ABLUTION

By Crimson Mirage

Rated PG
Spoilers: Takes place after ‘Dead Man’s Party’ in Season 3.
Summary: A Buffy Summers’ angst ridden story…Born from the idea of the emotions that Buffy must have been going through after Angel’s death and her return to Sunnydale. These are also my thoughts on what would happen if Angel didn’t come back and Buffy had to live without him. This is my first fic I’m sharing with anyone after writing dozens for myself and close friends. Be gentle.
Disclaimer: All characters and all that stuff belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I’m just having some fun. But Michel and Rose are characters of my own. Please feel free to comment and suggest to my email address.
 

-----

  “Together, forever,
Never say goodbye, never say goodbye,
You and me and my old friends,
Hoping it would never end,
Say goodbye,
Never say goodbye,
Holdin’ on we got to try,
Holdin’ on to never say goodbye.”
-‘Never Say Goodbye’ Bon Jovi

October 13th, 1998

Buffy looked around the wide, sparse cemetery and sighed. When did regular walks in cemeteries become her existence? When did she stop having fun? She tucked her stake back in her pocket and rubbed tiredly at her eyes. When did her life turn into such a joke? When could she just stop being Buffy the Vampire Slayer? She was so tired. Tired of not knowing how to respond to the others. Tired to playing the straight man to her friend’s nervous jokes. They thought they made her feel more at home with their pranks and gags, but she was always painfully aware of their nervous laughter and unsteady eyes. She couldn’t even bring herself to get very worked up over Xander and Willow’s antics anymore. She knew that they cared and wanted her to be back the way she was, but it was useless, wasn’t it? She was constantly defensive, preventing anyone from getting too close. She knew she wasn’t important at all. In fact if they knew the truth of just how worthless she was and how much better everyone would be without her around…Her constant brooding, monosyllabic answers and blank face were a habit now, and habits are so hard to break. You break one and the next thing you know all your emotions and defenses are in tatters. She felt like such a fraud. She grabbed the stake in her pocket, which had been poking into her thigh, and
threw it to the ground. She was beginning to hate that particular affectation. Stupid wooden stick! It’s not like she needed it. She kept them because at one point they made her feel safe. She could carry this stake and she would become a cold warrior. No one could see into her soul. It served as shield and armor. It also occupied her hands when she was nervous.

Buffy had been patrolling this cemetery pretending to slay evil for the last five hours. Pretending to feel strongly about the fate of the world, when she was really trying not to remember. She should go home, she knew. But home was the one place she didn’t want to be right now. She hated the autumn. Always had and always would.

That’s wasn’t precisely true, she reminded herself viciously. There had been a time when she had loved autumn. The refreshing cool after the hot summer. The long, drab, rainy days that occasionally gave way to crisp blue skies and sunshine that never quit. Sweet apples, fresh from the trees…There had been another, then. Her dark hero. Her love. Buffy pushed the thought away. Stopping suddenly, she turned back and grabbed her stake, shoving it into her shoulder bag and walked toward the cemetery gates. Turning up the collar of her jacket against the chill, she walked down the street.

She watched surreptitiously, from beneath her fair hair, the other people walking down the street. She paused outside a pub restaurant, considered carefully, decided she didn’t want to eat at home tonight, and went in. It was a typical establishment, with all manner of clientele. She chose a small round table in a dark corner. She set her bag on the slightly sticky tabletop. Shrugging out of her jacket, she hung it on a peg on the wall.

“Hiya, what c’n I gitya?” A buxom woman was standing next to her. Idly, she noticed her odd accent, she sounded like she was from the South, Kansas or maybe Louisiana.

“Just some chicken soup and a glass of water, please.”

“Comin’ righ’ up!” She was grateful when she turned away without anymore friendly banter. Seating herself on the rickety chair she knew she should open the bag and start catching up on the homework she had missed the last month. Knowing and doing, however are two separate things, and she did nothing while waiting for her meager meal. Her face was grim, and none of the patrons that noticed her wanted to approach. She was thankful when the server reappeared carrying water and steaming hot soup with a crusty bread roll on the side. She let the homey aura surround her, but didn’t immediately eat. It was another habit, she reflected. She never ate immediately, as if she was waiting for something to happen before beginning. It was ridiculous! She chastised herself angrily. It wasn’t as if she were sharing her meal with anyone.

A raucous cheering went up in the other corner of the restaurant, a group of laughing, happy people were toasting an older couple in their midst. “Happy Anniversary! Cheers!” and the like.

