Wild Days

Anya:

I'm still sitting in the corner of this grand hotel, the same way I sat for the last several hours, and I've never felt more out of place in my remarkably long life. Not even when I suddenly found myself in Sunnydale, mortal, after over a thousand years of vengeance. And I felt pretty out of place then. I mean, imagine, me - Anyanka, feared by men all over the globe - suddenly nothing but a girl, no powers, no immortality, just flunking in math and falling for the first stupid guy who was coming around.

Xander is still hanging on Willow's lips. I'd like to think it's the words coming out, but I can't help but seeing a spark between them. As if they are meant to be together, as if she's his current girlfriend and not just a friend who's grieving for her dead lover.

They seem to ignore me, the way everyone is, and I don't like it. Xander asked me to come with him after all, and I felt all excited and hopeful, but now … I wonder if he brought me along to show me I'm not part of the group anymore. Maybe not intentional, but it happens nevertheless. And I'm not even … a freak here. There are vampires, and former keys, a Slayer … so, being a demon isn't anything out of the ordinary.

But it's like Xander suddenly realized we're not meant to be. Maybe it's my fault, for falling for him in the first place. For someone so full of faults like Xander. He's exactly the kind of guy I acted vengeance on for more then ten centuries, so you can say it's a strange twist of fate that I had to love someone like him. The real problem, however, is that I don't know how to stop.

I wish I could just rip my heart out and shake it off like mortality, but of course it doesn't happen that way. Here I am - fully demonic once again, ready to go back to my glorious old days, but my stupid heart just won't let me. It insists that Xander is the one, that it doesn't matter I'm not human anymore, that he will get old and wrinkly - and probably incontinent - while I'm still the way I am. Still, my body yearns for his touch, and my heart feels lost and deserted.

It's a feeling of utter misery, the kind of misery I've seen in the eyes of the women who summoned me, but now that I've caught the disease myself, I wish I could just erase the past three years, and forget about Xander Harris and his stupid friends, and the way they made me feel. Unfortunately I've learned one thing while I was a member of the human race - things rarely happen the way we wish. Especially not the way we woman want them to be. Vengeance demons or no, this is still a men's world, and in the end we're still the losers.

Just look at Buffy and Angel. They have the love of all times going on. Every fool can see how much she still loves him. But instead of being able to be happy, she is so miserable, she almost makes me wanna weep. And I don't cry easily. If you look at them as a couple, they are even more dramatic than Romeo and Juliet, and coming from me that's saying something because I actually met the real couple in the fourteenth century. Of course they weren't really called Romeo and Juliet, but you get the point. But in comparison to Buffy and Angel … they are nothing but a laugh.

But wouldn't you think the Powers in all Their glory would grant them a break from time to time?Maybe some nice cozy vacation where they're allowed to just be together? I mean they're the greatest warriors alive - at least one of them actually is - and keeping them happy and strong should be in the Powers' interest. Yet They seem to find a perverse satisfaction in making them feel miserable and lonely.

So, can anyone actually blame me for leaving the good guys and going back to work for D'Hoffryn? He at least never pretended to be anything but what he is. And he sure as Hell never made me feel miserable. No, he made me feel strong and important after having been a mortal girl and … not that I really remember a lot from my days before I became a demon … well, it doesn't matter anyway. Given the choice again, I'd take D'Hoffryn over the Powers in the blink of an eye.

A low chuckle from the other side of the room has me looking up and I have to hold onto myself seeing Xander leaning over Willow's shoulder, pretending to gaze at the screen, while in reality it looks as if he's attached to her in a very disturbing way. Doesn't anybody else in the room see what he's doing?

When he finally straightens, he and the witch smile at each other and he walks towards the stairs, ascending them slowly. I have not the slightest idea what he wants to do, but I use the opportunity to cross the room stopping at the computer, willing the redhead to look up with my presence. When nothing like that happens, I noisily clear my throat.

Her head comes up with a start, and it needs a moment before her eyes focus on me. "Oh… Anya?"

What does that mean? Anya? Why does she say my name as if it was a question? Of course I'm Anya. Does she think it's my evil twin talking to her? "I would like to have a word with you," I tell her, never having been one for the shy foreplays humans seem to like so much. I've never seen sense in beating around the bush. I know from time to time I've annoyed them with my ways, but I'm a demon once again and the time for tiptoeing around them and apologizing for what I am - and what not - is over. "Somewhere private," I add. I never said I lost my new found sense for tact with humanity. Some things I learned actually prove useful. People react a lot differently if you are polite and nice. And tactful.

One of Willow's eyebrows rises, and her voice is decidedly cool when she replies, "I can't see what we would have to talk about."

