The Reality
"You're late," Buffy scolded her brother as he settled himself in the booth across from her. "I said to meet for lunch at noon. I've been waiting for fifteen minutes." Her tone was stern, but the smile on her face indicated that she wasn't all that bothered.
"Did you see your boss?" Angel Summers asked, ignoring her scolding.
"Nice to see you too, brother."
He smirked. "You know me. Right to the point."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I know."
"So?"
"I start back Monday," she answered him, nervousness laced in her tone.
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "You're going to do
fine, Buffy."
"Thanks. I know. Just first day back after . . . everything."
He eyed her, concerned. "How you feeling?"
She smiled. "I'm all right. You don't have to keep asking me that, Angel."
"You're my sister and I worry about you. Is that a crime?"
"I suppose not. But you just saw me this morning," she pointed out.
Angel's chocolate brown eyes glinted with amusement. "If you can call that
‘seeing'. You're a bear in the morning."
She shrugged. "Not all of us can be morning people."
He shook his head and Buffy noted how the gel he put in his dark brown
hair made it stiff as a board. "I wonder if the wind would jostle that hair,"
she mused.
He pointed at her. "Watch it, young lady."
"What are you going to do? Hit me over the head?"
Angel's handsome face darkened. "Not funny Buffy."
"Sorry," she whispered, glancing down at the opened menu in front of her.
"Shall we decide?"
Angel nodded grimly and grabbed a menu from behind the napkin holder.
He opened it and then snapped it shut. "You don't remember anything at
all about what happened?"
"For the millionth time, Angel. No." She was trying not to get angry, but
she was so tired of people asking her—namely her family—what happened
to her. All she remembered was waking up in the hospital bed with Angel
hovering beside her, his eyes tired, his usual tall and postured gait,
slouched with worry. She'd had no recollection of how she'd ended up there.
Lindsey McDonald, her boyfriend, said he'd come home from errands to
find her at the bottom of the stairs in a heap. She had no recollection of
falling down those stairs. It seemed pretty cut and dry to her aside from
the fact that she hadn't broken anything; just a few bruises here and there.
He'd said she must have fallen on her way down and not clear from the top.
It was a good thing those stairs were carpeted with extra padding or she'd
probably be in real trouble. If Lindsey had found her there, then obviously
she'd fallen down them, thus the head injury. So then why did Angel insist
upon asking her day in and day out if she remembered? He knew she didn't
remember anything at all.
Angel held up his hands in surrender. "All right. I see the resolve face. I
know what it means. This discussion is over."
"For today," she muttered.
Tight lipped, Angel said noting and instead opened up the menu, holding
it up so that she couldn't see his face.
Sighing with frustration, Buffy did the same.
A few blocks from the Al's, the greasy diner in which Buffy and Angel were
sharing lunch at, Spike found himself in front of the Museum of Fine Arts,
frustrated beyond belief. He'd gotten lost three times in almost two hours.
Boston was not an easy city to find your way around in. In fact, he
remembered Buffy telling him that streets seemed to magically disappear. He
thought she was exaggerating, but after he'd tried to retrace his steps twice
and ‘lost' the street he had come down on, he realized she was right. And
really, how many "One Ways' could one city have?
However, as he looked up at the grandeur that was the MFA of Boston, he
saw the charm instantly. Manicured lawn, and an impressively large brick
building greeted him. The Newport mansions had nothing on the vastness
of this building. However, he supposed since she worked for the museum as
events coordinator all things old impressed her. He wasn't sure if that was a
narrow way of looking at it or not, but he didn't care at that moment.
What he did care about however was the fact that his palms were beginning
to sweat and his heart rate was accelerating with every step to the
entrance. His breath hitched as soon as the door opened as if he expected
Buffy to jump out and greet him, or walk idly past him at any moment.
Instead, a ticket booth and a gift show lay in his wake and the attendants
behind the desk smiled at approaching attendees. All right, he told himself,
good place to start. They could get her to come down, hopefully, and then
they'd have themselves a chat.
He hesitated, feeling suddenly guilty. Was it right to do this at her work?
Probably not. He took a deep breath, noting how every museum seemed to
have that ‘old' smell. The scent of fried food wafted to him and his stomach
rumbled. Must have a cafeteria here. Maybe if he stuck around long
enough, he'd see her and wouldn't have to ask. He checked his watch.
Twelve-thirty. Lunchtime. Girl had to eat, right? And so did the boy.
Realizing he had to purchase a ticket in order to get to the cafeteria, he
forged forward anyway. He could stroll around; take a look at the museum.
See the place where his Buffy worked. See the place she talked about so
lovingly. No one he knew ever talked about their job like that. He wanted to
feel closer to her, felt as if he would somehow know her even better, and
understand her. He snorted. His friends were right. He was obsessed. Well,
the only way to cure his obsession was to face it head on and purge it out of
his system. Or was the best way to move on and forget about it? Like he
could do that.
Purchasing a ticket – in which he now understood how it was kept so lovely
by the price – he sauntered into the cafeteria trying to appear calm, but
instead taking in everyone around him, looking for Buffy. He ordered a ham
sandwich, waited for it to arrive, then sat down in the back where he had a
clear view of the entrance. He shook his head. He was definitely a stalker
now.
After finishing his sandwich, he decided it was time to walk around. Finding
where the Greek artifacts were, he made his way there, all the while
keeping his eyes and ears open for Buffy. After walking around for an hour,
he was getting antsy. So when a tall, leggy brunette strolled past him with
the badge "STAFF" on her white lab coat, Spike stopped her.
