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Part 3
“Everything seems good. You seem to be in amazing health, Ms. Summers,” Dr. Turner said, glancing at Buffy’s chart. She smiled brilliantly at the middle-aged physician. Since Angel didn’t seem to have a last name she’d just kept her own when they got married, and he’d taken it as well, for things like getting his books published.
“I thought so. I just had a nosebleed the other day, and a few dizzy moments, and suddenly my boss was insisting I come in for a check-up. I told him nothing was wrong!”
“Yes, well, I believe you’re absolutely right . . . there’s just one thing we’ll have to wait to get the results on, but you look great. In every sense of the word,” he assured her. Buffy smiled.
“Thank you Doctor. Thank you very much. So you’ll get the results in a few days?” she asked.
“Right. I’ll give you a call when we get them in.”
“Thanks. Have a nice day,” Buffy said, picking up her purse and getting ready to leave the doctor’s office.
“You too.” Buffy waved a cheery good-bye and walked out of the office and out of the building in a good mood. She’d known there was nothing wrong. After all, she was the Slayer. She didn’t get sick. Plus, she felt fine . . . when she wasn’t having a dizzy spell. Which was most of the time, after all.
Buffy glanced at her watch as she walked out of the building. Not enough time to go gloat to Giles, unfortunately. She had an appointment in twenty minutes, and she wanted to be there a little early. She unlocked her car—a red convertible Angel bought her when she turned twenty-five. There were advantages to having a husband that wrote best-selling books.
She pulled out of the parking lot easily and turned onto the street her office was on, reflecting on how eternally thankful she was everyone had accepted Angel when she finally had the courage to tell them he was alive. It had been eight years, but the fear was still vivid. What if Giles had hated him? She couldn’t have blamed him. After all, Angelus had tortured him for hours, and he’d killed the woman Giles loved. Those weren’t things you could just forget. She’d been afraid about Xander too . . . he’d never liked Angel, even when he had his soul. How would he react to know that Angel was back and Buffy still loved him. How would they all react to know that they were still together, even though the last time they’d loved each other it had caused tragedy?
She couldn’t tell them without assurance it wouldn’t happen again. She knew that. She couldn’t do it. And the assurance couldn’t be that she would stay away from Angel. She couldn’t do that either. He was a part of her, and she couldn’t give him up. There had to be another solution.
Willow was the one that found it. Of course. Buffy waited in fear as she cast the new spell—waited for a sign, something, anything. There was nothing? Had it worked? Only one way to tell.
Willow borrowed Giles’ orb (without his knowledge, of course) and holed herself up in Buffy’s room, where Angel could no longer come. She prepared, and so did Buffy. She seduced him that night, and they made love as they had wanted to for so long. When Buffy woke the next morning, Angel lay beside her, and kissed her when she woke and promised that he would always be there, every time, and Buffy cried, but they were tears of joy, and called Willow to say there was no need for the curse after all.
It was still hard to tell them. They had suprised her though. Giles was shocked, and angry that she hadn’t told him, but ultimately glad that she was happy. Cordelia was angry too, until she heard that Angel couldn’t lose his soul again. Oz was happy, since Willow was. Which left only Xander.
“Buffy said she thought you would forgive me. You really did though, didn’t you?” were the first words out of his mouth when he saw Angel. The vampire nodded. “Why?” Xander asked.
“Because you did what you thought was right. Because you did it for her. Because you probably were right,” Angel answered softly. Xander blinked, and the suddenly smiled and held out his hand.
“My man?” he asked, and Angel smiled and shook his hand.
“Just don’t call me Dead Boy and we’ll make it official,” he said.
“Done.” And that was that, and Buffy was happy. And at her office.
She parked her car and hopped out, going in the door with the easy assurance of someone who knows she’s the boss. Well, in a way, anyway. Of her secretary.
“Hey Buffy,” the secretary in question said, greeting her with a wave.
“Hey June,” Buffy said, greeting her, and stopping by her desk. June, a college student that worked part time handed her a soda and a bag of M&Ms.
“Mike’s first, then Erin, and then Jason,” she said.
“Peanut?” Buffy asked, looking at the M&Ms.
“Of course!” June said in a mock offended tone. “He’ll be here in ten minutes, so I’d get to work if I were you.” Buffy laughed and walked into her office, putting down the drink and candy on her desk, and going to work making the office suitable for her first client. He arrived five minutes late—as usual—and came in to a rather messy office and a therapist that was only ten years older than he was.
“Hey,” he said, flopping down onto the couch.
“Good afternoon to you,” Buffy said genially.
“You got the candy?” he asked. Buffy eyed him askance.
“Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” she asked tartly. He made a face.
“Come on Ms. S, give me the M&Ms,” Mike said. He was a pretty typical teenage boy—a little quieter than most, and given to much worse fits of temper, but pretty normal otherwise.
“Say the magic words!” Buffy said, tossing the bag of candy between her hands and twirling in her chair. He groaned, then took a deep breath, and—so quickly the words were all but intelligible—said,
“It’s okay to have feelings.” Buffy laughed but tossed him the candy and he grinned.
