Oz pulled up in front of Willow’s house and turned the key in the ignition, killing the motor. He started to get out of the car, but she reached out and caught his sleeve. “Oz...”
He sat back down. “What is it?” he asked, sounding concerned.
Willow faltered for a moment. “It’s just....” Oz’s heart stopped. < This is it. > he thought miserably. < She’s going to tell me that she doesn’t want to see me anymore. That she loves Xander too much and wants to try and tell him. > He looked over at her. Even now, she was still beautiful. “What is it?” he said again. His voice was defeated.
“I just wanted to thank you.... and I know you said that you don’t do thanks, but you’ve been so wonderful these past few days, always there for me..... pushing me around and letting me talk.... And I wanted to tell you that you’re one of the most wonderful people that I’ve ever met.” She paused, confused by his attitude. He was just sitting there, staring straight ahead. “Oz, what’s wrong?” A cold fear clutched her heart. “Do you.....” she swallowed hard. “Do you not want to see me anymore?”
He laughed bitterly. “Isn’t that what you’re about to tell me? That you don’t want to see me anymore because you want to tell Xander that you love him? Well, I won’t get in the way, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s lucky -”
Willow cut him off. “Oz!” He stopped talking and turned to look at her. Her eyes were very anxious, trying to reassure him. “I do love Xander. That’s true. But not the way you’re thinking. Not anymore. He’s my best friend, and we’ve known each other forever, and I *do* love him..... but I’m not *in* love with him anymore.” Her words fell over each other in her attempt to get them all out fast enough. “And I would never want to stop seeing you, because you make me laugh, and you’re so sweet to me, and.... and I *care* about you..... and.... and....” She ran out of breath, or words, he wasn’t sure which, and simply sat there, looking at him worriedly.
Oz was studying the steering wheel. “I was really scared when Xander called and told me you were in the hospital, Will. I think I broke about five traffic rules getting there, and the whole time all I could think about was that I might never hear you laugh again, or see you smile.... Promise you won’t ever do that to me again, Willow. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile. “I promise that I’ll try.”
He turned to her and smiled back. Reaching out and touching a strand of her hair, he said, “Did I ever tell you that you have beautiful hair? Like fire....”
She blushed. “No. But thank you.” He left his hand against her face, and leaned closer. Instinctively, Willow leaned toward him, closing her eyes. He kissed her gently, and she put her arms around his neck. The kiss deepened, and they held each other tightly.
Finally, Oz broke their embrace. He looked at Willow, and suddenly he started laughing.
Hurt, she pulled further away from him. “What?”
He was still laughing. “It’s just your eyes.... I never knew anyone’s eyes could get that big....” He tried to stifle his laughter, without much success.
Willow glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, and she began to laugh too. Her eyes *were* huge. Between giggles, she said, “You’re right. You just surprised me....” She trailed off into a spasm of laughter.
Oz opened the door on his side of the van and got out. “I’d better get you inside before you’re mother starts hunting me with silver bullets.” He disappeared around the back of the van to unload her wheelchair. Wheeling it to the passenger side, he opened her door and helped her out, settling her gently in it. He then closed the van’s doors and wheeled her up to her front door. Willow handed him her key, and he unlocked the door and pushed her inside.
Oz turned to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.
Willow smiled. “Sure. Call me. And Oz?”
“Yeah?”
“Surprise me like that again sometime?”
He grinned at her. “Fine with me.” He pulled the door closed behind him, and Willow was alone in the front hall.
Her mother came in from the living room. “Did you have a good time?” she asked, pushing Willow’s wheelchair towards the stairs. She looked like an older version of Willow, her red hair streaked with gray and her sparkling eyes slightly hidden behind a pair of glasses.
“Yeah, I had a great time.” They had reached the bottom of the stairs, and Willow pushed herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her mother as she’d leaned on Oz earlier in the night. Slowly, they made their way up the stairs.
“That Oz seems like a nice guy,” her mother said, steering Willow towards her bedroom.
Willow smiled. “He’s a great guy,” she admitted, collapsing on her bed. “Sweet, and funny, and just all around nice. I wish he wasn’t graduating this year.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll still see him. He looks like he’s very devoted to you.” Her mother kissed her good night and headed for the door. “Get a good night’s sleep, dear. You have a doctor’s appointment at ten tomorrow.”