Well maybe not everyone can value tact.

Okay, if she wants it the rough way. "I said I want to talk to you." The tone of malice leaves no room for mistaking my intent. I want to talk to her. And I will.

"Maybe you should first try to change your attitude," she says without looking up. "I know you're a demon now. But in talking to humans you could at least remember how they usually communicate."

"How about you check your attitude first," I shoot right back. "And I really don't think you're one to give advice on human behavior. At least I never tried to destroy the world with black magick."

Of course I imagined the comment to hit home, but I never expected her to go deathly pale, her hands starting to tremble over the keyboard. She is taking several gasping breaths, before she manages to pull herself together to a point where she can trust her voice. Still it's terribly shaky when she speaks and I almost feel sorry for what I said. But then I think what I just saw and the feeling instantly vanishes.

"That was a cruel thing to say," she looks up at me, her face like chalk, her eyes incredibly big. "I thought you liked Tara, too. But I suppose now that you're not human anymore, it doesn't really count, huh?"

"No, not really," I reply, lying through my teeth. But I'd rather die than show her how much I'm hurting right now, and once again wish I could just let the past three years disappear from the face of the earth. "So, can we talk?"

After a moment, she gives me a curt nod, gets up and leads me into the garden where Dawn is still sitting on a little wall in the corner. "Hey, Will, Anya. What gives?"

"We need to talk in private," I tell her, not bothering to get all nice and human again.

Dawn gives me a curious and slightly wounded look, but after a short hesitation hops from her wall and disappears in the house.

"Alright," Willow turns to me as soon as the girl is gone, "What do you want to talk about?"

"You and Xander," I reply, looking her straight in the eye. I was always good at reading human eyes. They could never lie to me. I'm certain I'm still good. It's probably like riding a bike. Or at least I think it is. I never learned to ride one - using transportation spells was a lot easier anyway.

Once again an eyebrow comes up, "Me … and Xander?"

Of course I didn't expect her to understand. It's not as if Willow did encourage anything. She is the grieving lover after all. Still, a little opening of eyes and a warning going with it, might help. "Yes. You and Xander. And I mean that in a couple-y sort of way."

At that she chuckles, and I narrow my eyes. How dare she chuckle over my obvious distress. "Hey," I exclaim, "This isn't funny. I have all … all these feelings … this jealousy. And you're mocking me?"

"Sorry," she apologizes, but I can see she isn't really meaning it. "I didn't want to mock … But Xander and I … we're friends. I," she hesitates, any laughter gone, replaced by sadness grief, "… I'm still in love with Tara. She was … my life. But even if … Xander and I … that's totally ridiculous."

"Is it?" I'm not buying this friendship crap anyway. Friendship between men and women? Believe it from someone who's been around for more then 1100 years. There is no such thing. There's always sexual tension in the mix. Just look at Xander. He might have accepted that Buffy'll never want him. But I'm pretty certain there is still residual attraction left.

"Besides," she goes on with a shake of her head, "I'm not sure you've still got a right to even ask such a question. After what you and Spike-"

"That was out of grief," I try to defend myself. And it was. I was disappointed. And I hated Xander, and everyone, and most of all myself. And Spike was lonely, too. Wasn't it just logical? With an inward groan I realize I'm arguing like one of the men I used to act my vengeance on.

"Yeah, sure," she snorts. "Don't get me wrong. I think what Xander did with you, leaving you at the wedding. That was cruel and selfish … and cowardly, but what you did … just jumping Spike's bones - it was so much worse."

"Why?" I cry, throwing my hands in the air. "Why is having sex worse than betraying your promise? He said he would love me forever, he even gave me a ring." I hold up my hand, then look at it again when I realize the ring is missing.
I already got used to it. "Sex is just an act. But what he did-"

"And that coming from a vengeance demon," she mocks. "Anya, you should listen to yourself. Maybe … having sex would be one thing … but with Spike…"

"Your precious Buffy had sex with Spike for months."

She slightly flinches at that, but pulls herself together quickly, "I am really not interested in talking about Buffy with you. She is my friend, while you … anyways, there is nothing between me and Xander. But even if there was … it wouldn't be your business anymore. You've entirely lost your right. You gave it up when you and Spike did it on the desk of the Magic Box for anyone to see."

"We didn't know there were cameras!" Does she really think I wanted Xander to see? Does she really think I feel great for doing what I did?

"And that makes it better?" she asks with disgust in her eyes. "Would you've gone to the back room instead? Well, that really gives me a happy." She shakes her head in the negative, then turns to leave, but I'm holding on to her arm, feeling desperate now.

