And The Rest Is Silence: Part Five
by Amywyn
Part Five
*Cause you were the one sure thing
the one sure thing
Maybe I’m not crazy, just inconsolable.
Inconsolable.*
Giles had been considering going to bed to not sleep when the phone rang. The shrill sound sent his headache into before unknown levels of pain.
He stared at the offending object, considering letting the machine pick it up. The image of Willow, Xander and Oz as he had last seen them, loading themselves with weapons from the locker in the library in preparation for the night killed the thought.
The three had taken over the Slaying duties as best they could. He didn’t like it, but no amount of lecturing had been able to sway Willow. Someone had to do it had been her argument, and, unable to sufficiently dispute her logic, he had finally agreed to stop harassing them each night if they would let him come along as often as possible.
Until his Slayer returned, he would be their Watcher. And he swore to himself that he would be a better one to them than he had been to Buffy. He would not fail these three children as he had obviously failed her.
He picked the phone up after its fourth ring.
“Hello?”
He’s asleep, I’m waking him up.
Three rings. She had been counting, questioning the wisdom of this a little more with each ring, what little resolve she had crumbling a bit more with each passing moment.
He’s not home.
Four rings. Her eyes began to burn. In all the time it had taken her to pick up the phone and dial, she had never considered the possibility that no one would be there to answer. Giving in to the unexpected disappointment and allowing herself the luxury of tears, she rested her head in defeat against the side of the phone and slowly moved to place the receiver back in its cradle.
“Hello?”
Her hand stopped short of its destination at the sound of his voice, as close as the receiver in her hand, so far away there were times she thought she may never hear it again. Her heartbeat quickened and her hand shook slightly as she pulled the receiver back to press against her ear. Her knees went weak, and she found herself once again supported by the glass walls around her, her head resting lightly against the phone.
“Hello?” He sounded tired, exasperated. Her eyes shut tight, trying to stop the tears that were now flowing freely down her cheeks.
She drew in a breath, opening her mouth to speak... but no words would form. Guilt, shame and fear rose up and wrapped around her, robbing her of her voice. Giles... His name sat unspoken, lodged in the back of her throat. I’m sorry. I’m safe, not happy, but okay... I’m sorry. God, Giles I’m so sorry.
“Is anyone there?”
He’s gonna hang up...
She opened her mouth to again try and speak, needing to keep him on the line, to hear his voice for just as long as she could. Her face crumpled as her mouth again betrayed her, refusing to allow her to form words.
What came out was a choked sob.
Silence. Whoever had decided to call him at this hour of the night said nothing in response to the standard greeting. He sighed inwardly, far too tired to deal with prank calls at the moment. For Gods sake, just bother someone else tonight...
“Hello?” He repeated the question for the second time. Again, he received only silence as an answer. No, not complete silence.
Static... was that static? A soft sound of an indrawn breath. A moment of a voice spoken, a word begun but not finished... there was someone there. He could hear them over the... no, that wasn’t static he decided, as a gentle rumble came across the line. Rainfall. It’s rainfall.
Was it raining? He had just been at the window a moment before, he had seen no signs of an impending storm. He spared a glance out his front window. Not a drop of rain... not even a cloud in the sky. A long-distance prank call? His grip on the receiver tightened. Buffy?
“Is anyone there?” Answer me, damn it. He had to be sure it was her, that his mind wasn’t just playing a cruel trick on his heart. Please, God, let me be right.
There! A sound clearly discernible over the soft patter of rainfall where ever she was... a soft, aborted sound of voice that could not even be called the beginning of a word. A quiet little cry that was painful to hear.
“Buffy?” Her name was a question, tentative and quiet, barely audible over the phone line.
She gasped, her head snapped up, eyes going wide at the whisper-soft sound of her own name against her ear. How had he known it was her? How could he?
Giles...
Why did he have to sound so hopeful? And why did that have to hurt so much... cut so deeply?
God, Giles, I miss you... I never knew I could miss anything as much as I miss all of you.
Tears were now streaming down her face unchecked, she didn’t even bother trying to stop them. They rolled silently down and off her cheeks to land somewhere at her feet. It took all her energy to keep from sobbing out loud, her breath coming in short gulps of air she could barely control.