Sighing, Willow lay back on the bed. “All right. Good night. Mom?”
Her head appeared around the doorjamb. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
Her mother smiled. “I love you too, sweetheart.” She closed the door softly behind her.
Willow rolled over, pulling one of her pillows close enough to rest her head on. She was too tired to put her pajamas on, so she just lay there, smiling to herself. Suddenly she made an effort, raised herself on one elbow, and reached for her two favorite stuffed animals. She lay back down and set them both on her stomach where she could look at them.
One was a very battered frog. Xander had given it to her on her eighth birthday, as an apology for dumping the tadpoles from his fish tank on her head. They’d been having a fight, something about the tadpoles not being able to survive out of water, and he’d tried to prove to her that she was wrong. The tadpoles had all died, of course, and Willow had been so upset that she hadn’t spoken to him for a month. She’d finally forgiven him when he’d given her the frog, and they’d split the last piece of birthday cake.
The other was a little monkey who wore a hat and a pair of pants. She’d found it in her locker yesterday morning when she got to school. Oz had pretended not to know anything about it, but she’d seen the twinkle in his eyes. Part of his never ending campaign to make her smile. It had worked, of course.
Cuddling both the animals close, Willow closed her eyes. She smiled. Best of both worlds. Xander as a best friend and Oz as a boyfriend. No more nightmares, she told herself firmly. Only good dreams tonight.
***
As Oz and Willow were saying good night at Willow’s door, Cordelia and Xander were making out in her car. She’d parked in the lot for the public park, and since the Sunnydale police were (with a good cause) reluctant to patrol the deserted area after dark, they were not interrupted.
They had been there for at least a half an hour, with very little talking, when Xander suddenly pushed her away.
“What?” she asked, bewildered. She glanced out the windows. No creatures of evil lurking that *she* could see. She turned back to Xander. He was facing forward, his arms crossed across his chest, looking *extremely* grouchy.
Cordelia sighed. Xander’s moods were a source of complete confusion to her, and she’d found that the best way to deal with them was to be sympathetic and figure out what was causing them. Then they could get back to.... well, to what they’d been doing. “What is it?” she asked a little more gently.
He was silent for a while, and she was about to give up the tried-and-true method and start getting mad, when he spoke. “Do you really not want to look at me when we....” He gestured to the car, and her, and himself. “....you know. Am I really *that* bad?”
Surprised, she stammered, searching for the right words, and for the truth. “Well.... not.....” She stopped and studied him. He felt her eyes on him, and wished that he hadn’t asked.
She looked him over, trying to be objective. They’d gone to school together since first grade, and she’d despised him ever since day one, when he’d kicked sand in her face on the playground. Of course, she *had* been making fun of Willow at the time, but *still*.... She hadn’t actually *looked* at him since then. Not really. In her mind, he’d stayed the pudgy, sulky little boy that the teacher had scolded while she looked on triumphantly before she flounced off with Harmony and her other friends. She didn’t despise him anymore. He’d saved her life a few too many times for that. And some of his corny jokes *were* funny.... but she’d never thought much about his physical appearance. Her comment in the broom closet had just been a retort to the one he made about her talking.
Cordelia shook her head. “Not really. I didn’t mean what I said, Xander.” She paused, and then said the two most difficult words in the English language. “I’m sorry.” They were both quiet for a few minutes, and then she spoke again. “Did you... I mean...” < Damn, this is harder than I thought. > She took a deep breath and started again. “Did you mean what you said, about me talking?”
Xander shook his head, still not looking at her. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling guilty.
He felt a hand on his cheek. “You *do* need to shave, though,” Cordelia said, smiling at him. A smile began to creep across his own face, and he pulled her towards him again, tickling her. “Aahhh! Xander!” she shrieked, struggling. < Well, if he’s going to fight *dirty*.... > She took his head in her hands and kissed him full on the lips.
It worked.
There wasn’t much talking in the car for a long time.
***
Angel laid Buffy gently on the bed. She stirred and opened her eyes, smiling up at him. Then her eyes clouded, and she frowned and raised herself up on one elbow. “Angel, where’s your phone?”
