Title: You never could, but I tried. (aka Permission 2)
Author: Jacqui
Rating: G
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me, they never did, and unless wishes really do come true, they never will.
Timeline: From "Passion" through to the end of season two. Once again I fudged with the details a little, but that’s the whole point, right?.
Comments: This one goes out to everyone who e-mailed me suggesting (asking, demanding, threatening… that I write a sequel to "Permission". See? Feedback works people.
Feedback: See comments.

He stopped and looked at the hunched over form, sobbing in the small hospital chair. What he wanted was to go to her, to take her in his arms and quell the pain that wracked through them both, but he couldn’t. It seemed a loathsome thing to do.

At that very moment he could feel the black ooze build up in him like a sickness, wanting to spill out of him and taint everything he touched. He would not subject Buffy to that ugliness, not after all she’d been through. He knew what he had to do to excise the deep, hungry pain within him, he only hoped she could forgive him, that he could forgive himself.

Angel had to pay, he had to suffer more than he ever had before. There were no distinctions in Giles’ mind, no romantic visions of Angel versus Angelus. They were one and the same and he would kill either.

Or die trying.

* * * *

Each footstep was a hammer to the nail in her heart as they echoed down the hallway. Suddenly the hospital seemed cold and Buffy shivered. He hadn’t even stopped, hadn’t said a word, had barely even paused.

"Don’t do it, Giles."

It was barely more than a whisper, a plea to the retreating figure. There was no possible way he could have heard her. She watched the doors swing closed behind him and though she could no longer see him, felt his every heart beat as he walked away.

"Don’t you do it."

Her voice calmed down, she spoke in a solid, steady voice, though still not loud enough for anyone, let alone the person they were intended for, to hear. She wiped the tears away and stood up.

"Don’t. You. Dare."

A doctor, who had just stepped out of Jenny’s room to speak to the now deceased woman’s relatives, looked up in surprise, stepped back and mumbled an apology. Buffy had sounded so determined, so forceful that nobody in their right mind would have stood against her. She didn’t even notice as she began to run after Giles.

"Don’t!"

* * * *

Cordelia, Xander and Willow were two blocks from the hospital when they spotted Buffy stalking the night. She’d called them from the car park, having missed Giles by seconds, now she was going after him on foot. They swerved into an impressively illegal u turn and pulled up beside her.

"I couldn’t wait. He’s going to kill himself."

Buffy couldn’t sit still in the car, she twitched and sighed and silently urged them all forward. She knew they were going as fast as they could, but her body was trying to push them further and faster by sheer will alone. She didn’t know what she would do if she lost Giles now.

They got to his apartment too late. Buffy wanted to curse. She also wanted to cry. Looking around she saw the utter cruelty in which Angel had set the scene. Every little detail screamed her guilt across to her, and she couldn’t forget the image of Jenny’s broken body in the hospital bed.

* * * *

It wasn’t Angel’s laughing face that set him over the edge, it wasn’t even the laughter in his voice. It was the image in Giles’ head that finally made the bitter passion in him erupt and spill over. As the flaming sword swept a burning arc over his head, Giles could only see one thing.

The image of Jenny, lying dead and broken in his very bed, mingled with that of Buffy, so that it became Buffy lying there. Her head turned at an awkward angle, her eyes staring dull and empty, her hand laying limp across the mattress. It was Buffy who was dead. He’d lost them both. Giles swung with greater force and the heavy thwack as sword hit dead flesh was little comfort, but comfort enough.

He didn’t care anymore, all was lost, all that he’d worked for, all that he cared about, was gone. It didn’t matter that the hilt of the sword grew too heavy to hold upright, it didn’t matter that cold, hard fingers were tightening on his flesh, that he was about to die. Somehow it didn’t matter. Everything was turning black and it was so much easier to give into it, than to fight it. He let the darkness swallow him and welcomed it like a long lost friend.

His breaths came harsh and heavy, they stung with the smoke that lingered and eddied in his lungs. He stumbled as they fell out of the door, he would have fallen but for the strong arms that held him up. She’d followed him, the little fool, though he should have known.

"Why? Why did you come? It was my fight!"

Ever since she’d come into his life, it had been her fight, this one lay squarely on his shoulders. She’d had too much taken from her, too much had been denied her, their lives had cost her way too much. Surely he could be allowed to do this for her, for her and Jenny. He knew how belligerent he sounded and he didn’t care.