"Wait. Please, I need you to-"

"But I don't need you," she hisses, pulling away from my grasp. "Nobody needs you here."

"You never liked me," I accuse her, feeling tears well up in my eyes. Damn. No way I'm going to let her see them. No way.

"No, I didn't," she confirms without hesitation. "I thought you were the wrong girl for Xander. But he seemed happy, so … I accepted it. But I knew all along that with your background this could never work."

"And why?" I want to know, because she clearly approves of Buffy and Angel.

"Because you're wrong for him. Because I doubt you ever really loved him," she tells me.

"But I do. I love him," I reply, not able to keep the tears from falling, or my voice from going rough. "God, I love him so much, it's all inside of me," I touch my chest with both hands. "Deep inside of me. It's all there, and he just … ignores me. I have all these feelings and I … I don't know what to do if he doesn't want me back."

Willow looks at me for a long time after that, then a sad smile appears on her lips, "You know what Anya, I almost feel sorry for you. I know how hard it can be to love someone who clearly … doesn't feel the same anymore. Or never did, for that matter. But there is this other part of me who wants you as far from him as possible. Because I'm his friend. And he's been miserable. And I hate seeing him like this. So as far as I'm concerned, you couldn't leave soon enough." Once gain the sad smile plays around her mouth, "Sorry, but that's the way I feel. I can't help you with your pain. Not just because I think you earned it, but also … because right now I have so much of my own - it'll be enough for a long while."

With a last gaze, she turns back to the door and walks inside. I'm staying in the garden and as soon as she's out of hearing distance I let my tears come. People say crying helps. Right now I can't say it's true. Never in my whole life have I felt more miserable.

*****

Buffy:

When I was still a little girl, when there was no Dawn, no divorce on the horizon, and being a Slayer would've sound as if taken right from a Sci-Fi Novel - one my father wouldn't have allowed for me to read -, and when becoming an ice-skating princess was was all I ever wanted, in these days I remember sitting on my bed, staring at my Dorothy Hamill doll. She was beautiful and lifeless, smiling that doll- mile I used to love, her eyes always open, always alive, always looking at me with the same expression.

I used to love this doll, couldn't imagine ever loving anything like it. Of course I was only a little girl then, and didn't have a clue about how complicated a life can become, what a human being can live through, and that love - even in its purest form - isn't always meant to make us happy. I learned the hard way that it can be painful, destructive, bordering on insanity - in a bad, but also in a good way.

I remember the days when Angel and I started to date, when he was the first thing in the morning I thought of and when I fell asleep it was with his image in my mind. I could hardly wait to see him again, and I wanted to touch him always. When he returned from hell everything seemed tainted by the knowledge that one moment of happiness could cost him his soul, could result in setting free one of the most vicious killers this earth has ever seen.

And I remember the darkest days, when losing myself in Spike seemed like the only way I could go on. When letting myself being bitten and clawed was disgusting and delightful at the same time. It was an escape from something I couldn't deal with, and it was a way to hurt myself. Other people cut their arms, or slip into eating disorders. Because I'm the Slayer the most destructive thing to do was letting a soulless demon close.

I wonder if Angel's night with Darla was anything alike. Wesley said he'd hit rock bottom, that he couldn't go on anymore, that he didn't want to. And God, I can understand that. Fortunately in Angel's case he had an epiphany after only one night while I needed many more months to find a way out the path of self-destruction I was marching down with remarkable pace. I did it on my own, without Giles' wisdom, without the help of my best friend who had her own crisis to master.

In the end it made me stronger, tougher, and maybe that's what I am meant to be, maybe that's why Giles' left - but, God, I could've done without it. And I'm not talking about having sex with Spike, even now I'm not proud of it. No, what I mean is the darkness, the endless abyss I felt myself falling into, the numbness that had taken over most of my body and soul...

Some people might argue that even a Slayer is allowed to have a little depression from time to time, but take it from someone who's been there, it's nothing worth remembering. And certainly not worth repeating any time soon. I hated it, hated myself, and for a while hated my friends, even Dawn. Hadn't I died for her? Hadn't I given up my life so she could have hers? So that all of them could? And to thank me they pulled me from Heaven the only place I ever felt save since I was called as a Slayer.

Death is your gift.

The sentence keeps repeating in my head, even now that I have accepted life once again, that I've found a new purpose.

I look down at Angel, still sleeping deeply, but breathing now. A little smile plays around his lips and for a moment I wonder if he's dreaming about Cordy.

