An exploration of that lovely triangle... S/B/A!
This was my other contribution to buffy_love. (You might recall me mentioning 'The Fic That Hates Me', well this is it! And it did behave in the end.)
Now I'm not quite sure how to describe it... basically it's an attempt at getting inside Buffy's head during *that* kiss (see icon!). But in doing that I've also explored a few 'what if?'s', so it veers off from canon at various points. I've kept a fair bit of the original dialogue (sometimes only hinted at it, since I assume that people know 'Chosen' rather well.) and generally tried to stay true to the feel of the episode - that is - pleasing both the B/A *and* B/S shippers (attempting to walk that same tight-rope Joss did in 'Chosen'). This was foolish, I know, but an interesting excersise none the less. Anyway, here it is.
Title: It was... a hello.
Author: elisi
Rating: PG-13 (for language).
Pairings: B/A and S/B.
Setting: During the end of 'End of Days'/the beginning of 'Chosen'.
Length: 3500 words approx.
Thank you's: To kathyh for the beta and the icon. And to semby for making sure that it was B/A friendly! :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Joss is the king!
Feedback: Pretty please? I'd really like to know your thoughts on this one - especially if it made you look at Buffy in a different light.
It was... a hello.
“You are so gonna lose.”
Angel’s words are ringing in Buffy’s ears, and fighting Caleb suddenly becomes about more than just winning - now she has to look good too. Unless of course she’s dreaming, since that’s pretty much the only time Angel shows up otherwise. His cheerfulness would fit the dream theory quite well, but the aches from the fight are too insistent to be imaginary. So she decides not to worry about it and just to fight, with her unexpected blast-from-the-past as cheerleader.
Then she sees her opening and the scythe slices through flesh effortlessly - Caleb might have superpowers, but not the tough hide to go with them. He stumbles back, laughs heartily and wags his finger at her. What is he? A grandma? Then he falls to the floor, lifeless.
Buffy feels not the tiniest pinprick of remorse - but then she never thought of him as human anyway.
Smiling she turns to Angel. “See? Under control.”
He looks at her with a twinkle in his eye, all tall and handsome and just... Angel. His skin is practically glowing in the golden light, like he’s just come back from a holiday in the Mediterranean. Oh yeah, she’s in dream town all right!
“Well... at least you could tell me you're glad to see me,” he says, just as she realises that speaking has suddenly become problem.
She drops the scythe to the floor and walks up to him, dizzy and exhilarated from the fight. She has no words to explain how wonderful it is to see him. It is like a floodgate has opened to memories from years ago - from when life was simple and she always knew she was going to win. And as her lips meet his, it is as though she is sixteen again, and the world is at her feet. She is young and strong and her boyfriend is mysterious and cool. The world is easy to understand and reassuringly black and white, just as their kiss is sweet, tender and almost chaste - because she knows which Buffy Angel sees when he looks at her and for the briefest moment she can be that Buffy again. A three-dimensional déja vu in full Technicolor for her to indulge in.
Spike watches them silently from the shadows. They are so caught up in each other that neither has sensed him. It brings back a torrent of ugly memories - Drusilla in Angelus’s arms, Drusilla in Angelus’s bed, Drusilla who always ran back to her Daddy...
As if by magic Drusilla’s ‘Daddy’ pops up next to him, a satisfied smirk on his face as he leans into Spike: “Funny how your women always run back to him, isn’t it?”
Spike tears his eyes off the tableau in front of him and turns to face The First. It lifts an eyebrow, smug as hell, and continues. “Shame you always end up as the runner-up Willy, but that’s just the way it is. Move over, the hero is in the house - I think it’s clear you’re not needed anymore...”
After what seems like an eternity of escapist bliss, Angel pulls away. “Well, I guess that qualifies as ‘happy to see me’.”
She looks into his eyes and smiles. “Angel, what are you doing -”
She stops herself and shakes her head. She wants to feel sixteen for a few more moments. “Don't even. I just want to bask.”
Maybe she can freeze time right here and not have to go back to her life? But then that’s the only way she’d ever be able to be with him - and being frozen in time would probably be rather boring in the long run... better get back to reality.
“OK, I'm basked. What are you doing here?”
Angel opens his mouth to answer, but a sarcastic voice cuts through. “Now that’s a good question! If you only came for the smooches then I’m afraid you picked a bad time.”
Buffy whirls around and sees him by the steps.
Spike.
OhGod.
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod...
