Progress


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She was going to drive him out of his mind, he was sure of it. She’d been here for under twenty-four hours and already, he was going crazy. Most of it was the way she was being with him, refusing to speak to him or even look at him, but part of it was the sheer agony of being close to her and wanting to be closer. She said she wasn’t staying long and so he might lose her again but he found that the thought brought with it equal amounts of relief and pain. If she would just let him speak to her, explain. But she obviously didn’t want anything to do with him. Some things never changed, he guessed.

With a grim smile, he threw off his duster and went through to the ensuite in his room, grabbing up a cloth and wetting it. The encounter with the vampires had allowed him to let off some steam but as a result, he had a slashed arm and a bloody head. He perched on the edge of the bath and took to cleaning the blood as best he could by touch.

He wondered if he would be plagued by his love for Buffy Summers for the rest of his long life. He sighed and threw the bloodied cloth into the sink before reaching for a new one. It would be a lifetime at least before he could forget Buffy. If not three. She was everything he wasn’t – especially in the days when he had been evil – but he was drawn to her light, to her goodness. He was kidding himself if he thought his time here in LA had changed anything. He loved her just as much now than he ever had back in Sunnydale. Maybe even more, when he saw that lost look in her eyes. She was only half the girl she had been back then and he would do anything to see the light returned to her eyes.



He was interrupted in his thoughts by a knock at the door and he frowned, draping the cloth over the side of the sink. He rarely had visitors here and more often than not, it was Angel. He wasn’t exactly up for a mope-fest and he got to his feet with a frown, making his way through into the living room. He threw open the door but his biting remark froze on the tip of his tongue when he saw not Angel, but Buffy. Buffy, looking up at him with those sad eyes and attempting a smile.

“Hi,” she got out quietly, her eyes darting all over the place, as if she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.

He said nothing – unable to – and just stared at her, wondering what god had brought her here to his door, where she so clearly didn’t want to be.

“Can I… can I come in?”

Still silent, he took a step backwards, watching her intently as she moved into the room, eyes taking in the very plain decoration. It was definitely minimalist compared to the heaps of possessions, furniture and rugs that had littered his crypt in Sunnydale.

He closed the door behind her and just stood there, watching her in a mixture of confusion and anticipation as she hovered by the table, hand brushing over the book there. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the words she spoke next weren’t it. She glanced back at him over her shoulder and gave him a wry smile.

“You’ve still got blood on your face.”

He raised a hand to his face almost in a daze, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Got into a brawl with a couple of vampires,” he explained, still in a daze.

She was silent for a moment but then she turned her bright gaze on him.

“Are you badly hurt?” she asked softly.

He was even more surprised by this sudden worry and he frowned slightly, just shaking his head.

“I’m fine.”



He was truly confused now. He had no idea what Buffy was doing here in his room and he had even less of an idea what to say to her.

“Look… Buffy-“

“I grieved for you,” she blurted out, her back turned to him again. But then, his girl had never been good at talking face-to-face, always too scared of her emotions – or his. Before he could make any reply, she turned towards him and he was taken aback by the pain in her eyes.

“Which is kinda stupid, because you were here all along.”

“Buffy-“

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “Don’t make excuses. It’ll just make things worse.”

And now he was truly speechless. His Buffy was standing just a few feet away from him, eyes tearing up, and she was talking about her emotions. He finally gathered himself together and answered her.

“Haven’t got a good excuse anyway,” he joked lamely, but that was definitely the wrong thing to say because her whole face crumpled and she turned her back on him once again. He saw her shake with a suppressed sob and it was like a knife to the heart. Barely five minutes alone and he had made her cry. His feet drew him towards her of their own accord and he paused just inches from her back.

“Love, please…”

“I tried so hard,” she whispered, “I tried and I tried but it won’t go away, no matter what I do.”

He had no idea what she was talking about but the raw emotion in her voice urged him forward and he reached out to place a hand against her arm.



She tensed at his touch but then relaxed, turning towards him. She raised her tearful gaze to his and he just wanted to throw himself at her feet and beg her for forgiveness. She reached out a shaking hand and brought it to rest on his chest, biting her lip to suppress a sob.

“You’re real. You’re really real,” she whispered, seemingly to herself as her gaze was fixed on her hand where it rested against him. He was too stunned at such an emotional display to say anything in reply, especially when she raised those wide eyes to his once more. She stared at him in silence for a long time, searching his eyes for something.

Whether she found it or not, he didn’t know because in the next instant, her lips were on his, trembling as she kissed him. He knew he should pull back, find out what this was all about but he had been too long deprived of her taste, of the feel of her and so he couldn’t help himself from wrapping his arms around her tightly and dragging her against him as he kissed her back hungrily.