"With Cordelia," I mutter, my brows drawn together in anger. Suddenly feeling unsettled, I get up and start pacing the room my thoughts tumbling over each other. They drugged him, hoping he would get all woozy with Cordy. With Cordy!

"It's not a strong drug," I can still hear Wesley's voice, "but it's remains are still in his body. Besides after three months of starvation who can say how strong the initial amount was."

I turn around, look at Angel, his eyes closed, the little smile still on his lips, and I'm feeling jealous in a way I didn't think I still could. But it's there and it's hot and right now I want to see Cordy and ... Of course she hasn't done anything to deserve this. What if she is in love with Angel? What if she's a victim like he? What if she's truly, genuinely fallen for him? What will she feel hearing that he was simply drugged, that nothing he felt was real? Or wasn't it?

A horrible thought starts forming in my head, and I know it's totally irrational. I have no right to feel the way I did. I am the one who couldn't wait to jump into another guy's pants. True, Angel left me and he practically encouraged me to do exactly that. To live, to dance, to enjoy sunlight, and to make love. So I only did what he wanted me to, but I still realize that after three years of ending our on and off relationship, I shouldn't feel the way I do, shouldn't feel so obsessively possessive of him.

But I do.

I do.

I just can't help it.

Love makes you do the wacky. I once said that to him, in a graveyard, where we were holding hands - and nothing else. But we both knew it was the start to something bigger, something that would go far beyond a schoolgirl crush. We both knew it was wrong, but neither of us could fight what obviously was meant to be.

Wacky.

I was so sure I was over him. But holding his starving form, sitting and sleeping at his side, has uncovered feelings I thought long dead and gone. And it's good - I feel actually good having them. Maybe in a way it proves I've grown up. Because I'm welcoming those feelings. They make me stronger, and a better person. I mean I'm still welcoming them even though I know we will never have a chance.

Aside from his stupid loophole, he's still a vampire, eternal and immortal, and I'm the Slayer, not so eternal, and mortal, although after the recent events this point is certainly up for discussion. But whatever the obstacles, whatever the pain and heartache connected to Angel and Buffy in one sentence, I still can't help loving him. Maybe it's something I was made for - I'm not sure, but it certainly feels that way.

Now more than ever.

There were times when I was sure I was done loving him, that I could move on, could have a good life, even a fulfilled love-life. Riley with all the problems was a nice guy, and we certainly clicked in bed. The problem was we couldn't click in real life. Or what goes for real life with me.

And all I can do is hope that the drugs were all that made Angel fall for Cordelia.

I look down at him again.

And gasp.

Because this time his eyes are open. And they're watching me. There is no doubt about it.

*****

Angel:

"Angel," I hear her whisper, her eyes big and confused, but also holding a hint of anger I can't understand right now. I'm still too confused myself to make sense of anything. There's a lot in my mind, a lot of things that have gotten mixed up. It's all so muddled, like when I came back from Hell.

A sudden thought shoots through my head, "Wha- what happened?" I ask, trying to stomp down the panic. I have a fuzzy memory of Connor and a box, but it's … not clear and … it doesn't make sense. I remember him sitting at my bed, holding my hand, remember his tears. He couldn't have gone and … tried to kill me, could he? No, of course it's a stupid thought. But there was a dream. And pictures are coming now.

I shake my head.

Cordelia.

I frown up at Buffy's drawn face. She looks tired. But beautiful as well. And what is she doing here? I mean, I remember her being here before. Right by my side. Right by my bed. Even on my bed. But why is she in L.A.? The only reason why …

Cordelia.

Why on Earth does her name keep popping up in my mind?

There is something I should remember about Cordy. I'm sure of it. But it keeps slipping away. Further and further with each passing moment.

"You were very weak." Buffy's voice pulls me back to the present matter. "You … were … you didn't feed for months, and you're just starting to get your strength back. But you're still weak and you shouldn't," she swallows and I notice she is nervous, "You should sleep," she finishes, biting her lower lip. Her eyes are restless, her fingers playing with each other. I wonder what happened.

"Weak?" I manage to croak. My voice sounds strange, not a lot like the one I remember. I try to life a hand, try to reach her, but my arm feels like lead, and I get an idea what she is talking about. Was I poisoned? I still remember when Faith shot me. It's a lot like then now. "Why?"

She frowns at that, "You don't remember?"

"I …," I start, pulling my own brows into a frown. I know I should remember something.

Cordelia.

Damn.

Something else. Something -

Connor!

I gasp, staring at Buffy with horror and shock in my eyes. And hers well up with tears.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, sitting down beside me, reaching for my hand. The touch is comforting, but I'm not sure I can stand it right now. I make a sorry attempt to pull away, but my arm doesn't obey. "I'm sorry this happened. I know it must hurt terribly."