He purses his lips, looking speculative. “The First seemed to think now would be a good time to switch sides - although what with having tortured me for a fortnight I think I’ll probably pass. But...” He looks from her to Angel, face mock serious, “...you seem busy, so I’ll see you later. Keep having a nice evening!”
He nods a good-bye and turns, starting to walk up the steps. Everything has come to a screeching halt in Buffy’s brain, and the whole dream-scenario is rapidly turning into a nightmare, but she knows that she can’t let him walk out like this.
“Spike! Wait - stop!”
She runs after him, heart in her mouth, and he stops a few steps up and looks at her. Just looks. Then, seeing that she falters, gives her a lead-in. “Want to elaborate on the snogging?”
A hundred answers are on the tip of her tongue, each stupider than the other. How can she explain? She wanted to feel young again? He was the one who said to just leave it? It’s not like she hasn’t kissed Angel before?
She can see the pain underlying his posturing and she hasn’t got a clue what to do. So she picks what she hopes is the least lame answer.
“It was... a hello.”
He mulls this over for a second - the golden light that rendered Angel so comforting is sharpening the contrasts on Spike’s face, and his expression is harsh and uncompromising - no chance he’s going to let her off lightly. Then he tilts his head to one side and looks at her, challenging and cocksure.
“Gonna say ‘hello’ to me too?”
She almost goes slack jawed in surprise. What now? It’s a simple enough question and it’s not like she hasn’t kissed him before either...
For the briefest of moments she considers doing it - take one more step up, put her arms around his shoulders, lean in... even the thought makes her heart speed up. But kissing him would not be nostalgia, no matter what she might pretend - kissing him would be so much more and could lead so many places...
She can sense Angel coming up behind her and she really, really needs to say something.
Odd how so many thoughts can crowd together in such a short while.
But she knows what she has to say, so she softly puts her hand on Spike’s arm, seeking out his eyes - hoping that he’ll understand.
“It could never be just a hello.”
And then he looks at her the way he did in the kitchen earlier - like she can see right through him and into his soul - and it takes her breath away. Which is why this whole ‘thing’ is so hard to figure out - they’re on the brink of an apocalypse and she can’t let herself fall head over heels in love because there is no time for hand holding or daydreaming or all the other silly things she wants to indulge in. It is all so massively complex and she has no idea where it’s going - or where she wants it to go...
That’s as much reflecting she has time for, because now Angel is at her back. She sees Spike’s eyes glaze over in mockery, and then she turns, facing Angel once more.
The look on his face is an odd mixture of disbelief, disapproval and other, deeper, feelings that she can’t quite gauge yet - anger, maybe even betrayal. She can feel her hackles rise just at the sight - she seems to have done nothing but defend Spike to everyone the last few months.
Angel opens his mouth to speak and then abruptly falls to the floor - knocked out cold by a gory, blood-dripping Caleb, clutching a tall statuette. Buffy gasps in shock. But I’ve already killed you! her brain shouts. Caleb stares at her wildly, just as she realises that she left the Scythe on the floor behind him.
“Are you ready to finish this, bitch?!”
Story of her life: Complicated romance one moment, fighting for her life the next.
Instinctively she kicks Caleb square in the face, sending him flying backwards. When he jumps back on his feet, Spike has with vampire speed managed to retrieve her scythe and tosses it to her, just as Caleb attacks again.
How many times does she have to kill this guy? Is Riley going to drop by in a minute’s time so he can catch the show too?
The fight is almost by numbers this time, although the satisfaction of cutting the bastard in half is wonderful. She watches him for just a moment, making sure that he doesn’t gel back together - like the creepy second Terminator or the Mayor - then turns to see Spike watching bemused from the shadows.
“Remind me never to piss you off!” he grins, but just as an answer is forming on her lips Angel comes to, swiftly jumping to his feet and looking round.
“OK, now I’m pissed!” He stops when he catches sight of Spike, and Buffy can see the way they both straighten up - like sea lions or something, fighting for territory. Or her, more precisely.
“What is he doing here?” Angel asks, before remembering the little scene that played out previously and he gets that look on his face again. “It’s not... are you...?” He looks from her to Spike and back again, and Buffy swiftly replies before Spike can say something obnoxious.
“Angel - look - it’s... he’s a good guy now, OK? He’s got a soul!”
Angel blinks at her, obviously taken aback. “A soul?”
Sadly however, this does not make him see Spike as his new BFF. Quite the opposite in fact. “How? Did he annoy Willow that much?”
Spike snorts derisively. “Please - as if I’d be stupid enough to get myself cursed! Especially with that curse - seems your soul likes to go for walkabouts every now and again, which is just shoddy workmanship. My soul is permanent!” And the smug look on his face implies so much more than Buffy is willing to back up...