Buffy turned away and started to eat. The soup was scalding, and though it brought tears to her eyes, she didn’t stop. The bread smelled heavenly as she broke it open, warm and fresh from the oven. But it tasted like dust to her, though, and stuck in her throat. Frustration and rage welled up, and she couldn’t finish. She drained the glass of water to wash down the dryness of the bread in her mouth. Then she paid the check and left the pub. The words echoed around her, taunting her, happy anniversary, anniversary, anniversary. Anniversary. Nothing to be happy about. Savagely she thrust the thought from her. Memory haunted her. She wandered aimlessly, knowing she had nowhere to go but home. Home to the Summers. Only she couldn’t face the warmth of family right now. Granted the only one home would be her mother, as always, but she couldn’t face her tonight. Her grief would cast a shadow on the happy light of her home. Her friends were probably sleeping by now, and the vampires would be wandering. Vampires – no. She would not think about it.

Unbidden, her thoughts tumbled and whirled, breaking free from the prison she walled them up in long ago. It had fit so well, the group last year. Xander and Willow were such great friends to her, constantly by her side. Oz and Cordelia, Giles and Jenny, and Buffy and…No, she didn’t want to go there. She didn’t want to face that ancient hurt. She had successfully buried it for months, and she wasn’t about to give in now. Walking with no purpose, she stopped for a moment in a doorway to get out of the wind. It was a moonless night, and growing colder with each passing hour. Crouching over her bag, she buttoned up the rest of her coat and straightened her turtleneck. Standing upright again, slightly more comfortable, she continued down the street. As she walked she noticed the number of people on the street thinned out, until she was alone with her thoughts.

She studiously tried to think of nothing. Just putting one foot in front of the other was all she allowed herself. She didn’t notice when it started to rain, a slight cold mist. She didn’t notice when she started to be paced by a small child. She was concentrating very hard on her shoelaces.

“Scuse me.”

Buffy whipped around and came face to face with empty air. Glancing down in confusion she noticed a thin child, dressed in dirty rags looking up at her with huge dark eyes. Her surprised cry of “What?” was gruff and the child flinched. Gentling her tone she asked again. “What?”

“Are you lost?”

“No.” Buffy paused hoping the boy would go away. No such luck, the kid was looking up at her with bright eyes, even though his lips were slightly
blue. “Are you?”

The child laughed a tinkling, happy little laugh. “I ain’t lost! But you isn’t even looking where you’re goin’.”

“Do you have a home?”

“Course I do! Don’t you?” The moppet laughed again, and Buffy pulled her jacket around her tighter.

“Yes.”

“Shouldn’t you be there, instead of wanderin’ abou’ in the cold?” The merry black eyes were dancing. What an annoying kid. But a cold one. Sighing, Buffy took her jacket off her shoulders and tossed it around the waif. She was only human and seeing a shivering child and not trying to warm it up would be against anyone’s nature. Her jacket would be enough to at least make him comfortable and she was wearing a warm sweater so she figured she would be warm enough. The child looked up at her with piercing eyes that seemed old and wise somehow. Then the illusion was gone as he snuggled into the warm jacket. “Thanks! Hey, come for tea would ya?”

“Tea? With you?” Buffy folded her arms across her chest trying to retain as much body heat as she could.

“Yeah, yeah, with me. Whadja think? Com’n?” The boy grasped her arm and started pulling her toward an alley. Buffy had just enough time to pick up her shoulder bag from the pavement where she had set it before foolishly giving up her jacket.

The child led her through a dizzying array of alleyways and around dark corners, up staircases and down, into tunnels and out. After a few minutes of being pulled along, Buffy was surprised when they stopped outside a plain wooden door with a dim light above it. Turning the knob, the boy entered the dark room, and yanked Buffy inside right behind him.

“Uh, I really don’t think…” Buffy started.

“Of course you don’t, young lady.” The mellow, aged voice came from the interior of the room next to the small fire. “Who have you brought home with you this time, boy?”

“She’s lost. She lent me her jacket, Grandma. See, and it’s so warm!”

“I see, my child. Give her back the jacket, now. You don’t need it.” He handed it back to Buffy, who was beginning to feel dizzy from the sudden warmth of the room. Her hands were red with cold. She realized she must have been out far longer than she thought for her wind burned cheeks stung in the heat. “Have a seat, young lady, come next to the fire so I can get a look at
you.”

“I’m not, you know. Lost, I mean.”

“Ah. Are you not, now?” The woman held out her hand to her and she took the squashy chair opposite her. She sat stiffly, or as stiffly as the melting chair would let her. It didn’t seem to want to let her stand upright, she sank further into the chair and leaned back almost against her will. She smiled at her. “My name is Rose. This young imp is my grandson, Michel. Michel, tea I think.”

“Yes, Grandma.” The boy, Michel, Buffy reminded herself, brought three teacups and saucers from a shadowy nook.