"Connor," I whisper in anguish, my whole body convulsing, the waves of shock rippling through it, while my mind tries to shy back from the cruel truth. "So … it's … it's true?"

I want her to deny it. I want her to tell me it's wrong, that I just imagined my son putting me into a box, shutting it and letting it sink to the floor of the ocean. But looking at Buffy I see the first tears fall, feel her hand squeezing mine, and I know it was real. That it wasn't just some nightmare I will wake up from. My son hates me. And it's a feeling like being sliced open with a rusty blade - inch by inch.

The thoughts start to tumble over each other in my head.

But he held my hand.

Or didn't he?

Was this a dream?

What is real?

"B-but …," I stammer, "I … I …"

"He … told us where to find you," she says, wiping her tears away with her free hand. "He came through in the end. Holtz made him believe you killed him. And he felt … justified to … to do what he did. But he's … better now. You two need to talk, as soon as possible."

She makes an attempt to get up, but I hold her hand. "No," I shake my head, "Don't go." I can't let her go. Not right now. She's my anchor. She was there in my dream. She was by my side. I need her. Like I always needed her. Now more than ever.


The light had almost faded
a river all but dry
constantly invaded
by the thought of passing time
a living tale of envy
on roller coaster ride
my heart a tired enemy
weary of the fight.


"I just wanted to tell them you are awake," she says, making an attempt to smile.

God she is so beautiful and I'm all but drowning in her eyes. "Don't go," I tell her again, and she slightly shakes her head.

"I won't if you want me to stay."


Then someone like you
someone like you
someone like you came rolling along


"Always," I answer, trying to smile, but my lips feel dry and lifeless and won't obey.

I see her draw in a sharp breath, see her fight with new tears, not understanding. I know we split up. I know I left her. But there is something in the back of my mind I should remember, I'm sure. But every time I want to reach for it, it slips out of my reach. The last time we saw each other was after she came back from death. Did something happen? My head keeps mixing up things, and I can't remember. I wonder if it's really important. Right now, all I want is right in front of me.


someone like you
someone like you
someone like you came rolling along


"You … didn't use that word," she says quietly, looking at our entwined hands. "Always … is such a… strong word."

I frown. What does that mean? "But … but-" Always doesn't seem strong at all. Not right now anyway. Once again I try to make sense of the confusion in my mind. Try not to think about Connor trying to condemn me to an eternal death. But once again I see his tear streaked face, and his eyes on me. And I know whatever he has done, I will always love him. He is my son. It seems the only thing true right now, the only thing making sense. Everything else is just … muddled.

"Shhhhh," Buffy shakes her head, puts a finger over my lips. "You shouldn't talk too much. You will need your strength."

"Buffy-" I want to tell her that she is wrong - although I'm not quite sure about what. But her eyes are so sad, and I …

Once again she shakes her head. "No," she smiles, it's sad and weary. "Do you … want me to lay down beside you again?"


In a room without a window
I lay nestled on the floor
never knew for certain
what lay beyond that open door
I never thought to wander
or to make my spirit move
cause in my imagination
I had the story of the blues


As if that's even a question. "I'd like that," I whisper, trying to make room for her.

"It's alright," she says. "I don't need much space."

Only now I notice how thin she is. She looks even more tiny than usual. And there are shadows in her eyes I haven't seen before. At least I think I haven't. I can't be sure with all the confusion in my head. Did we meet once again? I feel so tired all of a sudden as she curls up beside me, her face only inches apart. I want to kiss her, but my body is not strong enough. And I don't know if I even have the right to kiss her.

Is there a man in her life? No. I dismiss the thought. She wouldn't be here, wouldn't do what she's doing if there was. But what's wrong with her? I can hear her silent sigh, can feel the movement of her body against mine.

It's achingly familiar and I want to hold onto it forever.

"Sleep, Angel," she orders gently, putting her head on my chest, slipping her arm around me, "You need to heal. To gather your strength."

"Okay," I finally give in. I feel exhausted in a way I can't remember ever having felt before. And I feel confused. There is such confusion in my head, I don't know if it will ever make sense again. I'm tired. God, I'm tired. I need answers. But I am so tired. And with Buffy snuggled against me, I finally let nature take its way. Because if I've learned one thing in my life, problems don't just disappear, they're still waiting for you when you wake up. With that thought in my mind I drift of, Buffy's soft breaths tickling my skin through my shirt.

And even though nothing makes sense, this certainly does.


Then someone like you
someone like you
someone like you came rolling along
someone like you
someone like you
someone like you came rolling along