Just what I needed! she groans inwardly, before trying to stall them: “Can you two stop playing ‘my soul is better than yours’, please?”
Her words go unheeded. Angel is bristling now and takes a step towards Spike. “You shouldn’t start talking about things you don’t understand, boy!”
“Is that so?” Spike replies slowly and Buffy knows that she has to put a stop to this before they start beating each other up.
“Guys!” she calls loudly and they stop staring each other down to look at her. “Leave the macho strutting alone, OK? Behaving like 12-year-olds isn’t going to save the world!”
“He started it!” Spike says and she feels like banging her head against a wall. Why does he always have to be so impossible when she needs him to co-operate?
“I don’t care! Spike - if you don’t stop being an idiot you can do the laundry from now and until the apocalypse! With Andrew!”
She sees the dark cloud forming on his face and stalls him after his first ‘But’ with more conditions. “And Kennedy and... Robin!”
He scowls at her, knowing when to stop arguing, and Angel has suddenly subsided into broody silence, which is slightly odd, but welcome. She looks at him. “Angel! You brought some stuff - care to show me?”
A little show-and-tell follows, during which Spike thankfully keeps quiet - helped by the Steely Looks of Doom she keeps sending his way, just in case he’s going to start up again.
There’s some (probably unreliable) info in a folder and the largest piece of bling she has ever seen attached to a necklace, full of big shiny mysterious powers. Of course that means it is also dangerous and Angel (typically) decides to play the great protector who ‘won’t put her in danger’. But he still hands her the folder with the pendant inside without arguing. She takes it and looks at Angel. “So you’re with me in this?”
“Shoulder to shoulder,” he replies, aiming for sincere, but unable to stop himself from shooting a glance at Spike.
Spike snorts. “Bit too tall for that mate!” he says, making Buffy glare at him. They bring out the absolute worst in each other, although she can’t help but wonder - were they arguing this much when they were evil?
Spike seems to remember her threats and swiftly changes the subject. “Shall we get out of here? I think I need some fresh air - preacher guy hardly smells like roses.”
Buffy breathes a sigh of relief at the momentary pause to the glaring competition and follows him up the stairs, scythe in one hand, folder in the other. Angel follows her silently. The whole situation is beyond absurd and has the potential to get even worse than back when Angel first encountered Riley. She is weighing her options with lightening speed, many years of thinking on her feet coming in handy.
When the cool night air hits her, she knows what she must do - she can’t have them both here, that’s for sure. The dark quiet of the cemetery is familiar and comforting, and she feels more able to deal with stuff here for some reason.
Unheeded she slips the gaudy pendant in her pocket and then puts a hand on Spike’s arm as he begins to look around for his cigarettes.
“Spike... can you do me a favour?”
He looks at her and doesn’t agree straight away, but waits for her to explain. She sighs. “I - I need to talk to Angel. Alone. Do you think you could take the folder back to the house? I’m sure Giles would like to look at it.”
He frowns and is obviously not keen, but she holds his gaze and pleads quietly. “Please?”
Finally he nods, before casting a long gloomy look at Angel. A lifetime’s conversation is transferred in that glance, and Buffy begins to wonder if maybe vampires are telepathic. But then he abruptly turns and saunters off, folder tucked under his arm, leaving silence in his wake.
It’s a while before either speaks. Finally Buffy takes a deep breath - no point in beating around the bush... although what does that mean? What bush?
She looks up and finds Angel’s eyes.
“You have to leave.”
Whatever he had expected, this wasn’t it. He frowns, then asks, petulance shining through his voice. “Because of Spike?”
She shakes her head, trying to impress on him the impossibleness of her fight. “This thing is big - bigger than anything I’ve faced before. If I fail... it’s only a matter of days - maybe hours - before the rest of the world goes. I need a second front and I need you to run it.”
He’s silent, then slowly nods. “OK. But - I’m not going until you tell me what the deal is with you and Spike!”
Buffy tiredly leans against a large tomb stone. Large and firm, an attempt to fix a memory - a life - to something solid. Done with love...
Stones - the most familiar thing in her life. She could probably recite whole rows of names and inscriptions off by heart: ‘Dear Mother and Wife’, ‘Beloved Husband’, ‘She saved the world a lot’... Her own legacy made stone... “Strength, resilience ... those are all words for hardness. I'm starting to feel like ... being the Slayer is turning me into stone.“ And the only one who was able to get through to her was Spike...
