Cold Day in a Cruel World
By She's a Star
Disclaimer: Buffy belongs to Joss Whedon. The lyrics used are from 'Ballad for Dead Friends' by the Dashboard Prophets; the title's also from there.
Setting: During 'Innocence' after Jenny's uncle is found dead in the hotel room.
Author's Note: This kinda wandered away from me, as my fics rather tend to do. I suppose that Giles's actions are kind of questionable here, so here's how I see it: he's upset with Jenny for lying to them, understandably, but I don't think he'd give her the cold shoulder right after she found her uncle's corpse. And then the characterization by the end of this seems to conflict with his actions in the episode, so let's just say that when they get back into the library, he sees Buffy and realizes where his loyalties must lie. (Whoa, that sounds dramatic.)
See? It all works.
Kind of.
This is for Milla. Er. Happy super-late birthday? Right. It's like presents all year round! Or something.
She couldn't stop shaking.
Nothing quite seemed real; she stared out the window, the lyrics of the song on the radio twisting absently with half-formed thoughts. I really wished I could have saved you – she could make out the words through the static, and remembered very distinctly being fifteen and forced to sit through another of her uncle's lectures when she'd wanted nothing more than to see a movie with her friends. He had been the personification of everything she'd needed to escape from – talk of the past, of vengeance and justice and dead, beautiful things.
"God, I could just kill him," she remembered telling her boyfriend at the time, and he'd laughed at how angry she was.
She was still almost positive that it had been some sort of trick, that someone had scrawled messy words in ketchup across the wall and her uncle was just still, not dead, and God, she'd never seen a corpse before. A corpse, and she'd dialed 911 on the hotel telephone, breathing in the smoke that still lingered from his pipe (she'd always hated it, smoking; could anyone have a grosser habit?) as Rupert and Buffy exchanged empty, meaningless words.
And then they'd simply left, and here she was in the passenger seat of her boyfriend's car (the biggest piece of junk she'd ever seen, and he still kept it nice on the inside, it was just like him) thankful for the music because silence would have smothered her.
I don't dream at all; I have nightmares.
As they pulled into the parking lot, she stared distractedly down at her hands. They were trembling uncontrollably; she noticed vaguely that there was a spot of something on her left one. The one she'd touched him with, the one she'd wrapped around his wrist even though he was dead and logically she knew someone couldn't survive after losing that much blood. She'd been such an idiot, desperately hoping that somehow there'd be a pulse.
Rupert parked the car, and Buffy got out at once. Jenny wasn't quite sure if she could handle walking at the moment – her head was spinning, and she briefly regretted wearing heeled shoes.
There's no vacancy in paradise – she shuddered, and Rupert turned the car off. The silence rushed at her at once; seemed to roar in her ears.
"I'm sorry," he said after a moment.
"Yeah," she replied absently, surprised at how calm her voice sounded. She was still staring at her hand, at the spot. She knew what it was but couldn't quite comprehend it. Not just yet.
"I know that it must be . . . very difficult," Rupert continued awkwardly. It was blood, she realized, and thought she might be sick. "I—"
"Rupert, stop. Please."
"Yes, of course," he said at once. She wondered if he was mentally kicking himself. Usually she could tell when he was, but right now her intuition wasn't quite up to par.
"I'm sorry," he said again, quieter this time.
He reached for her hand, his fingers finding hers, and, feeling sickened, she pulled away.
"There's blood on it," she offered, a weak explanation. It didn't seem right, that her tone was so steady. "My uncle's."
"Jenny . . ."
"I hated him," she cut in, feeling as though some sort of explanation was necessary even though he hadn't asked, wouldn't have asked. "God, he drove me crazy. He could go on for hours about vengeance and my poor, wrongfully slain ancestor . . . I can't count the number of times I wanted to hit the bastard."
Rupert didn't say anything, but she knew he was listening. There was something soothing in his presence; she kind of wished she hadn't pulled her hand away.
