Leaving
By Starcrossed
I stand on the lush, green grass just a few feet away from the waiting helicopter. My eyes desperately scan the surrounding perimeter, as I hope against hope to see a flash of long blonde hair. I know it’s a foolish wish, but part of me still refuses to give up. It’s the same part of me that has kept me hanging on all these months to a love that no longer existed.
Hell, whom do I think that I am kidding? I don’t think it ever existed, at least not for her. I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I loved her with everything I had, but that same part of me also knows that she never returned my feelings. I was a convenience to her, nothing more and nothing less. I know that, now, but still, I stand here, praying that she will show up and give me a reason not to leave.
Midnight comes and the commander of the mission I’ve agreed to go on hollers for me to get my ass into the chopper. It’s time to go and the military waits for no one. So, I turn on my heel, and climb aboard the ‘whirli-bird,’ taking a seat next to my old friend, Graham.
As the helicopter lifts off of the ground, I close my eyes, and let my mind drift back, recalling exactly how I got to this point in time.
<><><><>
It’s two nights ago, and Buffy and I are dancing in the living room of her mom’s house. Earlier in the day, we’d gotten the good news that her mom was expected to make a full recovery. Dawn has been shipped off to Xander and Anya’s for the night, so that Buffy and I can have some much needed ‘alone’ time.
I tried my damndest to be here for Buffy through every aspect of Joyce’s fight against brain cancer. Of course, Buffy never once throughout the entire ordeal allowed herself to need me. My role in all of this hasn’t been more than window dressing. She never once broke down and cried, or talked to me about how she was feeling. Half the time, she didn’t even bother to keep me informed of what was going on with Joyce.
The caring, loving, believing, and trusting fool in me has excused and forgiven her for all of that, though. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s been like for her having to watch her mother fight against a life-threatening illness, not to mention having to take care of Dawn and the house and everything else in addition to her Slayer responsibilities.
Now that we are alone, though, she’ll cry on my shoulder. She will let me hold her and comfort her and whisper soothing words in her ear. She’s simply one of those people that keeps her feelings inside until the crisis has passed. Now, that it’s all over and we know that Joyce will make a full recovery, Buffy will allow me to play the role of caring boyfriend.
We dance, and we kiss, and we talk. I tell her how much I admire the inner strength she’s shown through all of this and comment on the fact that she never even cried. She admits to me that she did indeed cry, so hard, in fact, that she was afraid that she might never stop.
This startling revelation hits me like a hard punch to the gut. She cried? When? How come I never knew? Exactly whose shoulder did she cry on, if it wasn’t mine?
I don’t say any of this out loud, of course. My only reply is a quiet ‘oh.’ She snuggles against my chest and I hold her tight, my face not showing a single sign of my inner pain. Now is neither the time nor the place to engage in a discussion about our relationship and what exactly it means to each of us.
Instead, when she stands on tiptoe and brings her lips to mine, I return her kiss, softly, at first, then with mounting passion. At least I’m still good for one thing, and that matters, right? Her hands slide up under the hem of my tee shirt and inch their way up until her fingers find my flat nipples and she tugs on them, eliciting a pleasured growl from me.
Wrapping a tight arm around her slender waist, I scoop her up into my arms, and head up the stairs to her bedroom. She is half-heartedly protesting that she’s too heavy and that I might drop her, but I don’t set her down until we reach our destination. Only then do I let go of her, gently depositing her on top of her bed.
She lies there, looking up at me, and grinning coyly. I kneel in front of her and remove her boots before toeing off my tennis shoes, and joining her on the bed. Stretching out beside her, I pull her into my arms and kiss her. This time, it’s my hand that travels up under her shirt until it comes into contact with the lacy cups of her bra.
I gently knead her breasts through the material, my fingers seeking out and finding her nipples, which I tug on ever so lightly. She raises up on her elbows and reaches for the hem of her shirt, trying to pull it up. I stop what I am doing long enough to help her, and remove her bra as well.
She lies back down on the bed, naked from the waist up. I move my body until it is covering hers, taking care to keep my weight braced on my elbows. I am the consummate considerate lover, as always. Taking her mouth with mine once more, I fill my hands with her bare breasts, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger.