She looks at Angel and wonders how to explain this thing that she has no name for. Does she want to explain? After all, it was Angel who left her, and she really doesn’t owe him any explanations: “I don’t...”
“And don't’ try to deny it!” he counters quickly, obviously bothered. “I can smell you all over each other! The way you looked at him...”
Angel stops, then can’t help himself. “He does your laundry? What is he - your live-in boyfriend?”
She stares at him. “Oh My God. What are you? The Spanish Inquisition?” She almost laughs at the absurdity. As if any of it matters right now... She looks around the well-tended cemetery - what will it look like after an army has been though it? At least the dead won’t mind; they’re already at peace. And if her friends had only left her in peace, none of this would have happened... it’s a thought she tries not to dwell on too much these days. But - she’d better try to explain things just a little to Angel...
“Angel... everyone lives in my house! Including around 30 potential Slayers. They all need protecting and Spike is the strongest warrior besides me.”
But Angel’s undeterred, and presses on with the question he’s obviously wanted to ask from the start: “Do you love him?”
And that’s the big question, isn’t it? She stares at her feet for a long time before she meets his eyes again. “He is in my heart.”
“That’ll end well,” he deadpans, but she can see that he’s calmed down. He leans against the stone next to her, and she turns her head to see him.
“What was the highlight of our relationship?” she asks, and as she continues talking she can feel relief settle. Despite her initial misgivings it’s good to talk to someone - someone who’s not in her life anymore... and even as she thinks it, she begins to understand why things with Spike are so complicated. He was always the guy on the outside that she could offload on. But he’s not on the outside anymore - he’s right at the centre and maybe that’s why she can’t figure stuff out. Maybe... maybe she should just stop trying and be happy with what she’s got right now. Fat grandchildren is not something she should be worrying about.
“....You know, in the midst of all this insanity, a couple of things are actually starting to make sense. And the guy thing - I always feared there was something wrong with me, you know, because I couldn't make it work. But maybe I'm not supposed to.”
“Because you're the Slayer?” Angel asks, and she tries to reach for an explanation.
“Because - OK, I'm cookie dough...”
It’s a sucky analogy, but she rather likes it even if Angel is less keen.
He gets ready to go, mentioning the second front. She tries to concentrate on the tactical merits of her decision, but there is a part of her - the petty, vindictive part that she is not very proud of - that is silently very satisfied. She is making him leave. For once she is calling the shots on the men in her life. No one is walking out on her...
But then 16-year-old Buffy starts stomping her foot. Because Angel is going away again - and why can’t she dream sometimes.
So she calls out after him, pain clutching at her heart. I might never see him again...
“Angel!”
He half-turns and she falters a little. “I do... sometimes think that far ahead.”
“Sometimes is something.” He smiles softly, then slowly keeps walking.
Why are all her meaningful conversations always with vampires? She recalls Holden Webster and the surprisingly insightful things he said: “What are you - supposed to be settling down already? At 21?”
She smiles wistfully, and says: “Be a long time coming. Years, if ever.”
Angel turns around, arms held out in an almost-shrug. “I ain't getting any older.”
And he keeps walking. An inky black shadow disappearing into the darkness, as though he had never been golden and shiny.
She sighs. And right there he went and took the wind out of 16-year-old Buffy again. Never getting any older. Never having children or going for sunny walks in the park or...
As she starts walking back home, she takes out the pendant and slowly turns it in her right hand. Where did it come from? How did Angel get it? Why? How did he know about her apocalypse? He questioned her so much that she never noticed that he said nothing about his own life - he was all smiles, except when he was trying to out-macho Spike... yes he had been hiding something. Being Mr Avoidy.
But never mind. The fact that she couldn’t read Angel is not important, their encounter already fading from her mind as she concentrates on what’s ahead. Her love for him is like a desert flower - a seed that’s hidden until a sudden rainfall brings it out in bloom. It is now folding in on itself - laying in waiting until next time. If ever there is a next time.
They don’t live in each other’s world anymore...
There is someone else in her world now - waiting for her at home. Someone ensouled, but stronger than human. Someone she will make her champion. She holds up the pendant, but it looks murky and dull in the darkness. The darkness that has taken hold of all of Sunnydale, moreso than ever before...
And the past that never fades echoes in her ears as a familiar dread is threatening to overwhelm her.
“We're not all gonna make it. You know that.”
“Hey. Always knew I'd go down fightin'.”
She once said that her motto was ‘Life is short’ - it still is. She owes Spike a kiss (at the very least) - and although it might not ever be a hello, there’s every chance it’ll be a good-bye. She hurries her steps, not wanting to waste a moment.