“My name is Buffy.” She knew it was stupid to give away her name to perfect strangers, but they seemed to have a quiet, wise presence that didn’t feel harmful. It was as she watched Michel pour the tea that she realized the old woman, Rose, was blind. She accepted the cup gratefully and sipped the steaming beverage. It smelled of chamomile and cinnamon, sweet and spicy. It warmed her all the way to her core. The warmth of the fire was getting to her, she thought, and that’s when she realized the tea was far from harmless. Her eyes closed of their own volition. She really had been pushing herself too hard the last few weeks. Feeling slightly dizzy, Buffy tried to shake herself out of the stupor. “What did you…” she started before an overwhelming exhaustion overcame her, and with the intense sensation of falling, Buffy lost consciousness.

‘Will she be all right, Grandma?” Michel watched his new friend closely, with a concerned expression on his face.

“I think so, child. Can you see it? Such pain she is in. Ahhh…Now she is dreaming! Good. She took her first step in healing…” She stretched her frail hand toward Buffy, lying unaware in the chair opposite. A soft pale blue glow started gathering around her gently as Rose smiled. “Poor child. She has struggled for so long all alone. Michel, do you feel it – the pain?”

“Yes, Grandma. I sensed it within her outside. I found the right woman didn’t I? She is the one who called us here, isn’t she?” Michel was frowning and his eyes overshadowed with worry.

She nodded. Her magic was strong in the divination arts, and for weeks had focused on this young woman. As her visions had cleared and become stronger, she saw herself and Michel doing just the things they had done in the past few hours. “She could be a powerful witch in her own right, if she wasn’t Chosen. Goodness knows we need all the witches we can get on our side. Now, let us let her dream in peace.” She withdrew her hand and the glow lessened. Rose sensed Buffy’s life was reaching a turning point, and she devoutly hoped that the little she could do for her would assist with the transition. After watching Buffy’s induced dreaming for a while, Michel kissed his grandmother’s cheek, and took himself to bed.

Buffy was dreaming, and aware of it. Images whirled around her. Sounds of subdued laughter and movement surrounded her. She found herself standing in Angel’s small home. It was a clean space that had the air of a Spartan warrior about it. She looked out a window that should not have been there and a saw a group of people outside. One of the tallest was a sturdy teenager, dark hair and a goofy smile. The young girl beside him smiled and waved, her red locks stirring in a breeze. There was a brunette woman in heels and a lanky teen with fur on his hands. There was an older gentleman with an ebony haired lady sitting on a bench, set right near the window. She turned from the window and looked into a small room nearby. There were two people who immediately caught Buffy’s attention: a short, pretty blonde girl and a man who looked a bit older, tall and dark next to her. “Angel.” Buffy’s dream-self named the man who caught her attention and held it. He looked the same as he always had. The same he had when he had died. This must be before. Before Buffy lost everything.
 

"Come on, love. Stay here with me.” The low, masculine voice ripped through Buffy as she watched the man sit smoothly on the cot. Her own younger self followed willingly. She remembered she always followed unfailingly wherever Angel led. Angel was her love, and she was Angel’s. Her loving friend, her loving companion. It was always so. Xander had Cordelia, Willow had Oz, and Giles had Jenny. Buffy had Angel, her love.

The two spent as much time together as they could, more out of want than need. Sometimes they would lie together in a bed for hours. Long after the sun went down they would laugh together in his room, telling secrets, or trying to outscare each other with battle stories. And sometimes, even when the sun came up, she would just close the blinds and not care what her mother was thinking or that she was missing school; she would just curl up beside him and forget about the world.

Angel would sometimes climb up trees in someone’s back garden and pick the best apples. He would pick the two juiciest apples, one for Buffy, one for himself. And although he had refrained from eating mortal food for years, just for a peck on the cheek he would eat every bite. Sometimes Buffy would con a piece of cake or one of her brownies from her mom and bring them to his room. She would gaze up at him with the biggest puppy dog eyes and after he gave in, she gave him the biggest cookie. Looking back, Buffy’s dream self realized the Mom always knew what the two of them had been up to, and knew if she gave Buffy only one piece, Buffy wouldn’t have one to eat. She’d give it to her love. Joyce Summers certainly knew her daughter.

Their clear, young voices echoed through her memory. Loud and laughing: “Think you can stake this one with your arms behind your back, Buffy?” He made her feel immortal, and Buffy made him feel human. Sometimes they were just like children, others like old time lovers. They were inseparable. Angel always looked out for her. He never asked more of her than Buffy could give. They got into a fair amount of trouble together. Not just with the rest of the gang with their routine monsters. Sometimes they got caught in crypts and had to fight their way out. Other times, they were too distracted…in other things…that they missed whole vampires or got ambushed by some demon. They were quite the duo. People always thought that Angel was naturally broody all the time…and they were right. But sometimes you could get a great, merry laugh out of him. Laughter, and lots of love. Their squabbles were few and far between, and never lasted more than a few hours.

