Wild Days

Willow:

I see Anya run from Xander's room, tears streaming down her face, her clothes clutched to her nude form, her whole body racked by sobs. She doesn't see me and I don't try to get her attention. I think I would be the last person she would want to talk to, and frankly, I'm not eager to talk to her again either. Seeing her like this, I feel pity, but I just can't forget seeing her with Spike, and the look on Xander's face as he watched his girlfriend having sex with another. I never want to see that expression on his face again.

So instead of following her, something a good friend, something I never was to her, would do, I pull my robe around me, walk to Xander's room and without knocking enter. He lies on his back, his upper body uncovered, his eyes looking at the ceiling. "Ahn," his voice sounds weary and a little bit annoyed, "I told you, it's over, please let it go."

"Uh …," I start, not quite sure what to say, then settle for, "Actually, she just left." He bolts upright in bed, staring at me in total surprise and clutches the sheet to his naked chest, a reaction that makes me giggle, "Do you really think that's necessary? We played doctor together when we were six."

He blushes at that, "Ah … yeah, but that was before we realised we were boy and girl."

"Xand," I laugh and shake my head.

He stares at me for a short moment, before he sighs, "You're right, this is ridiculous." Shifting on his bed he makes room for me, and without hesitation I join him on the bed, feeling for a moment as if we were kids again. But we aren't and I don't know if I even want us to.

We sit together for a while, not talking, before I ask, "How are you?"

He lets out a long breath and runs a hand through his hair, "When I woke up she was there. She thought … we could just …I dunno … pretend nothing happened, I guess. With Anya you're never quite sure."

"But you couldn't." Xander can forgive a lot, actually. But he's not the kind of person who just shrugs and goes on. And Anya has hurt him deeply. Maybe deeper than any other person so far.

"I couldn't," he confirms, not surprising me with his answer. "And she … wouldn't … couldn't understand. It was a kind of 'you hurt me, I hurt you, and that's it' thing. But unfortunately I can't see it the way she does. I think for the first time I really understand what Cordy felt when she found you and me kissing."

And Oz. I remember the expression in Oz' eyes. And yet he forgave me. Because he loved me. And because he was Oz. Unique and so very dear. I often wonder where he is. What he does. I hope he is happy. I hope he found someone who treats him better, loves him better, than I could. I turn and look at Xander, "I think it was worse. You and I, I mean. With Spike … we both know that Anya and Spike never loved each other. They weren't friends. You and I … we were best friends."

"The bestest," he replies with a smile. "And yeah, I understand what you mean. Still, I can't forget that Anya … and Spike …," he trails off, then suddenly laughs. "You know what she said? She said that Buffy had sex with Spike and I forgave her."

"You did," I tell him with a slight smile. I'm surprised he hasn't already understood why. But sometimes men are just dense. "Because you love her. You always loved Buffy." While he never loved Anya. For a while I thought he did. But then Tara came into my life and I suddenly knew again what love was about. It was trust and sharing, it was understanding and belonging. And there was none of it between Anya and Xander. Not for lack of trying, but because she was too different, had been a demon for too long to understand what it meant. And Xander … I think after pining away for Buffy for years, he simply wanted to be in love. He wanted to have someone at his side. So he closed his eyes at Anya's faults, and played the happy couple. "We always forgive those we love," I add, looking at him.

He swallows, before he reaches out and takes my hand. "You're very wise, witchy-lady."

Witchy. Not so witchy anymore. The sadness I seem to carry within me since a stray bullet found its aim in the body of my lover deepens. It's not that I miss the darkness, the power of black magic surging through me, but magic was such a part of me, not being able to use it has left a hole inside of me. "I'm not a witch, Xand. Not anymore."

He squeezes my hand and smiles, "You'll always be a witch. Like Buffy will always be the Slayer. That's what you are. And I'm sure that the shrink-lady will help you to control it. You said yourself she's good. And coming to L.A. was the best thing for you. You smile more already. It's been more than three months, Tara wouldn't want you to grieve that long."

I feel my eyes moisten at the name of my dead lover, "Only three months," I tell him, "Only, Xander. And sometimes … sometimes it feels as if it was just yesterday. I lie in my bed and I can feel her. Next to me. It feels warm and … good. Then I wake up and she isn't there." I press my free hand on my mouth in a vain attempt to suppress a sob. "God, I miss her so. I miss her so terribly."

Xander's free arm comes around my shoulders and he pulls me close, "Of course you do. You loved her."

"Love," I protest, not able to bear the past tense. "I still love her."