The time for dreams is finished. She needs to hold on to what she has - because soon they might all be gone.
Now I'm not quite sure how to describe it... basically it's an attempt at getting inside Buffy's head during *that* kiss (see icon!). But in doing that I've also explored a few 'what if?'s', so it veers off from canon at various points. I've kept a fair bit of the original dialogue (sometimes only hinted at it, since I assume that people know 'Chosen' rather well.) and generally tried to stay true to the feel of the episode - that is - pleasing both the B/A *and* B/S shippers (attempting to walk that same tight-rope Joss did in 'Chosen'). This was foolish, I know, but an interesting excersise none the less. Anyway, here it is.
Title: It was... a hello.
Author: elisi
Rating: PG-13 (for language).
Pairings: B/A and S/B.
Setting: During the end of 'End of Days'/the beginning of 'Chosen'.
Length: 3500 words approx.
Thank you's: To kathyh for the beta and the icon. And to semby for making sure that it was B/A friendly! :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Joss is the king!
Feedback: Pretty please? I'd really like to know your thoughts on this one - especially if it made you look at Buffy in a different light.
It was... a hello.
“You are so gonna lose.”
Angel’s words are ringing in Buffy’s ears, and fighting Caleb suddenly becomes about more than just winning - now she has to look good too. Unless of course she’s dreaming, since that’s pretty much the only time Angel shows up otherwise. His cheerfulness would fit the dream theory quite well, but the aches from the fight are too insistent to be imaginary. So she decides not to worry about it and just to fight, with her unexpected blast-from-the-past as cheerleader.
Then she sees her opening and the scythe slices through flesh effortlessly - Caleb might have superpowers, but not the tough hide to go with them. He stumbles back, laughs heartily and wags his finger at her. What is he? A grandma? Then he falls to the floor, lifeless.
Buffy feels not the tiniest pinprick of remorse - but then she never thought of him as human anyway.
Smiling she turns to Angel. “See? Under control.”
He looks at her with a twinkle in his eye, all tall and handsome and just... Angel. His skin is practically glowing in the golden light, like he’s just come back from a holiday in the Mediterranean. Oh yeah, she’s in dream town all right!
“Well... at least you could tell me you're glad to see me,” he says, just as she realises that speaking has suddenly become problem.
She drops the scythe to the floor and walks up to him, dizzy and exhilarated from the fight. She has no words to explain how wonderful it is to see him. It is like a floodgate has opened to memories from years ago - from when life was simple and she always knew she was going to win. And as her lips meet his, it is as though she is sixteen again, and the world is at her feet. She is young and strong and her boyfriend is mysterious and cool. The world is easy to understand and reassuringly black and white, just as their kiss is sweet, tender and almost chaste - because she knows which Buffy Angel sees when he looks at her and for the briefest moment she can be that Buffy again. A three-dimensional déja vu in full Technicolor for her to indulge in.
Spike watches them silently from the shadows. They are so caught up in each other that neither has sensed him. It brings back a torrent of ugly memories - Drusilla in Angelus’s arms, Drusilla in Angelus’s bed, Drusilla who always ran back to her Daddy...
As if by magic Drusilla’s ‘Daddy’ pops up next to him, a satisfied smirk on his face as he leans into Spike: “Funny how your women always run back to him, isn’t it?”
Spike tears his eyes off the tableau in front of him and turns to face The First. It lifts an eyebrow, smug as hell, and continues. “Shame you always end up as the runner-up Willy, but that’s just the way it is. Move over, the hero is in the house - I think it’s clear you’re not needed anymore...”
After what seems like an eternity of escapist bliss, Angel pulls away. “Well, I guess that qualifies as ‘happy to see me’.”
She looks into his eyes and smiles. “Angel, what are you doing -”
She stops herself and shakes her head. She wants to feel sixteen for a few more moments. “Don't even. I just want to bask.”
Maybe she can freeze time right here and not have to go back to her life? But then that’s the only way she’d ever be able to be with him - and being frozen in time would probably be rather boring in the long run... better get back to reality.
“OK, I'm basked. What are you doing here?”
Angel opens his mouth to answer, but a sarcastic voice cuts through. “Now that’s a good question! If you only came for the smooches then I’m afraid you picked a bad time.”
Buffy whirls around and sees him by the steps.
Spike.
OhGod.
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod...
He purses his lips, looking speculative. “The First seemed to think now would be a good time to switch sides - although what with having tortured me for a fortnight I think I’ll probably pass. But...” He looks from her to Angel, face mock serious, “...you seem busy, so I’ll see you later. Keep having a nice evening!”