Then there was that night. The night they forgot about the curse. That rainy night when all she could smell was his skin and all she could touch was his body. The night of passionate and brutal bliss. That bliss would separate them forever.

First she was confused, and confusion turned to heart wrenching horror and anger at being left alone. Angel was the one thing that never changed; with Angel she could never give up hope. They were always. How could the most pure of love create such blinding pain and hatred? Why was she left alone? Her friends didn’t know what to do with her. They were afraid of Spike and Dru, and Angel was now the brutal killer he had been so many years before. Buffy was such a brave, strong warrior. She could overcome her pain and save the day. But Buffy couldn’t, and wouldn’t. All she knew was that she had been left behind, that she had destroyed her love.

Buffy had never acted this way before, but then nothing had become this desperate. No one would have guessed that his one true happiness would be Buffy, even though it was seemed so blindingly obvious after. Then when the world was at stake, Buffy became the Slayer and faced up to her duties.

Willow was in the hospital, a last hope to save Angel. Her mother was confused, angry and bewildered at her daughter’s insane behavior. She ran with Xander to save Giles, the world, and destroy her love. In a desperate hour of need, she put Buffy away and became the Slayer, determined to destroy her enemies and save her friends. Chaos ensued. She forgot about Xander and Giles, and only saw her love’s dark, stone face staring into her. The sun was rising, the shadows were long on the ground, and her heart was cold. She remembered how the air was suddenly chill, and how her clothes seemed to choke her body. But her mind and body was like a machine, sharp and unemotional. For a moment she didn’t realize she was fighting her love, it was another vampire, another monster to kill. Yet she knew that the girl inside her screamed with the agony of the tortured, tears were streaking down the inside of her face. She didn’t know how frantic her mother was, how much pain Giles was in and how truly frightened Xander was. They weren’t there. Not even Angel. No one had seen Angel for months. Buffy knew that the terror, blood and fear were coming from a monster that took his shape.

But in the moment where she knew she would win, that the monster would perish, a sudden light dawned in its eyes. It gasped in hopeless agony and slumped to the floor. It looked up and its eyes were her love’s. But the dark void surged and the world was breaking. Her desperate mind tried to reawaken itself, but her warrior intellect still surged strong and she knew her choice. She kissed her love, felt his mouth, tasted her beautiful poison and struck him through the chest and into the heartless depths. Then there was the horrible silence and the awful truth. And she ran.

She hid for a long time. Buffy was numb. She cried for days at the realization of what she had done and the blinding hate at herself. After that she was a silent little girl. She was to blame for the death of her lover and soulmate. Guilt and fear. If she hadn’t forgotten, her love would still be here. If she had truly known and not let her selfish lust overtake her, Angel would still be holding her, smoothing her hair. She decided to never let herself be anything again, convinced that she had died as well, it was her fault Angel was dead, and she hated herself with a cold, blind fury. And it was that way for a long time. If she felt anything towards her friends, it was only more self-loathing at what she had done to everyone.

When Buffy returned to Sunnydale, she spent most of her time in her room. She would constantly play with the ring on her finger. Sometimes late at night, she escaped from her room and broke into Angel’s old home. For a long time, she spent several hours each night sleeping in his bare bed, straining with a pathetic desperation for the scent of his body long washed away. There she would grieve for her lover, missing the warmth that she transposed onto his body, and blaming herself that her love wasn’t there. After that horrific welcome-home party, Buffy quietly and determinedly told herself that she would never go in there again and would try to change back to the way things used to be. She took away everything that reminded her of him, except for the Claddagh ring; she couldn’t bear to give that up. She promised never to speak Angel’s name again. Every day she tried to smile with her friends, and sometimes it even worked, and she could feel slight nostalgic warmth.

Every once in a while she would catch her friends, Giles or her mother watching her, gazing searchingly. She knew they were remembering the laughing, carefree, wild thing she had been when she followed her dark love blindly. But she couldn’t bring that girl back. She pushed everyone away. It was easier to do that than face the fear that she would only lose them too. She knew it hurt them, her mother especially, when she shut them off, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She had to protect herself from the pain, guilt and worthlessness she felt. It didn’t help Buffy any that she was envious of her friends and their relationships. Oz and Willow. Xander and Cordelia. Their closeness was so reminiscent of Buffy and Angel’s that each time they held a hand or sneaked a kiss, Buffy was reminded painfully of all she had lost. They didn’t know it, but they were walking reminders of Buffy’s guilt and fear. And Buffy was so afraid. Of them, and for them. How would they cope if they lost one another? Their love terrified her. Her fear kept her imprisoned and away from her friends. Her warm, loving friends, that Buffy was just to frightened of to accept their love. In turn, they were confused and saddened by the change in Buffy, but not knowing what to do about it, they did nothing.