Her hips arch into mine and she mewls low in her throat, giving me my cue to proceed. I kiss my way down her naked upper torso until I reach the waistband of her jeans. Quickly, yet nimbly, I undo her button fly and tug on the denim, freeing her of it, and taking her panties off as well.
While I am up, I shrug off my own clothing and return to the bed naked, my erection jutting out proudly. Its not quite time for that, however, not until I take care of her needs. Parting her legs, I move between them until my lips are mere inches from her neatly trimmed mound. I slide my forefinger between her wet folds, and trace the tip of it up and down the length of her slit.
“Riley,” she begs. “Riley, please…”
I bring my mouth to her warm core, my tongue darting out to tease her clit. Ever so slowly, I insert a finger into her. When she arches up to meet the pressure of my tongue and finger, I add a second digit, and begin moving them in and out.
It doesn’t take long until she grasps hold of the bed sheet and cries out my name as she climaxes. I raise my head from between her legs to watch her, utterly enthralled by how beautiful she is. When she finally starts to come down from her blissful high, she reaches her arms out to me.
I move up the bed until my body is poised over hers, and I reach into her nightstand draw, extracting a condom. I hand it to her and watch as she tears the foil packet open and then rolls the latex over my erection. With hands braced on either side of her body, I move forward, entering her in one sure, slow stroke.
She moans and her legs come up to wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper. I willingly oblige and begin gently thrusting in and out; my eyes locked onto hers. As I make love to her, I silently wish that I could see the love that I feel for her reflected back to me in her eyes. I think I know, though, that that will never happen.
Her hands reach for my back and she lightly drags her nails across my skin as she begins milking me with her inner muscles. I can’t hold back much longer, so I reach between our bodies, the pad of my thumb seeking out and finding her clit. I press down on it and she cries out as she starts to shudder around me.
Satisfied that she has climaxed, I allow myself to do the same. “I love you,” I say as my orgasm hits. She doesn’t say the words back to me, though. She never does. Instead, she nods her head and leans up to kiss me.
Afterward, I pull out of her and disappear into the bathroom momentarily to dispose of the condom. By the time I return, she has curled up on her side, with her back to my side of the bed. I lift the covers and slide under them.
“G’night,” I say softly, but she doesn’t reply. She’s already asleep.
I lie there wide-awake for what seems like the longest time, just staring at the ceiling and listening to Buffy breathe beside me. She didn’t even seem to notice the gauze bandage on my right arm much less bother to comment on it earlier. I reach up to touch it, running my fingers over the white material. As I do so, the wound beneath suddenly begins to itch and burn, almost as if it’s calling to me.
And in a way, it is. The terrible, horrible, secret ‘life’ I’ve been leading for the past few weeks has become more exciting, more exhilarating, and more addicting than anything I’ve ever done in my twenty-four years prior. The whole thing started out as a twisted way to ‘get even’ with Buffy for allowing both Angel and Dracula to drink from her. It soon turned into something much more, though.
I sit up and swing my long legs over the side of the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress for long moments while I fight an internal battle with myself. I have never once in the entire time I’ve been with Buffy left our bed in the middle of the night, even though she has done it plenty of times.
Twisting my neck slightly, I glance back over my shoulder at her sleeping form. Hell, what’s it going to hurt if I get up and leave? It’s not as if she’ll miss me, or ever notice, that I’m gone, at least not until she wakes up in the morning. If questioned by her later, I can always make up some lame excuse.
She doesn’t need me, at least not now that I’ve done my ‘part’ for her. I gave her a couple of orgasms, and she promptly drifted off to sleep. There is, however, someone, or should I say something out there that *does* need me, in a way that Buffy never could.
So, I get to my feet and gather my discarded clothing, pulling it on. With shoes in one hand, I pause at the doorway to the room, and look at Buffy one last time. I feel like a part of my heart hardens in that instant, but I don’t have time to think about it right now.
I quietly make my way downstairs, where I take a moment to put on my shoes, before letting myself out the front door, taking care to lock it behind me. Inhaling deeply of the crisp night air, I set off for an all too familiar destination.
