Little Bitty Puzzle Pieces

By PJzallday

Respects

Though it was noon, Buffy was still bed when her friend buzzed from the lobby. On the way to answer the door, she glanced habitually in the mirror. Dressed in loose sweats and an oversized T-shirt, her tresses unwashed and hanging in tangles, Buffy was a mess. Pulling a clump of hair from one side, she winced at the sight of the still-healing lesions on her neck. What had she been thinking to have let that happen? Why had she taken such a great risk with Angel? And why hadn't it all ended with Angelus ripping her throat out? Shuddering at that thought, she finger-combed her hair to cover the wound then went to door.

"Willow," greeted the blonde with a weak smile. She spread her arms to welcome her friend with a hug that Willow accepted. "I'm glad you came." Even as the words passed her lips, she knew they were hollow. Buffy wanted to be happy to have her friend close. She wanted to be able to talk with someone about what had happened with Angel but she couldn't; Willow wouldn't understand.

"We tried to come earlier, but we couldn't change our tickets," Willow explained as the two broke their embrace. "As it is, I had to work a little magic to get myself on that flight." She grinned, pleased with her own joke.

Weeks before hearing of Cordelia's passing, Giles had already made arrangements to travel with a group of trainee slayers from Council Headquarters in England to California. Andrew made every effort to reschedule the flights, but there was no way, given the size of the group, that their needs could be accommodated. As a result, Willow and Giles arrived the morning of the funeral.

Buffy peered down the hall then noted, "Giles not with you?"

"He wanted to get the Slayers set up in Reseda before coming down," the witch explained. "You know: big scary harbinger of death and everything," she added with fingers raised like claws near her face.

Unconsciously, Buffy rolled her eyes. The "Chosen One" was annoyed when Giles had told her that he didn't want her to participate in the fight against the prophesied Beast of Amalfi. He thought the newer Slayers needed to gain some experience and confidence free from Buffy's influence or command. What they lacked in experience, they'd make up for in numbers, he was certain. But what did it matter? Buffy was building a new life beyond slaying and was only too happy to let someone else deal with the latest apocalypse.

"Here, let me get your bag," Buffy said as she waved her friend inside. "You must be really tired after your trip."

"Yeah. I could use a shower and a nap before…" the redhead trailed off awkwardly. "Before the funeral."

"Sure. You can have my room," offered Buffy, with a quick but not too subtle subject change as she carried her friend's bag into the smaller bedroom. "I'll share with Dawn."

***

Giles stepped away from the front desk of an economical but decent and conveniently located hotel that Andrew found on the internet. With several keys in hand, he called for the attention of the group of chattering young women gathered in the lobby. "Alright ladies."

As the Watcher began, the girls quickly quieted and some pulled out notebooks.

"You'll be staying four to a room." He passed a key to four of the older girls receiving a polite "thank you" from each one. "I've to attend to a personal matter. I hope to return later this evening. Do try to get some rest this afternoon. The next several days shall be quite taxing."

Giles was proud of his latest group of Slayers — or to be more accurate, proud of the authority he commanded. In spite of limited resources, the Watcher managed to provide what he felt was an excellent level of training for this lot of young women. Although time was limited, they'd been given a reasonably well-rounded slayer education including fighting and defensive techniques, demons identification and some problem solving skills. The group was green but motivated, and these Slayers worked well as a team and in smaller groups. Giles was confident they would succeed in their first real-life challenge.

***

As Buffy pulled the car into the Funeral Home lot and parked, she was lost in thought. The last funeral she'd attended — in other than Slayer-capacity — was her mother's nearly three years earlier. She'd been numb. Going through the motions. Doing what needed to be done: filing papers, choosing flowers and the casket, and making other arrangements. Anything but mourning. She couldn't let herself fall apart; Dawn needed her. But finally, when everything was done and her mother had been laid to rest, he was there: her Angel. Now Buffy felt she had to be there for him.

This was Cordelia's funeral. She'd been someone special in his life, a fact with which Buffy still had trouble dealing and didn't fully comprehend because… well, this was Cordelia. But Angel had loved her and lost her; he was grieving now — all things Buffy understood far too well — and he needed support.