Waking suddenly in the sinking chair by the small fire in the dark little room that Michel had led her to, Buffy was surprised to find her face streaked with tears.

“Feeling better, young lady?” The old woman reached over and patted her knee. Her sightless eyes crinkled up at the corners as she smiled in her direction.

“What was in that? The tea, I mean.” Her voice was thick, and her throat tight with unshed tears.

“It’s a special blend, child. It has healing properties. Michel told me you were so lost when he found you, you were wandering in circles. He knew you were one of his ‘specials’ he calls them when you gave him your jacket. He wanted to help you. He was right when he said you were lost, wasn’t he, child?”

Lost? She had been lost since the day Angel died. She didn’t think anyone had ever found her. Not that you ever let them, a small voice taunted her from the back of her mind. “I don’t know.” Buffy thought back over the memories the tea had pulled from her. She swallowed back a rising sob as fresh tears leaked from her eyes.

“So much pain. It has been a long time since I felt anyone in such pain. It’s not good for you to keep it all inside, child. Do you think he would want that?”

“What?” Buffy was startled, a rising panic flashed in her eyes. She knew. Could she also see her guilt?

“Your lover, Angel. Forgive an old woman, but your memories were so bright, I couldn’t help but catch snippets here and there. I tried not to watch, but some things leak, you know, and your emotions were particularly strong when you saw him regain his soul. Such a tragedy it was.” She sighed sadly at the vision, and suddenly Buffy saw it, too. Not as an observer, as she had been when she watched the events, but as it had been. That familiar warm light that shone his eyes. Buffy felt her loving feelings surge as she tried to remember all the times he had looked at her that way. He had a way to his eyes that she seemed too powerful to look at but too beautiful to look away. That was the way he had looked before he died…

Feeling a little stupefied, Buffy just sat gazing at Rose for several long moments. Clearing her throat, she was suddenly uncomfortable in the chair. Pulling herself out of it she stood shakily, and slowly backed out of the room. “I really must be going, thank you for the tea. It was very nice to meet you, tell your grandson goodbye for me…” she babbled, and turning, she fled from the dark little place. If she allowed the feelings in now, she might very well be lost for good. She was so rattled she didn’t realize she had left her tote bag behind next to the little hearth. The cold wind woke her from the lethargy of the heat of the room and the tea. Struggling into her jacket, she tried to find her way out of the maze of alleys and tunnels. Soon she was more turned around then ever. She knew she would have to find some way out of here. Panicking now, she ran headlong trying to find her way out and away. Out of the back alleyways and away from her memories.

After several wrong turns she found herself on a street she vaguely recognized. A light fog was rising. Walking again, she followed the street almost in a trance. She let her feet carry her wherever they wanted. She followed an instinct to the gates of the mansion. It was obvious why she had been drawn here on this cold dark night, but she entered the mansion despite the sudden, cold fear in her heart. Although she hadn’t been here for months, she knew exactly where she was going. She made a beeline straight for it. She couldn’t seem to stop herself, and she was dreading it. She didn’t want to look – she didn’t want to see. Then there it was, the room in which she had killed the only thing worth living for. Nothing had changed; no other people had been here since she and Angel. Buffy shattered.

With a low cry of pain Buffy threw herself down on the floor and sobbed. Her heart was breaking all over again, six months later. It had been half a year since the murder of her one true love. All the pain, rage and grief came out of her as she lay on the cold, hard ground and beat her fists into the unyielding cement. Howling her pain the words tumbled out of her in a strangled torrent. “Why did you leave me? Why…oh God,Angel… please… why… why… didn’t you kill me? Why couldn’t it have been me? It should have been me…” She didn’t know how long she lay there, battered and cold. There was no conditioning in this barren palace, and she was chilled and stiff when she came back to herself, and her face was wet with too many tears. The sky through the window was beginning to lighten. When she did move, she couldn’t bite back the low moan that ripped from her when she discovered she wasn’t alone. Her friend Willow sat quietly next to her. “How…How long…?” Her throat was raw.
 

“Your mom got worried when you didn’t come home last night.” Willow was looking at her, instead gazing off into the distance. Buffy sat up and realized she was shaking, but whether it was from the cold or emotion she couldn’t say.

