“To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness.”
Erich Fromm
Will leaned against the shed until the intensity of Buffy’s stare compelled him to move. Despite the temptation to tell her off, he dutifully followed her into the house like a pussy-whipped ponce.
Well, not completely whipped. He’d blatantly ignored Buffy’s feelings about his smoking and continually puffed away, purposefully creating a steady trail of smoke behind him.
Yeah, take that!
Once inside, each slid off their snow-covered boots. Buffy headed toward the furthest couch and sat down. Will, following her lead, strolled over to the adjacent couch and casually dropped onto the cushions. His jostling caused the ash of the cigarette to fall, sprinkling his shirt and the surrounding upholstery.
Although the pair entered the home under the pretense of talking, they remained silent as Will continued smoking, and Buffy idly plucked at her sweater.
This straining silence persisted until Buffy heard the distinctive snick of his Zippo. That’s it! Now, motivated from the mixture of disquiet and the ever-growing cloud of cancer wafting her way, Buffy stood, marched over to Will, and deftly snatched the newly lit cigarette from his lips.
She’d completely ignored his loud protesting and quickly snuffed out the offending item in the ashtray before turning back to face him.
“Will, we really need to talk, and it’s hard enough as it is, never mind—“
Buffy’s stomach rumbled loud enough to stop her mid-rant, and for Will’s gaze to drop, lingering briefly on this unexpectedly noisy area.
“Either you’ve learned a new way to yell at me, or I’d wager you’re hungry.”
“Um, yeah, kinda.” As if on cue, her stomach made another audible protest before she added sheepishly, “Starved actually.”
“Well, can’t very well talk with your stomach growlin’ at me like a rabid dog. ‘M feelin’ right peckish myself. Let’s eat.”
With a tilt of his head, Will wordlessly suggested Buffy lead the way. Despite their time apart, once they entered the kitchen, the pair instantly fell into sync. While Buffy placed the salvageable wings onto a plate, Will pulled out extra paper napkins and two imported beers.
When done, the pair met at the table with their items and sat. Will opened the beers while Buffy divvied up the wings between the two plates.
Out of the blue, Will’s loud snort broke through the silence. Buffy gave him a questionable look before he'd off-handedly remarked, “This sorta feels like the Last Supper. Well, you know, without the free-loading apostles.”
Will’s attempt to relieve some of the uneasiness with humor worked temporarily. Once their amusement had died down, they ate in relative silence and cleaned the kitchen in much the same fashion.
After drying and putting away the last plate, they headed into the living room. The air around them felt thick with trepidation from the impending and unavoidable “talk.”
They returned to their previous spots on the couches. Time ticked by slowly as both waited for the other to start off the conversation. Soon, Buffy began fiddling with her beer’s peeling label while Will nervously tapped a random beat on his denim-clad thigh.
Unable to stand the strangling awkwardness anymore, Buffy placed her beer on the coffee table, stood, and walked over to the fireplace.
Her gaze danced along the pictures littering the mantle. Even though these photographs only captured small moments in time, each held the happy, smiling faces of all those they loved. When her gaze settled on the last picture taken of her and Will together, the first thing she noticed was how happy they looked.
What went so wrong?
In spite of her current hesitation, Buffy felt it giving way to her inner strength. It rose, compelling her to act. With a new steadfast determination, she turned from the hearth to face him.
“Will, you know I have a hard time putting my feelings into words. That’s more your thing. Or at least it used to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Before two years ago, I always knew what you were thinking, feeling, and now…now I have no clue. You’ve shut me out, Will. And I hate I don’t know, and…it hurts.”
This threw him off kilter. He assumed when she wanted to talk it would’ve been just more words filled with resentment and anguish. In a million years, he had never expected this: a heartfelt disclosure.
As her sincerity washed over him, he could feel all his uncertainties and insecurities fade away. Will stood and approached the hearth, at the opposite end.
While facing the fire, he basked in the warmth as he watched it dancing, caressing, and at the same time, consuming all that it touched.
Just like my love for her
Since she’d come back into his life less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d been flooded with memories. This moment was no different. Except now he felt compelled to mould these thoughts into words. Will drew in a deep, steady breath before he described, in a soft, even tone, what he saw.
“It feels just like yesterday when I arrived home after that week-long book promotion in San Francisco. I barely had the car in park before jumpin’ out. I couldn’t wait to see you, since it was the longest time we’d been apart.