He nods a good-bye and turns, starting to walk up the steps. Everything has come to a screeching halt in Buffy’s brain, and the whole dream-scenario is rapidly turning into a nightmare, but she knows that she can’t let him walk out like this.
“Spike! Wait - stop!”
She runs after him, heart in her mouth, and he stops a few steps up and looks at her. Just looks. Then, seeing that she falters, gives her a lead-in. “Want to elaborate on the snogging?”
A hundred answers are on the tip of her tongue, each stupider than the other. How can she explain? She wanted to feel young again? He was the one who said to just leave it? It’s not like she hasn’t kissed Angel before?
She can see the pain underlying his posturing and she hasn’t got a clue what to do. So she picks what she hopes is the least lame answer.
“It was... a hello.”
He mulls this over for a second - the golden light that rendered Angel so comforting is sharpening the contrasts on Spike’s face, and his expression is harsh and uncompromising - no chance he’s going to let her off lightly. Then he tilts his head to one side and looks at her, challenging and cocksure.
“Gonna say ‘hello’ to me too?”
She almost goes slack jawed in surprise. What now? It’s a simple enough question and it’s not like she hasn’t kissed him before either...
For the briefest of moments she considers doing it - take one more step up, put her arms around his shoulders, lean in... even the thought makes her heart speed up. But kissing him would not be nostalgia, no matter what she might pretend - kissing him would be so much more and could lead so many places...
She can sense Angel coming up behind her and she really, really needs to say something.
Odd how so many thoughts can crowd together in such a short while.
But she knows what she has to say, so she softly puts her hand on Spike’s arm, seeking out his eyes - hoping that he’ll understand.
“It could never be just a hello.”
And then he looks at her the way he did in the kitchen earlier - like she can see right through him and into his soul - and it takes her breath away. Which is why this whole ‘thing’ is so hard to figure out - they’re on the brink of an apocalypse and she can’t let herself fall head over heels in love because there is no time for hand holding or daydreaming or all the other silly things she wants to indulge in. It is all so massively complex and she has no idea where it’s going - or where she wants it to go...
That’s as much reflecting she has time for, because now Angel is at her back. She sees Spike’s eyes glaze over in mockery, and then she turns, facing Angel once more.
The look on his face is an odd mixture of disbelief, disapproval and other, deeper, feelings that she can’t quite gauge yet - anger, maybe even betrayal. She can feel her hackles rise just at the sight - she seems to have done nothing but defend Spike to everyone the last few months.
Angel opens his mouth to speak and then abruptly falls to the floor - knocked out cold by a gory, blood-dripping Caleb, clutching a tall statuette. Buffy gasps in shock. But I’ve already killed you! her brain shouts. Caleb stares at her wildly, just as she realises that she left the Scythe on the floor behind him.
“Are you ready to finish this, bitch?!”
Story of her life: Complicated romance one moment, fighting for her life the next.
Instinctively she kicks Caleb square in the face, sending him flying backwards. When he jumps back on his feet, Spike has with vampire speed managed to retrieve her scythe and tosses it to her, just as Caleb attacks again.
How many times does she have to kill this guy? Is Riley going to drop by in a minute’s time so he can catch the show too?
The fight is almost by numbers this time, although the satisfaction of cutting the bastard in half is wonderful. She watches him for just a moment, making sure that he doesn’t gel back together - like the creepy second Terminator or the Mayor - then turns to see Spike watching bemused from the shadows.
“Remind me never to piss you off!” he grins, but just as an answer is forming on her lips Angel comes to, swiftly jumping to his feet and looking round.
“OK, now I’m pissed!” He stops when he catches sight of Spike, and Buffy can see the way they both straighten up - like sea lions or something, fighting for territory. Or her, more precisely.
“What is he doing here?” Angel asks, before remembering the little scene that played out previously and he gets that look on his face again. “It’s not... are you...?” He looks from her to Spike and back again, and Buffy swiftly replies before Spike can say something obnoxious.
“Angel - look - it’s... he’s a good guy now, OK? He’s got a soul!”
Angel blinks at her, obviously taken aback. “A soul?”
Sadly however, this does not make him see Spike as his new BFF. Quite the opposite in fact. “How? Did he annoy Willow that much?”
Spike snorts derisively. “Please - as if I’d be stupid enough to get myself cursed! Especially with that curse - seems your soul likes to go for walkabouts every now and again, which is just shoddy workmanship. My soul is permanent!” And the smug look on his face implies so much more than Buffy is willing to back up...
