Part 8

several days later

"Are you going to let me go home soon?" Buffy asked, frustrated at her confinement.

Lorne looked at her pensively. He'd been meeting with her an hour each day for the last five days. She looked much better than she had. The dark circles under her eyes had faded to a dim hue, and she appeared slightly less frail - all benefits of her hospitalization. The look in her eyes seemed a bit less devastated, but was still noticeably sad. He knew she hated being in the hospital, but he was hesitant to authorize her release for fear of her relapsing if too much was put on her too soon.

At the same time, her demeanor had improved. They'd spent many hours talking the last few days. After his initial visit, she was much more open to talking to him, and he suspected it was the first time in a long while that she had voiced many of the thoughts, fears, and emotions locked up inside. Not that he could particularly blame her for holding everything in. She hadn't been given much reason to keep people close. But it wasn't good for her. And he hoped she understood that.

"Do YOU think I should let you go home?" he returned, tapping his pen on his chin.

"Yes," she answered quickly. When his only response was to raise an eyebrow, she scowled. "What?"

"It's not as simple as just letting you go home," Lorne explained, still drumming his pen. "You may be physically better, Buffy, but inside." He tapped his chest over his heart. "There is still a lot of healing you have to do."

Her eyes shuttered, her mind once again prompted to recall the reasons why she'd been stuck in this place to begin with. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them protectively. "I know," she managed to mumble, staring down at the stark white bed sheets.

"Do you?" he pressed.

Buffy gazed up at him, her face blank and confused.

"You can't keep all the pain and hurt locked up inside," Lorne continued. "It'll eat you alive. It already has once, and it has been for quite some time. I don't want to see you end up back in here, or worse."

"I won't hurt myself," Buffy promised. "I wouldn't..."

"Cut your wrists? Take a bottle of pills?" Lorne filled in. "No, probably not. But you are hurting yourself by not eating, sleeping or taking care of yourself."

Buffy released a trembling sigh and blinked back several tears. "It's just hard."

"I know that, dumplin'. There's nothing easy about death. But you have to learn to accept it. You may never forget it, and there may always be an ache in your heart, but you can either let the pain control you, or you take control of it," he said softly, yet sternly.

"How am I just supposed to go on like... like Oz isn't... dead?" The last word came out in a rush. It was still so hard to say the word 'dead' and 'Oz' in the same sentence.

"You can't. Your brother is, unfortunately, no longer with us. No one is asking you to ignore that, or asking you to go around being Ms. Mary Sunshine," he countered, correcting her assumption. "You just have to go on one day at a time. I know that's cheesy, but it's the truth."

"One day at a time," Buffy muttered, a sardonic chuckle escaping past her lips.

"I said it was cheesy." Lorne laughed along with her. "Listen, I know how much you want to get out of here, so I'll make a deal with you. I will give the okay for your release if you agree to two conditions."

"What are they?" she asked warily.

"The first one is that you will come back here to meet with me twice a week for as long as I say is necessary," he explained. "And the second is that you must take better care of yourself, which includes eating and sleeping. If I see that you're looking worse, I WILL find a way to get you back in here."

"Okaaay," Buffy drawled, waiting for whatever else seemed to be on the tip of Lorne's tongue.

"And," he began. "I would also like to encourage you to talk to your friends. They're grieving too. You can help each other through this."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "They can just be so suffocating sometimes, always in my face, or asking if I'm all right."

"Then tell them to back off. There's nothing wrong with saying you need a few hours to yourself, or a night alone. And if they keep asking you if you're all right, tell them to stop asking. They'll never know what's bothering you unless you tell them," Lorne pointed out logically.

Grumbling under her breath, Buffy wondered if the damn man ever said anything that didn't make perfect sense. She had pushed everyone away in a dire need get away from all the poking and prodding. It was just so hard looking into all their sympathetic faces and hearing all the conciliatory words. But she did miss having someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on. She missed Oz.

"Do we have a deal?" Lorne prodded.

"Twice a week?" she asked for clarification.

"Yup. No less. And here." He pulled out a business card and handed it to Buffy. "That has my pager number on it. You can call it anytime. If you're feeling overwhelmed, or just sad, give me a call."

Studying the card, Buffy considered her options: stay in the hospital until she likely died of old age or boredom or food poisoning; or go home today and have to come back to see Lorne twice a week. It wasn't a hard choice. And really, the idea of talking more with Lorne wasn't so bad. He was pretty cool, and she felt comfortable with him.

"Okay," she agreed.

"Good." Lorne clapped his hands together once and stood. "I'll go find Giles and we'll get your paperwork done and send you on your way."

QQ

The house was deafeningly quiet. Unnervingly quiet. It made her twitchy. She hadn't noticed the utter silence until after Xander had left an hour and a half earlier. He'd driven her home from the hospital, even carried her bags for her. They'd had dinner together, an extra cheese pizza from their favorite delivery place, while sharing sparse conversation. Afterwards, he'd offered to stay, to spend the night on the couch, and for a moment, a million different excuses rattled around her head to get him to leave. Then Lorne's words came back to her.