“See, I can say it,” he said.
“Never said you couldn’t. So, Mike, what’s happened in the last week?”
“Nothing,” the boy replied in a sullen voice, opening the bag and tossing three M&Ms into his mouth at once.
“You’re having a not telling me something expression. I’m getting paid whether you talk or not, but you might not want to waste your parents’ money like that. What they’re spending on me is coming straight out your inheritance. So come on Mike, share,” Buffy said lightly, though there was a deeper meaning behind her words and they both knew it.
“Well this stupid teacher gave me a bad grade on some stupid-ass paper,” Mike muttered.
“What’d you do?” Buffy asked.
“I told him off,” Mike said nonchalantly.
“Really? Why?” He looked suprised.
“‘Cause I deserved a better grade!”
“How do you know? I mean, he’s a teacher, right? He probably knows how to grade stuff like that,” Buffy pointed out.
“I just do,” he said sullenly. Buffy settled back in her chair and folded her hands on her lap, watching him eat five more M&Ms at a time.
“How?” she asked again, and settled back to wait for the answer.
His name echoed through the room silently. Angel, Angel, Angel, Angel, all around her, and then he was there too, all around her, but mostly in front of her, with open arms. She ran into them, lifted her face for his kiss.
“We can’t stay long,” he said.
“No. This isn’t the dream I should be having,” she agreed.
“Be strong, my love,” he told her, cupping her face in his hand.
“I will try,” she whispered. “I will try.” And then he was gone and there was only the marble floor and the dark sky, and Buffy, alone, without even the echoes of his name.
She was in a hospital suddenly, in a bed, and a vampire came in. She knew it was a vampire at once, even though he had a human face for the moment. He exuded power, though, and evil. She could feel it through her bones. She tried to stand, to fight him, for she had to fight him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t get up. She looked around and saw Giles beside her.
“Help me up!” she cried, but there was no sound.
“J-just give me a . . . a moment,” he said, not even looking at her. Buffy turned and saw Dr. Turner.
“I have some bad news,” he said. But it was too late then, and the vampire had taken him, and was standing over Buffy, laughing, as she struggled to stand. She was so weak . . . so weak, and Willow, who was beside her, said something about her head. And then Angel was there, but before she could reach out to him, he was gone, or she was, and she knew it was forever. She opened her mouth to scream—
And woke up.
“Angel!” Buffy cried out. He was awake at once, cradling her in his arms, giving all the comfort he could.
“Shh,” he murmured. “It’s all right.”
“No,” she whimpered. “I couldn’t get up! I couldn’t get up, and no one would help and there was this vampire—and you were gone! You were gone!”
“It was a dream,” he said. “Just a dream. It’s all right. It was only a dream.” Eventually Buffy let herself be comforted, and after a long time she even feel back to sleep, held safe in the circle of Angel’s arms.
Willow dashed a bit more powder into the pan and frowned, peering at the bubbling green contents. It was supposed to be brown. She reached for the last ingredient, then jumped as she heard the doorbell. She set it down carefully, turned down the burner to simmer (in case it was Buffy or Giles and she didn’t get back to the potion for a while), and walked to the door, trying to still the pounding in her heart.
“Hello?” she called. No answer. “Who is it?” Silence. She peered out of the peep hole. There was no one there. Very, very slowly, repeating the words of the paralysis spell in her head, Willow opened the door—leaving the chain lock of course. No one. But there were flowers on her doorstep. She closed the door, un-did the chain and opened it again. The flowers were still there. And no one else was. She bent cautiously and picked them up, retreating back into the house quickly, in case it was a trap.
It was a bouquet, lilies and babies breath and pink rosebuds. There was a card, as well, and Willow pulled it off, curious to who had left the flowers. The obvious answers were Angel and Xander, though Angel couldn’t have brought them himself, as it was light out, and both would have stayed to see her.
The minute she opened the card all became apparent. Willow- it said, in familiar handwriting, I saw these and thought of you. I hope you like them. I’m going to call and ask you out to dinner Thursday night. I’m kinda nervous about it actually. What do you say? It was signed with his name—his first name. That was all. Willow put the card down on the table, then sat down hard. He wanted to take her out to dinner. And a part of her wanted to go more than anything. Unfortunately, another part of her was frantic at the very thought.
It had been so much easier in high school. So much easier—and harder too, in a way. But then she had been innocent and naive and happy. Now she had seen life and she had seen marriage and it scared her. She had seen love and that scared her most of all. Yet she was the one that had once told Buffy, “Love isn’t always like that. Love can be . . . nice.” And now she was scared to try again. Scared that it was her fault after all, and anyone she loved would turn on her, because she provoked that in a person. But she’d loved Oz, and he had never hurt her.
Sometimes Willow couldn’t even remember why they’d broken up. There hadn’t really been a reason. Willow wanted to go to college, and Oz didn’t. Oz wanted to stay and work on his band. And somehow, despite all the resources at hand—phones, internets, cars and planes—there relationship was over when she left Sunnydale. College was new, and exciting, and she met Jon Metzler there. He had been so handsome, and charming and perfect in every way. He had swept her off her feet—timid, shy little Willow Rosenburg. And four years passed and they graduated and got married. It just seemed the most natural thing to do. Unfortunately, that was when he began to change.