"Buffy?" Dawn leaned through the rear car door. "Are you… coming in?"

"In a minute, OK Dawnie?" she replied glancing with watering eyes into the rear-view mirror. "You go ahead with Willow." Somehow, even though she tried to focus on Angel and his loss, she couldn't help but think of her own. Her mother. Spike. So many of those important "developmental years" of her life. All lost in a crater on the California coast.

"Kinda funny what funerals make you think of," a gentle but somewhat nasal voice said.

"Oh Lorne. Is it time?" Buffy asked as she brushed away the tears that she only now realized were streaming down her cheeks.

"Not yet, honey," the demon replied. "I was just out here warming up for my solo. Couldn't help catchin' the vibes you're sendin' out."

The melancholic woman strained to smile and look up at the sympathetic being. In so doing, she was struck by how odd he looked. He was dressed very conservatively in a dark charcoal suit with a black shirt and grey striped tie, all entirely appropriate for the sombre occasion but quite out of character given Lorne's typically flashy style. Still it was his actual physical appearance which most surprised Buffy because standing there in the overcast light of day, Lorne appeared entirely human. No horns. Green skin replaced with a lovely golden brown. Warm chestnut eyes and a bright white smile.

"Um… Lorne?"

"What is it, doll?" he asked. "Do I have something on my face?" Patting his cheeks, Lorne grinned and winked knowingly. "Just a little glamour I had one of the gals at the office perform. Don't want to draw too much attention given the situation. But enough about me," he insisted as he crossed behind the car to the passenger door and climbed inside. "I think you could use a little help. Isn't that right?"

***

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Chase?" said a mousey young woman uneasily offering a hand. "My name's Winifred Burkle. I was a good friend of your daughter."

"Yes, Cordelia spoke fondly of you," the man replied stiffly, giving her hand a quick shake. Clearly he was trying to be strong for his wife who had been reduced to dramatic tears on his opposite arm.

With a sympathetic smile, Fred added meekly, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Would you excuse us?" Mr. Chase asked Fred before turning to his wife. "I think we should go take our seats."

"Sure," Fred replied. As the grief-stricken parents moved out of earshot, Fred began to mutter, "Well that was incredibly awkward. You'd think with the number of people you've consoled over the past few years that you could come up with something better than 'I'm sorry for your loss' to say to the parents of one of your closest friends, not that she was all that close the last year, what with the rising to a higher plain then coming back not knowing who she was, only for us to discover she's sleeping with-" She stopped abruptly when she noticed a number of the other mourners staring. "Could anything be more embarrassing?" she asked aloud. "I'm still doing it aren't I? Excuse me. I see someone who... knows how to stop me from running on like this." Quickly she left the foyer and headed inside the chapel where she noticed Wesley and Gunn had appeared with Angel.

***

It was an odd place for a vampire to be: mid-day, sitting on the aisle in the front row of a funeral chapel. He'd lost people before, people he cared about. Darla ended her own existence so that their baby could live. Buffy died to save the world from untold hell. Doyle lost his life to save an innocent peaceful species. They died heroically, sacrificing themselves for the greater good. But that simply wasn't the case with Cordelia.

A dozen feet away was her casket, topped with white lilies and roses, and a propped-up frame at its head. The photo was from a happier time of a beautiful young woman with sleek shoulder length chocolate brown hair, the slightest hint of a smile and cheerful wide hazel eyes. Staring into those eyes, Angel remembered those earlier days before Jasmine, before the Beast, before Connor returned, before he was taken away... when they were fighting evil instead of each other. Even then, Cordelia had suffered the excruciating pain of her visions. Pain she accepted in order to help others; pain she accepted to help Angel. And for those years of suffering, she was "rewarded" with the manipulation of her mind and her body, isolation from her friends and family, and ultimately a premature senseless death.

"What a waste," he whispered softly.