"And you always will," he replies, "It's how we keep them with us. By loving them."

Surprise by such insight, I look up at him, sniffling slightly, "I'm so afraid I'll forget her one day. That her image will fade and she'll be nothing but a nice memory. I can't bear to think she'll disappear." But I can feel her slipping away already, and that scares me to no end. I loved her so much, still love her, but there are moments when I don't think about her at all. And I'm afraid they will increase. That I will spend a whole day without thinking about her.

He squeezes my shoulders and I feel his lips touch my crown, "She won't," he whispers. "But there will come a time when you're not going to think of her every minute of every day. And it's good that way. It's meant to be that way. It's called moving on. Tara would want you to move on, Willow. She loved you."

"She did," I agree, feeling a smile turn up my lips. "She was the best person I ever knew. There was so much love in her. But you see, it's not just Tara. It's everything that happened. The way I …," I take a deep, shuddering breath, once again feeling the rush of power, the pull of evil. It's like an addiction. "You have no idea how tempting darkness can be," I tell him finally. "It's like nothing I ever felt before. The rage just took over. It was so easy, so clear." I look at him, grateful for his friendship, for his support. "I'm so afraid it'll happen again. It's like becoming this totally different person. As if …shedding your own skin and taking on a new one."

His eyes are very serious now, and he pulls me closer even, before he says, "You're right, I don't know what you're talking about, but … and I know it sounds stupid compared to what you went through … but I had my dark moments, too."

Trying to shake off my own misery I need a moment to realise what he's said. "What? Dark m-moments?" What on earth is he talking about?

He shrugs, "Not really important. Let's say it's enough to understand that sometimes … you do things … and later you hate yourself for them."

For a moment I feel something akin to indignation. How dare he compare his so called dark moments to Tara's death and my lose of self-control - but then I realise how stupid the reaction is, and that I once again thought about me first before I thought of others. When I went off the deep end after Tara was shot it had nothing to do with my love for her or hers for me, and all with my rage. It was about me. Me. And that's the hardest part of all. That I didn't give a second thought to Tara that moment. I let her lie there and all I cared for was my pain. And I used her to act out my revenge. Seeing yourself as a selfish monster is a hard blow - especially when you don't have an excuse. Unlike Spike, or Angel, I never lost my soul. Not in the strictest sense, anyway.

So instead of getting right into Xander's face for his remark, I snuggle deeper into his embrace, enjoy the feeling of my friend so close to me, making me safe and loved, and sigh, "Xander?"

"Hmmm?"

"We could pretend we're kids again and … snuggle together for a while. What do you think?"

I can feel him smile against my temple, "I think that's the best idea you had for a long time."

And as we drift off to sleep, arms around each other, not caring that it's morning and we should probably get up, and it almost seems as if the world isn't such a bad place anymore.

*****

Buffy:

I open the door quietly, slipping into the darkness of the room almost with a sigh of relief. It was a good to talk to Spike, it helped me to make another step towards my old self, but it was also draining. I still don't feel comfortable around him, too much reminded of my darkest hours by his presence. He was right, there are moments I just want him to vanish into thin air.

For a moment I close my eyes, leaning my back against the door and feel something close to a smile tug at the corners of my lips. I don't even know where it comes from, maybe it's just this room, but I suddenly feel a whole lot better than I have for months.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

My eyes fly open at the sound of Angel's voice and a gasp escapes my mouth when I find him sitting - - on his bed, his dark orbs studying me intensely, the seriousness in them making my heart ache with longing.

When I don't react, his own lips turn into a very familiar half-smile, "That was a compliment. But you don't seem to like it."

I shake off the shock of finding him awake and obviously a lot better, and rush to his side, "You … you are up."

He chuckles at that, "Up would be stressing it a bit, but I feel better, yeah."

For a moment I'm afraid the grin spreading over my face might split it, "This is … great. How … I mean … when … I mean…"

He chuckles again, "I woke up when I heard you leave. And while you were gone I tested my strength." His mouth turns into a grimace, "It's still not a lot. But at least I can sit. Embarrassing for a vampire, but here it is." He awkwardly spreads his arms, then with a groan lets them fall to his sides. "God, I feel as if I was human again. Everything hurts."

I frown at that, "Human? You can still remember how it feels to be human?"

Something flickers through his eyes, but it's gone again and he shrugs, "Some things you never forget."

