The police arrived at the scene ten minutes later, after Giles and Willow had come down to investigate the source of the scream. Buffy was sitting on the stairs, much as she had been during the investigation into Ted's supposed original death, shaking slightly. Willow was crying silently not far from her, while Xander just stared at the proceedings in complete and utter shock. Angel was hovering protectively near Buffy, but his own eyes had a strange glazed look slightly akin to Xander's. Of all of them, only Giles was still maintaining something of a clear head as he talked softly to the police, spinning lie after lie to explain why Cordelia was at the school so late at night.
"This isn't happening," Buffy muttered softly, staring at some point in the distance. "This is just a really bad dream, and I'm going to wake up from it really, really soon." The memory of the bite marks on Cordelia's neck flashed into Buffy's mind once again, and she shivered at the realization. The Chosen One, Angel's wife, must have fed off Cordelia to restore her energy. Buffy glanced up at Angel, suddenly realizing the explanation for his own shock. She knew he was blaming himself, and she swore to herself that she would comfort him. But not now. She didn't have the strength now.
"Buffy?" Giles' soft voice brought her out of her state of shock and she lifted her tear-stained face towards his.
"What?" she asked weakly.
"I think you should go home," he told her. "There's nothing you can do here. There's nothing anyone can do here."
Buffy shuddered but made no move towards standing. "This isn't possible, Giles," she mumbled softly, wiping at her eyes. "It can't . . . this isn't supposed to happen! They're not supposed to win, Giles . . . she shouldn't have won . . . "
"Who shouldn't have won?" Giles asked, leaning down next to her.
It was Angel who replied, however. "The Chosen One," he whispered softly. "My wife."
Giles stood abruptly and turned to face Angel, who was still less than a step behind Buffy. "Your wife?" he echoed, staring at him and looking for an explanation.
Angel nodded weakly. "Buffy would have won, too," he said. "She would have won, but I . . . I didn't know . . . and when I saw who it was, I couldn't . . . " He stopped and swallowed, fighting to get control of his emotions as he turned away from the Watcher and instead fixed his eyes on the police cars leaving the scene.
Willow forced herself to her feet a few steps away from Giles, Angel and Buffy. "This is all my fault," she whispered. "If I hadn't told Xander we wouldn't have . . . and she wouldn't have seen . . . "
They all turned to her then, but no one was quite capable of showing much sympathy towards her. Guilt was abounding tonight, and Giles alone remained untouched by it's searing pain. "Willow," he said gently, "I think you should go home, as well."
Willow sniffed and trembled slightly, hanging on to the railing for dear life. "I don't want to go home," she whispered. "If I go home I won't wake up, and I'll know it wasn't just a dream."
Buffy looked at her and sighed softly to herself, her feelings were far to similar to Buffy's own. "I don't believe this," she muttered again. "This isn't fair!"
"Buffy . . . " Giles turned back towards her, then glanced towards the still silent Xander. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the coroner's van that had just taken Cordelia's body away. He had not said a word since they'd found Cordelia's body, less than twenty minutes ago. Giles sighed that time, knowing that the job of comforting the teenagers was up to him. He glanced towards Angel almost out of reflex, and saw that the glazed look had not left the vampire's eyes, and he sighed again. Correction -- the job of comforting the teenagers and the two hundred and forty two year old was up to him. No one else was up to it. "Xander?" Giles asked.
The teenager turned towards him questioningly. "What?" he asked weakly, obviously not feeling up to talking.
"Do you want me to call your parents? Get them to pick you up?"
Xander shook his head. "I'm not leaving," he said softly, turning his attention back towards the street and the fading sounds of the siren.
Giles opened his mouth and then closed it again, unsure of what he could say. Somehow he didn't think anything he might think of would be of comfort. Instead of saying anything he chose to remain silent, turning his own thoughts inward as he stayed through the night by their side.
