Note: Major Angst Warning!
Also, if anyone finds any mistakes in any of the chapters of this story, which I hope you don't, just let me know so I can fix them. Thanks!
Chapter Eight: Life Goes On.
The papers said the next day that what had happened at the hotel Buffy had been staying at had been the act of a rival gang trying to get back at the gang who claimed the area as their own.
Whatever it took to make them feel better and to ignore what was really going on around them.
Once she had composed herself, Buffy had made for the museum, and that was where she stayed. She sat amongst the boxes full of bones and old things, and tried to get some kind of focus. When she wasn't staring at nothing, she was crying like a little girl, and sometimes she did both.
Around noon, she heard the sound of Dr. Livingstone's wheelchair. It was coming closer. She wiped her face, picked herself up, and stepped out to find the doctor sitting there.
"I heard what happened, child. Are you alright?"
I'm fine, Buffy thought to herself. My world is shattered. A man I cared about, I had to push away to keep him safe. My heart might as well be collecting lint in the bottom of my purse, but hey, I am still the Slayer, and that is all that matters, isn't it?
Out loud, she said "I'm fine."
Dr. Livingstone brought his chair closer to where she stood. "I talked to Rupert," he said. "Is the dagger in a safe place?"
Buffy was shocked. "He told you about the dagger?"
"My dear," he chuckled. "I maybe old, but I am not stupid. I have had several artifacts come through this museum over the years that were dangerous. I used to be able to send them to the Watcher's Council, but since they are no more, I have to be more creative. But never before has one caught the interest like this one has. It was amazing you showed up when you did. When your friend, Willow, told Rupert you were coming here, he called me. We weren't sure which artifact it was exactly, but we needed you here to keep them away until we could find out."
"Oh!" That was all she could say. Nice to be kept out of the loop and not be told the whole truth.
Ouch! Now she knew what it felt like.
"Come on." Dr Livingstone piloted his wheelchair around. "There is a room on the top floor that we had converted into a mini apartment. I used to stay there on nights when I was able to work much more than I can now. Like I said, it is mini, as in small, but it has a comfortable bed and a nice bathroom. Get yourself cleaned up and get some rest. Rupert is working on his end and I am going to work on mine. We will figure this out."
As Buffy followed him, she kept thinking about Bruce.
She missed him. And it hurt.
Willow tried to make her feel better, as any great friend would, but it was no use. No matter how badly Buffy wanted to feel better, it just wasn't happening. So, they had both given up, and turned to the matter of the Insurrection. There wasn't much news there, so they hung up, Willow just as depressed as her friend.
That night, Buffy watched the fireworks from the museum roof. She saw them, the colors exploding in the sky and lighting up the night, and they were beautiful, but she couldn't enjoy them.
She wondered where Bruce was. If he was watching the display. Several times she took her phone out, wanting to push that button, wanting to hear his voice, but all she did was stare at the number before putting the phone back into her pocket. She had felt loss like this before, but this time was different. Before, no matter how badly she had wanted it, happiness was just right beyond her reach. Maybe she had brushed it with the tips of her fingers, but it was fleeting, and then gone. This time, however, she had gotten a hold on it. Bunched it up into her hands, knowing she could hold onto it forever. Only to have to pry her fingers off of it, and let it go.
There were times she resented what she was. This time, she hated it.
After the fireworks, she patrolled. Found a nest of seven vamps and dusted them. Find a slimy demon and took care of it. Beat another to a pulp. The work kept her busy, kept her mind on what she had to do. The times in between were horrible.
She could still smell him. Still feel him. She could hear his voice. It tore at her.
Her heart froze.
She would find herself looking up, searching for some sign of him, but never finding any. There were a few times that she would hear a voice, only to realize that it was her own whispering 'please' into the night. It clawed at her.
Her heart shattered.
This is how it went on for two weeks. She was awake, she knew she was, but she also felt only half of herself. It was like the other half had been ripped from her, only after having just found it. No, not ripped from her. She had tore it away herself and flung it out of reach, never to return.
She went through the motions. Slaying when she had to. Doing her job at the museum. Eating. Sleeping. Walking. Talking. All on autopilot.
She dreamed about him. Sometimes he was standing on his yacht, waiting for her. Other times, they were in his car. He would smile at her. Touch her. When she awoke she could still see his face, still feel his skin upon hers. It was torture. She didn't know how much longer she could bear it.