"I just wanted to escape, you know? From him and . . . what he stood for. Just have a normal life. Well," she added, and laughed a little, "as normal as you can have on top of a Hellmouth. Which worked for me. I've always been an adventure girl."
She didn't know why she was saying this. There was no point, and with The Wrath of Angelus the Sequel about to hit theatres, she was pretty sure they could be doing more important things. Still, Rupert didn't seem impatient or even slightly perturbed that there could very well be an apocalypse courtesy of the Slayer's ex on its way. He seemed content just to listen.
She was a little surprised, after what had happened earlier – him finding out the truth. If she'd been in his position, she wasn't sure she'd want to deal with herself.
He really was amazing.
"I really never thought he'd die," she finished weakly, knowing all too well how stupid the proclamation sounded. "I almost thought he'd outlive me. And . . ." Feeling at a loss for words, she stared helplessly at Rupert. "This is going to get bad, isn't it?"
"I . . . I'd be very surprised if it didn't," he responded after a slight pause.
"Huh," she said, not quite sure what else to say. "I was afraid of that."
They looked at one another in silence for a moment, and she was surprised that she could barely tell he was frightened. She supposed this was something they must've taught you in Watcher School – how to take impending mass destruction with a grain of salt. It sounded like something that wouldn't be entirely pointless at Sunnydale High. Maybe he'd give up his position as a librarian in order to teach Remaining Calm When You're Scared as Hell 101.
Assuming, of course, they made it through this first. They still had the Judge to face, which would be even more difficult now that he and Angel were partners in crime.
She was having a hard time accepting that so many things could fall apart throughout the course of one day.
Wanting nothing more than to banish all these thoughts from her mind, she sighed weakly. The sound oddly resembled a whimper – the kind of whimper that was usually a prelude to a sobbing fest.
Oh no, she lectured herself. You can't break down. Not now.
She bit her lip, preparing to swallow the lump forming in her throat, when Rupert silently reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek for a moment, tentatively caressing her skin.
God, she was so in love with him.
"W-we should be heading inside," he said shortly, seeming slightly embarrassed as he opened his door and got out of the car.
"Right," she agreed. "Otherwise the kids'll probably think we're taking advantage of the back seat."
Rupert was instantly overcome by a coughing fit.
She grinned, and couldn't help but be a bit pleased as he opened her door, quite flustered indeed.
"Made you squirm," she informed him in a sing-song voice, and he abandoned the very nervous coughing in favour of laughter. It was nice; comforting, somehow. If Rupert could still laugh, then maybe things weren't so bad. And they could only get better.
She prepared to get out of the car, giving herself a mental pep-talk all the while. Things would be okay. Everyone was hurting right now, not just her; if Buffy was still up to kicking demon ass, then the least she could do was be able to walk without collapsing.
Here goes nothing.
She swung one leg out of the car and stepped tentatively down onto the pavement, then looked up at Rupert. He was watching her, a mixture of concern and affection lighting his features, and she was hit very hard with the realization that she really did love the guy. Really, truly loved him, to the point where spending the rest of her life with him seemed like an honest-to-God necessity.
"Jenny-" he started, clearly concerned as he leaned down so he was nearly eye-level with her, "if you d—"
She cut him off with a kiss, closing her eyes and pressing her mouth hard against his. Everything else seemed to fade, and suddenly the fact that people had died and would keep dying, that Angelus was back and could destroy everything, that the Judge could wipe out humanity as easily as she could empty her inbox, seemed less daunting. They would find a way to stop it.
She pulled away after a moment, realizing that Buffy was no doubt ready to prepare their next course of action, and that there were more important things to do than kiss in the parking lot.
Rupert stared at her, looking faintly surprised.
"Thank you," she offered as explanation.
He nodded silently and took her hand, helping her out of the car.
Fingers entwined, they headed toward the school together; the sound of her heels clicking against the pavement filled her ears, marring the silence.