Focusing his attention elsewhere he could hear the quiet murmurs and sobs from others in the building. For an instant, he sensed her presence: Buffy was here. Without thinking, he breathed in wanting to find comfort in her scent. Instead his vampire sense was met with the cloying odour of flowers and the nauseating stench of disinfectant and death — an awful reminder of a lost life… friendship… love: Cordelia.

***

"We gather together to say goodbye to our dear friend, Cordelia…"

"Shit!" Buffy cursed under her breath as she nervously entered the chapel. After singing a few bars of "Another Postcard" along with the Barenaked Ladies on the radio and talking with Lorne afterward about what he'd seen in her aura, Buffy stayed in the car composing herself before going inside. Now, noting Angel seated up front with his friends, she slipped onto a pew on the opposite side of the aisle at the back. Hardly listening to the officiant, instead the confused woman mulled over what Lorne had said. He hadn't actually told her anything didn't already know, deep down. Lorne had only compelled Buffy to look inside herself — she didn't like what she saw.

In the wake of the apocalypse, the senior-most Slayer believed she deserved the chance to be like any ordinary person. Over and over in the days following their exodus from the crater, one phrase that kept coming up was "now you can have a normal life" and although she intended to start living, Buffy really hadn't. Since the closing of the Hellmouth and the destruction of Sunnydale, Buffy hadn't gone back to school; she hadn't gotten a job or even looked for one; and she'd patrolled infrequently. When asked why she'd backed away from slaying, Buffy tried to convince Lorne (and herself) that she was doing other important things and spending quality time with Angel while he wasn't working. In reality, Buffy wasn't patrolling because when she wandered alone through the local cemeteries, she thought of Spike. She was listless during the day because she wasn't sleeping well at night. She didn't sleep well because when she lay alone in bed, she often thought of Spike. Now sitting in the chapel where others sat mourning the loss of a friend, Buffy was thinking of Spike. But she didn't want to think about Spike; he was gone. He was part of her past and she'd put all her hopes for the future into a life of love with Angel.

Lorne made her examine her relationship with Angel too. When she was in high school, Buffy had given Angel almost everything she had: her trust, her love, her body. That "everything" was great and powerful, for it had given the lonely sullen vampire "pure happiness". In exchange, Buffy received ridicule and torment. She lost that perfect love when Angel became Angelus. In the years after, Buffy tried to find with other guys, a love like what she had with Angel. No one ever measured up. No one else could ever be Angel.

***

On the chilly December night, the solitary vampire stood at Cordelia's grave. He closed his eyes for a pensive moment then in an instant knew he was no longer alone.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner," Buffy said softly as she moved to stand beside him.

Pulling a hand from deep in his coat pocket, he unclenched his fist and reached for the tiny hand beside him. When his fingers brushed her palm, Buffy flinched reflexively and pulled away. Angel grimaced then opened his eyes allowing a tear to fall; Buffy cursed herself. Together they stood in silence staring at the freshly turned soil.

"I was at the service…"

"I know," he whispered hoarsely. "And it was… nice to have you there."

The quiet returned.

"Angel?" The apprehensive young woman swallowed hard as she tried to compose in her head what she had to tell him. "I've made a decision."

He turned to her with a sorrowful and distant expression; his wide dark eyes looking to her for answers.

"I'm going to go back with Giles. For Christmas. He invited Dawn and me." Her phrases were choppy but she was saying what needed to be said. "I don't think it's good for you and me to be together. And I think the other night… well, kinda proved that."

Ashamed, he dropped his head. "Buffy, I'm sorry about that. I-"

"There's no need. You're still you," she tried to comfort. "And that's a good." The fragile woman smiled sadly, averting his eyes. "But you scared me the other night," she revealed. "And I don't know whether it was the reminder that Angelus is still a part of you or the fact that our being together didn't… didn't free your soul, but…"

"Buffy-"

"You said it yourself: you had a life without me. I had a life too." Both of their hearts were breaking at her words. "And now I just think it would be better if we… let go of the past. Yours. Mine. Ours. What we had years ago… we'll never have that again. We've both changed."

He just nodded glumly and turned away.

"I'm sorry."

 

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