I can't get over the feeling that something isn't right here, but I'm too happy to see him - if not well, then at least better and let it go. "You look better, too," I tell him and when he looks at me doubtfully, I smile, "Really, you do. You looked like death warmed over before, so something's an improvement." And it is. He's still too thin, his skin still painfully drawn over his much too prominent cheekbones, but his eyes aren't dull anymore, and his skin looks a lot healthier. Well, as healthy as the skin of a vampire can be, I guess.

"You look tired," he says, and I feel his hand moving over mine, touching it lightly. It's not much more than a breeze and it still shoots a jolt through my whole system. He was always the only one who could do that, who could turn my world upside down with a single touch.

Trying to play it cool, I grin, "I thought I was beautiful."

"You are," his eyes are serious, and he is not buying my act, "The most beautiful person I have ever met. Inside and out." He takes a deep unnecessary breath, "It doesn't change the fact that you look tired. And I know it's because of … me." He doesn't say it, but I can see the sadness in his eyes, the pain. Not the familiar one, the one reflecting guilt over centuries of victims. This one is personal, closer to his heart.

I turn my hand under his so that our palms touch, "Connor loves you, Angel. Holtz used him as a weapon."

"I remember him sitting at my bed," Angel says, looking at me for assurance. When I nod, he does, too. "He looked so sad. His eyes were a lot like mine." We both know he doesn't talk about resemblance, about genes. He is talking about pain, about guilt. "I never wanted my son to feel that way. I wanted him to be happy. Loved." He blows out air from his undead lungs, chuckles unhappily, "Instead Holtz used him for his revenge. Because of me."

"No," I say firmly, lacing my fingers with his, squeezing hard, "No, Angel. Guilt doesn't help now. And it wasn't because of you. You didn't go and kill his family. Your demon did. Yes, you remember it. But you were not there."

He looks at me for a long time, before his hand comes up and cups my cheek, "You always saw a lot more in me than there was, Buffy." He smiles for a moment before he gets serious again, "But I know you are right. Rationally I know that I had no control, that my evil alter ego is not me. But I also know that he feeds off my emotions. Without them-"

"You'd be truly dead," I interrupt gently. "But you are not. You love. You hate. We all do."

I'm not sure if it was something in my voice, but his wise old eyes suddenly seem to seer into me. "Buffy?" When I try to pull away, his hand holds my chin, forces me to hold his gaze. "I know what you went through, remember. We shared a dream."

As if he needed to remind me. "Yeah," I want to look away, but I can't. His hand has fallen from my face, his arm too weak to hold the pressure any longer, but I find myself mesmerized by his eyes. "I hated … myself," I admit finally. "Everything. The Slayer inside of me. The darkness. There were times when I thought … I thought I should let it take over. End the pain."

He says nothing, just looks at me for a long time, his eyes probing, searching for answers, I'm not sure he can find. There is still so much I can't understand. Still so much that seems like a mystery. No longer able to stand this inquiring gaze, I pull away and walk over to the heavily draped window. "I was a mess, Angel," I tell him, "I've always set goals and marched right toward them. Or Giles set them for me. It was my way to deal with everything, to get through. I could put what happened out of my head for long periods of time and just focus on what I was going to do next. I felt myself slipping away from people, felt the Slayer take over, and it was slowly eating me up from the inside."

"Buffy-"

I hear the worry in his voice, but I hold up my hand. "I need to say this, Angel. I never told anyone before, and I … I think you are the only one who might understand."

"Go on," he encourages.


//I've run from these feelings for so long
Telling my heart I didn't mean it
Pretending that I was better off alone//


Still keeping my back on him, I go on, "It was a relief to let go. But … I didn't want to die. I'm still human enough to cling to life. But that night on the tower, it was me or Dawn, and I just …," I break off, feeling my voice crack. Clearing my throat, I take a deep breath, "I couldn't watch her die. When … I drove that sword through you … I almost didn't make it. I have never made a bigger sacrifice in my life. I loved you … loved you so much. And it was you or the world and I was the Slayer - I was the one who had to make the decision."

Feeling my insides quiver, I need to take another shuddering breath before I can continue. I let my eyes drift shut, acutely aware of Angel's presence in the room, and I use it to steady myself, to get this out at least once. It's been festering inside of me to a point where I thought I'd burst and even though it hurts it's also a relief to finally say the words, to let go of some of the pain.