She’d been so scared. It wasn’t all the time, just once in a while at first. When it was over he would say he was sorry and promise never to do it again. And she had believed him, at first, because she wanted to more than anything. Looking back, she couldn’t remember how she survived through two years of it. It just got worse and worse, and he became careless, and the bruises came in places that couldn’t be covered with long sleeves and turtlenecks. He forbid her to go out, to help Buffy (though he never knew about the Slaying), to practice magic. He controlled her entire life, and if she had stayed with him he would have taken it away eventually. It was that bad.
One night she couldn’t take it anymore. She cast a spell on him, so he couldn’t move until the next morning, and she left, taking all her things with her. She went to Buffy, and she told her everything, and then she begged Buffy not to kill him. It took a while, but the Slayer finally promised. Not to kill him, that is, she said nothing about making him pay.
The next time Willow saw him was in court, where they both sported equal bruises. Jon was too macho to tell the judge and the whole courtroom that he’d been beaten up by a woman, so he said he had an accident. Willow told the truth. The divorce went through almost immediately. Willow found an apartment to stay in for a while, and when Jon tried to come get her she cast a spell so he couldn’t enter. He tried to come after a few other times, but either Buffy or Angel was always there, and they scared him away. She hadn’t seen him for several weeks, and he’d stopped sending threats in the mail. He was finally gone. But Willow’s fear was still there.
She stared at the note in her hand for a moment longer, then closed her eyes and made a resolution. When she opened them again, it was to look at the flowers. She stood up to go put them in water, leaving the note on the table. When Oz called, she knew what her answer would be.
“I have a job, you know,” Giles pointed out. Buffy sighed and glanced in her rear view mirror.
“Yeah, so do I. It was your idea that I go to the doctor in the first place—even though I’m perfectly fine—and you can very well come with me when he calls saying I have to come in and ‘to bring someone with me.’ I’d bring Angel, but it is, y’ know, LIGHT outside, and everyone else is busy. Besides, you’re my Watcher. You have a responsibility to WATCH over me."
“Not if it means missing lunch,” Giles muttered.
“Take a period off. It’s not like anyone actually comes in the library anyway,” Buffy pointed out. Giles opened his mouth to reply, then closed it quickly, as she put her foot down on the gas. Hard.
“For God’s sake! Slow down!” he cried. Buffy smiled, reveling in the feel of speed.
“Now this is the kind of car you need Giles. A grown-up car. One that goes over twenty miles per hour.”
“This is the most-most adolescent car I have ever ridden in!” he exclaimed.
“Relax. I know what I’m doing. Oh, here we are,” she said, turning suddenly into the parking lot. Giles blanched and went white. Buffy parked neatly right in front of the door, and undid her seatbelt. She opened the door. Giles didn’t move.
“You coming?” she asked.
“J-just give me a . . . a moment,” he stammered. Buffy merely smiled. But the smile went away when she realized she had heard him say those words before.
“So what did you need to tell me?” Buffy asked about twenty minutes later. Dr. Turner looked uncomfortable.
“You might want to sit down for this,” he said. Buffy frowned, but obediently sat down. She glanced at Giles, who had taken off his glasses.
“I’m sitting. Tell, Dr. Turner,” Buffy commanded. He nodded nervously.
“Yes. Um . . . That last test found something. We’re not sure what it is yet, it could be nothing, but—” Buffy cut him off.
“What’s going on?” she asked, catching his eyes and holding them.
“It could be a tumor. A brain tumor.” Buffy felt like she’d been doused with freezing water. With little bits of ice floating in it. She didn’t need to look at Giles to know he was frozen in shock. “We need to do more tests. A CAT scan and so forth, before we know anything for sure. Even then, we might be able to operate. Ms. Summers?” Buffy drew in a deep breath and roused herself from the shock.
“Yes. Yes. Tests. Operations. Hospitals?”
“Possibly,” Dr. Turner said. Buffy winced. She hated hospitals. On the other hand, she was relatively sure that her give a little while to get to know them and she would hate brain tumors just as much.
“Can we . . . can we have a minute before the tests? And do you have a phone?” Buffy asked, desperately trying to stay in control.
“Of course,” Dr. Turner said. He showed her the phone on his desk and left the small office, shutting the door behind him. There was a long moment of silence.
“Giles?” Buffy asked softly. And then she was clinging to her Watcher—the man who had been her father in all but blood for the last nine years.
“It will be all right. We’ll find a way to fix it,” he said soothingly. Buffy nodded without pulling away.
“Modern medicine is amazing you know,” she whispered. He stroked her hair and murmured something else soothing. A minute later she pulled away.
“I have to call Angel,” she said, looking to the phone. Angel, who would never die. Who couldn’t get sick. Angel, whom she was joined with “till death do us part.” But what if that was sooner than they’d thought?
Buffy picked up the phone, dialed, heard it ring, and waited for the voice she loved to answer.