It hurts.
“Buffy, please...” came his voice again, no longer a question, “please... just answer me.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
He could hear her on the other end of the line, voiceless, broken sobs with sharp edges that tore at him, heart and soul. Every cell of his being wanted nothing more in that moment than to wrap her in his arms, safe and warm... to bring her home and make sure she never had to cry again.
That wasn’t possible, he knew. But surely if he could just get her to speak, keep her talking for a little while...
We miss you. We need you... here, safe. We need to know you’re alright... are you alright?
What if she wasn’t okay? What if she was hurt, or dying... and he now much too far away to do anything more than listen to her weep over the phone line? Possibilities ran through his mind, each one more horrific than the last.
More frightened than hopeful, he could only keep trying.
Just one word, Buffy, please...
“Buffy, please,” he could hear the anxiety - the pleading, terrified desperation in his own voice, and didn’t care. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered if he could just hear her voice. “Please... just answer me.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
Though the words to say would easily form in her mind, giving them voice was simply more than she could do. Despite the entreaty in his voice, despite the fact that his own pain and loss was something as easily heard as his words, some part of herself simply refused to allow her to answer him. Some small part of her that knew he could talk her home.
She was close to breaking as it was... so close.
All it would take would be one word, one small surrender, and in the space of a few short minutes, she would be gathering her meager belongings, staring out the window of her tiny apartment, waiting for him to show up like a white knight in shining armor, ready to free her from her self-imposed prison... to carry her away from her solitude and loneliness.
The selfish need to let him do just that burned in her chest like the need to breathe.
Oh, Giles, I want to come home... I want so much to come home...
“Buffy?”
But I can’t. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“Buffy?” he asked again. The soft sounds of crying still came across the line... he knew she was there. Why didn’t she answer?
Though some logical part of his mind argued that if she had the breath to weep, she could have spoken, but the emotional and frightened part of him could not shake the imagined picture of her lying broken and bleeding somewhere far away. Why else would she have called? Why else wouldn’t she speak?
Answers to his questions presented themselves and he pushed them away, finding no comfort in them at all. Unfounded fear was preferable for the moment to the pain those answers caused.
“At least tell me you’re alright... I just need to know you’re alright.” It was a lie and he knew it. He needed her home. “That’s all.”
“At least tell me you’re alright.” Fear, she could hear it now... above the pain, above the loss, above all desperate hope was fear for her. “I just need to know you’re alright... that’s all.”
I’m not alright. I’m not alright at all. I can’t sleep for the dreams... I don’t have the energy to eat. And every moment I don’t see him, I see you.
She closed her eyes, and the images were there without effort. Her Watcher and friend, who had always been there for her no matter what, heartbreakingly pale in the morning sun, broken and bandaged and hurt... for her, all because of her.
With the memories came control... her sobs slowed, became easier to keep silent. She raised her head and opened her eyes, still seeing the image she knew she would remember for eternity in place of the rain-slicked street before her.
Can you move your fingers yet? Is Xander’s arm still in a cast? What about Willow... can she walk?
She shouldn’t have done this, should not be putting him through this torment for a few stolen moments of reassurance for herself. This, of all that she had done in recent memory, felt the most selfish and cruel, worse in her own heart and mind than what Angel must have done to him. Breaking his fingers herself might have hurt him less than this.
She should not be doing this to him... it was too cruel.
The sounds of her sorrow and pain began to fade in the moments after his request. She didn’t believe it any more than he did. Just knowing she was alright would not be enough; he needed to know she was alright here, with him.
His fear was dissipating along with her crying, being replaced by sorrow and a different kind of fear. The fear that he was loosing this one-sided, tiny battle.
“I... I won’t ask you to come home.” Another lie. A last ditch effort to keep her on the line, give him a chance to talk her into doing just that. “I promise.” An empty promise he would not be able to keep... he held tightly to the hope that he would get the chance to make that up to her.
Buffy, please... we can fix it. Whatever it is, we can find a way to fix it. Just come home.
As when he had first picked up the phone, there was now only silence and the sound of rainfall from the other end.