<><><><>
24 hours later…
I am once again back at the ‘vampire den.’ I spent a good two hours here last night after leaving Buffy’s bed. Instead of satiating my need, though, it only seems to have made it worse. All day long, I found myself counting the hours until sundown, when I could return here.
My need is so great, tonight, that I am not at all picky. I settle on the first female vampire that comes up to me, and we head upstairs to one of the rooms. Unlike some of the other patrons of this establishment, I prefer my privacy when I come here.
I can tell right away that she is a fledgling and therefore very unsure of herself, or what she’s supposed to do. I bark a few instructions at her, and she soon gets the hang of it. Only, she isn’t sucking hard enough on my arm to satisfy me.
“Harder!” I order in a firm, callous voice.
Then, I hear a gasp that I know didn’t come from the vamp sucking on my arm. I know that voice. Looking up, I see a stunned Buffy standing in the doorway, her face full of shock, disgust, and disbelief.
I utter a single word. “Buffy…”
By the time I manage to disentangle myself from the fledging and get to my feet, she’s gone. That smug son-of-a-bitch, Spike, is standing in the doorway, though, and it suddenly occurs to me that he must have been the one to bring Buffy here. He probably followed me one night, and thought that he would ‘get in good’ with my girlfriend by revealing my secret life to her.
“We only came here because we care about you, friend. You need help.” He mockingly replies.
Before I can knock the shit out of him, he conveniently sidesteps me, and moves out of my way. As much as I’d like to kill him, my primary concern right now is Buffy. I’ll deal with Spike later.
By the time I make it down to the first floor, Buffy is nowhere to be found. I do, however, run into the vampire that runs this place. He grabs hold of my arm, stopping me, and asks me why the hell I brought the Slayer here. We get into a scuffle, but I manage to lay him out in a matter of seconds, and then tear out the front door. I’m too late, though, for I don’t see Buffy anywhere.
With my heart feeling heavy, I sigh and head home for the night.
<><><><>
Upon entering my apartment, I immediately sense that I am not alone. I reach for the wall switch and flip it on, illuminating the room in light. I am only half-surprised to find Graham there with some other military guys. Part of me has always suspected that the Army would try to get me back.
“Get out,” I tell them. I am tired, angry, and in no mood to deal with them.
A man I don’t know speaks. The bars on his chest immediately tell me that he is a major, but I don’t really give a shit. I tell him that I’m not in a talking mood.
“Then listen,” he replies.
Before I can answer, my old friend, Graham speaks up, telling me to give the major a chance. So, I listen, but only because Gray asked me to. The major gets right to the point, thankfully. Seems they have a real bad demon situation down in South America and they want me to go with them. He gives me until midnight the following night to make my decision.
<><><><>
After a restless night, during which I did a lot of thinking, I get up with a renewed sense of purpose. I’ve got things to do, today, and people to deal with. After a quick shower, I dress and head out to my first destination - Spike’s crypt. That slimy little bastard is going to pay for bringing Buffy to the vampire den.
He’s there, of course, just like I suspected he’d be. It’s not like he gets out much during the day unless he takes to the sewers. I storm in without even bothering to knock. He is sitting in an armchair, clutching a bottle of whiskey. Without a word to him, I stride over and yank him up by the front of his tee shirt.
“What took you so long?” He asks with a cocky look in his blue eyes. “Guess it takes awhile to get your full strength back after those bites…”
Instead of answering, I slam him into the nearest wall.
A brief look of alarm flashes in his eyes. “Hey. Hey. Let’s be reasonable about this.”
“You may have noticed, Spike, I left reasonable about three exits back.” My nostrils are flaring and I’m breathing heavy.
“Look, I’m not the one who got you into this. I mean, don’t kill the messenger,” he halfway pleads with me.
I don’t answer him, but instead, reach into my leather jacket for the weapon I’d placed there earlier. Before he knows what’s happening, I’m shoving a stake through his unbeating heart.
“Why the hell not?” I finally reply.
It takes Spike several long moments to realize that he’s not turning into dust. During which, he cries out in agony from the pain.
