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Weeping May Endure

Mornings hold no joy for me anymore

I took the bus back to Sunnydale and arrived just barely after dawn. The sunrise was bright and garish, it's intrinsic brightness like a blow to the gut after what had happened. I should have known, of course, the moment I got on that bus that this was a bad idea. Nothing good comes out of bus rides, just as nothing good ever seems to come from Los Angeles, either.

The City of Angels. Angel's city. His Territory. I was no longer welcome there. The sunny, foggy memories of childhood and adolescence, the dark pit of despair that had welcomed me like a lover to its arms—it had shut me out. His city now. No longer mine.

I didn't cry. Not on the way back. I sat there and stared out the window with burning eyes and clenched throat. If I moved, if I spoke or even closed my eyes I felt the world would disappear and draw me back into that hell I had fought so hard to leave.

But I never had. I knew that now. Oh, I suppose I knew it all along. He sent me there, that Summer after he walked away from me without so much as a goodbye, removed himself from my life like I'd magically forget him, disappeared into the mist like in those romantic movies my mother was always making me watch. That's romance for you--having your lover disappear into the fog. Payback, Buffy, I could almost hear him whisper, not to go all schoolyard on you, but you hit me first . . . Angel's face, his angelic face, trusting and innocent as I thrust the sword home and sent him away to eternal torment. Simple retaliation, of course. You sent me to hell once--now we're even. When he left, he took me with him. Or was it when he took my heart, that I had given him in total trust, and threw it in the filth and stench of a sewer that I died? Certainly I never stopped loving him. I wanted to die for him, would have willingly and joyfully laid down my too heavy burden lying surrounded by him with the agony and ecstasy of his fangs in my throat.

But apparently Angel had already decided to forget that, because he never mentioned my sacrifice. Never claimed the mark on my neck that never stopped burning me. Just looked guilty and avoided my eyes until that last moment when I knew that the center of my life was voluntarily walking away from me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

No one noticed me screaming. Giles looked concerned and kind, but never mentioned Angel once. Within a week it was business as usual. Xander was full of sarcasm and jokes, as usual. There were a few vague references to him, but on the whole he ignored the whole subject. Willow was happy. She had Oz, had college starting, had a purpose. She gave me looks at the Bronze, tried to set guys up with me. Sometimes I thought I saw Angel in the corners of my eyes, lurking in that red velvet shirt of his, his eyes burning into my soul. Avoiding her disappointed and confused face, I would flee into the bathroom to retch, tears streaming down my face. I never even saw the boys Willow sent my way. I think I had become blind to everything but Him.

At the end of the summer the grief and heartbreak burned out and became a gaping, endless hole of aching loneliness. I finally figured out how to stop the looks, the worried glances, my mother's concerned stares and pursed lips. I just took everything that was the old Buffy, the love and hope, visions of the future that had begun to materialize before my love ran away with my soul, and buried them deep down. So deep I could barely remember they were there.

And it was good, for the most part. I could party, dance, joke and laugh with friends, and hang out with my mother. Everyone around me seemed to breathe a sign of relief. I made sure whenever they looked at me I was smiling and happy. Old Buffy.

Parker was a mistake of gargantuan proportions. I did it out of revenge and pain, more than anything else. I thought I could forget, that somehow the sex Angel seemed to think so very important would provide a healthy foundation for a relationship. Sleep with someone, and they'll stay with you, right?

Right. Apparently the formula was wrong. I figured then there must be something wrong with me. Why my father disappeared from my life. Why I wasn't enough to keep Angel from leaving. Why I, once again, was dumped the night after. Why my so called best friends and mother, not to mention Giles, were unable to notice the black pit that filled the center of my being.

And then there was Riley. I loved Riley. I loved him because he didn't know Angel, because he hadn't betrayed me by forgetting him, because he loved me. He made me feel loved and safe. Not like Angel. Angel's arms were heaven and death combined. Riley was only warm. But warm was something I had nothing of and so huddled against like a fire against as storm. And I knew he wouldn't leave me. I could lose myself in him and forget all about that part of my life that was both agony and ecstasy all combined in one. To him I was simply Buffy, sunny, vivacious girl whom he loved with a boyish, happy passion.

He never noticed it wasn't me.

I suppose I shouldn't have expected it of him. After all, all I ever expected of him was to be normal. Sunshine and picnics. Not to have extra sensory perception or the mystical ability to feel each others presence without sight. But at that moment the walls I had so carefully constructed began to crumble. The hatred I felt for Faith had given them a serious blow, and I was desperately trying to build them back up. I told myself to just forget about Riley's trespass, forget the past, forget what that bitch did to Angel. And then I heard where she had gone.

And after everything that happened, that little part of me, that tiny, flickering light was so very faint came to the surface.

I hated Faith. She was my sister slayer, the one person in the world who could really, truly understand me, and she betrayed her calling on the deepest level. Faith had lied to me, joined the enemy, murdered a human in cold blood. She had tried to murder Angel three times, nearly succeeding at the last. It was because of her that Angel was forced into pretending to be the one thing he hated above everything, because of her that the mayor had given his little speech to my love. I would have killed her for him. I thought I had. There were perhaps things I could forgive her for, but I could never, ever, forgive Faith for killing Angel.

But Angel can forgive her for killing me.

And it was this realization that destroyed something within me. I didn't even rank as one of Angel's "helpless" clients. That status was reserved for ex-killers and body snatchers. No care for the victims. No concern for the love of his life. No love in Angel's eyes.