* * *
Buffy tightened her grip on Xander's hand as they sat next to each other at Cordelia's funeral. Willow was beside Buffy, uncomfortable being so close to Xander after their last conversation which had, in their mind, led to Cordelia's death. Cordelia's clique was sitting not far from them, and to Buffy's immense surprise even Harmony had been crying at the loss of her friend. It seemed obvious to Buffy now that Cordelia had meant much more to the school, to the Slayerette's, to everyone, then they had ever imagined. Somehow the school seemed darker without her silly remarks to teacher's questions, her dark attitude towards those she did not feel were part of her social circle, and most of all, the school seemed darker without her inner kindness and compassion, parts of herself she'd kept hidden from everyone but the Slayer and her friends.
Two days had passed since the fateful night when Buffy had fought Angel's wife, since the Chosen had retaliated and restored her energy by feeding off the young teenager. To Buffy it felt like a lifetime between those events and the funeral, as though time had dragged to a grinding and torturous halt. Giles sat a few rows behind them, along with the rest of the teachers from the High School. Only Snyder was not present, and Buffy didn't have to wonder why. Their cold and unfeeling principal was more likely than not thrilled that he had one less teenager causing trouble.
One row ahead of them was Cordelia's family. Her older brother sat next to her younger sister and her parents, all of them sharing similar despondent expressions. Buffy felt envy towards them, at least they didn't have to live with the guilt of having caused Cordy's death. She wiped at her eyes, realizing she had started crying again, and sniffed, trying to push the tears away. She couldn't afford to let this effect her as much as it was, she still had to deal with the Chosen, then she could grieve. Unfortunately her sorrow wasn't paying much attention to her rational mind.
It took a moment for her to realize that the crowd of people were rising, and that the service was over. Shakily Buffy rose to her feet and helped Willow up as well. It was so hard having no one to lean on, but she knew that everyone was suffering, and therefore there wasn't a single one of her friends capable of giving comfort. With a deep sigh Buffy took one last look at the coffin and the lovely teenager lying in it, her radiance shining through even in death, before walking outside and away from the memories.
* * *
Angel paced back and forth in his small apartment, glanced towards the clock, and then resumed his pacing. His thoughts were scattered and unconnected as memories of his wife ran through his mind, the grief as fresh as it had been the night he'd had his soul restored. Some of his thoughts centered on Cordelia as well, he'd never liked her overly, in truth he hadn't cared much for her one way or the other, but he'd certainly never wished her any harm. The knowledge that her death was entirely his fault weighed on his conscience heavily, and he wished he had that night to do over again, he would not have hesitated in handing Buffy the stake with which she needed to kill the Chosen . . . if only it had been anyone but Maura.
He felt no love towards her as she was now. He knew better than to believe for a second that she was still the same woman he'd loved two centuries before. Yet the thought of being the one to cause her death was not pleasant, either. Angel realized that the only way Buffy could defeat her was with his help . . . alone Buffy didn't stand a chance. At the same time he couldn't imagine being the one to drive the stake through her heart.
Angel shivered slightly as more memories flashed through his mind, Maura dressed in the traditional clothes of Ireland two hundred years before, her long black hair flowing down her back as she welcomed him home and eagerly told him to come in, that dinner was waiting, a dinner with which she'd prepared specially for his return. She'd wondered why he had a woman with short blond hair wearing a lovely dress with him, but he'd explained her away as a cousin. The pair had just returned from slaughtering his other family, his two sisters and his brother, his mother and his father. Angel had reveled in the betrayal in their eyes, the shock as they stared up into the crazed eyes of a loved one. He'd wanted more, he'd wanted to see that look again . . . and so he had, in the eyes of his wife as he'd sunk his fangs into her lovely neck.
A knock on his door startled him out of his thoughts and he jumped slightly in surprise before walking towards it and opening the door. Outside stood Buffy, her arms nervously wrapped around herself as she looked up at him. "I . . . Giles told me you'd moved back into your old apartment," Buffy started, casting her eyes downward. "Cordelia's funeral . . . it's over, now, and . . . I just . . . I needed to . . . " She stopped and looked back up at him again, her eyes pleading with his.
Angel stepped back and motioned for her to come inside, which she did. Her eyes fixed on the bed in the corner for a moment, remembering their night of passion and it's aftermath, then she forced herself to look away. "Are you okay?" Angel asked her.