I finally pull the ‘stake’ out of him and look at it, then him.
“Plastic wood grain,” I explain. “Looks real, doesn’t it?”
He slumps against the wall, clutching a hand over his wound.
“Stay away from her,” I warn. “Or next time, we do this for real.”
The bastard begins to laugh. I can’t believe that he’s slumped in front of me, laughing.
“Oh… man… you’re really under it, aren’t you?”
“What?” I ask in return, not quite sure what he’s getting at.
“Look at you,” he eyes me up and down. “All afraid I’m hot for your honey…”
“Because you are,” I coolly reply.
“Well – yeah,” he admits. “But that’s not your problem. Even if I wasn’t in the picture, you’re never going to be able to hold onto her…”
He’s pissing me off, mostly because I’m starting to realize that there is much truth in what he is saying. It hurts, much like a knife twisting in my heart, and I want to make him hurt for saying the words. I reach out and grab hold of the hole in his chest, worming my fingers into it and pulling upward. This elicits a fresh wave of agonized cries from him, and that makes me feel just the tiniest bit better. At least I’m not the only one in pain, here, although mine is emotional and his is physical.
“Ahhh! Bloody hell…” he cries out.
I fix my gaze on him, locking my eyes onto his. “Maybe I didn’t almost kill you enough…”
It is obvious that he is in a world of pain, but he manages to speak anyway. “Come on. You’re not the long haul guy and you know it…”
“Shut up,” I harshly mutter.
“You know it, or you wouldn’t be getting suck jobs from two bit vampire trulls.”
That cuts me to the quick, but I don’t say anything.
“Girl needs some monster in her man, and it’s not in your nature. No matter how low you try to go.”
I let go of him and he skulks away from me, returning to his armchair and his bottle of whiskey. He uncorks it and takes a good long swallow.
“Do you actually think you’ve got a shot with her?”
“No, I don’t,” he admits. “Fellow’s gotta do what he can, though. Got to try.”
“You touch her, you know I’d kill you, for real,” I threaten.
“I had this chip out, I’d a killed you long ago.” He pauses, as if for emphasis. “Ain’t love grand?”
He tosses the bottle of whisky my way and I catch it, uncorking it and taking a long swig.
“Sometimes I envy you so much it chokes me. And then sometimes I think I've got the better deal. To be that close to her and not have her... To be all alone even when you're holding her, feeling her, feeling her beneath you, surrounding you, the scent of -- no, you've got the better deal.”
I take a moment to consider what he’s just said, and then take another drink. “I’m the lucky guy. Yeah.”
<><><><>
After leaving Spike, I make up my mind. It’s time that I go see Buffy and have ‘the talk.’ I have put it off for far too long, now, mostly because I’ve been afraid of what might happen. My ‘secret’ is out, though, thanks to Spike, so I figure there is no time like the present.
I want things settled between us. I’m going to lay my cards on the table and allow the chips to fall where they may. She either loves me, or she doesn’t. I won’t accept any half-assed, middle of the road answer from her on that issue - not any more. I’ve been playing it Buffy’s way for way too long, now, and it’s time to do things my way.
This time of the day, I figure she’s probably working out in the Magic Box’s training room before heading out on her nightly patrol. I arrive there just before dusk. Anya is closing up shop, and Xander is there, waiting to walk her home. A quick conversation with the two of them confirms the fact that Buffy is in the back room, so that’s where I head.
She’s beating the living shit out of a punching bag, and I stand in the doorway for long seconds, watching her. Finally, she acknowledges my presence by looking up, but I barely get a hard glance from her, and she resumes hitting the bag.
Stepping into the room, I finally speak. “We need to talk,” I say tersely.
“I’m not ready to talk to you yet,” she angrily replies.
I step in front of the punching bag and grab hold of it, effectively ending her work out.
Another angry glance from her, and she begins gathering up her things. I stand my ground.
“I’m serious,” she says. “Unless you want to fight…”
“So let’s fight,” I answer. “We need to have this out, Buffy. Right now.”
She turns to look at me, and when she speaks, her voice is filled with pain.