“I remember walking into a completely dark house. Well, except for a trail of candles leading upstairs. Oh, and let’s not forget the best part, your lacy knickers hangin’ off the newel-post. The minute I caught a gander of your frilly unmentionables, it was a bloody miracle I didn’t break a leg as fast as I raced upstairs, strippin’ along the way. When I finally got to our room, there you were— wearin’ nothin’ but a smile. The best bloody sight ‘d ever seen. Well, that was until you handed me a small box. Do you remember what you said after I opened it?”
Buffy felt the tears welling and blurring her vision as a soft smile teased her lips from the fond memory of what the thin, white stick lying inside the box meant.
“Yeah. I told you that the hazards of taking antibiotics while on the pill were definitely not in the brochure. I also remember how cartoonishly big your eyes got. Then there was all sorts of babbling on my part. Don’t really remember much of what I said after that. Well, except for—“
“We’re pregnant.” A mirrored smile touched Will’s lips as he remembered, once he got past the shock, the overwhelming joy and love that caused him to drop to his knees, resembling a man in prayer. Wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and pressing his ear against his wife’s still-flat stomach.
While he’d remained there, clutching her like she was his lifeline, she tenderly raked her fingers through his hair. In that moment, he had felt so loved and cherished.
Will closed his eyes, trying to dispel this memory and in the process released the tears gathered on his lower lashes. He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat before speaking again.
“Before then, I’d never really known my true purpose in life. Sure, there was my writin’ and more importantly than that, you. But when you told me I was gonna be someone’s da, ‘m not gonna lie, ‘ve never been so ecstatic, but terrified at the same time in my entire life.”
“Will, believe me, to you I looked like I was all-calm-girl, but I was far from it. I was so scared, and let’s not forget hormonal. That combination alone deemed me certifiable.”
Will tittered softly as he opened his eyes and turned toward Buffy. The firelight accentuated her womanly curves and crown of golden hair. As he drank his fill, he was conflicted between going to her and remaining where he was. Reluctantly, he stayed rooted on the spot.
“Despite how scared you were, Buffy, you were so beautiful. You radiated pure happiness. It was amazing, the thought that inside your tiny body, a little us was growing.”
Will then turned back toward the fire, unable to bear facing her while he’d whispered his remaining words, “And then, the selfish bastard I was, ruined it. Ruined it all. I squandered your precious gift…and I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t change or make anythin’ better, but I am. I want you to know that. And if I could, I would give up my life to—“
His words were suddenly cut short when he’d felt Buffy gently touching his shoulder. Slowly, he raised his tear-stained face toward her as her hand then fell away.
“I know, Will. I know you do. But that doesn’t change anything, no matter how much you beat yourself up over this. I’ve made peace with myself and so should you.”
“How, Buffy? How can I ever forgive myself for not being there for you? How can I forgive myself for destroying the only things that I’d ever given a damn about? How?”
“I can’t tell you how to grieve. I know for me, there had been dozens of times I would take a step forward. Only to find myself taking two steps back the very next day. It wasn’t easy. It’ll never be easy. The only thing you can count on is that one day it will hurt just a little less. But that doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten. It only means you’ve done what that person who you’ve mourned would’ve wanted you to do—go on living.”
Will desperately wanted to seek solace in her arms. However, since he felt his affections would’ve been rejected, he chose instead to slide his hands into his jean pockets and nervously toy with the loose change and his lighter.
“Buffy…but…how…”
“Did I?” Will nodded and was relieved that Buffy clearly understood what he needed to hear without having to say so.
“Like I said it wasn’t until three months ago, before something changed. That day had started out like any other. I awoke mid-morning, and after aimlessly puttering around the house, I decided to take a shower. All the sudden it hit me. You’d think when this moment comes it would be some big, climactic epiphany. It wasn’t. It was so much more.
“In that moment, I realized I needed to remember our baby’s life, not death. Even though we never met, you and I loved him or her with all our hearts and souls. I was at peace in the knowledge that he or she would never feel pain, never be deceived, or ever have their heart broken. All that mattered was in his or her three short months of life, they’d only known love. It was then, I knew I had finally reached the last stage of grieving—acceptance.”
Will nodded slowly, even though he’d felt he truly didn’t understand nor believe he would ever reach this point—not with the loss of their child and especially not with the loss of his marriage. His insurmountable feelings only emphasized how amazing the woman standing before him truly was.
“Buffy, you are one of the bravest women ’ve ever known.”