“I…didn’t want to go home.” Buffy blinked and wiped at her eyes.

“Yeah. She called me, and Xander, to see if you’d come to one of us, but you hadn’t. I told her I’d find you.”

“So you found me.” Buffy said tiredly. She realized she was on the verge of crying again. Would she ever stop crying?

Willow turned to her suddenly, her eyes showing a rare blaze as they seared into Buffy. Whatever she was about to say died on her lips. She saw the naked, unguarded emotion on Buffy’s face as she flinched under Willow’s direct stare. Willow’s expression softened, and she reached out and pulled her friend into a tight embrace. Surprised, Buffy fought it for a moment, before giving in and clutching Willow’s back, and started sobbing uncontrollably. “Shhh…It’s all right…just let it out…” Willow listened to the anguish pouring out of Buffy, the companion who had buried herself deeply into a tough shell long ago. Willow rocked her back and forth murmuring soft, soothing noises. Buffy’s fists beat on Willow’s back as she choked and sobbed.

“It’s my fault…mine…Why did he have to change? He was the only person I…I…why? My fault…he’s dead…why is he dead? Please…please…make it stop…I don’t want to be alone anymore…it should have been me…should have been me…so worthless…why couldn’t it have been me?” Willow was shocked at the self-loathing she heard in Buffy’s voice. She struggled to continue her rocking motion and not betray the feeling of growing rage at herself and the others that they had let Buffy go for so long like this.

“You had no choice, Buffy. Not your fault…shhh…” Willow found herself crying with Buffy as she comforted her as best she could. For long minutes all she could do was hold on helplessly and wait.

When Buffy’s crying quieted, and her body stopped shuddering, Willow gently drew her to her feet, and carefully holding onto her, slowly led her home. As they opened the front door her mother, Giles and Xander came out of the kitchen, worry etched in their faces. Leading Buffy inside, Willow stopped their questions with a look and took Buffy upstairs to her room. Buffy’s eyes were empty and glassed over and she didn’t respond when Willow gently helped her out of her damp clothes and into dry pajamas. Hissing slightly in sympathy when she found Buffy’s hands abraded and bleeding where she had beat them against the cement, Willow gently rubbed a healing potion into them and wrapped them in soft cloth. Tenderly, she tucked Buffy into bed, and almost before her head hit the pillow Buffy was asleep. Then Willow went back downstairs to talk to the others.

She found them in the kitchen. It didn’t look like any of them had gone to bed. Sure, Buffy had not come home before. She was the Slayer. But any mother would grow worried when her daughter wasn’t in her bed in the morning. She had told them that she knew she was probably fighting demons or something but she could be hurt or worse…Frantic with worry, she had contacted Xander and Giles, and then Willow hoping that Buffy may have turned up at their doors. She had not needed to remind Willow of the time when Buffy never came back. She had promised to find her and bring her home.

Willow poured herself some coffee – its very presence in the kitchen spoke of their anxiety – and joined them at the table. Joyce watched her daughter’s best friend as she sipped her coffee, warming her hands around the cup. “Where did you find her?” She asked in a low voice.

“At the mansion.” Her mother pursed her lips, Giles didn’t look surprised and Xander only looked sad, nodding slightly. Willow hesitated to bring it up because she knew it would hit all of them hard. But in the last few hours she had seen firsthand her friend’s tortured soul, and to honor Buffy she knew she couldn’t keep silent. “I think Angelus may have changed back to Angel…and then Buffy had to kill him to save us all. I think that’s why she so much more distant that we thought. I think she’s angry…no, I think she’s scared of us,” she said in a gentle tone.

At this Joyce’s eyes went wide with shock. Giles reached out and put his arm around her. Xander closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again, staring into his clenched hands. Joyce’s eyes were awash in tears, and she covered her face in her hands, keening softly. Feeling horrible for bringing this fresh pain to them, Willow reached out and laid a comforting hand on Joyce’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Joyce.” Willow paused. “She was hysterical. She was babbling so many things; it didn’t take long to get the whole story out of her. I’ve never seen Buffy like that. Even when things are going wrong, she’s usually so controlled. I remember Buffy coming home after she ran away. Buffy wouldn’t talk to any of us. Xander and I should have tried harder to include her, but she was so prickly. Cold even. And we were so mad at her. For leaving us…” Her voice trailed off as she remembered that difficult summer. The only joy then seemed to be the company of her other friends. Even Cordelia was subdued. No one could adjust to their great loss. And when Buffy returned, there was such a tumult of emotions; joy, rage, sadness. But Buffy seemed not to want to have anything to do with them. She pulled away whenever anyone approached. She refused to be included. Then, after that party when everyone had gotten their emotions off their chests, she seemed better. She hung out with her friends, but she still wasn’t herself, it was almost as if she were acting as being a member of the gang. After a while everyone decided to leave her be and let her come to them. They accepted that the fun-loving girl wasn’t with them but might be soon. She seemed afraid to smile or laugh. She suddenly hated to do anything that would mean she would have to enjoy it or talk about it. Almost as if she was afraid of us, Willow reflected wryly to herself. At the time it was just sad and getting annoying. Buffy got increasingly anal and broody over every little thing. She didn’t seem to be able to let herself have any fun. Was she punishing herself, Willow wondered. Did she even realize she was doing it? Was she so afraid to losing of her friends and family she took a preemptive stance making it difficult for anyone to get to know her? So many questions now swirled in Willow’s mind. So many puzzle pieces fell into place.

