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********************
She could never have said, later, how she’d gotten herself home. If someone had asked,
she wouldn’t have had an answer; she didn’t remember much about that night, after
she left him.
She left him. And it hurt so much.
Later, she had a thousand questions for herself that she couldn’t answer. Like how
she had ever physically walked away—ran, really. She thought. The method of leaving
wasn’t really any clearer than the rest of the night. But she did leave and
it hurt, it hurt like every part of her was being cut into pieces. And yet she couldn’t
stop, she couldn’t turn around and go back. She could only go forward, away, because
as much as she was pulled to stay, she was pulled to go to.
She was being pulled in two, and she didn’t know which way to go.
One thing she did remember was music. Whenever she was hurt or scared or lonely,
her music always helped. When she got back to her room, she took out her guitar and
she played everything and anything that came to her, weeping silently for what she’d
left, for him.
She loved him so much.
He’d never said he loved her. Almost. He had almost said it, but all he’d really
said was…he felt the same way. The words never came from his lips, though the time
was right. Maybe he didn’t want to say them, couldn’t say them. Maybe they weren’t
true. Maybe he’d only said anything because he felt he had to, because she had said
it. And why had she said it, when it only made everything hurt worse?
She sang even though she had no voice, and played and cried and eventually she lay
down and slept, because there was nothing in her left but exhaustion. She slept and
all her dreams were of him until even her sleep brought tears.
********************
He never knew how he found her. It was as if she called him, as if her voice called
him or her heart or her soul, he didn’t know. But he followed her, he walked where
she had walked, and the despair in both hearts was the same.
It took him much longer to get there, since he didn’t know where he was going. He
found it eventually though, and the tree outside had lots of branches to climb on.
When he climbed up, he could see her through the window, curled on her bed with her
guitar beside her. Before he could stop himself, he had reached over and grabbed
the windowsill, pulling himself over and inside with the natural ease of a predator.
That was what he was, wasn’t it? A killer.
She didn’t stir as he stepped inside; he knew how to be quiet. He walked around the
bed, soft as a cat, until he could see her face. And he stopped.
She was asleep, that much was obvious, but the tears on her face; her eyes and face
were red, her cheeks blotched from crying. And still the tears came. They poured like
a river from beneath her closed eyelids and every once in a while she would shift,
whimpering in her sleep and shivering. She must be cold; the window was open and
she wore only shorts and a tank top. Slowly, gently, he slid the covers of the bed
out from underneath her, settled a pillow beneath her head. She whimpered again and
he repressed the urge to smooth her hair back from her face, to kiss her gently awake
and tell her it was only a dream, she was safe.
But she left. And he had no right to wake her to anything.
Spike drew the blankets over her, tucking them in around her as she curled tighter
into herself. He began to stand, began to turn away, but her hands had caught his
jacket and they tightened, not letting go. If only she was awake. If only she really
wanted to hold him; he would stay at a word, at a gesture. But it wasn’t her, if
was a reflex, a need for comfort.
Well, he needed comfort too.
Obeying the silent command, he eased himself onto the bed, capturing her hands and
curling them in his. Her face burrowed into his chest, fit itself right under his
as if it was made to be there.
It was.
"Oh God," he whispered, as the tears began to flow. Because as close as
he was to her now, still she slept, still she didn’t even know he was there, beside
her. If she did know…what would she do? Recoil in terror? Run away again, though
this was her place? What wouldn’t she do, to escape him?
And yet he could not leave. So tears fell from a vampire’s eyes and mixed with those
of the only woman his soul had ever truly loved.
********************
Sunlight crept across Jewel’s face and with it a smile. She turned, shifted, reached
for what she knew would be there and then—and then she stopped and opened her eyes
and cried out because of course he wasn’t there, how could he be there? Because she
left.
All the sorrow and pain washed over her again and for a moment she couldn’t think,
all she could do was grieve and want him. And then she remembered that she hadn’t
gone to sleep beneath the covers, she had fallen asleep half-sitting, half-laying
on her bed and her guitar had been beside her…it was in it’s case beside the bed.
And there was the imprint of someone larger than her, beside where she lay. Someone…she
turned to the window. It was closed. Had it been open? She couldn’t remember. Had
she closed the window before she slept?
