Angel walked into the library, feeling no small measure of deja vu as he supported the now unconscious Slayer in his arms. "Giles!" he called out, trying to shake off the feeling.
Giles hurried down the stairs from the stacks, as he had once before not to long ago. "What happened?" he asked, and Angel felt his deja vu growing, but at least this time he knew the answer to Giles' question.
"She was attacked," he said softly. "By the Chosen . . . she bit her."
Giles' eyes widened as Angel laid Buffy down on the table. "She bit her?" Giles repeated. "And Buffy escaped?"
Angel shook his head and swallowed once, hard. "No, Buffy didn't escape. The Chosen is dead."
Realization dawned in Giles' eyes and he turned away to examine the Slayer. "She hasn't lost a lot of blood," Giles said after a moment, sounding relieved. "Her body should be able to replace this naturally. However she will have to think of an explanation for these," he added, softly touching the twin bite marks on her neck.
"When she wakes up tell her I'll talk to her tomorrow," Angel said softly, turning to go. Giles watched him leave with narrowed eyes, but decided against saying anything. Angel had just killed his wife to save his girlfriend . . . and while the situation was certainly a lot more complicated than that on the whole, Giles had a feeling it would take some time for the vampire to deal with it. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the Slayer.
"Buffy? Can you hear me?" Giles queried.
Buffy groaned and blinked against the harsh lights of the library. "This is getting a little repetitive," she muttered softly, sitting up and bracing herself against the table.
"Are you alright?" he asked, ignoring her sarcasm.
Buffy nodded shakily and reached one hand up to feel the bite marks on her neck. "This is also getting a little repetitive," she said softly, her mind flashing back to her death at the Master's hands.
"Come on," Giles said, helping her to her feet. "You need to get home. And Buffy? I want you to promise me that you will not go out again tonight, or tomorrow night for that matter."
Buffy nodded obediently. "Giles, I'd be lucky if I could take a shower right now," she mumbled. She looked around for a moment and her expression turned puzzled. "Where'd Angel go?" she wondered.
"He said he'd talk to you tomorrow," Giles replied, relaying Angel's message.
Buffy frowned slightly. "Let's get going, then," she said softly, but the look in her eyes made it clear just how distracted she truly was.
* * *
Angel arrived at his apartment ten minutes after he'd left the library, and almost immediately he began to pace again. Memories of Maura flashed through his mind mercilessly, of their wedding, of her friends, of her sister, of all the people he'd killed related to her, and of course, her. The way she'd smiled at him, the way her eyes had lit with pure joy when he'd walk into a room, the way she'd worshipped him and trusted him with her life, a trust he'd betrayed. Twice.
Sitting down on the couch, he closed his eyes for a long moment, allowing the memories to wash through him, letting the pain of her death, both of her deaths, relive itself in his mind. He looked at the ring on his finger, the ring which matched the one he'd given Buffy . . . his wedding ring. All of this had happened so quickly, it seemed hard to believe that four days had passed since Cordelia's death. For some reason it felt like it should be less than that, it seemed almost as though it were the same night.
Sighing, he stood and walked towards his bed, silently wishing that things weren't quite so complicated.
* * *
"How are you?" Willow asked, perched on the edge of Buffy's bed and staring at her friend with wide and worried eyes.
Buffy swallowed some of her orange juice and placed the glass back on the nightstand before replying, "I'm fine," she answered. "Well, not fine, but better." Buffy wondered if Willow understood the hidden meaning behind her words, that the answer concerned much more than her physical condition.
"I'm glad to hear it," Willow replied, giving her a half smile. She did understand, and for that Buffy would always be grateful towards her.
"How about you?" Buffy asked. "I know things've been pretty rough between you and Xander lately . . . "
Willow shrugged. "He says he needs time," she answered softly. "I . . . why is it things always end up terrible? Why can't any of us just ever have a happy ending? God, Cordelia . . . it's just not fair."
Buffy sat up in bed slightly and put a comforting hand on Willow's shoulder. "Don't worry," she whispered to her friend. "Don't. Xander needs time to grieve, we all do. Believe me, I understand how it can feel having to wait for someone to realize something you always knew . . . but that's just the way it is."
"You and Angel are okay, aren't you?" Willow queried.
"He's got some issues he needs to deal with," Buffy answered. "Not the least of which being he just killed his wife. I think . . . I think things will be okay again, though, eventually. For the first time in a while I feel like there's a little bit of hope, you know?"
"I wish I did," Willow answered softly.
"Will, I wouldn't worry about it," Buffy said again. "You and Xander have been friends a long time."
