2011

Sunnydale, California

Downtown: Couples Therapy Office: Session 4

"So how did it go?" Cordelia asked in their following session. By the unhappy expressions on their faces, Cordelia knew it had not gone well. Now, it was a matter of damage control.

"Not great." Angel answered, rubbing his chin, still angry from the weekend outing.

"What happened?" Cordelia asked, placing the notepad aside.

Buffy anxiously toyed with the hem of her black skirt that was just above her knee. "We had an argument."

"What was the argument about?" Cordelia rolled her eyes at the couple's now 'infamous' silence. "C'mon, guys, what was your argument about?"

"Kate." Buffy finally answered after a long and tense silence. "Our argument was about Kate."

Slowly nodding, Cordelia had already assumed that this was the case. She wanted them to talk about this more extensively. Cordelia can already see that Angel was not at all happy about this. "Okay, we're going to do something. It's called 'uninterrupted listening'. One of you is going to talk and the other just listens. Don't respond or lash out in any way. Just sit there and listen." Her dark eyes landed on the blonde. "Buffy, why don't you talk first."

Closing herself off, Buffy wrapped her arms around herself. "What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever you want. Angel is here and he's listening." Cordelia said, holding her hands together, waiting patiently.

Pursing her lips together with annoyance, Buffy quickly glanced at her husband. "I have nothing I want to say to him."

"We both know that's not true." Cordelia smirked. "Why did you choose an art gallery? What about going to a gallery keeps you two bonded? Do you have an interest in art?"

"Um, no, not particularly." Buffy shook her head and felt Angel's eyes on her. "On our second date, Angel took me to an art gallery. He loves it and could go on forever talking about the brush strokes and colour schematics that Thomas Gainsborough used to paint The Blue Boy." She smiled softly at the memory of an enthusiastic Angel enchanting her with his love and knowledge of famous artworks. "I don't know… I always felt like the more he talks about art, the closer it brings me to him." Her eyes met his.

Angel swallowed, coming to the realisation of how pitiful he treated his wife on their outing. Of all the years they have been together, he subconsciously knew Buffy never cared about art. She'll ask him questions and appear genuinely interested, but she couldn't-care-less. Buffy had fooled him. It was only right now, Angel realised she only did that to get closer to him because she knew art was something he felt very passionate about.

"Were you the one to bring up your daughter?" Cordelia asked Buffy.

Without hesitance, Buffy nodded. "I was."

"Why?" The therapist asked, already feeling Angel's emotional rise.

"Because I think she would've been a very talented artist like her father," said Buffy simply as if it were fact.

Cordelia looked at Angel. "And you don't agree?"

Angel sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "No, I agree. I just didn't think it was appropriate to bring up the subject when we were supposed to be enjoying quality time together."

Buffy scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Is that what we were doing; enjoying 'quality time'?" She looked at Angel. "You hardly looked at me—let alone bothered to talk to me."

The frown on Angel's face deepened and a wave of rage twisted in his chest. "So by bringing up Kate, was what?—A punishment for not having small talk with you?" His hands on his knees balled into tight fists.

"Punishment?" Buffy glared at him in disbelief at his audacity. "Oh, I'm so sorry that having a conversation with your wife is a punishment for you." She sniped back, angrily folding her arms across her chest.

Angel rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly much calmer. "That's not what I—"

Not wanting to hear any of his excuses, Buffy twisted to him. "A part of enjoying quality time together is being able to reflect and reminisce about our past, which was all I was trying to do."

"We can talk, Buffy, just not about her. Not about her." His dark eyes were inflamed with fury.

Buffy's mouth was tight as she resigned back into her corner on the couch.

While the couple argued, Cordelia quietly observed the interaction. This was the first time Buffy had lashed out at Angel. Her frustration and pain was so obvious. The blonde has been bottling it all up for years now and that cap was beginning loosen open.

Cordelia greatly sympathised with the couple. She leaned forward and began to say with a calm, reasonable voice, "Angel, I understand that this is hard—"

Angel's glare snapped to the therapist. His entire face darkened, which made Cordelia uneasy. "You don't understand a goddamn thing. Are you married?" He asked.

"I am." Cordelia answered.

"Do you have kids?" Angel asked.

Cordelia paused then shook her head. "No, I don't."

"So tell me, Mrs Chase, how can you possibly understand?" Angel stared at the therapist waiting for a response which never came.