“And say what, Riley? What were you thinking? How long have you been lying to me?” She pauses for an instant. “Nothing you can say right now is going to make it better.” She tries to move past me, but I grab hold of her upper arm, stopping her.
“I realize that,” I reply. “I don’t expect… I just need you to hear me out.” My voice remains amazingly calm, even though I’m screaming on the inside for her to sit up and take notice of me. Just once, I want her to hear me, and know that she’s really listening.
Long seconds pass before she agrees. “Fine. But get your hands off me.” Those last words sting, but I suppose I deserve it.
I let go of her, then begin my ‘explanation.’
“I think - I... when this thing started, it was just some stupid, immature game. I wanted to even the score after you let Dracula bite you…”
She interrupts me. “I did not let him…”
This time, it’s me cutting her off. “I know. On some level I know that. But I was still spun, and, I don't know... I wanted to know what you felt, I wanted to know why Angel and Dracula had so much power over you…”
I can see I’m not getting through to her. She shakes her head as if to say that my reasons for doing what I did are stupid and childish. “You so don’t get it…”
“I wanted to get it, Buffy. I wanted to get you…” I’m almost pleading with her.
She still isn’t getting where I’m coming from, though, that much is obvious. I shouldn’t be surprised. When all is said and done, it’s still always about her - everyone else’s needs and wants be damned.
“So this is my fault? Gee, Buffy's so mysterious - I think I'll go almost die. I think I'll let some other woman...” she stops, almost as if realizing for the first time exactly what I might have been doing with those female vamps. She doesn’t say another word.
As angry and as frustrated as I am right now, I still can’t stand to see her hurting. I try once more to explain and in the process, shift the blame to myself. “This isn't your fault. It's mine. And I feel like hell for what I've put you through. But it's just - these girls…”
“Vampires. Killers.” She fills in.
I ignore that last statement and continue, pulling out all the stops. “They made me feel something. Something I didn't even know I was missing until…”
She starts to move past me again, as if she doesn’t want to hear anymore. “I can’t. I can’t hear this.”
I grab her by the arm, again, knowing that I am risking my own limbs by doing so, but I’m about half past give a damn by now. I have to make her understand if it’s the last thing I do. “You need to hear this…”
Her face is a study in barely controlled anger. “Fine. Tell me about your whores. Tell me what on earth they've been giving you that I can't.”
She wants to know why I went to the vampires and let them suck on me? Fine, I hope she’s ready for the answer. “They needed me Buffy…”
Once again, she cuts me off before I can finish. “They needed your money! It wasn’t about you.”
No, of course not, how could it possibly be about me? Don’t I know that the whole world revolves around Buffy? How dare I stand here and try to justify my actions to her, the Chosen One?
“No - on some basic level it was about me. My blood. My body. When they bit me, it was beyond passion... They wanted to devour me, all of me…”
The look on her face tells me that I’ve finally struck a nerve. “Why are you telling me this?”
I know I’ve hurt her, but somehow, it isn’t enough. I feel compelled to keep going, to give her more reasons.
“It wasn't real. I know. It was just physical. But the fact that I craved it, that I kept going back... Even if it was fleeting - they made me feel like they had such hunger for me...”
What I’m saying to her finally seems to sink in, all at once. “And – I don’t? Make you feel that way?”
How to answer that without hurting her more than I already have? I want to scream, ‘No, you don’t, and you never have! You’ve never once made me feel like anything more than a convenient roll in the hay! If just once, you’d shown me some small sign that you actually needed me, we wouldn’t be here right now, having this conversation.’
I don’t, however, say any of those things. I don’t say anything at all, and she seems to find the answer to her question in my all too pointed silence.
“How can you compare me to, to that?” She asks, her voice so full of pain that I almost want to pull her into my arms and comfort her. “ How can you say you understand what those vampires were feeling? You're not a passion to them, you're a snack! An idiotic, willing snack!”
I love her like I’ve never loved anyone else. I have given her all there is of me, and I’ve received next to nothing in return. She doesn’t think I understand what those vampires were feeling when they fed from me? Well, let me clue her in.