Buffy shook her head weakly. "I'm not okay," she mumbled softly, almost to herself. "I'm far, far away from being okay."
Angel did the only thing he knew how to, he wrapped his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder for the second time that week. She shuddered against him, wrapping her own arms around his neck and leaning her head against his shoulder, needed to get all the tears out of her system. Angel let her, stroking her hair gently. Several minutes passed that way before Buffy finally pulled back. "I keep crying on you," she muttered sheepishly, laughing slightly to clear away the tension.
"I don't mind," Angel replied gently, motioning for her to sit. She obeyed him, curling her legs up next to her and wrapping her arms around them.
"I'm sorry to bother you," Buffy started, "but I needed to see you. I just . . . Angel, I don't know how to fight her. I'm not strong enough right now, I . . . God, Cordelia's dead, everything's falling apart, you hate me . . . I just don't have it in me."
"I don't hate you," Angel corrected her, sounding slightly tired of telling her that.
She looked up at him, her eyes still sparkling with unshed tears. "But I do," she whispered. "I hate what I've become . . . and I hate how weak I am. I hate that because of what I did . . . because of who I am . . . Cordelia's dead."
"That's not true. Cordelia's death had absolutely nothing to do with you."
Buffy sighed. "Angel, it's not your fault. It's mine. It's because of my weakness, because of my state of mind, because I'm the Slayer, that all this has happened. It's because of who I am that Cordy died," she said again.
"No," Angel said sternly. "That's not true, and you know it. If I had just given you that stake Maura would have died then and there, and she wouldn't have been able to kill Cordelia. This is my fault, Buffy, and I won't let you blame yourself for it."
"That's totally untrue. Cordelia is dead because I'm weak. The Chosen sensed that, that's why she attacked when she did. It's certainly not your fault that you couldn't kill your wife, Angel. But it is mine, I should have been able to kill her without your help. God, Cordy never should have even known I was the Slayer! If I had done my duty and kept my identity a secret she wouldn't have been at the school and she never would have . . . " Buffy trailed off and wiped at her eyes again.
"And what if she hadn't known?" Angel asked. "She would have died before when that girl . . . that Invisible girl . . . was after her. She lived because you protected her. Don't forget that."
"Tell me about her?" Buffy asked suddenly, looking up at Angel. "Tell me about your wife. Please?"
Angel blinked, slightly surprised by the sudden shift in conversation, then shifted on the couch uncomfortably. "There's not much to tell," he muttered.
"What was she like?" Buffy wondered. "Please, Angel, I need to get my mind off of Cordelia, and I need to concentrate on the Chosen One. Anything you could tell me might help."
Angel had to fight not to tell Buffy that he himself needed to get his mind off of Maura. However he motioned towards her hand, silently requesting that she give it to him. Obediently Buffy lifted her hand towards his, and he took it in his own and fingered the ring he'd given her before he'd almost left town. "This was her's," he said softly. Buffy's eyes widened and she immediately looked up at him again.
"Hers?" she asked, blinking.
Angel nodded. "After I . . . after I killed her I took it . . . I don't know why, exactly. Maybe to remember the fun I had slaughtering her and the rest of my family. Something to look back on," he added dryly. "This . . . it was her wedding ring."
"And you gave it to me?" Buffy queried, sounding puzzled.
Angel cleared his throat uncomfortably. After all that had gone on since he'd given her the ring to this moment, sitting on his couch in his apartment, he felt slightly uncomfortable discussing this with her. However he knew it would help her to hear it, and that alone was enough for him. "When I had my run in with the Romani, so to speak, I thought that I could never love anyone again. How could I? I'd murdered the people who'd loved me the most . . . I didn't deserve it. But you . . . Buffy, you remind me so much of her in so many ways. You . . . you mean everything to me. That's why I'm not angry at you, that's why I don't hate you . . . I can't. I . . . I love you to much. That's why I gave you that, I thought I'd never see you again, and I wanted you to have it, as the only symbol left of my love towards her."
Buffy leaned against Angel, laying her head down against his chest and wrapping her arm around his waist. "Angel, I know I've said this before, but . . . you have to know how sorry I am."
Angel sighed and rested his head against hers. "I do, Buffy. I do."