Evening

Crawford Street: O'Connor Residence: Angel's Office

Seated behind the Angel's at home office desk, Buffy poured herself another whiskey from the crystal decanter he stored on a drink cart by the large window.

Exhaling a breath, Buffy held the drink to her lips and closed her eyes, blocking everything out for just a little while.

After the disastrous session at therapy earlier in the day, Angel drove them back home and dropped Buffy off and fumbled through some excuse of having to get back to L.A., then promptly sped off.

It used to annoy her whenever he did this but lately, she welcomed it. She didn't want to be around him anymore than he wanted to be around her. It seemed they worked better at a far distance.

Taking a sip of the sweet and spicy golden liquid, Buffy grimaced, but continued to drink the liquor. She decided right then and there that she will get thoroughly intoxicated just to block out her misery for a little while.

Opening her eyes, Buffy's gaze landed on a silver framed photograph of herself and Angel on the day of their wedding. He wore a light grey tailor-fitted suit and a soft pink shirt with the top two buttons undone. Angel had always been so handsome it made her knees weak.

In the photograph, Buffy's hand was wrapped around his arm. She craned her head upwards to look at him, grinning. Angel looked down at her, smiling back.

They looked so young, happy, and dreadfully naive. So unaware of the pain and grief that awaited them in a few short years.

Taking another sip of the whiskey, Buffy held the framed photograph in her lap and thought back to that fairytale day.

2003

Los Angeles, California

Hemery's Lodge: The O'Connor's Wedding Reception: The Gardens

The air was pungent with the fragrance of lavender. Strings of white lights weaved haplessly through the wilting branches of the trees above their heads.

There were three long tables where the guests sat. Tables were covered with lavender coloured tablecloths.

A small table at the front, where the new bride and groom sat. Draped across the small bride and groom table was a garland with white wildflowers and two wooden chairs.

As the guests conversed and finished their dinners, Angel sat back in his chair with an arm draped over the back of Buffy's chair. He watched her with adoring eyes as she finished the last of the fresh salmon dinner.

He smiled, still unable to believe that he was married. After two years of dating and another two and a half years of an engagement, he finally married the love of his life. She was forever his.

His dark eyes slowly scanned her over. Her blonde hair had been styled out of her face in a simple bun. Her makeup was light and nearly invisible, which only highlighted her natural beauty.

With the knife beside his plate, Angel hit the champagne glass and rose from the chair, immediately getting the wedding party's attention.

"I'd like to say a few words to my wife, Buffy." He lowered his eyes to his new wife.

The guests at the tables quieted and turned their attention to Angel.

"It's still sinking in that you're my wife." Angel said, the smile on his face widened.

Buffy blushed as her friends hoot and hollered.

His eyes lowered to her left hand as the light shined on the new ring wrapped around her finger. Angel took her hand and kissed the silver claddagh ring. "This ring that I gave you means something very dear. Not only was it my mother's ring but its symbolises hundreds of years of tradition. I don't think you knew that."

Buffy lowered her eyes to the ring and shook her head. She had no idea what this peculiar but beautiful ring had meant, but she loved it regardless.

Angel continued, "In Ireland, they would exchange these rings as a sign of devotion. The hands represent friendship, the crown represents loyalty, and the heart... Well, you know... Wear it with the heart pointing towards you. It means you belong to somebody. We'll always belong to each other."

Her green eyes welled, moved by his words.

"With all of my heart, Buffy, I love you. Your kindness gives me strength. Your smile is my light in darkness. You are my past, my present, and my future. You are the only woman I have ever loved. I am a better man with you at my side. Is breá liom tú i gcónaí, a ghrá (I love you always, my love)."

Angel lowered his head and captured his new wife's mouth in an impassioned kiss. The sounds of the clapping hands and cheers from the guests fell muted in the background.

Breaking the kiss, Buffy pressed her forehead against his and opened his eyes, to find him staring back at her.

2011

Crawford Street: O'Connor Residence: Angel's Office

Buffy dropped the photograph on the desk and leaned forward on her elbows and her head in her hands.

After a minute, she inhaled a jagged breath and burst into tears.

There seemed to be no hope left for them as their marriage unravelled before them.

The end was nigh, but neither of them wanted to call the time it quits first.

For better or for worse. That was the promise they had said to each other.

But was that vow worth keeping if it meant that they were doomed in this never-ending cycle of heated arguments, no communication, and eternal misery?