"But no matter what it can't go back to the way it was, not with us. He . . . he never knew how I felt before. Even if he . . . even if he somehow gets over Cordelia's death, which I don't think is going to happen, because I'm not over her death, then . . . I mean . . . things can't ever go back to normal."
"No," Buffy agreed. "You're right. They can't. But maybe, just maybe, it will be better."
"When did you become so optimistic?" Willow asked with a small smile.
Buffy shrugged. "I don't know," she replied. "I guess living on the Hellmouth you're either optimistic or you're suicidal . . . I think I'd rather stick to optimistic for the time being."
"I wish Cordy were here," Willow said softly. "Things just . . . nothing's going to be the same anymore."
"Probably not," Buffy agreed again, sniffing and feeling a single tear trek down her cheek. "But maybe we'll have some time to recover from this one before the next major catastrophe strikes."
"I hope so," Willow answered. "I don't know about you, but at this point I can't take much more."
Buffy nodded solemnly. "I feel the exact same way," she replied. "This week has definitely been the week from hell . . . er, the week from the Hellmouth, I guess. We just have to hope that for now the hellmouth will be polite and give us like a month of peace or so."
"I'm not exactly holding my breath."
Buffy laughed weakly. "You know what? Neither am I."
* * *
Angel cleared his throat and waited for Buffy to acknowledge his presence. She rolled over on the bed at the sound he made, and smiled softly. "Hey," she said gently, sitting up. "I didn't expect you to come by tonight."
"I said I would," Angel replied, sounding slightly defensive.
"I know. But I wouldn't have been mad at you if you hadn't," Buffy replied, motioning for Angel to sit down beside her, which he did. "Look . . . Angel . . . I don't know how to thank you for last night, I mean . . . I know it had to be hard, to do that, but you know it wasn't her and, and you saved my life."
Angel smiled. "Don't worry about it, Buffy," he said softly. "She just dredged up some very old ghosts . . . but I know very well she wasn't the same woman I married."
Buffy sighed in frustration. "I don't understand you, you know that," she admitted. "You can see that so clearly with her . . . why can't you see it in yourself?"
"Aren't you supposed to be resting?" Angel chided her, smoothly avoiding the subject all together.
"Yup, I am, under Giles orders, and mother's orders, and Willow's orders."
"Mine too," Angel said, staring at her with narrow eyes. "You aren't to leave this bed for at least another two days."
"Giles said one!" Buffy protested.
"I'm saying two," he replied, steel in his voice.
She sighed and nodded her head. "All right," Buffy agreed. "Two days." She glanced towards her clock and then looked back at him. "So . . . " Buffy started, feeling the tension between the two of them thicken somewhat.
"So you need to get your rest," Angel said, pulling the covers up to her chin and kissing her gently on the forehead before turning to go.
"Come back tomorrow," Buffy called out. "Please?"
Angel stopped at the window and Buffy was unable to see the expression on his face as he nodded. "All right." In the next instant he was gone, and Buffy blinked back more tears, wishing that there was someway, anyway, she could erase the past four months from existence.
* * *
Xander knew that if Buffy, or anyone else, for that matter, knew where he was they would be absolutely furious. It was night-time, and he was in one of the areas Buffy liked to call a 'vamp hot-spot'. Also known as the graveyard. He'd been at home, trying to concentrate on his science homework, and almost without realizing it he'd wound up at the cemetary . . . in front of Cordelia's grave.
Somehow the headstone didn't seem appropriate; if there was one thing Cordelia had always had it was a presence. Something about her made heads turn to look at her. The headstone read simply, 'Cordelia Chase, 1981-1998. A loving daughter and a special friend'. It didn't say enough. The cold gray stone did not convey how beautiful she'd been, how caring she'd been, how . . . how complicated she'd been. Somehow it wasn't enough, the simple grave wasn't enough of a reminder of her.
He closed his eyes against a fresh onslaught of memories that wanted to flash through his mind, of conversations and arguments and spats they'd had for as long as he could remember; for as long as he could remember Cordelia and him had not gotten along, at least up until recently. And now she was dead . . . because of him. Because of his stupidity and his disloyalty Cordelia had run out into the dark night, and she'd paid the price for his actions . . . with her life.
Xander shuddered and knelt down next to the grave, fingering the indentations in the marker gently. "God, Cordy," he whispered softly, "I'm gonna miss you." He pushed back the tears that threatened him; he had not cried once since Cordelia's death, and he didn't plan on starting now; he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to stop. Laying a boquet of flowers down across the grave, he turned and slowly walked away.
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