* * *
"Did you know Ms. Chase very well?" Mrs. Fleming asked, staring at Xander with wide and concerned eyes.
Xander sighed, wishing that Principal Snyder and Principal Flutie didn't have that one thing in common -- a love for sending children to the psychiatrist when something traumatic had passed. "Not very," Xander replied softly.
"You seem as though you knew her very well," Mrs. Fleming commented, sounding somewhat skeptical. "I know you don't believe me, but it may help you to talk about it some. And I promise nothing you say here will leave this room."
Xander rolled his eyes heavenwards, wondering what the school shrink would think of the honest truth, that Cordy had been killed by a vampire sent to kill Buffy -- and that while he and Willow had been looking up info on said vampire Willow had admitted she was in love with him, and that if it hadn't been for that Cordelia would never have ran from the school, and she never would have run into the Chosen One, who just happened to be Buffy's boyfriend's wife. "I'm sorry, I didn't know her that well," Xander said instead.
"Look, I can't force you to talk to me, but I think you do need to talk to someone. It's not healthy to keep your emotions bottled up inside, you know."
Xander suddenly had the urge to jump across the desk and strangle the shrink with his bare hands, and he bit his lip hard in an effort to repress the fury rising inside of him. "Can I go now?" he asked tightly.
Mrs. Fleming's sighed, as though accepting that Xander would not open up to her, and nodded. "All right, Mr. Harris," she said softly. "But I'm afraid until you do talk about whatever it is that's bothering you so deeply I will have to request that Principal Snyder continue with these weekly sessions of ours."
"Whatever," Xander answered, already halfway out the doors. He walked down the hallway blindly, not caring where he was going, and walked straight into Willow as she left her English class. The two of them stopped dead in their tracks and stared at each other for a long moment. "Willow," Xander finally said, his voice clipped.
"Xander," Willow replied, nodding slightly and swallowing against the lump in her throat. She turned to go, and Xander did the same, both continuing in their separate directions.
* * *
"Buffy? Buffy? Come on, wake up."
Buffy yawned and buried her face against the couch cushion. "Just a few more minutes?" she begged sleepily.
"It's three in the morning, Buffy. You need to go home before your mother starts to worry," Angel said gently.
Buffy sat up on the couch and blinked, then turned and realized that she'd fallen asleep at Angel's apartment, most likely due to emotional exhaustion. "I don't want to," she muttered, yawning again.
"You have to," Angel told her gently. "Come on," he added, offering her a hand in standing. "I'll walk you home."
Buffy looked at him weakly. "What if she attacks me tonight?" she queried, sounding scared. "I'm not strong enough to fight her . . . not now."
"If she does I'll take care of it," Angel reassured her. "Come on," he said again.
"Wait . . . " Buffy's eyes widened and she stared at Angel as his words from before sank in. "It's three? As in three a.m.?"
Angel nodded. "I called Giles and asked him to call your mother and tell her that you fell asleep at the library, but it's time for you to go home."
"You called Giles?" Buffy mumbled.
"He's researching why Darla would have brought Maura across and not have told me," Angel explained. "We need to go."
Buffy sighed weakly and leaned against Angel for support, blinking back waves of dizziness. "I think I'm getting sick," she said softly, looking up at him. "This really isn't good if I am," she added. "Of course I bet that's a strategy no other slayer's tried . . . just hiding out in my house and waiting for the chosen to go away."
Angel walked her towards the door and looked at her worriedly, noticing the extreme problem she was having with walking. "I think you are getting sick," he confirmed.
"Great." Buffy closed her eyes for a moment against another wave of nausea. "Cordy's dead, you're wife's trying to kill me, and I'm sick. Could this week get any worse?"
"Don't say things like that," Angel warned her. "Because invariably they always do."
"I know," Buffy agreed. "But things are already mighty bad . . . I'm not sure what could possibly happen to put me in an even worse mood than I already am in."
"You could die," Angel pointed out, still sounding concerned.
"Yeah," she muttered. "Yeah, there's that." She clutched at his arm as the world spun in circles once more, and Angel lifted her up into his arms and began to make his way towards her house.
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