Wordlessly, he moved it from the bedside table to the bed, and sat watching her as she dialed.
***
Joyce Summers had been working on automatic pilot for the past two days. Now she sat at her kitchen table, the phone next to her, a drink at her elbow, and the letter her daughter had left flat on the table in front of her. She still hadn’t phoned the police, and she’d been putting off calling Buffy’s father. Sighing, she sipped her drink and read the letter once more.
Mom-
I’m sorry I made so much trouble for you. I made trouble for everybody. Everything I touch turns to dust. I’m going away, so don’t worry about me coming home again. I need to get as far away from the people I love as possible, so I can’t hurt them anymore. If you need things explained, go see Giles. Give him a few days, though. He’s had a rough night.
Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.
I’ll write you sometime.
Buffy
The letter was scrawled in big, messy writing, and it looked like there were several tear stains on it. Joyce couldn’t remember if they were hers, or Buffy’s. She sighed again, and put her hand on the phone. She’d call Hank first. Then the police, if he thought they should.
The phone rang under her hand. Startled, she snatched it up. “Hello?”
“Mom. It’s me.”
She felt her heart stop beating. “Buffy? Buffy, where are you?”
“I’m safe, Mom. Don’t worry about me.”
Tears started pricking at her eyes. “Please come home. I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it. I’d give anything for you to come home again.”
Buffy was quiet for a moment. “I’ll come home soon, Mom. Just give me a few days. Then I’ll come home. All right?”
An enormous sense of relief washed over her. Her daughter was coming home, back where she belonged. “Why a few days, Buffy? Why can’t you come home now?”
“I just need a few days. That’s all. Then I’ll be home and I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
“But Buffy, where *are* you? Tell me. Please.”
“’Bye, Mom.”
The line went dead. Joyce blinked at the receiver for a few minutes, then laid it down gently. Buffy hadn’t sounded scared, or cold, or miserable. A little sleepy, but not terrible. There hadn’t been any horrible noises in the background. She’d have to trust that her daughter spoke the truth: she was safe, and she could take care of herself. Tomorrow, she’d go see the man Buffy called Giles. Find out where her daughter was. *What* her daughter was. Right now, she felt as if she couldn’t face anything more than a hot bath. The truth could wait. It was too frightening to deal with now.
***
Buffy fell back on the bed. “Angel?”
He was putting the telephone back on the table he’d taken it from. “Yeah?”
“Could you hand me my bag?”
He smiled. “At your service, miss.” He lifted her big leather duffel off the floor beside the bed and dumped it beside her. He watched as she unzipped it, rummaged inside for a minute, and pulled out a very familiar stuffed pig.
After he put the bag back on the floor, he straightened and reached out to touch her face. “Spending some quality time with Mr. Gordo?”
Buffy smiled and closed her eyes, already half asleep. “Night,” she mumbled, kissing his fingertips as she rolled over to bury her head in the pillows.
Angel watched her sleep for the second time that night. He felt so protective of her. She was so vulnerable on the inside, even while she showed a tough face to the world.
He sighed and stood up, stretching. He pulled a pillow from under Buffy’s head, careful not to wake her, and then bent and yanked one of his extra blankets from underneath the bed. He dumped them on the big overstuffed chair in the main room of the apartment. Willow and Giles said that the ritual couldn’t be broken, but no point in taking chances.
He yawned. Sleep sounded like a *very* good idea, but first.... He headed for the refrigerator. He’d gone out and gotten some blood while Buffy had been asleep yesterday, and although the thought of drinking blood once again revolted him, he *was* hungry. The same battle he always fought. He kept thinking, maybe, maybe if I don’t drink it, then *maybe* the demon will die, and I’ll be normal again. *Maybe*.
But the hungrier he became, the harder the demon fought, and that led to things like screaming, and breaking things, and he *really* didn’t want to wake Buffy up, and....
.....he drank the blood.
Giles stood in front of a shelf of books, muttering to himself as he reshelved several volumes. “Stupid cleanup crew.... couldn’t just pile the books on a table and let *me* deal with them.... now I have to completely redo the whole job....” In one of his few pauses, he heard the door swing open. With some trepidation, he peered around the edge of the shelf to see who was in the library on a summer weekend.