Oh, I was angry—I was seething. Of course I came for vengeance. Faith was a killer, an abomination, but she was still a slayer, and she was after Angel. Would he honestly expect me to do anything else? If he had heard beforehand that Faith was out for my blood, would he have come? I used to know without doubt that he would. But now . . .

Now I know he wouldn't. Not anymore. I saw it in his eyes. The blow he dealt me hurt like hell, but it was his words at the police station that struck me to the heart.

This was about saving souls. And you're not a part of it. Go home.

Go.

I wanted to die when I realized he was right.

I kill demons. It's all I do. Sometimes I save lives, but I know that half the people in Sunnydale are eventually going to die, or be turned into something that I will have to kill later. Fifteen percent of my graduating class at Sunnydale high were killed. In the end, that's all I do. Destroy lives.

But Angel saves. Angel turns lives around, turned Faith around. That time in Sunnydale, when I tried to be her friend, tried to forge that bond or slayer-ness with her, wasn't enough. Afterwards I couldn't see past the haze of pain and hurt to try to reach out to her. And I still can't. I can't look at the murderers and rapists, much less the demons, that abound in the dark alleys behind the Bronze and try and save them. I'm too busy saving their victims lives. Faith had tried to kill the man I loved, had attacked me, had joined the mayor, had stolen my body and done god knows with it, and Angel didn't care. He didn't hold me, wouldn't talk to me, couldn't spare a single moment to deal with the trauma of a slayer who at heart was just a scared and heartbroken little girl.

But he was rewarded for it. He had a life, he had a business, he even got paid for being a warrior-turned-guidance counselor. And he had a seer--Cordelia of all people. Even Cordelia got Angel when I was denied him. Angel had a direct link to the Powers-That-Be who had never seen fit to guide me so individually. Angel's mission was the true, superior one, and I was just a killer. I guess my mother was right after all. There was no fruit for Buffy.

And so I came home. My mother was downstairs at her computer and I went straight for my room and opened the closet. I grabbed all the clothes I thought Faith had touched and ripped them apart. My leather pants, my shirts, my underwear. Then I stripped and did the same to the clothes I was wearing.

The shower was hot and functional only, just strong soap and shampoo, as I scrubbed obsessively at every inch of my body. After I dressed, again all in black, I methodically began to pack.

And that's when Willow came in.

My mother must have let her in the house. She stood in the doorway with a shocked expression on her face as I grabbed clothes from the closet, folded them with knife edge pleats, and packed them away.

"Buffy," she stammered, "Are you going somewhere." She came closer, her face wary. "I know," she said in a relieved voice, "You're going on vacation. With Riley right?" Her voice became more hopeful. I ignored her and pulled my coats aside to find the leather jacket Angel had given me all those years ago. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to wrap it around me or burn it.

She came over to see what I was packing. "Um, this is a lot of stuff. Where are you going? Why didn't you tell us?" She began to look worried as I poured more and more clothes into the suitcase.

Then suddenly she clenched my elbow with a surprisingly fierce grip. She fixed a level stare at me—a look I hadn't seen on her in a long time. "Buffy, what are you doing?"

I stopped and stared at the ground for a long time in silence. Then I turned to her. "I'm going away."

Willow stared at me with something like anger behind her eyes. "Does this have something to do with Angel?"

Ah, the Name. Finally it is spoken. "No."

"Buffy . . ."

"I'm leaving Willow. I'm sorry—" I had to take a breath. "I'm sorry I have to do this, but—"

"So what," she exclaimed angrily. "You're just taking off? Like last time? Life is too much so you give up and disappear? I thought you were over that, Buffy. I thought after Angel left you wouldn't do this anymore. You've got Riley now. Isn't that enough? Haven't you been happier with him?"

I whirled around at that point. "Happier? You think I'm happier with Riley than Angel?"

She looked confused. "Well, yeah. I mean, Riley's nice, and normal, he knows you're the slayer and you guys have a real relationship—" She cut off as I looked at her incredulously.

"You thought Angel and I didn't have a real relationship?" I unconsciously began to advance on her. "You think I've forgotten Angel? Forgotten that I loved him? God." I gave a bitter snort. "You all never saw, did you? You only saw him as a vampire. Never as a person. The most wonderful, compassionate, forgiving person in the world who had to suffer unbearable torment for the last hundred years, and you never saw that."

The tears started then, and I quickly turned away so that Willow wouldn't see them. She was staring at me with a stricken look on her face. She said my name, and I could tell she had begun to cry too.

"Buffy, I'm sorry. We thought—we just thought—Angel caused you so much pain. And he left nearly ten months ago. Buffy, what happened in L.A.?"

The tears were flowing freely now, my throat choked up so I could hardly breathe. I curled up on the ground with my face in my hands and wept.

Willow was there in an instant, her arms around me, her hands stroking my hair. "Oh god, Buffy," she said brokenly. "I'm so sorry. What happened. Won't you tell me what happened?"

Great shuddering sobs forced their way from my lungs, and I could only cry in her arms. But then they finally stopped, and in the resulting calm I told her everything. How Angel had his arms around Faith. How I had hit him to get at her. How he had hit me back because he was protecting her. How my heart had frozen as that policewoman had taken him away to die, and how when I protested and she asked who I was, he had only said 'She's nobody'. How he had hurt me so deeply with his words and how I had retaliated with deliberate cruelty to wound him the only way left to me. How I hated myself for the words I had spoken and wanted to hate him, but couldn't. How I still loved him more than life and how he no longer cared about me.

And through it all Willow just held me and made murmuring sounds, telling me it was going to be okay. But it wasn't. It would never be okay again. The sun had proved it. My joy lay in darkness, and the darkness had rejected me.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." ~Psalm 30:5