"I'd kind of like to be alone tonight," she'd told him. And it was the honest truth. For days, nurses, doctors, Xander, Angel, and others had swarmed around her, never giving her a minute's peace. She'd wanted some time. Time to think, to try and figure out what had happened, what was happening, and what was going to happen. As expected, Xander was hesitant, but she'd reassured him profusely that she didn't plan to go crazy again After making her promise to call if she needed anything, he had finally left.

Now she was by herself in the house. And it was quiet, and unnerving. And lonely. Once, when her mind had drifted, when she had forgotten for just a second the events of the past few weeks, she had started to walk to Oz's room to see if he wanted to watch a movie. But when her hand had touched the banister, she'd remembered. Oz wasn't there anymore. He never would be again. And she'd cried, large drenching tears that trailed down her cheeks, and onto her shirt, leaving dark blotches in their wake.

The tears were gone now, the wet spots dried, but the silence remained. She currently stood in the opening between the kitchen and the foyer, looking anywhere but forward, anywhere but to the living room. Since coming home, she'd avoided the room. She knew she needed to go in there, but her feet wouldn't obey the unspoken command. Each time she picked up her right foot to begin walking, she only ended up stomping it back down again.

After repeating the gesture several more times, Buffy groaned and cursed inside her head over her cowardice. It was just her living room, a room she'd been in hundreds of times, a room she'd apparently trashed almost a week ago and had no memory of doing so. The knowledge that she'd done something like that and couldn't remember disturbed Buffy. But, she told herself, the only way to face it was to walk into that room with her head held high. So that's what she did.

It wasn't as bad as she'd thought it would be, thanks probably in large part to Xander and Angel's cleaning session. Even so, she could see the remaining damage. The TV was gone, some of the curtains had been removed, and several picture frames were missing the glass fronts. Otherwise, much of the room had been returned to normal, or at least she supposed it was. In all honesty, she couldn't remember what happened. The conversation with Willow was still emblazoned in her mind, but after that, and before waking up in the hospital, everything was mostly blank. Maybe it would all come back to her, but she wondered if she'd be better off not remembering.

A rumble of thunder distracted her line of thought, and she jumped at the sudden noise. Grasping a hand over her rapidly beating heart, Buffy hurried over to one of the windows and peered up at the sky. Though it was night, and therefore dark by nature, it seemed even blacker out. The moon and stars were hidden behind thick, threatening clouds, and the only light came from the soft glow radiating out of neighboring houses. And also from the lightning that just streaked across the sky.

On instinct, she made her way to the front door and walked out onto the porch. Her steps came to an abrupt halt when she remembered why it was instinct. Whenever there had been storms in the past, she and Oz would go out and sit on the porch, listening to the thunder, and watching the lightning. He'd been fascinated by them, and she, being the adoring little sister, had followed along. It was a tradition. And one that now made her heart ache. He wasn't there to watch the storms with her anymore.

Despite the unhappy associations, Buffy remained on the porch. In some strange way, it made her feel closer to Oz. So instead of seeking solace back inside the house, she seated herself on the worn porch swing that the two of them had spent many hours relaxing on. The intensity of the storm was increasing, the rain likely start soon, so she inclined her head and gazed up at the sky.

The sound of a car pulling up drew her attention, and when she looked out onto the street, she saw Angel's large boat of a car stop along the sidewalk. She groaned out loud, not only because it was Angel, but also because she really had wanted to be alone. When she saw him get out of the car, though, and call Argyle out after him, she couldn't help but smile.

"Argyle!" she shouted to the golden retriever. The dog's ears perked up and soon he was bounding up the walkway toward her. "Hey boy! I missed you!"

Angel followed the dog, smiling to himself, glad that he had decided to bring Argyle back tonight rather than tomorrow. He knew how much the dog meant to Buffy, especially considering he had been Oz's.

"He's happy to see you," Angel said for lack of anything better.

"Thanks for bringing him back." She bent down and scratched behind the dog's ears, grinning as he jumped up on the swing beside her. "Please tell Giles and Jenny that I appreciate them taking care of him."

"They were glad to do it," he answered, stepping up on to the porch.

His hands twisted nervously in his pockets as he tried to think of something to say. Since they'd talked in her hospital room several days earlier, when Lorne had interrupted them, they hadn't had a chance to talk again. Every time he'd been at the hospital, Lorne had been there, or Giles, or Xander, or Jenny. Though he wasn't quite sure that was bad. He knew they needed to discuss their problems, and their past, but he just didn't know how to go about it. He also knew that if they were ever going to move forward, they, or more precisely he, had to get everything out in the open. She deserved to know why he'd acted the way he had three years earlier.

"I'm going to miss this," Buffy voiced when the silence became too much to bear.

"Miss what?" he asked, more than a little confused by the random announcement.

"The house, the porch, everything," she explained, still not making sense.

"The house? Why would you miss it?" Leaning against the railing, he stared at her expectantly.

"There's no way I can keep this house, Angel. Oz and I were barely able to pay the bills together. My job won't cover them on its own. I don't even know if I have a job anymore." She frowned, suddenly realizing she'd missed work for a week and hadn't even talked to her boss. Even though her boss liked her, that wasn't a good way to keep her job.

