The walk helped. Cleared some of the tears off her face and let her heart rate settle back down as it beats with the rhythm of her footsteps. Even so, her shoulders hunched instinctively as his crypt loomed into view, readying for another emotional bruise.
She opened the door more cautiously than she usually does, and spotted him on one of the sarcophagi, one leg tucked under the other dangling over the edge. He didn't look up immediately but closed over the page of the book he was reading with his finger as a bookmark.
He looked her over with a slow perusal. "Didn't think I was gonna see you tonight, luv," he said bitterly, and Buffy couldn't stop her eyes from hitting the floor as shame colored the back of her neck. "Or have you managed to break that little curse of yours?"
"Still cursed," she sighed, and he lifted an eyebrow.
"Should you be here, then? Hate to get in the way of all that denial you're putting so much effort into."
She winced. "That's fair, I guess," she muttered and knew it was true. She huffed, stealing herself. "I'm supposed to tell everyone the truth… everyone in my life. That's what Halfrek-"
"Halfrek?" he interrupted and she nodded.
"The demon who cursed me. That's what she said."
He paused for a beat, head cocking as he considered her words. He sucked a cheek in thought. "...Hm."
She pulled herself up to sit next to him on the sarcophagus, wrinkling the blankets he'd thrown across the stone. She fussed with the fringe of one of the throws to have something to do with her hands. "What're you reading?" she asked, pointing to the book in his hand. Anything to stall for time just a little bit longer.
"Tennyson," he replied casually, obviously aware of the delay tactic.
"Good story?"
"It's poetry."
"Oh," she swallowed and glanced at the book in curiosity. "Can I hear some?"
He blinked, turning his body towards her to take her in with a look that seemed to pin her in place, before opening the book back to his page.
"I ask'd thee, 'Give me immortality,'" he started, and Buffy's mouth parched at the suddenly unfamiliar timbre. Solemn and eloquent in a way she'd never heard before. "Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,
Like wealthy men, who care not how they give.
But thy strong hours indignant work'd their wills,
And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me,
And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd
To dwell in presence of immortal youth,
Immortal age beside immortal youth,
And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love,
Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now,
Close over us, the silver star, thy guide,
Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears
To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift."
He paused there to raise his eyes to hers and her breathing shallowed as he read the rest from memory. "Why should a man desire in any way
To vary from the kindly race of men
Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance
Where all should pause, as is most meet for all?"
She held his gaze a few seconds longer before she cleared her throat. "That's a lot of thy's and thee's," she said, unusually bashful, it not being an emotion she was accustomed to in his presence. "I sort of skipped that bit at school."
"It's the story of Tithonus," he explained, dog-earing the page. "Granted eternal life so he could spend it with the love of his life, the Goddess Aurora. But not eternal youth, and he withered to decrepity but never died, while his bride stayed immortally youthful beside him."
"Uh-huh." Buffy smirked at the undercurrent of symbolism that so mirrored the two of them. "Tragic."
"Thought so." He smiled back at her.
"You read it often?" she asked, still feeling shivery after his recital from memory.
"Occasionally," he nodded. "Bad days, y'know? Nice to know it could be worse. Least I got my rugged good looks."
She held in a grin, and he closed the book completely. "You didn't come here for a poetry recital, luv. You gonna say what you came to say, or what?"
Buffy released a long slow sigh as she steeled herself, as felt the tightness in her throat of words taking over. But this time she fought them down. She was going to say them deliberately, or not at all.
"Ok…" she shuffled to face him but kept her gaze on her lap. For safety. "I'm… using you," she started and closed her eyes. If she looked up into his she might not get it all out… "I'm using you to make myself… feel. Something. Anything that isn't just a dead empty void. Sometimes it's nice. Good, even. But mostly it hurts. I make it hurt. I'm using you to hurt myself so I can stop feeling all this guilt and shame and anger just for a little while…" she took a desperate gulp, thankful that after the whole endless day there simply weren't any more tears left in her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she managed to look up at him then and was even more heartbroken by the look on his face. "William. I really am. And I want to stop. I want to stop because… because you're my friend and I love that you are and if I don't stop now I'm just going to poison that little piece of something good that I've finally found after coming back-"
"Buffy-," he muttered but she didn't let him get further.
"Can we stop? So… so that we can start again?" she pleaded, her heart completing a full somersault at the thought. A fresh start. How many can a person have? "Please?"
He was silent for a couple of seconds, but they stretched into eternity as she waited with bated breath for an answer. "Buffy," he said calmly. Almost calculatingly. "...Do you love me?"
She swallowed and waited for further words to surge forward. But none came. She worked her mouth, testing for lingering manipulations and finding none. She let out a sigh, a smile crossing her face.
"Sometimes," she said with a playful grin.
He smirked, recognizing the half-truth. Acknowledging the half-lie. "You wanna go get a drink?" he asked, and Buffy bobbed her head gratefully.
"God, yes."
AN: Poem is Tithonus by Alfred Tennyson, published 1860.