“It was such a difficult time – just after Buffy ran away. We were afraid she was dead. I knew she took Angel’s death hard, but I never imagined that she thought herself a murderer.” Joyce’s lower lip trembled as she spoke.

“She had to kill him. She’s the Slayer. She knew what she had to do. Deep down she knows that.” Xander’s voice was low and rough.

“It sounds like she’s been feeling this way for a long time. I don’t know, you guys. I feel like it’s been our fault she’s kept on like this. We should have seen, known something before now. There were so many signs Buffy’s wasn’t all right, and hasn’t been for a long time.” Willow said, distressed.

“We couldn’t have known, Willow.” Joyce said. “I don’t think she’s ever been to the mansion since…” She added almost as an after thought.

“I wonder what happened to make this all come out now.” Giles said quietly. “Well, it’s now out in the open, and we can deal with it. Maybe I can convince her to take some time off and get away somewhere.”

“Do you think she’ll go along with that, Giles?”

“We’ll have to make sure she does. We just can’t ignore this!” Joyce was adamant. “She needs time to grieve. She’ll need time to figure out where she goes from here.”

Giles agreed. “I’ll make sure she gets some time off.”

“You know, I was thinking about going to this…this witchy thing outside of town…but I didn’t want to go at first because of school…and my parents are away again…If I got a week or two’s excuse from school I could go and take Buffy with me. We’d still be close enough that just in case some baddy comes
along, we can still get back here in a couple hours.” Willow mused. She was surprised at how grateful Buffy’s mother looked at the suggestion.

“We’ll talk to her when she wakes up.”

Late afternoon sunshine was spilling through the window by the time Buffy opened her eyes. Her head throbbed dully, her nose was stuffed up, and she felt emotionally wrung out. As she lay in bed feeling wretched, she remembered the night before. Groaning slightly she pulled herself upright, and her mother bustled in with a tray. If she noticed she wouldn’t meet her eyes she gave no sign. She didn’t seem to want her to speak at all. She chattered brightly, never once mentioning the worry she must have caused her. She left her to eat the meal she’d prepared and drink her juice in bed, like an invalid. Confused, because she knew Willow would have told the rest of them where she had been and how Willow had found her, Buffy ate and drank. Then she got up, washed and dressed. She was surprised how stiff she was, and although the cuts had healed on her hands, they were still bruised and ached when she moved them. Slowly, she made her way downstairs, afraid of the reception she would receive. She entered the kitchen to find her mother and Willow drinking some lemonade. Willow saw her standing in the doorway and her face lit up.

“Buffy! Here, give me that.” Buffy merely blinked when Willow relieved her of the tray full of empty plates. “I was just telling your mom about my last assignment in English. Come join us.”

Buffy’s ingrained polite refusal died in her throat as her friend led her around the table and poured her a cup of lemonade.

“How are you feeling?” Her mother looked at her with concern, but it was a serene kind of concern. She exuded warmth and comfort. Unaccountably, Buffy felt her eyes fill with tears.

Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat she managed a weak, “I’m all right.”

Gently her mother gazed at her with a sympathetic, loving expression. “We were so worried when you didn’t come home last night.” She murmured softly.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she stated but she cut her off.

“No, Buffy. I’m sorry. I am so sorry you went on so long like this…believing that Angel’s death was your responsibility.” She talked very softly to her. “Willow told us where she found you, and I regret more than you will ever know that I didn’t see it. Your friends and I failed you, Buffy. And we are so very sorry. I hope that someday you will be able to forgive us.” Buffy’s face was slack with shock. They wanted her to forgive them?

“No…it was my fault…I…” Buffy started to say and again she was interrupted, this time by Giles, standing in the doorway next to Xander.