Joyce Summers, Buffy’s mother, sat at one of the library tables, staring at her hands, which were folded in front of her. Without looking up, she asked, “Do you know where she is?”
He walked over to the table and laid down his pile of books. “Didn’t she call? I told her to.”
Joyce nodded. “She called. She said she’d be home in a few days. I don’t want her home in a few days, I want her home *now*! Do you know where she is?” The woman’s head had snapped up, and her eyes were flashing. For the first time, Giles saw the resemblance between mother and daughter.
Warily, he sat down across from her. “She’s... she’s very tired, Mrs. Summers. She said that she just wanted to....er.... rest, for a few days. She needs time to... to heal.....”
She interrupted him. “Why can’t she heal at home? Where is my daughter?”
Giles sighed and rested his elbows on the table, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know exactly. I mean, I know where she was going, but I don’t know her exact location. You have to trust her, Mrs. Summers. She’s a responsible, level-headed girl. She just wanted a few days of rest before she had to start explaining everything.” He paused. The pain on her face made him go against his better judgment, and offer more information. < Buffy is *not* going to be pleased with me..... > “I think..... if you *really* can’t wait a few days, there’s a place where she *might* be, later... after dark. I think she’s been spending most of her time sleeping.... she was very tired after her ordeal. But tonight....”
Joyce leaned forward eagerly. “Where?”
“The graveyard.” She started to say something, but he held up a hand to silence her. “She will only be there after dark, and chances are she won’t be alone. I think you know Angel. Or rather, you talked with his demon. If she’s there, he will most likely be there too.”
“Angel, her boyfriend? The one she broke up with? The one she.....” Joyce trailed of, even more confused than before, if that was possible. “Would you mind explaining some of this to me?”
“Yes, I think that would be best. Wait here a minute.” Giles disappeared into his office, and returned several minutes later with two cups of tea. He resumed his seat across from Joyce, and placed one of the cups in front of her. “You have a long time until sunset. Perhaps this will distract you slightly.”
He cleared his throat and took a sip of tea. < Here goes nothing. > “In every generation there is a Chosen one. She alone must stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of Darkness. She is the Slayer......”
***
It was very dark in the graveyard. Joyce shivered, pulling her coat around her more tightly. < How could she come out here every night? So brave..... > She looked around, searching the darkness desperately for any sign of her daughter. She’d been out here for at least an hour, and she’d seen nobody. < Well, he *did* say that she might not come. >
Suddenly she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned, and saw Buffy, arm in arm with a taller, dark-haired man. < Angel.... > They had their backs to her, and were walking along slowly. She could hear the murmur of their voices. Buffy laughed, and Joyce closed her eyes. < I haven’t heard her laugh like that in a long, long time.... > She couldn’t wait anymore. Taking a step forward, she called out. “Buffy!”
Angel turned first, snarling, and she shrank back at the sight of his face. It was twisted and deformed, and his fangs gleamed white in the moonlight. As soon as he saw her, though, the snarl died down. He stepped back, looking slightly ashamed. In the meantime, Buffy had also whirled around. “Mom? What are you doing here?” She glanced at Angel. “I’ll be with you in a minute, all right?”
“All right,” her mother agreed faintly. She leaned against a gravestone, forcing herself to take deep breaths, never taking her eyes off her daughter. Buffy was talking softly to Angel, whose face remained.... well, not human. As she watched, Buffy smiled at him, stood on her tiptoes, and reached up to kiss that horrible face...... Then she turned and started toward her mother, while Angel went to lean against the wrought-iron fence that encircled the graveyard.
“Mom, why did you come here? How did you know where to find me?” Buffy was confused, and also wary.
“Why...” Joyce’s voice caught in her throat, and she cleared it and tried again. “Why did he do that?”
“Who?” She looked puzzled. Following her mother’s gaze, she ended up looking at Angel. “Oh, Angel? He was startled, and he’s a little nervous right now anyway. He didn’t know it was you. I just sent him over there until he calms down.” She spoke easily, not sounding worried or scared in the least.
“How can you...” This time Buffy knew immediately what she was talking about.
