Once More (Part 9)


ONCE MORE PART NINE

There were many hours left in the night. They stood, he quietly incredulous, she seething and tired from years of anger. He wanted to say that he hadn't expected her to come. But he didn't know if her arrival brought her forgiveness. So Angel kept quiet as they stood, close to each other in the chilly autumn darkness, panting and sopping. Without a word, she started to run again, and even though he knew they wouldn't try to retaliate immediately after what she'd done to them he ran too. They kept running, slower and slower, as it occurred to Buffy that running wasn't going to cut it anymore, that she would have to turn around and face him now.

For the first time in years, she looked him straight in the eye, willing herself to keep composed. He was pale, frowning, afraid, but his body was still hard and rippled with the same unaged flesh. The wounds they had inflicted upon him at first had healed, obviously, for all that remained on his huge, bare, pristinely perfect chest was the large jeweled cross his captors had placed there. As they stopped, breathing hard in unison again, she pulled him out of full view and into a small alley. They weren't more than three blocks from the Bronze. They waited.

Still clutching the gun in one hand, Buffy gently laid a hand on the back of his neck, feeling goosebumps rise all over her body as she delicately pulled the gold chain of the cross over his head. Angel shut his eyes as the piece fell about his hair, leaving them shut as she flung it off behind them.

Buffy saw his bare chest arch, feeling a flood of memories return to her in the simple bend of his back, remembering old kisses and ignorance. It was so foreign to her now, the feeling of love for him. It was the same back that had placed his lips to hers, nine years ago, in the clandestine darkness of her bedroom. It was the same back she had been waiting to see. Buffy raised her head again and lifted the gun, backwards, letting the cool metal of its butt run over his smooth face. As he felt the black steel touch his warm skin, caressing it with the hand of a lover, Angel shut his eyes even more tightly. She didn't want to lay a hand on this face. It was the same. Age had touched her and he would always be the same.

She began to cry, thankful for the hot stinging tears slipping across her wet, dirty cheek. It made it better. Angel pulled the weeping Slayer close into him, letting her resistance melt as Buffy folded her gaunt, powerful body into his. Her skin touched his through the thin fabric of the dress. She could feel it. Buffy's sobs erupted through the enclosed stillness of the darkened alley. The gun fell to the floor, clattering noisily. Angel brought her head to rest against his chest, keeping his eyes shut.

There was something he needed to say. "You haven't changed."

*************

"I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow." Cordelia handed the bottle to Willow, running a hand through her loose, silky hair. It felt good that it was over, but she still hadn't gotten her life back. As if she was the only one involved in this ...

"Let's hope there is a tomorrow to deal with." Willow took a long swig, then passed it back. "I can't help wondering if she'll really succeed."

Cordelia, shocked by this lack of faith, set the whiskey down for a moment. "But -- but she has to. I mean, hasn't Buffy realized that this is her life? That it's her destiny? All the things Giles taught her."

"Yeah." Willow stared out into the blackness briefly, wondering where her friend was and if she would live to breathe another day. It was morning already. One day. He was one year older. "But look at her life. She gave up all that was hers to take, Cordelia. Left her friends, her lover, her second father, for God's sake. She has nothing and no one. And then she comes back and instead of trying to reconcile things ends up fighting for everyone's lives."

Bowing her head, the girl remembered all that had been there between them and how quickly Buffy threw it away. It pained her more than she liked to admit. "Willow, all I wanted to know was why. I didn't want an excuse for what she did. There isn't any. But she didn't even let me be a friend."

"I know you're hurting, still." The redhead buried her face in her hands. "But don't you think," she added, voice muffled under sudden tears, "that it's better to keep that blind rage rather than to know everything and have done nothing?"

Cordelia turned to her friend. "I know this isn't my battle." She groped for the words to say it. "And I know the three of you have had a history, far beyond me. But I *want to help*, Willow. I do. But nobody was interested in letting me in. You think I'm happy, that I have a perfect marriage and a perfect life? No. I have to hold auctions and stupid events, like this one, to get extra money off of the club. I'm in debt. And my husband ... well, my husband never lets me see who he really is. He's driven so hard to do well that he forgets I'm there. And it always comes back to me that maybe he would have wanted her more." Her voice turned bitter and hard. "She gave herself to him, willingly. Snubbed me, refused to attend our wedding, stole our happiness, and then seduced my husband. And MY pain is not enough at this moment? Is that it?" Bursting into tears, Cordelia flung her arms out, knocking over the bottle of liquor over, rolling and spilling its liquid until it reached the edge of the roof, sailing down into the dark.

"Look at me." Cordelia raised her head to meet Willow's, who was now sniffling to take away the salty tears that had stung her face. She shook it off. Somehow these late-night sessions weren't what they used to be. "You're twenty-five, Cordelia. You have so much ahead of you. You were raised easy, you lived easy, and you had some dangerous fun. It was great. You grew up, stayed rich, and married great. You have IT ALL. Get out of your world. Look at what she faced." Cordelia was silent. "The burden was never on YOU. Hell, it was never on me and I still felt it. But you never woke up and saw all Buffy carried for you. How would you feel if you weren't expected to grow up, get married, have a family? If your lifespan didn't go that far beyond high school? That kind of responsibility, you wouldn't know the first thing what to do with. And when it happened to her, when her last hope faded, there was nothing else for Buffy to do. She's running on empty, and she still is. She needs friends. And I don't think you can be one of them." Willow stood up and turned away proudly, ignoring Cordelia's shock. "Go suffer."

*********************

There was a rapping knock on the door. Xander got up and strode over to the peephole. "Yes?" Who could possibly be wanting to go to the Bronze at 2:30 in the morning? And through the back entrance?

"Delivery." Xander's hand folded over the stake in his trouser pocket. It did seem to be a deliveryman, truck and everything. Cordelia was still upstairs with Willow, there was no need to bother her.

He opened the door and the man, tall and mustachioed, thrust a clipboard into Xander's hands. "Sign here."

He did. "May I ask what this is, maybe? And why it's being delivered at all hours of the night?"

The man shook his head. "Hey, that's why they call us the twenty-five hour service. Any time, we're there. This was to this address, under the name Buffy Summers. You Buffy Summers?" The delivery man cocked an eyebrow sarcastically. "Don't look like a Buffy."

"No," Xander scowled, rolling his eyes. "Any charges?"

"Nope to that," the man answered, straightening his uniform and turning back towards the truck. "Enjoy your merchandise!"

It was too heavy for Xander to lift, probably a hundred pounds or more. So he left it at the door, entering the way he had come, through the back door. Who was delivering now? A "twenty-five hour" service? Probably a slip of the tongue, or a joke. At least they came through the delivery entrance. Xander sighed, walking back up the steps and inside the back door. He was almost to the table to try to find something that would lug the package up the stairs when the doorbell rang. "Now someone's at the front door?" This had better be either good or very vampirey, Xander told himself as he jogged over to the main entrance, across the dance floor. Or Buffy could have returned. Yes, that was probably it. Just the same, the stake was ready.

Xander flung open the huge door. There was no one there. He looked down, in disbelief at what he saw.

It was a birthday cake. A huge confection, the size of two wedding cakes. Layers and layers of black icing. And all over the edges, blood. From the way it smelled, human blood. Dripping and oozing from the thing. Xander cringed in disgust. There was writing on the top of it.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SLAYER! A huge, drooling, blood-soaked female vampire popped out of the cake, grabbing Xander by the neck and wasting no time in baring her fangs. "PREPARE TO DIE!"

And that was when the bomb went off.


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