Just what I needed! she groans inwardly, before trying to stall them: “Can you two stop playing ‘my soul is better than yours’, please?”
Her words go unheeded. Angel is bristling now and takes a step towards Spike. “You shouldn’t start talking about things you don’t understand, boy!”
“Is that so?” Spike replies slowly and Buffy knows that she has to put a stop to this before they start beating each other up.
“Guys!” she calls loudly and they stop staring each other down to look at her. “Leave the macho strutting alone, OK? Behaving like 12-year-olds isn’t going to save the world!”
“He started it!” Spike says and she feels like banging her head against a wall. Why does he always have to be so impossible when she needs him to co-operate?
“I don’t care! Spike - if you don’t stop being an idiot you can do the laundry from now and until the apocalypse! With Andrew!”
She sees the dark cloud forming on his face and stalls him after his first ‘But’ with more conditions. “And Kennedy and... Robin!”
He scowls at her, knowing when to stop arguing, and Angel has suddenly subsided into broody silence, which is slightly odd, but welcome. She looks at him. “Angel! You brought some stuff - care to show me?”
A little show-and-tell follows, during which Spike thankfully keeps quiet - helped by the Steely Looks of Doom she keeps sending his way, just in case he’s going to start up again.
There’s some (probably unreliable) info in a folder and the largest piece of bling she has ever seen attached to a necklace, full of big shiny mysterious powers. Of course that means it is also dangerous and Angel (typically) decides to play the great protector who ‘won’t put her in danger’. But he still hands her the folder with the pendant inside without arguing. She takes it and looks at Angel. “So you’re with me in this?”
“Shoulder to shoulder,” he replies, aiming for sincere, but unable to stop himself from shooting a glance at Spike.
Spike snorts. “Bit too tall for that mate!” he says, making Buffy glare at him. They bring out the absolute worst in each other, although she can’t help but wonder - were they arguing this much when they were evil?
Spike seems to remember her threats and swiftly changes the subject. “Shall we get out of here? I think I need some fresh air - preacher guy hardly smells like roses.”
Buffy breathes a sigh of relief at the momentary pause to the glaring competition and follows him up the stairs, scythe in one hand, folder in the other. Angel follows her silently. The whole situation is beyond absurd and has the potential to get even worse than back when Angel first encountered Riley. She is weighing her options with lightening speed, many years of thinking on her feet coming in handy.
When the cool night air hits her, she knows what she must do - she can’t have them both here, that’s for sure. The dark quiet of the cemetery is familiar and comforting, and she feels more able to deal with stuff here for some reason.
Unheeded she slips the gaudy pendant in her pocket and then puts a hand on Spike’s arm as he begins to look around for his cigarettes.
“Spike... can you do me a favour?”
He looks at her and doesn’t agree straight away, but waits for her to explain. She sighs. “I - I need to talk to Angel. Alone. Do you think you could take the folder back to the house? I’m sure Giles would like to look at it.”
He frowns and is obviously not keen, but she holds his gaze and pleads quietly. “Please?”
Finally he nods, before casting a long gloomy look at Angel. A lifetime’s conversation is transferred in that glance, and Buffy begins to wonder if maybe vampires are telepathic. But then he abruptly turns and saunters off, folder tucked under his arm, leaving silence in his wake.
It’s a while before either speaks. Finally Buffy takes a deep breath - no point in beating around the bush... although what does that mean? What bush?
She looks up and finds Angel’s eyes.
“You have to leave.”
Whatever he had expected, this wasn’t it. He frowns, then asks, petulance shining through his voice. “Because of Spike?”
She shakes her head, trying to impress on him the impossibleness of her fight. “This thing is big - bigger than anything I’ve faced before. If I fail... it’s only a matter of days - maybe hours - before the rest of the world goes. I need a second front and I need you to run it.”
He’s silent, then slowly nods. “OK. But - I’m not going until you tell me what the deal is with you and Spike!”
Buffy tiredly leans against a large tomb stone. Large and firm, an attempt to fix a memory - a life - to something solid. Done with love...
Stones - the most familiar thing in her life. She could probably recite whole rows of names and inscriptions off by heart: ‘Dear Mother and Wife’, ‘Beloved Husband’, ‘She saved the world a lot’... Her own legacy made stone... “Strength, resilience ... those are all words for hardness. I'm starting to feel like ... being the Slayer is turning me into stone.“ And the only one who was able to get through to her was Spike...
She looks at Angel and wonders how to explain this thing that she has no name for. Does she want to explain? After all, it was Angel who left her, and she really doesn’t owe him any explanations: “I don’t...”