At this point Jewel frowned because something besides the sunlight had woken her
up. A sound. A ringing.
The phone.
Startled awake by the sudden realization, Jewel winced and tried to think where the
phone was. Who had her number? Had she given it to Buffy? The only person she could
think was her mother…
Her mother. What was the date?
As she frantically searched for the phone, Jewel tried to count the days since she’d
arrived in Sunnydale on the…the second? She snatched at the receiver as soon as she
found it. "Hello?"
"Jewel?" her mother’s voice asked. Jewel took a deep breath and sat back
on her heels.
"Mom?" she replied.
"Happy birthday sweetie!" Jewel managed a smile. She’d forgotten all about
her birthday. She was nineteen.
"Thank you," Jewel said softly.
"Your present’s in the mail. You said you didn’t know how long you’d be there,
so I’m sending it to Sam and he said he’ll send it to you as soon as he gets it,"
Sheila said. Jewel smiled, thinking of her agent.
"Thank you Mom. I wasn’t expecting anything."
"How are you? You sound tired," her mother fretted. Jewel suppressed a yawn,
as if the words triggered her exhaustion.
"I didn’t sleep well last night," she replied. "And I kinda just woke
up."
"I’m sorry." Jewel shook her head then realized Sheila couldn’t see it.
"That’s okay. It’s probably good you didn’t send the stuff here, I think I’m
going to L.A. sooner than planned."
"You don’t like Sunnydale?" Sheila asked.
"It’s…complicated," Jewel replied evasively, her voice choking slightly
as she thought of him. William…Her sweet, sweet William. Not hers anymore though.
She left. She couldn’t expect him to wait until she decided to turn around and go
back.
"There’s something wrong," her mother said in a firm voice. Jewel winced.
Of course her mother would know.
"It’s okay Mom," she assured her, though of course it wasn’t. "I’ll
be okay."
"You can’t tell me what’s the matter?" Sheila asked. Jewel sighed.
"It’s hard to explain. And I’ll be fine, I promise. It’s nothing bad, and there’s
nothing you could do anyway." Sheila sighed.
"Okay…um, Sheri’s trying to grab the phone, so I’ll let you talk to her,"
Sheila laughed slightly. Jewel smiled despite herself and prepared to put on a good
face for her younger sister. Talking to family, she could almost forget…almost.
********************
Jewel wasn’t exactly whistling a jaunty tune when she left her apartment later in
the day, but she wasn’t about to break down again. She hoped. She talked to her family
for a while, and just when she finished with her mother and sister, her father called
and she got to talk to her little siblings. She’d checked her email and found about
fifty happy birthday cards and messages from friends that she’d been neglecting to
read, and all of that had drawn her mind away from her present misery. For a little
while anyway.
Jewel stopped at the Bronze to talk to the manager for a minute about the next night.
She wasn’t planning to stay much longer. The farther away she could get, the easier
it would be. The Bronze had been a good venue though, and she’d like to try out her
new songs, composed in the last few days in Sunnydale. Her mouth twisted in a wry
smile as she thought of this. Well, the hardest times were always what gave you the
best songs, weren’t they? It was just too bad they had to hurt so much…Not that "too
bad" went anywhere near describing the ache in every part of her body, or the
chill of the fear even on this gorgeous summer day.
And nothing, nothing could ever describe how much she wanted to be near him.
The manager was delighted to have her back and they reached a quick understanding.
Jewel departed, her next two days becoming clearer. She took a deep breath and tried
to think of a mental checklist. Things to do. Call Sam. Tell Buffy and her friends
that she was leaving. Try not to think about William. Polish her songs off. Talk
to the apartment manager. Call someone in L.A. to get an apartment there. Was there
anything she was forgetting? Survive maybe. That one seemed a little weak. Why should
she survive if she would never let herself be happy? What was the point? He made
her happy and all she could do was run away.
At that thought the fear surged again and she remember why she’d left. The sun seemed
to darken, though there weren’t any clouds in the sky, and Jewel felt cold again.
"Hey!" a familiar voice called. "Jewel!" The singer stopped and
looked around to see Buffy and Willow approaching her. Jewel summoned a smile. Buffy
looked concerned.
"Are you okay?" she asked. Jewel nodded, startled, then started to shake
her head, then just stopped.