A hint of a smile graced her lips as her eyes lowered in sudden shyness. When she finally found the words to respond, she met his gaze.
“No, not brave, just resilient. And so are you, Will. You’ve just forgotten for a little while.”
“Luv, regardless of which word you use, the fact remains, you’re one helluva woman.”
He captivated her with his heartfelt words, but also with his now intense gaze, drawing her into the depths of his eyes filled with absolute love and admiration.
She desperately wanted to let herself be swept away, but there was one lingering, haunting question that, after two years, demanded to be answered.
With an unwavering conviction she asked, “Will, after all this time, I never had the strength to ask, but now I do. What happened to you that night?”
Her question stilled him, instantly filling him with dread. He didn’t need clarification of what night she was referring to. He knew with utmost certainty: it was the night that changed their lives forever.
Will inhaled deeply and turned toward the fire. He knew she deserved an answer, but as before, it seemed easier to relive these painful moments when he didn’t face her.
“Well, that was the night Lilah arranged, for five hundred dollars a pop, rubbin’ elbows with Spike. I don’t think I need to rehash how I fought to get out of it. But, despite all my protests, Lilah assured me this would launch my book into the stratosphere or some bullshite like that. So, like a good little puppet, I went.
“While all these cookie-cutter people milled around like cattle, I’d spent the better part of the night by myself, nursin’ ten dollar beers. All I wanted to do was get home to you. I didn’t belong there. Hell, at the beginnin’ of the night two security guards tried tossin’ me out on my arse thinkin’ I was some party crasher. It wasn’t until Lilah blasted them for not recognizin’ the man-of-the-hour that they let me go. The only thing remotely amusin’ was after when these two no-necks tried kissin’ my arse, so they could keep their pathetic jobs.
“Anyhow, when ten o’clock rolled around, Lilah must’ve remembered who paid her bills. ‘Cause just before I was about to take off, I saw her arm in arm with some bloke as they weaved in and out of the chattering crowd comin’ right towards me.
“Needless to say, following false pleasantries, come to find out he was there from The New York Times Book Review. ‘M not gonna lie, I was gobsmacked. While he started askin’ me about my book, my phone rang—it was you. I tried to take the call, Buffy. I really did. But then Lilah snatched the phone from my hand, silenced the ringer and put it in her bag. Before I could get it back from her, Mr. New York Times started askin’ more questions, and…I just got caught up.
“Next thing I knew it was almost two hours later. The party was wrappin’ up, and everyone was leaving. While I headin’ out, Lilah caught up with me, sportin’ a Cheshire cat grin and goin’ on and on about how successful the night was. That’s when she handed me my phone back, and I noticed all those missed calls—”
Will couldn’t speak anymore as the memories of the unforgettable bombardment of phone messages played in his mind.
Mr. Pratt, this is Marie, a nurse from the Emergency Department at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center…
Will, it’s Dawn, where the hell are you? Buffy’s in the hospital…
Will…
The burning memory of the final message, Buffy’s frightened voice, finally broke the dam holding back his tears. They fell in earnest, staining his cheeks with hot, wet salt.
As the tears turned into sobs, Will’s legs buckled, driving him to his knees. Buffy could only watch, with mirrored tears flowing, as Will’s pain surged through him.
Despite how difficult it was to witness, Buffy knew this was what he alone needed to do. When his sobs started to subside, Buffy finally approached him and tenderly ran her fingers through his disheveled hair.
Will leaned into her hand, savoring her touch. Buffy moved closer, and he shifted, wrapping his arms tightly around her and resting his cheek against her stomach. Each relished one another's comfort.
Besides his mum’s, Buffy’s arms were the only place he’d ever felt safe, loved, and at peace. For so long he had been lost. Now, in her arms, he was finally found.
“Can we rest now, Buffy? Can we rest?”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
*mopping brow* Hello all! Did you miss me? Sorry for the delay in posting, but this chapter had been the hardest one I've ever written. No, not just for this story, but EVER. The reasons are long and many, so I won't bore you with them. Oh, and previous warnings from the last chapter still apply. Also, before you go, I would like to give a huge thanks to my beta, Sanityfair. Alright, all done babbling...you may proceed...
Chapter End Notes:
The line: "Can we rest now..." is, of course, from Season 7's Beneath You by Doug Petrie. Yes, I know it has been used dozens of times before, but I felt it just fit perfectly here, so that's that. I would greatly appreciate if you would take a moment to let me know what you thought. Thanks!