"Excuse me."
The woman stopped and looked around her.
Spike smiled. "I am talking to you."
The woman smiled shyly and let out a little giggle, pushing her glasses up
her nose and turning her shoulders inwards. Definitely shy.
"I was wondering if you could help me," Spike started.
Her head cocked to the side. "With?"
"I'm looking for someone that I believe works here. In fact, I know she
does. See, she used to be an old friend of mine and I'm wanting to surprise
her."
"How nice," she gushed. "Who is she?"
"Buffy Summers."
The girls smile faded. "Oh dear."
Spike felt sick all of a sudden. "What is it?"
"Just that Buffy isn't here . . . she's been out for quite a while. She'll be back
though. On Monday."
"Is she all right?" Spike asked, remembering Schreb had told him of her
stay at the hospital. Was she sick? Is that why she'd left him? Because she
was dying and didn't want to hurt him. His heart ached and his stomach
churned at the prospect. He'd stay with her. He'd stay with her until . . . No,
he'd hire the best doctors around and take care of her, make her well again.
"She had an accident. I'm not really at liberty to say . . . how long ago did
you know her?"
"Uh, high school."
The woman smiled then. "Oh then you should—I mean, she'll probably be
really happy to hear from you."
"I want to surprise her though, please don't tell her uh—"
"Fred. Fred Burkel and I won't tell--?"
"William. Nice to meet you Fred," and he held out his hand.
Blushing profusely, she shook his hand lightly. "If you'll excuse me," she
said looking down and smiling.
"Thank you," and he moved out of the way so she could get by. He sighed.
Monday. He wasn't sure if he could wait a whole weekend to find her. Next
stop: Her home.
Tenacity was his middle name, however, he felt he had to regroup and plan.
Look at the facts the way any good attorney would do and make a plan
based on those facts. Fact number one: Buffy had a brief stint in the
hospital due to an accident. Fact number two: The brief stint in the hospital
had been bad enough that she had missed work. Fact number three: Fred
had acted funny when he asked about her. What was he walking into and
did it have anything to do with why she had left?
Making his way through downtown Cambridge, he did the first law of
driving in Boston: He parked at the first parking spot he saw. He didn't care
if it took him an hour to find Buffy; he wasn't willing to risk taking two just
backtracking. On foot seemed a safer bet. Besides, the walking would
maybe clear the cobwebs from his muddled brain and he could plan what
he was going to say to her when he saw her. First, he knew he wanted to
make sure she was all right. Then he wanted her to know that he came in
peace. He chuckled to himself. What was he? An alien? He grimaced, he
sure felt like one. Taking out the address, he headed into the first
convenient store he found to buy a pack of smokes, get something to drink
and ask directions. Strolling down the aisle to the coolers, he was perusing
his options when his heart stopped.
Buffy.
She was standing in front of the one of the long coolers, just staring at it.
God, she was beautiful. Was it possible that she had grown even more
beautiful than when he'd last seen her? He always thought that your
dreams had a tendency to embellish and exaggerate even more than what
had actually happened, than what you had in reality seen. Not the case
when it came to Buffy. Sure, he could see just her profile, but it was the
smoothness of her skin he remembered, but did not do her justice in his
dreams and memories, the way her cheeks were naturally pink without the
aid of makeup, the way her nose was oddly shaped and so adorable, and her
hair, how it shone. It had gotten longer, he noted, passed her shoulder and
grazing her shoulder blades. He noted how the ends naturally curled. She'd
also gotten thinner. He frowned. While her clothes weren't hanging off her,
there was noticeable room in them.
Realizing he couldn't cheat himself of the chance to talk to her, he sidled up
next to her. "Know what you want?"
"No," she sighed. "Sorry, I was zoning. Am I in your way? I'll move," and
without even looking at him, she started to walk away.
He grabbed her arm. "Buffy."
She froze and turned to him. Her eyes were wide with apprehension. Fear.
What was this? He'd expected shock, but not this. He suddenly felt like a
git.
"How are you?" he asked, releasing his grasp on her arm.
"Fine. How are you?" she asked cautiously.
"I've missed you," he told her honestly and then wanted to kick himself for
it. Way to scare her off, Spike.
"Oh? How long has it been?"
"About two months, give or take the time it took me to come down here for
a visit."
Now she looked downright despondent. "Two months huh?"
"Yeah, Buffy, can we go somewhere and talk? I don't want to yell at your
anything. I just need to know what happened."
"I'm afraid I couldn't tell you that."
"Why not?" now he was getting a little angry. First she'd acted afraid of him, then sad that she'd seen him and now she was just going to be no help at all?
"Look, whatever happened with us—"
"'Whatever' happened with us?" his voice rose.
"I'm sorry, but—"
"You're SORRY?"
"Listen," she said forcefully, her voice rising now. "I don't know who you
are."
"What?"
Her bottom lip trembled. "I don't have any memory of the past three
years of my life."
Now that, he didn't expect. "What?" he whispered.
"I had an accident a couple months ago-- which I must have just met you before that – and I suffered a head injury. I have a condition . . . "
"Amnesia?"
"That'd be it. So if I met you in the timeframe of the past three years, I
don't remember you."
A/N: Well?
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you for the support of the story! PLEASE let me know what you think after this one...I'm nervous about it.