“...kiss him?” She shrugged. “I don’t even notice it anymore. He’s still Angel, underneath. I didn’t fall in love with him because of his face.” She paused. “Well, not *entirely* because of his face....” Smiling, she looked back at Angel. Then she turned to Joyce. “Why did you come, Mom? I told you I was coming home in a few days. We can talk then. How did you know to come here?”
Her mother straightened, releasing her death grip on the gravestone. “I went to the library to talk to your Mr. Giles. He told me that you might be here. And he explained some other things, too.”
A look of sadness mixed with relief passed over Buffy’s face. “Oh.” She looked down at her hands for a moment, twisting an unfamiliar silver ring on her finger. When she looked back up, she was smiling resignedly. “Then I guess I don’t have to. That’s a relief.”
“Buffy, I understand things better now. I still don’t like it. But he made me see that I have to accept it.” She stopped, swallowing hard. “This is difficult. I’m sorry about the things I said. I didn’t understand. Now I do. I apologize.”
Tears were brimming in her daughter’s eyes. “It’s ok, Mom. I should have tried a little harder to explain. I was just scared.... I didn’t have time to think. I was worried about Giles, and scared about fighting Angel.... I wasn’t thinking at all. It was all instinct by then.”
They stood in silence for a few minutes, looking at each other. Finally, Joyce spoke. “When will you come home?”
“In a little while. Day after tomorrow, maybe?” Buffy paused. “I’m staying with Angel. Did Giles tell you that, too?”
Her mother nodded. “He told me.... how much Angel means to you. And I think I understand that now, too. When I heard you laugh... I haven’t heard you laugh like that since.... your birthday, I suppose. If he’s what makes you happy, be with him.” Joyce smiled suddenly. “Of course, I have to say my two mothering words. Be careful.”
Buffy smiled back. “I will.” She looked at her mother uncertainly. “Do you.... do you want to meet him? He’s not like he was when he talked to you, I promise. That wasn’t really him. He’s great.” Her eyes were pleading. “I want you to meet him, so that you’ll stop worrying. He watches out for me, when I’m patrolling. He’s as strong as I am, so he can fight too. It helps. It doesn’t mean that I’m completely safe, but I’m saf*er*.”
Joyce studied her daughter’s face. She looked just like any teenager, nervous about introducing her boyfriend, wanting approval. It was reassuring, somehow. “All right,” she said finally. “But just for a minute. It’s getting cold.”
Buffy’s eyes lit up, and she rushed over to where Angel still leaned against the fence. She talked rapidly, and then they walked back over to Joyce. She was relieved to see that Angel’s features had settled back into their somewhat familiar, handsome arrangement. His eyes were different from the last time she’d seen him, though. They looked.... guilty. Sad. < Well, she said he wasn’t the same.... >
“Mom, this is Angel. You’ve sort of met before, but he’s not my history tutor, and he’s.... he’s not like he was the second time you met him, either. That is, he looks the same, but he’s not the same, he’s lots nicer, honest.....”
“Buffy?” It was Angel.
“What?”
“You’re babbling.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Angel glanced at Buffy, and she sighed. “You’d better tell her.”
“Two hundred and forty one.”
Joyce blinked. “Ah. Older.” There was a rather awkward pause, and then she nodded briskly. “Well, I should.... be getting home, I suppose. Take good care of my daughter.” He smiled and nodded. “Buffy, take care of yourself, and come home soon.” She held out her arms, and after a moment, Buffy threw herself into them, hugging her mother tightly. “I love you, Buffy.”
Buffy sniffled. “I love you too, Mom. And I promise I’ll come home soon.”
***
After Buffy’s mother left, Buffy and Angel continued their walk around the graveyard. Neither spoke, content to just be together.
Angel stopped, suddenly, and Buffy almost tripped over his feet. “What?” she asked worriedly. “What is it?”
Angel pointed. A few hundred yards in front of them, a familiar tweed-clad figure stood in front of a grave. As they watched, he lowered himself to one knee and laid the bunch of roses he’d brought near the headstone. Then he rested his forehead on his knee. They could see his shoulders shaking slightly.
Buffy looked up at Angel. His face was twisted in pain and guilt. “We should probably leave him alone,” she said, drawing his attention away from the sad tableau. “He’ll be all right.”
Slowly, they turned and walked away, leaving Giles alone with his grief.