She was getting desperate. She wanted to get this Insurrection thing taken care of so she could leave Gotham. Get away from this city. Get away from him. Get out from under his shadow. It followed her everywhere.
His shadow. She remembered what the old woman had said to her in Paris. It had to mean that she had to do this while in the city, the city he protected. That she had to be here. That was the only thing that made sense. What else could it be?
She knew she had to get over this. Get over him. But it was so hard to do.
Buffy wasn't the only one suffering.
The change in Bruce Wayne had been apparent the moment he stepped out of the elevator leading from the mansion to the bat cave. Alfred could see it as plain as day. Before he had left the evening before to patrol the city as Batman, Bruce had been the most cheerful Alfred could remember him being in a long time. He had been smiling. Beaming. And all he could talk about was that girl. Sofia Blake.
Buffy Summers.
Alfred hated that he hadn't been able to tell him the truth about her, even though he understood the reason why. It was her secret to tell. Other secrets were not the same. He was good at keeping them. He had been keeping several over the years and one in particular that Bruce Wayne must never know.
Alfred was glad, however, glad that she had come along and that the man he had watched grow up, raised after his parents had been murdered, had found the light to lessen the darkness in him.
But when Bruce had returned the next morning, Alfred would have had to have been blind and dumb not to see the change in him. He was a shell, even more empty than he had been before. The light gone out of his eyes. His face set as if made of cold stone.
He had refused breakfast, retired to his room, and stayed locked up the rest of the day. When night fell, Alfred heard the elevator. That was the only sign he had had that Bruce was up and about.
When he returned the next morning, Alfred managed to coax him to eat, but it had been very little, and then back to his room. This was the pattern until Monday, when he had meetings to attend to and functions to show up for. Through these, he was nothing more than an automaton: all motions put on autopilot. Every smile he faked. Every laugh was forced. And when the parties were over, when he returned back to his mansion, his fabulous acting done, he would mope until sundown.
Finally, the next weekend, while he sat in the library, staring out the window, listless, he told Alfred what had happened. Alfred wished there was something he could so to make it all right again. But he couldn't figure out what to do. He was at a complete loss.
Then, after much deliberation, and arguing with himself, he picked up the phone and called Rupert Giles.
"I have to break the rules," Alfred told him. "I have to tell Master Wayne the truth."
Giles agreed, much easier than Alfred thought he would. He hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and then took the elevator to the bat cave.
It was time to fix this.
Marcy Reinhold was a nice girl. PhD in archeology. A pretty girl with a nice, good looking husband, a nice car, and a cheerful personality.
Buffy thought she might hate her.
Marcy had been coming down into the basement before she left work every day, as if she had made it her life's mission to make Buffy not be miserable. She would talk and talk and Buffy would listen and listen, all the while wishing she would just go away and leave her alone.
On Friday, two weeks after, what Buffy had began calling "The Day Her Heart Went on Permanent Vacation" Marcy came down to see her with a proposition.
"You have to go to this party with me. My husband is sick and I don't want to go by myself. It is a charity event for the Gotham City Hospital, Children's Wing. Dr. Livingstone agreed that you should go with me to represent the museum since we are going to bring some of the kids to the museum to spend the day for free. We are going to make it a regular thing. Light casual. Please! You have to go! You need to leave this museum once in a while."
Buffy really did not feel that she had to go. And she did leave the museum at night, to slay things that creeped around and had a nasty bite. But she was not about to tell Marcy that. It took her all of five minutes to realize that the woman was not going to leave her alone until she agreed to go unless Buffy was willing to force her to go.
She wasn't.
Luckily, what she lost in the gang (demon and madman) attack on her hotel, she had been able to replace when she got paid the week before. Plus, Willow had sent her a few things, and a few dollars to help her along. She had clothes, nice ones, and by Saturday night, she was actually looking forward to the event.
That was until she got into Marcy's car, and was half way there, when she became conscious of the fact that there was a good chance that Bruce would be there. That thought almost made her open the door of the moving car and jump out. She had thought it, but not done it. Why? She asked herself. Even as she was going in the front door, she knew the reason why. She just wanted to see him again, if just from across a crowded room without him knowing she was there.
Oh sure, she read the papers. She saw every picture of him. She had all of them neatly cut out and hidden in the pages of a book she would never read. Articles that just mention his name, they were in there too.
She could lie to herself and say that the pain had lessened.
It would definitely be a lie.
And it hurt like Hell when she did see him.