“Buffy, it was your duty. It happened. If you hadn’t done what you did, the world would have perished. You knew what you had to do and you did. That requires more strength that you know. We know that Angelus reverted back to Angel when it was too late and you had to…You would never have killed Angel if you had no choice. And I believe Angel knows that.” Her Watcher’s face was serious, and he looked old, worn and very sad.

“Angel’s death cost all of us a lot, Buffy. It cost us a brave warrior, a strong heart and a great friend.” Willow paused and waited until Buffy had focused on her, and holding Buffy’s eyes with her own she continued. “Her name was Buffy. We lost Angel, but it also cost us you. We lost twice. One loss was horrible and tragic. But the other was even worse because it happened so suddenly, and we didn’t even realize how much we needed you until you were gone.”

Buffy didn’t even know there were tears rolling down her face until Willow pulled her into a soft embrace. She was in shock. They didn’t hate her. They knew and they didn’t hate her. Her thoughts were in a whirl as she tried to process that amazing discovery.

Willow pulled away after a moment, but she kept her hands on Buffy’s shoulders. “There’s this Gathering in the desert outside town in a couple days. I’m going, and I want you to come with me.”

“What?”

Willow’s voice was low and gentle. “Take some time, Buffy. You need to process the last couple months. Come with me, get away for a while.”

“But school…and I have to stay here…” Buffy began weakly.

“They’ll still be here when you get back. You’re close enough so that anything happens we can reach you and get you here in time to save the day. And you missed enough school as it is; I don’t think two more weeks is going to make a difference.” Giles stared piercingly at the girl he practically considered his daughter, willing her to object further. Buffy’s gaze moved from one face to the other, slightly panic-stricken. She shut her eyes and nodded finally in acquiescence. When she opened her eyes they were all grinning at her.

“Great!” said Willow. “I’ll send to the Gatherers and tell them that I’m bringing someone along with me!”
 

The rest of the day was a blur for Buffy. Joyce phoned the school and told them that some personal problems had come up and requested a leave for Buffy for a couple weeks. Snyder didn’t seem to object and said heartfully to take all the time she needed.

The next day was spent preparing and packing for her trip. Every few moments she would be overcome with panic, and have to stop and breathe slowly so she wouldn’t hyperventilate. Her mother was in and out of her room with clean laundry, a warmer sweater (even though she was going to the desert), juice and brownies, and any other small service or item she could do or fetch that she thought she would need. Just after lunch her mother called her downstairs.

“What is it, Mom?”

“There’s someone here to see you.” She had a strange expression on her face. Buffy understood why when she entered the kitchen. Talking seriously with Willow, and eating some of her mother’s fresh baked cookies was a small child in tailored clothing. A jacket of rich black wool was haphazardly thrown over the back of his chair. The child’s immaculate appearance was all the more surreal when Buffy recognized him.

“Michel?” The merry black eyes glanced towards her. This was the imp she had met dressed in rags? This shiny haired, bright eyed, obviously affluent young boy?

“Buffy!” Michel hopped out of the chair and threw his arms about her. “I’m glad you’re feeling better! Grandma sends her regards.” Buffy reflexively hugged the child back.

Questions whirled about in her mind, but she could find no voice for them. Weakly, she asked, “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Come on! Grandma has had her eye on you for a long time! Me, too. You pulled us here. You, your pain, and your need.” Michel looked deeply into Buffy’s eyes, and Buffy had the feeling she was in the presence of a great wisdom, and then the moment passed and she was only staring into Michel’s black eyes. “And you left your bag in front of the fire. I brought it back to you.” Michel leaned into Buffy and whispered conspiratorially, “I’m glad you’ve found your way.” Smiling cheekily, he gathered up his jacket, and turned to Joyce. “Thank you for a delightful time, Mrs. Summers, Willow. I must get back. Grandma and I have so much work to do.”

Buffy ushered Michel to the door, not knowing what else to do. Halfway down the walk Michel turned.

“Have a lovely time on your trip, Buffy. We know you will!” Michel’s eyes sparkled and he scampered off the yard and down the sidewalk out of sight. Buffy watched him, conflicting feelings cascading through her.

She had several weeks now that were unplanned. The last time she had so much unplanned time was when she had run away. Time opened up like a great yawning hole, deep and frightening. One step at a time, she reminded herself. And this time she wouldn’t be alone. Willow would be there, and she had a feeling Xander wouldn’t let them go without him. One step. Just one.

First, she would go to the desert. After that, who knew?
 

The End

| Main Page | Updates | Galleries | Episode Guide | News | E-Zines | Upcoming Episodes | Witchcraft |
| Makeup Counter | Original Artwork | Tattoos | Slayer Timeline | Character Quiz | Episode Quizzes |
| Store | Action Figures | Fanfic | The Library | Obsession List | Links | My Banners | Site Info |