"I don’t know," she answered. "Why? Do I look that bad?"
"No!" Willow exclaimed. "No, you look fine. It’s just that Spike said
you left and we didn’t know…" Buffy nodded. Jewel bit her lip.
"No, I’m okay. I mean, I’m not physically hurt or anything," she said,
her voice catching suddenly. Buffy and Willow exchanged glances and each took one
arm.
"Let’s go somewhere to talk," Buffy said firmly. "You can tell us
everything." Jewel didn’t know what to say, but she went with them willingly,
unable to do anything else. She felt like she knew Buffy, and trusted her, but Willow…she
glanced over at the red head, who gave her a reassuring smile. Suddenly Jewel felt
warmer, just a little bit. She didn’t have William, she couldn’t have him, but maybe
she had friends here. Real friends.
Jewel started to cry when she told them the story. They’d gone to Willow’s house,
Buffy mumbling something about not being welcome at home. Willow’s room was like
her—sweet, kinda fuzzy. There was a rat in a cage in a corner of the room and a really
nice computer with a whole set-up to go with it. Buffy sat her on the bed and they
sat beside her.
"Tell," Buffy commanded in a compassionate tone. So Jewel told. Willow took
her hand half way into the story and squeezed it, and Buffy looked pale and as if
she knew exactly how Jewel felt. She probably did—well, not exactly, since
Buffy had never been afraid of relationships, but she’d told Jewel she was afraid
of letting Angel back in, and that was almost the same as letting him in in the first
place.
"Am I wrong?" Jewel sobbed when she finished. "Did I make the biggest
mistake of my life?"
"You did what you had to," Willow murmured.
"I know, but I miss him so much! I even dreamt that he came in through the window
last night and slept beside me! It was so real! I convinced myself it actually happened
because I wanted it so much." Buffy frowned, looking thoughtful. "What?"
Jewel asked, sniffing.
"Spike didn’t come back to the mansion till almost dawn," she replied.
Jewel drew in a deep breath, then frowned herself.
"How do you know?" she asked. Buffy blushed slightly.
"It’s not what you think," she murmured. "My mom kind of told me I
couldn’t see Angel if I lived there and so I said I wouldn’t—Angel said I could move
in with him. But we didn’t…do anything…" Jewel smiled through her tears and
patted the Slayer’s hand.
"I believe you. He didn’t come back?" Buffy shook her head.
"He could actually have been there," she said gently.
"How would he get inside though?" Willow asked. "There’s the whole
invitation thing." Jewel’s face fell.
"Right. He couldn’t have been there," she sighed. For a moment, she’d hoped…and
why had she hoped? She left him. Not the other way around.
"If it’s any comfort, we all would have done the same thing," Buffy told
Jewel, her eyes glistening blue with un-shed tears. Jewel shook her head.
"No you wouldn’t. You’re strong. Both of you, I can tell. You wouldn’t run from
a little fear of commitment," she said, her mouth twisting into a bitter smile.
"Fear isn’t ever little," Willow told her. "Especially when it’s only
in the terrified sense." Jewel did smile at that, a true, genuine smile.
"Well it was definitely that," she said dryly. She turned to Buffy. "So
you and Angel are really together?"
"I think so," Buffy sighed. "I’m still kind of wary of leaving him
alone for a second, though it’s safe during the day, he can’t go anywhere anyway.
The rest of the time though, I just want to watch him constantly, in case he tries
to leave again. I guess I know what my mom felt like when I came home last year."
"Not just your mom!" Willow exclaimed. She turned to Jewel. "Like
two days after she got back I found her packing!" Jewel’s mouth quirked up as
she recognized an old, teasing argument between the best friends.
"You know what I find helps a broken heart?" Buffy asked. "And believe
me, I’ve had practice."
"What?" Jewel asked curiously, wanting to hear the words of wisdom from
someone who really knew. Buffy had gone through a lot more heartbreak than she had,
she reminded herself. It didn’t really help, and it certainly didn’t make it hurt
less. Buffy and Willow exchanged smiles, then turned to Jewel.
"Forgetting you even have it," Buffy said.
"Darn tootin’!" Willow seconded and from tears, Jewel found herself laughing,
if not happy, at least able to pretend she was and fool even herself.