2011

Sunnydale, California

Downtown: Couples Therapy Office: Session 3

"I have a question for you." As Cordelia looked up from the notepad, she removed the black rimmed reading glasses she wore. "What are your goals for the future? Where do you see each other six month from now?—Or one year from now?"

Buffy lowered her eyes to the silver claddagh ring around her finger as Angel turned his gaze elsewhere.

Dangling the glasses between her fingers, Cordelia dropped them on the notepad balanced on her lap. "Oh, c'mon. This isn't that annoying high school question of where you see yourself in five years? I'm talking about six months."

Buffy and Angel stared blankly at the therapist.

"Fine, one month, where do you two see yourselves? Here, sitting on the couch staring at me? Or having a breakthrough? Or at an attorney's office separating your assets? Guys, this isn't a trick question." Cordelia folded her hands together.

"I want it the way it was before." Rubbing his chin, Angel said as if he couldn't handle it anymore.

"That's good." Cordelia wore an encouraging smile on her face. "But there's a slight problem with that goal. You can never be as you were."

Angel rolled his eyes, now irritated.

"Unfortunately, you can't turn back time. But what this goal can be is accepting each other for who you are now." Cordelia pushed the glasses up the bridge of her nose. "The foundation is there. It's always been there and it's solid but all of the beams and pillars from before are wobbly and disintegrated and it needs to be renovated."

The O'Connor's stared at her, totally bewildered.

Cordelia continued with her explanation, "Part of this 'rebuilding' is going back to basics. Spending time together. Getting to know this 'changed' you. This weekend, go out together. Go do something that you both enjoy—and it can't be sex." She quickly added.

Saturday Afternoon

Downtown: Magic Box Art Gallery

Seated on a bench a few feet away from the famous Vincent van Gogh painting, Portrait of Dr Gachet featured at the famed quaint gallery in Downtown Sunnydale, Buffy heavily sighed.

There was something recognisable in the light blue eyes of the homeopathic doctor.

Buffy lowered her gaze to her hands, spinning the claddagh ring around her finger. The day had gone completely as she expected. First, Angel took her to a garden café for a nice lunch. They only exchanged a few words for the entire excruciating hour they were at the restaurant. Next, Buffy urged him to take her to his favourite art gallery with the expectation of him giving her a tour around the small halls. She was so certain this would've broken the ice and get him talking.

At the gallery, Buffy tried to prompt him into a conversation about a painting he was surely had vast knowledge about but quickly he disappeared as soon as they arrived.

The last she had seen him, he was engaged in a conversation with some stranger.

Buffy had been sitting on the bench staring at this melancholy painting for nearly two hours.

A dark shadow cast over her.

Buffy looked up to see Angel standing over her with his hands in the front pockets of his trousers. He wore an irritated expression on his face.

After noticing the glum expression on his wife's face, Angel took a seat beside her on the bench. He had hoped this trip down memory lane at the gallery would somehow help them, but it only seemed to be getting worse. For the entire day, Buffy hardly said a word and never met his gaze. "What is it?" He asked.

Buffy lifted her chin, staring at the painting again. "I'm just thinking."

"What are you thinking about?"

Surprised by the question, Buffy looked at him, trying hard to understand him. For most of this terrible afternoon, he had promptly ignored her or deflected all of her conversational attempts and now he was asking her what was on her mind.

"I just keep thinking of how Katie would've been a talented artist. She was always drawing and colouring—copying everything that you did." She watched his face darken at the mention of their daughter.

Angel shifted his gaze to the painting in front of him. Buffy watched his jaw clench and his hands tighten into balled fists. The anger radiating off of him terrified her. He used every scrap of self-control he had left to stop himself from lashing out. "Please, stop, Buffy." His voice was low and strained, warning her not to push him.

Turning her eyes from the painting to Angel, she said, "We have to be able to talk about her, Angel."

Angel whipped his head in her direction, astonished that she was pushing the subject. "That's not a part of the exercise."

"How long are we gonna not talk about our daughter? Forever? Are we never going to say her name again?" Her eyes followed him as he shot up from the bench.

Whirling around, Angel held his hands on his hips. "We're not talking about this now, Buffy."

"Angel, stop pushing her aside and running from it." She argued, fed up with his silence and refusal to talk about their daughter. "It's been two years and our little girl is gone—"

"I fucking know that!" He screamed at her, gaining the attention of the gallery visitors and employees. All eyes were on the arguing couple. "Don't you worry, Buf, I've never forgotten that she's dead."

Anger swirled in Buffy's chest. "We have to be able to talk about her!"

"No, Buf, we shouldn't. It's no good talking about something that won't change a goddamn thing." He stormed out of the gallery room, throwing up the exit door.

Buffy exhaled a heavy breath and buried her face into her hands. An elderly woman took pity on the distraught young woman. She sat down on the bench beside the blonde and laid a sympathetic hand on Buffy's shoulder.

There was an unignorable feeling that the days of their marriage were numbered.