//But I know that it's just a lie
So afraid of taking a chance again
So afraid of what I'd feel inside//


"And I couldn't do it. Not again. So I jumped. Maybe I was taking the easy way out, but I knew I couldn't deal with the pain. With you I could convince myself that I had at least given you peace of mind. That your soul was free now - even though I knew it was a lie I clung to it. But with Dawn … she was only a kid. She wanted to live. She was so afraid up there. She cried …" My voice breaks, and a sob finds its way past my throat bursting from my mouth with a painful gasp.

I hear Angel struggle on his bed and realise he is trying to get up, desperate to get to me, to comfort me. Afraid he might hurt himself in the process, I turn back to him, shocked to see the anguish in his eyes.

"Buffy." He whispers my name, once again trying to get on his feet.

"No," I cry, and rush back to the bed, pushing him back on the pillows. "It's okay, Angel. It really is."


//But I need to be next to you
I need to share every breath with you
I need to know I can see you smiling each morning
Look into your eyes each night
For the rest of my life//


"God, Buffy," he groans, and wraps his arms around me, holding me close, his cool hands moving up and down my back in soothing motions. I can feel his weakness, feel the bony texture of his body, and I know he couldn't hurt a fly, but I have never felt more protected in my life. It has nothing to do with strength, and everything with love, connection. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that," I hear him whisper. "So sorry I wasn't there for you."


//Here with you, Near with you
Oh I
I need to be next to you//


I pull back slightly, looking at him through tearful eyes, "It wasn't your fault. It was," I laugh unhappily, "fate, I guess."

"Screw fate," he replies and we both have to chuckle at that, before he gets serious once again, "I know … I understand now that you were in a bad place when you came back."

I smile at him, "So you … can forgive me for … the way I behaved when we met."

"There is nothing to forgive," he says, his hands coming to frame my face. "Not ever. Nothing you do could ever change how I feel."

Well, let's hear it again when he hears about Spike and I. And then his next sentence rocks my world, turns it upside down.

"You were with Spike, weren't you?"

My heart stops. Well not literally, but I think you get the point. And my mouth goes instantly dry. I have to swallow. Once. Twice. Even for a third time before I can make my voice work and even then it sounds like a frog has taken residence in my throat. "W-wha-what?"


But instead of looking at me with disgust, his eyes are very gentle, very sad, and so full of love I want to weep. "I … felt it. When he was here. Before."

"You …," I gulp, croak, "felt it." And I thought he was unconscious. What else did he hear? What else can he feel?

"There was a tension between you both." I try to turn my face away, but he doesn't let me. "No, Buffy. There is nothing you have to hide. Not from me. I … understand. I was there myself. I know how it feels to be in a bad place, to do things you don't even want to. I won't tell you it doesn't matter, because it does."

Again I try to evade from him gaze, and once again he doesn't let go, probably exhausting the little strength he has. "It matters because you were hurting and I wasn't there. We had drifted apart in a way that didn't make it possible for you to come to me. And it hurts. But as I told you before. Whatever you do - nothing will change my feelings for you."


//Right here with you is right where I belong
I'd lose my mind if I couldn't see you
Without you there is nothing in this life
That would make life worth living for
I can't bear the thought of you not there
I can't fighat hat I feel anymore//


"Spike has a soul now," I tell him, desperately trying to hold myself together.

"I know," he smiles slightly, sensing that I need a break, that I can't go on like this right now, and I think I have never loved him more than in this very moment. "I felt it, too. How did it happen?"

"He never told us. Well, actually we never asked." I sniffle, "I … I'm so glad I can talk to you, Angel."

"And I'm glad to listen. I mean it, Buffy. Not just today. Whenever you need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to come."

I know he is serious, but I still need to ask, "Even though it's painful - to be close?"


//'Cause I need to be next to you
I need to share every breath with you
I need to know I can see you smiling each morning
Look into your eyes each night
For the rest of my life//


"Nothing can be more painful than this," he replies, "Drifting apart from each other to a point where we barely know the other … it hurts more." He chuckles all of a sudden, "Although … being close to you and not being able … can hurt, too."

I know he's playing it light for my sake, and I want to kiss him badly. But because that would be a bad idea, a very bad idea, right now, I settle for resting my head on his shoulder, the words slipping from my lips as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "I love you, Angel."


//Here with you, Near with you
Oh I
I need to be next to you//


I hear him sigh, feel his arms tighten around me. "I love you, too, Buffy."

And I wonder, how could I ever let him go?


//I need to have your heart next to mine
For all times
Hold you for all my life
I need to be next to you

I need to be next to you
Need to be need to be next to you
Share every breath with you
I need to feel you in my arms babe
In my arms, babe
I need to be next to you//