“And don't’ try to deny it!” he counters quickly, obviously bothered. “I can smell you all over each other! The way you looked at him...”
Angel stops, then can’t help himself. “He does your laundry? What is he - your live-in boyfriend?”
She stares at him. “Oh My God. What are you? The Spanish Inquisition?” She almost laughs at the absurdity. As if any of it matters right now... She looks around the well-tended cemetery - what will it look like after an army has been though it? At least the dead won’t mind; they’re already at peace. And if her friends had only left her in peace, none of this would have happened... it’s a thought she tries not to dwell on too much these days. But - she’d better try to explain things just a little to Angel...
“Angel... everyone lives in my house! Including around 30 potential Slayers. They all need protecting and Spike is the strongest warrior besides me.”
But Angel’s undeterred, and presses on with the question he’s obviously wanted to ask from the start: “Do you love him?”
And that’s the big question, isn’t it? She stares at her feet for a long time before she meets his eyes again. “He is in my heart.”
“That’ll end well,” he deadpans, but she can see that he’s calmed down. He leans against the stone next to her, and she turns her head to see him.
“What was the highlight of our relationship?” she asks, and as she continues talking she can feel relief settle. Despite her initial misgivings it’s good to talk to someone - someone who’s not in her life anymore... and even as she thinks it, she begins to understand why things with Spike are so complicated. He was always the guy on the outside that she could offload on. But he’s not on the outside anymore - he’s right at the centre and maybe that’s why she can’t figure stuff out. Maybe... maybe she should just stop trying and be happy with what she’s got right now. Fat grandchildren is not something she should be worrying about.
“....You know, in the midst of all this insanity, a couple of things are actually starting to make sense. And the guy thing - I always feared there was something wrong with me, you know, because I couldn't make it work. But maybe I'm not supposed to.”
“Because you're the Slayer?” Angel asks, and she tries to reach for an explanation.
“Because - OK, I'm cookie dough...”
It’s a sucky analogy, but she rather likes it even if Angel is less keen.
He gets ready to go, mentioning the second front. She tries to concentrate on the tactical merits of her decision, but there is a part of her - the petty, vindictive part that she is not very proud of - that is silently very satisfied. She is making him leave. For once she is calling the shots on the men in her life. No one is walking out on her...
But then 16-year-old Buffy starts stomping her foot. Because Angel is going away again - and why can’t she dream sometimes.
So she calls out after him, pain clutching at her heart. I might never see him again...
“Angel!”
He half-turns and she falters a little. “I do... sometimes think that far ahead.”
“Sometimes is something.” He smiles softly, then slowly keeps walking.
Why are all her meaningful conversations always with vampires? She recalls Holden Webster and the surprisingly insightful things he said: “What are you - supposed to be settling down already? At 21?”
She smiles wistfully, and says: “Be a long time coming. Years, if ever.”
Angel turns around, arms held out in an almost-shrug. “I ain't getting any older.”
And he keeps walking. An inky black shadow disappearing into the darkness, as though he had never been golden and shiny.
She sighs. And right there he went and took the wind out of 16-year-old Buffy again. Never getting any older. Never having children or going for sunny walks in the park or...
As she starts walking back home, she takes out the pendant and slowly turns it in her right hand. Where did it come from? How did Angel get it? Why? How did he know about her apocalypse? He questioned her so much that she never noticed that he said nothing about his own life - he was all smiles, except when he was trying to out-macho Spike... yes he had been hiding something. Being Mr Avoidy.
But never mind. The fact that she couldn’t read Angel is not important, their encounter already fading from her mind as she concentrates on what’s ahead. Her love for him is like a desert flower - a seed that’s hidden until a sudden rainfall brings it out in bloom. It is now folding in on itself - laying in waiting until next time. If ever there is a next time.
They don’t live in each other’s world anymore...
There is someone else in her world now - waiting for her at home. Someone ensouled, but stronger than human. Someone she will make her champion. She holds up the pendant, but it looks murky and dull in the darkness. The darkness that has taken hold of all of Sunnydale, moreso than ever before...
And the past that never fades echoes in her ears as a familiar dread is threatening to overwhelm her.
“We're not all gonna make it. You know that.”
“Hey. Always knew I'd go down fightin'.”
She once said that her motto was ‘Life is short’ - it still is. She owes Spike a kiss (at the very least) - and although it might not ever be a hello, there’s every chance it’ll be a good-bye. She hurries her steps, not wanting to waste a moment.
The time for dreams is finished. She needs to hold on to what she has - because soon they might all be gone.