~**~
Don't know why that surprises me. Dr. Michaelson told me we should talk about the whole thing, and I'm sure she's said the same thing to Buffy. I guess I just thought I'd have longer to sort out what I felt and how to tell her about it. "What do you want to know?" I ask, and God, my voice sounds hollow. She shrugs, which I guess means she wants to know it all. I'm not sure if I'm dragged down by reliving that time, or by having to tell her the truth about some of what happened. 'Cos I don't know if I can make the sounds that would form the words that will express how awful it was.
I know she knows, at least some. She's the only one who can, who was really there. She met those people who were and weren't our friends all at the same time, so she can relate to all the externals I dealt with. But she's never known how I felt before - not really. And that was even when I had good and positive feelings. I don't know how to tell her I blamed her for so much of what went on there, even knowing now it wasn't really her, but my very own Hell-built custom-designed Buffy. But I'm also aware, knowing what I do about the others and how they were there, that there was the seed of the real thing inside, and that's why it was so painful. If I dig deep, I can even admit that that Willow could exist in my Willow. I know she's in there. This Willow just has better support and a stronger moral compass.
"I hated you." She looks like I slapped her. Damn. All that time of being able to say whatever I was thinking and nobody hearing me weakened my already fragile mind-to-mouth filter. Stuff just pops out sometimes. "I mean, not you - her. The one there. And only sometimes." Okay - I'm in it now. Might's well go down all three times. I'll do my best to be gentle. "You, she, whoever- you didn't care about anyone. You kept defending Willow, and you wouldn't listen when I tried to tell you she was over her head. You only cared about Dawn when it was convenient or a crisis. You didn't pay enough attention to me to know I was freaking about marrying Anya, which was what drove her to kill me. You fucking *slept* with *Spike*. It was Angel all over again, but worse - way worse. I loved you, you know - it was part of what pissed Anyanka off. Once I was dead, my body was there for *three days* before you so much as noticed I was gone and found me." I slam my fist down on the table, and tomato soup goes flying from the bowl, decorating my white t-shirt in bloody-looking splotches. "You let me die because *you* wanted to die. And then I was of no use to anyone." I will not cry; I *will* not cry. I will *not* cry. Oh, God, I forgot all about being gentle.
~**~
Every word out of his mouth is like a body blow. I know he has all those false memories of the Xander that was there in my hell before he got there, but the feelings they evoke are all his. And he's crying, because even with all that pain he's carrying, I can tell he didn't want me to know, that he wanted to protect me from his own feelings. He's always tried to protect me. I realized that before we brought him back. And I know he's completely right about me - that's why I can't let him slip away, can't let him block his feelings here like I did there, which led to me becoming the Buffy he hated. I've spent most of our relationship pushing Xander away - it's time I pulled him closer so he can heal properly.
"You're right," I tell him softly, and tentatively reach to touch his hand. My touch makes him jump, and I can see on his face that he wasn't expecting *that* response. He's wide-eyed, tear-stained and there are nasty red blotches of soup all over his face and shirt. I realize that this is what he probably looked like when Anyanka began her torture, and I shudder involuntarily. Gotta regroup for a minute.
"I thought I'd been in heaven, and you guys had pulled me out. I never once thought about how much you were left with to deal with, how much you and Willow and Dawn and even Spike were hurting. I'd been at peace, or so I believed, and so *I* had the right to hate being back. Spike fed that feeling in me, so instead of going to the people that could make it better, I selfishly chose to turn to the one who made it worse. It justified my pain. I couldn't think straight there. It's part of the whole deal."
He's not crying anymore - that's good. "Yeah," he says gruffly. "I couldn't either." I slip my fingers between his, stroking the back of his hand with my free one.
"I'm not going for excuses here, Xan. I made plenty of bad mistakes before I did my portal drop, too. I was wrong in what I did there, and even though lots of it was before you showed up in Hell, you got blessed with the fallout. Part of the still bad is that I now see clearly everything I could have done differently, and I have nightmares about it every night." It's true, too. Dawn's threatened more than once since Xander moved in to make me sleep on the couch, since I moan and thrash and wake her up.
"I don't dream. It's all going on like a film loop in my head all the time I'm awake, though. It really is getting better." I see him starting to really process what he'd said before. "Buff, I'm sor."
"No!" I snap, more harshly than I'd intended, and he tries to pull his hand away, but I won't let him. I take a minute to soften my tone. "Don't say you're sorry you said all that. You needed to. I needed you to. Neither of us can get better if we don't let all the poison out of the wounds."
"What did I do to you?" he asks after a few minutes semi-uncomfortable silence, and I'm puzzled by the question. He can tell. "I mean, we hurt you by pulling you out of heaven," he explains, "or at least you thought so, but that wouldn't be enough torture, by the standards of whatever it is that runs that place. I must have done something else."
I consider not answering this. Admitting what I felt could open doors I'm not sure I'm ready to walk through. But not answering takes me right back to my nightmares, or even further, back to my freshman year in college when I pushed Xander right into Anya's arms when I thought I was too good to hang with a townie. Of course, not long after that, I decided I was too good to hang with anyone from my old bunch, and nearly got myself killed by the freaking Initiative for my conceit. It probably all started then, if I were totally honest. And I'm not going to do that again. The nightmare began when I pushed him away, and I need him so much more now, or maybe I just finally know how much I've always needed him.
"You were happy, or at least you looked happy, with Anya. When I found out you were getting married, it was like the last nail in the coffin. I never would say I wanted you, but I couldn't deal with the fact that she had you. I thought I'd lost you permanently - then you died, and even any slight hope I still had died with you." It's not fair, the next statement I have to make, but I have to say what I felt, or his own emotional outpouring is cheapened. "You left me," I whisper, as reluctant to put it on him as he was to blame his suffering on me.
~**~
My arms are out to hold her even as she's crawling into my lap. We've never admitted out loud before how much we need each other. There's no going back now. "I'll never leave you." She curls up against my chest and I'm stroking her hair. I've said that before, I could swear, but never when I was so sure she heard me. "Hell can't hurt us anymore when we've faced the demons inside, can it?"
"We're not out of the woods yet," she murmurs, muffled by my dirty t-shirt, and then she giggles a little. "Can I just sleep here? This feels so good."
I think she's joking, until she goes all quiet for a bit, and then starts breathing deeply and evenly. She said she'd been having nightmares, so she probably hasn't slept well for a long time. I'm not sure if I should just sit here and hold her until she wakes up, or take her up and tuck her in her bed. Finally I decide on a compromise, and carry her carefully out to the sofa, which is a hell of a lot easier on my back than the kitchen chair. If I nestle into the corner, it's quite comfortable. She snuggles a bit more deeply into my chest as I settle in.
We're *not* out of the woods yet. We've said a lot of things, but danced around saying others. I'm not sure if the others are ready to be said. But we've stepped off a ledge into a new world of honesty and trust, and we've done it together. I'm thinking that the opposite of hell isn't necessarily heaven, but just the right attitude about real life. I can live with that, if Buffy can.
~**~
