Buffy stared blankly at the wooden door, tracing the whorls of age in its patterns. It really was quite an impressive door, cut from a single piece of oak and stained dark and shiny. Funny, she had never really taken the time to look at it before, always breezing in, running out...Now, though, she was frozen in front of it, not sure if she should knock or let herself in, not completely sure she should go in.
"It's okay," Willow encouraged gently from behind her. "I'm with you. Let's go in."
She heard her friend's soft words, but was unable to make her body obey. She really didn't want to be here. Not that she was afraid. She wasn't. Even now she couldn't be completely sure what had happened yesterday. Maybe he hadn't pushed her. Maybe he had reached out to grab her again and she lost her balance. But when she pictured the coldness of her husband's dark eyes when he yelled at her, and compared it to the tenderness that always shone out of Spike's blue ones, she just wanted to run away.
Without really making the decision, she whirled around, away from the door and back toward the driveway. She couldn't do this. Spike wouldn't mind letting her stay another night, and maybe tomorrow she would feel stronger -
"Buffy?" Startled, she jerked back around. The door had been flung open from the inside and standing framed in the familiar doorway was a very unfamiliar woman. Her short blond hair was impeccably styled and her smart business suit and perfectly applied makeup made Buffy feel suddenly very drab in her borrowed clothes and loosely tied back hair.
"You are Buffy, aren't you?" The stranger asked, all confidence flicked with impatience.
"She is," Willow affirmed suspiciously, eyes narrowing slightly at this unexpected turn of events. "And you are?"
"Of course, please come in, both of you." Officiously, she led Buffy unresisting through the doorway, waiting until Willow joined them before firmly closing the door, shutting away the outside world and Buffy's chances of an easy escape.
With a falsely earnest look, she took both of Buffy's hands in hers. "Buffy, my name is Darla. I'm a relationship therapist and Angel asked me to be here this morning to -"
"Buffy?" Again her name was called as her husband came around the corner, but this time her body reacted instinctively, jerking away from Darla and taking several steps back. "Buffy, I thought..." he trailed off as she refused to take his outstretched hand, eyes blazing green fire in his directions. "I thought she could help," he said conciliatorily. Swallowing hard, he seemed to notice Willow for the first time. "Thanks for bringing her home," he nodded in an obvious dismissal. "I'm sure Buffy will call you later."
"She's staying," Buffy cut in, her voice small but defiant.
Angel's tone turned smooth, manipulative. "Buffy, I don't think you really want her here wile we discuss this..."
"Now, Angel," the blond therapist tsked, laying a hand on his arm. "Remember, we have to consider Buffy's needs, and if she is more comfortable with her friend..." Darla stopped, searching for the name.
"Willow," Buffy supplied quietly.
"If she is more comfortable with Willow here," Darla continued, smiling benignly at the redhead. "Then I think we need to allow it." That settled, she grabbed a clipboard off the counter and gestured toward the living room. "Now, why don't we go in here and get comfortable so we can have a little dialogue."
Mind whirling with confusion, Buffy automatically followed the other woman down the hall. Why was Angel doing this? Did he want their marriage that much? Hesitantly, she sat down on the loveseat, Willow settling next to her and trying to look comforting. For her part, Willow was not at all reassured by this turn of events. She was pretty certain this was a game designed for Angel's benefit, but she wasn't sure her friend was strong enough to see through it.
Darla and Angel sat on the couch opposite the two friends, the therapist immediately taking the lead in the conversation. "First of all, Buffy, Angel tells me you had a little accident yesterday. Are you all right?"
Willow's temper flared at the suggestion that Buffy's injuries resulted from a "little accident," but bit her tongue at the pleading look her friend gave her.
"I'm fine," Buffy answered shortly. "Excellent. We're all glad you recovered sufficiently to join us today," she gave Angel a sharp look, nudging him to speak.
"I'm glad you're all right," Angel looked at her sadly. "I was worried."
"I'm sorry," replied Buffy very softly.
"You should have been worried!" Willow exclaimed, now unable to keep quiet.
"I really don't see how-" Angel started, but Darla cut him off.
"Angel, Buffy wants Willow to be a part of this, so we need to let her speak. Willow, now tell us, why do you think it's a good thing that Angel had to worry about his wife?"
Buffy was unable to stop an automatic flinch at the term "wife." Willow saw the movement and patted her hand encouragingly. "Because he," she paused, an unaccustomed timidity flaring as she took in the two pairs of cold eyes focused uncompromisingly on her. Taking a deep breath to draw the courage to say what need to be said, she continued strongly. "He pushed her down the stairs."
Darla gasped, and Angel groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Willow, is that what Buffy told you?"
"Not exactly," the redhead hedged. "But we all know it's what happened."
"Buffy," the therapist prodded gently. "Is that what you think happened?"
"Maybe," Buffy whispered miserably, staring at her hands.
"Maybe?" Darla echoed. "So you're not sure?"
When Buffy refused to look up, she turned to the man seated next to her. "Angel? From your point of view, what happened?"
"You fell." He stared hard at Buffy, dark eyes glinting. Buffy risked a peek across at him and was startled by the tension in his face. "You fell, Buffy," he continued impassioned. "And I knew what you thought. You always want to think the worst of me lately," his tone was aggrieved now, and only Willow caught the tell-tale twitch of his eye.
"I'd like to ask about something Willow said a moment ago," Darla said, silkily manipulating the conversation. "Willow, when you said 'we all know', who exactly were you referring to?"
"Myself," Willow answered slowly, recognizing the trap. "And my boyfriend, Oz. And Spike," she reluctantly admitted.
"We already knew that, of course, from the few choice words Mr. Giles exchanged with Angel on the phone yesterday," Darla began m matter-of-factly.