"Don't worry; I talked to Mrs. Cassell at the gallery. She said to take as much time as you need and your job will still be there," he told her, but then went back to her original statement. "You're going to sell the house?"

"I don't have much of a choice." Selling the house was the last thing she wanted to do. It was her home, the one she'd lived in with her mom and Oz. Leaving would be hard, but there just wasn't anything she could do about it.

Angel nodded solemnly in understanding. He knew how hard it had been for Buffy and Oz to keep the house after Joyce died. Oz had quit college and gotten a job, and Buffy had gotten a part time job. Then when she graduated from high school, she'd gone to work full time at the art gallery her mother used to own instead of going to college. The money they'd made had just barely allowed them to keep the house. Now, with it just being her, he could understand why she would have to sell. And he hated it. But there really wasn't anything he could do to help.

Again, silence took over, the only noises coming from the brewing storm. Buffy didn't want to talk about the house, or her decision. There really wasn't anything to debate. She had only one choice, and she'd been thinking about it since even before she went into the hospital. It was a dead issue, no matter how much it hurt. With nothing else to think about, her mind focused on the fact that Angel was standing only a few feet away, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Like Angel, she, too, hadn't forgotten their never-finished hospital room conversation. There were still answers she wanted, needed, and now was as good a time as any to get them.

So without beating around the bush, she looked over to him, head raised and chin firm, and asked, "Why'd you do it, Angel?"

The question was vague, but he knew what she wanted to know. What he had to figure out was how to explain. There was no excuse for his actions. Well, there was an excuse, but he didn't think she'd be accepting of it. Nothing would make how he treated her right. But he would tell her; he would try to explain why they'd gone from perfectly happy to not even speaking in the blink of an eye. As he tried to form the words, he thought back to three years earlier when he'd been responsible for breaking the heart of the girl he loved. He was unaware that Buffy was thinking of the exact same thing.

(flashback)

"Are you sure I look okay?" Buffy asked Willow as she stood in front of her mirror studying the emerald green dress she was wearing.

"You look perfect," Willow assured her. "Are you sure it's not too fancy though?"

Buffy shrugged, again studying her appearance. "Angel said to dress up."

"Okay. Well, I better go. Angel should be here soon." Willow climbed off the bed and gathered her coat and backpack. "Call me when you get home! I want all the details!" she ordered as she shuffled out of the room, a smile playing on her face.

Buffy laughed and said goodbye, but her mind was elsewhere. She was nervous and excited at the same time. It was insane, really. They'd been dating for almost six months, and had been on dates before. But today was her birthday, and Angel was taking her somewhere special. It made everything seem all the more real. And it made her happy. After her mother had died, she'd wondered if she'd ever smile again. Now, two and a half years later, she'd found happiness, and she'd found Angel. The loss of her mother still hurt, but it wasn't as unbearable as she'd worried it always would be.

Angel. Her feelings for him had come so unexpectedly. One day he was Angel, her brother's best friend, and the next, he was Angel, funny, nice, and incredibly hot guy who was over at her house a lot. The even bigger surprise was that he'd felt the same way. She'd never thought it possible. He was three and a half years older than her, and her brother's friend. In the beginning, she'd told herself a million times that Angel would never look at her as she looked at him. But that had all changed the day of Oz's birthday party when they'd shared the most amazing kiss. Now, everything was perfect.

ZZ

Outside the front door, Angel paused, his feelings a twisted mass of contradiction. Throughout the day, he'd been nervous and excited about his date with Buffy. He worried that she wouldn't like the restaurant he had made reservations at, or that she would hate the present he'd gotten her. He worried about everything. But now, he had a different set of worries, ones that changed everything. And all because of a simple conversation with Wesley, a conversation that included unsolicited words of wisdom from a man who was not only his boss, but also a family friend. Angel had initially blown off the warnings, but now they were resonating loudly in his head. Was Wes right? And what about what Oz, and also Xander, had said to him. Were they all right?

Before he could contemplate it any longer, the front door was opening, and there was Buffy. She looked absolutely incredible, stunning him speechless.

"Hey," she greeted, smiling widely as she reached up on her tip-toes to place a light kiss on his lips. When he barely reacted to the kiss, she pulled back, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he mumbled with a shake of his head. This was not the time for maudlin thoughts. They had an evening out planned, and Buffy looked amazing. Now was not the time. But that didn't stop the thoughts.

"No, you have something face," she disagreed, taking his hand and pulling him into the house.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it," he snapped harsher than he meant to, yanking his hand away.

Buffy stared down at her hand, the one that had previously been holding his, hurt and shocked over his behavior. She took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Tell me what's wrong."

The words flew out of his mouth before he could even consider them. He hadn't meant to say it, at least not then, but his feelings were so jumbled, his mind so cluttered, that they just slipped out.

"I think we should stop seeing each other."

(end flashback)

The crushed, horrified, betrayed look on her face the moment he'd said those words to her still held strong in Angel's mind. He'd never forget the tears that had instantly welled in her eyes, or the angry pleadings that had followed. He'd never forget that night, and he'd never stopped wondering if it had been the right thing to do.

QQ

TBC!!