“I know exactly what they feel when they bite me - because I feel it every time we're together. It's like the whole world falls away - and all there is is you.”
It’s always tit for tat with Buffy, though. “And you don't think I care that way about you? How dare you tell me…”
I cut her off. “You keep me at a distance Buffy. You didn't even call me when your mom went into the hospital.”
Again, she turns things around to her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take care of you when I thought my mom was dying.”
That one hits below the belt. I want to grab hold of her and shake her until she quits being so damn self-righteous. Instead, I clench my hands into fists at my sides and grit my teeth.
“It’s about me taking care of you. It’s about letting me in so you don’t have to be on top of everything all the time…”
“But I do. See, that's part of what a slayer is. And that's really what this is about. You can't handle that I'm stronger than you.”
Of course – in her mind, that is what this all boils down to, her being the Slayer. Does she honestly think that I am so shallow, so insecure, that I can’t handle her being stronger than me? She really doesn’t know me at all. I can see that now.
“It’s hard sometimes, yes,” I admit. “But that’s not it…”
“Then what? What do you want from me Riley? I've given you everything I have. Every part of me, body and soul…”
Does she honestly believe that? Am I supposed to?
“You say that, but I don’t feel it,” I reply. I refuse to lie anymore.
“Well whose fault is that? Because I'm telling you - this is me. This is the package. And if it's so deficient that you need to get your kicks elsewhere then we have a real problem.” Her tone is icy, as is the look in her eyes.
I take a moment to process her words. Why I came here to talk to her, I’ll never know. It hasn’t done me a damn bit of good. Everything I’ve said, all of my explanations have fallen upon deaf ears. I guess I had to make one last attempt, though, for that’s simply my nature. I might as well give her my big news.
“They want me back, Buffy. The military. It's deep undercover. No contact with civilians.” I pause for a moment to allow my words to sink in. “The transport's leaving tonight.”
I can tell that she’s stunned. “Tonight? When were you going to tell me about this?” Her tone has now taken on a hint of accusation.
“I’m telling you now,” I reply simply.
“Are you going?
“I don’t know. If we can’t work this out…” I allow my voice to trail off.
“Then what? That’s it – goodbye?”
I can tell she’s getting angry again.
“You are unbelievable! You are giving me an ultimatum?”
“I’m not. I…”
She doesn’t allow me to finish. “You are! You expect me to get over it now or you’re gone!”
“I don’t. Buffy…” I am making one last effort to explain.
She doesn’t want to hear it, though, and tries to storm off. I move in front of her, blocking her escape. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No. I’ve heard enough. I’m not taking the blame for all of this…”
“I’m not asking you to,” I reply.
“Let me go, or I’ll…” she stops.
“What?” I ask a bit incredulously. “Hit me? Go ahead?”
She stares almost blankly at me. I want so much for her to feel something for me, anything.
“Come on, do it,” I taunt her.
“Get out of my way,” she threatens.
“I’m serious, Buffy. Hit me. Hit me."
She manages to get around me and grabs her things, making her way to the door.
The air metaphorically goes out of me in that instant. It’s really and truly over between us. There are going to be no second chances granted, at least not by her. That is crystal clear.
“I’m leaving, Buffy. Unless you give me a reason to stay, I’m leaving tonight.”
Her back is to me by now, and if I expected her to turn around, I’m sadly disappointed. She pauses for a moment, as if considering what I’ve just said, but then walks out the door without even a glance over her shoulder.
She has made her choice, and in doing so, has made mine for me. I’m leaving. I meant it when I said that to her just now. If she doesn’t want me and doesn’t love me, if she won’t even attempt to understand me and what I’ve been going through, then what reason is there for me to stay?
At least the military wants me. They need me, or more precisely, they need my skill and expertise. At least that’s something, though, and it’s a hell of a lot more than what I’m being offered here in Sunnydale. It’s a start of a new life.
<><><><>
Back to the present…
When I finally open my eyes again, we are up in the sky, surrounded by night as black as pitch. The stars are out, though, and it’s kind of pretty.
Buffy didn’t come to stop me, but then, I really didn’t expect her to, did I?
~Fin~