"Buffy," Angel interrupted urgently. "If your friend," his lips twisted on the word. "If he really thought I had hurt you, and he really cares about you, then why wasn't he here yesterday, breaking down the door? I would have been!"
Willow's anger flared again. "He tried!" she exclaimed. "Believe me, he wanted to. But Buffy was practically hysterical and begged him not to."
"But if he had really wanted to," Angel persisted. "If he really cared that much...Buffy, are you sure you know what he really wants with you?" he asked condescendingly.
Buffy's head jerked up at that and again Willow started to defend Spike, but Darla raised her hands to shush them. "I think this is getting a bit out of hand. Why don't we leave it for not and discuss something else. Buffy, I'd like to talk about your mother."
"My mother?" Buffy was bewildered at this change of subject.
"Yes," Darla replied, striving for a compassionate tone. "I believe she passed away several years ago, right before you met Angel?"
"That's right," Buffy replied quietly, already blinking back tears. "Did you and your mother ever talk about the future, Buffy?"
"Sure of course," she answered softly.
"What did your mother want for you?"
Buffy paused, considering. "Well, we talked about me getting my art history degree. My mom was a curator at a museum and I always loved going to work with her when I was little, and then later volunteering as a student guide."
"That's great," Darla smiled encouragingly. "It sounds like you’ve taken just the path she wanted for you, career-wise. But how about personally, Buffy? What did she want for your personal life?"
"Well," she paused again, searching her index of memories for snippets of conversations about love, relationships, marriage. "She never really said specifically. I know she wanted me to be loved and taken care of, probably to get married."
"Your father left you and your mother when you were fairly young, didn't he?"
"Yes, but this isn't about him," protested Buffy.
With a faint smile, the therapist persisted. "He left your mother for another woman, didn't he?"
"Yes," Buffy nodded slowly.
"Buffy, how would your mother feel about your relationship with Spike?"
It hit her hard, like a blow to the stomach. The image of her mother's disapproving face swam in front of her eyes. She had considered it before, briefly, but quickly shoved it to the back of her mind, justifying her actions in other ways. Her father's affair had gone on for months before he finally left her mother, and her mom had known about tit the whole time. Buffy closed her eyes, remembering how betrayed she had felt, the almost physical pain of remembrance assaulting her senses.
Willow felt sick as she watched her friend rapidly lost color. This was not going well at all. "That's not fair," she protested. "It's a completely different situation!"
Darla continued as if she hadn't spoken. "What exactly is your relationship with Spike, Buffy? Because we all know you're more than just friends. It's time to be honest," she said gently, that same supercilious smile hovering on her lips. "Have you slept with him?"
Buffy became even paler. "No," she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible, eyes firmly fixed on the floor.
"But you've done other things, haven't you?" A hint of reproach colored the therapist's voice, and Buffy couldn't even bring herself to speak; she could only nod slight, faintly acknowledging her guilt.
"Buffy," Willow began softly, desperately trying to find a way to comfort her friend and turn the blame back where it really belonged.
"Willow, Angel cut in firmly. "I really think it's time for you to leave now." Willow looked at Buffy, expecting her friend to rebuff Angel's request, but the blonde only stared at her hands.
"Maybe he's right," she whispered.
"Buffy, I can't just leave you here by yourself!" "If you are worried about your friend, don't be," Darla interjected smoothly. "I plan on being here for the rest of the day, and anyway, I think we have cleared up yesterday's little incident to everyone's satisfaction, right?" She stared hard at Buffy, who acknowledged her look with another small nod.
"Buffy," Willow lowered her voice in desperation. "What about Spike?"
Finally, Buffy looked at her friend, green eyes swirling with hurt and confusion. "I need some time alone, Wil. Tell him...tell him I'll come see him tomorrow afternoon. I'll come by before the concert." Tomorrow Blue Flame was supposed to do a mini-concert for winners of a radio contest. In all the fuss, Willow had forgotten, and she bet that Spike had, too.
Reluctantly, Willow nodded and rose. She didn't want to leave, but felt she really had no choice.
"You can see yourself out," Angel said curtly. The redhead dragged her feet as she slowly made her way out the door. She was not looking forward to having this conversation with the two men who waited at the end of the driveway.
Spike saw her coming and made to jump out to meet her. Hurriedly, Willow got in the backseat and slammed the door before he could leave the car.
"Where is she?" he asked tersely. He had been going crazy, sitting here with Oz, not knowing what was going on inside the house. Buffy had been so quiet this morning, he couldn't tell where her head was.
"Spike," Willow began hesitantly. "It was really bad. They completely ambushed her. Angel hired this 'relationship therapist' to talk to her, but..." she trailed off, unable to fully explain how the situation had gotten so completely out of hand. "Somehow this woman, she turned it around, made it all about Buffy's mom..."
Spike closed his eyes, not wanting to watch Willow form the words. "She's not coming, is she."
It was a statement, not a question, but Willow answered it anyway, as gently as she could. "No, she's not. She said she needs some time alone. She'll see you tomorrow, before the concert.
He sighed. He had forgotten about the bloody concert. "Is she safe?" he asked abruptly.
Slowly, Willow nodded. "I think so. The therapist is still there..."
Fierce despair tightened around Spike's chest like a band. Here they went, around the circle again. Bloody fucking hell. But what could he do? He knew what he wanted to do, but marching in there and physically carrying her off would probably only get him arrested. Slowly, he began to back out of the driveway, to wait for tomorrow, and one more chance to make her see.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
So so sorry I've been gone for awhile. I now have no internet at my house, so posting has been particularly tough. Plus, those pesky real-life issues...But I promise I haven't abandoned this story!