Though she had her breathing under control she could not stop the tears. They still flowed down her cheeks, leaving her eyes red and aching and her throat tight with the desire to speak or openly sob... she wasn’t sure which.
“I... I won’t ask you to come home. I promise.” Her eyes closed again for a moment, as she heard the lie for what it was... and missed him all the more for it.
But you will, you know you will. And I don’t know that I can say no.
After all, it would be so easy, just one sentence, one word... and she could go home. So easy to do, and yet so difficult she wasn’t sure she could do it. Had she stayed and allowed them the opportunity to heal her, she knew, she would not need to be afraid of it now.
But she hadn’t... and she was.
I thought this would be better. For me, for you... for everyone. I was wrong, nothing could be worse. I just figured it out too late.
As the silence continued, becoming louder and louder, drowning out the soft sound of rain over the fragile connection, he knew he was no longer loosing... he had already lost. Despite the fact that she was still there, still listening; she was already lost to him again.
He sank slowly to the couch and allowed his head to fall forward, covering his eyes with the hand that wasn’t clutching the phone as if he could hold her on the line with the force of his grip. It was only then he realized that he himself was crying, though he couldn’t remember when he had started.
The tears that had been tracing down his cheeks now fell into his own hand, slipping quietly through his fingers. He had failed again; he would lose her again.
Please, God... I’ll do anything... please...
“Buffy?” Her name was little more than a whisper, forced past a lump of pain and loss that had lodged itself in his throat. In moments, he knew, it would be he that wept without words while she listened.
“Buffy?”
Her free hand reached up to join it’s twin in cradling the receiver at the defeated sound of her name in his pain-filled voice, wanting and needing to reach out to touch him... to hold him - to just be with him for just this moment.
It was time to end this. She could not go home; he could not settle for anything less. Holding him prisoner on the phone, listening to him ask for words she could not give, was not mending her heart... only shattering what was left of the pieces.
This had to stop now... and yet, she could not leave him like this. Could not break this connection, however distant, and leave him again without a word. Not again.
She leaned forward, her head resting against the cool metal of the phone base, her hand reaching up in preparation to cut this tenuous link to home and hope. She didn’t deserve it... certainly not now. Her eyes closed and she drew a breath, fighting against a fresh wave of despair, determined to give him what she had wanted and needed when she picked up the phone to call in the first place - just a voice, for just a moment.
It really wasn’t so much to ask, after all.
Her voice, when she managed the words, was little more than a whisper... two words all she could force past the tightness in her throat. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough; every word Shakespeare had ever written shouted from the rooftops would not be enough to make up for all the pain she had caused. But it was all she could do.
“I’m sorry.” she said, unsure if she was apologizing for the phone call or for running away. Probably both.
Her fingers fell downward onto the cradle without giving him the chance to reply... without giving him the chance to talk her homesick loneliness into overcoming her fear and shame.
He sat silently, listening to the rain on her end of the line, no longer able to speak and neither able nor willing to cut the connection himself.
“I’m sorry.”
The whispered words, when they came, were barely audible... but he heard them; he heard everything in them. Guilt, shame, fear, loneliness, loss and sorrow. More pain than any one person should ever have to bear. And, before he could draw a breath, he heard the soft click of a line broken, a connection severed... a battle lost. It took a moment for the truth of it to sink in.
No...
“Buffy?” He called out to her, desperately trying not to believe she was gone, straining to hear the rain that had been a sad soundtrack throughout the one-sided conversation.
There was nothing... nothing but a silence grown loud enough to be deafening.
After a few moments, the sound of a dialtone assaulted his ears, seeming loud and harsh after the quiet of the dead line.
The phone landed with a clatter on the floor at his feet as he covered his face with both hands and began to quietly sob.
Buffy stared for a moment at her own fingers depressing the lever on the phone, almost in shock at her own action.
Slowly, carefully, she placed the receiver back in it’s cradle. The breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding came out on a sob, and she fell to her knees in the bottom of the booth, arms wrapped tightly around herself in a lonely embrace.
Outside her small glass and steel shelter, the soft rainfall became a downpour, drowning out the sound of her weeping in the night.
THE END
(aren’t I cruel?)
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