"My fight!"

It wasn’t entirely true, but it had been something he needed to do, something for the two women in his life that he had truly loved. Something that would allow him to say goodbye to one and turn to the other. Buffy was looking at him as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Tears were streaming down her face.

"Are you Giles? Don’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!"

She’d dissolved into full blown sobs, so hard they almost matched his.

"I can’t do this without you, Giles!"

There they crouched, greasy with soot from the flames, soaked from the rain, clinging to each other in the grimy gutter like two street urchins. Buffy wanted to cut a hole down the middle of her chest so that he could climb inside and she could keep him there, safe and warm, forever. No more words were spoken, none needed to be, as they cried identical tears and held each other hard enough to stop them from falling off the edge of the world.

* * * *

In fairytales the heroes get what they’ve been searching for, the bad guys get what they deserve and valuable lessons are learned. In real life however, and especially on the Hellmouth, things rarely work out the way people think they should.

Grief hung heavy in the air as the days and weeks after Jenny’s death passed. The rain of that night washed away the deep and desperate agony that had made Buffy and Giles open their souls to each other, and left in its wake a gentle, slow awkwardness.

They were new, somehow different, when they were alone. Pretense and distraction worked miracles when any one else was around, and if anybody noticed that things were slightly odd between them, they attributed it to Jenny’s death.

It hurt Giles more than he knew possible that he couldn’t reach out and show Buffy exactly how he felt, it was almost like it had been before, when he hadn’t even let himself admit how he felt, it was only slightly worse that he knew. He was as much to blame, if not more, than she was.

It was he who had distanced himself once again, to her confusion, to her dismay. It was he who had steeled himself against any attempt by her to continue what they’d started. It was he who cried in the middle of the night as he thought about what he was doing to her. It was he who felt his heart break every time he turned from her.

It was Giles who died a little, just a little, when she finally stopped trying.

Willow didn’t know any of this as she stood in front of him and handed him the disk. She had promised Buffy that she would destroy it, but something had held her back, told her not to do it. Now that Angel was about to awaken Acathla and sick the world into hell, she was a little thankful that she had listened to her instincts, though she was a little wary of the reactions she would get.

Giles was quiet for an awfully long time. If they could do it, if they could stop Angel and prevent Acathla waking, they could save the world. But what would it do to Buffy? Would she be able to kill Angel with a soul? If not, would she be able to face him knowing all the things he’d done? Worst of all, and it cut him to the bone to think of it, would she go back to him? Would he, Giles, be pushed back to the sidelines, forced to watch? If it came to that, Giles didn’t think he could do it any longer.

Even though he knew the cost was high, that it would hurt them all irrevocably, he knew there was only one choice. His sigh was a deep one and his voice was low and full of pain.

"What needs to be done?"

* * * *

"He’s got your watcher."

The words that sealed it all. Her suspicions confirmed, she was now ready to make a deal with the devil. Her selfishness, her weakness, had cost others dearly. She had no right to claim any sort of pride, if she had to work with Spike, then she would swallow her pride, suck in her hatred and do it. Kendra was dead, Willow was unconscious, the others injured and spooked. And Giles, she didn’t want to think about Giles, in Angel’s hands. Suffering god knew what.

It had been her fear which had lead them all here, her useless, petty, selfish fear. She’d been ready to kill Angel the moment she’d heard about Jenny, but one thing had stopped her. Her brain knew that Giles would keep holding back as long as Angel stood between them, but a tiny part kept asking her if this was true. What would happen if the last barrier was taken away and he still pushed her away? She hadn’t wanted to be rejected and now they all had to face the consequences.

Accepting Spike at face value seemed a small price to pay.

* * * *

If he concentrated hard enough the pain would go away. He kept telling himself that as he tried not break down. Agonizing sparks of pain were shooting up his arms, starting in his manacles wrists and wrapping themselves around his shoulders. He could feel blood trickle down his fingers and drop, little bit by little bit, to the floor. A heavy pounding thudded in his head, emanating from a large, angry lump that he knew was turning startling shades of blues and greens, purples and reds. His back was stinging with yet to be raised blisters, the burns would be bad, he knew. And the voice, that deadly voice whispering in his ear.

"Rupert, ol’ buddy. You’ve done well, but not well enough. I know you can stand a lot more than this, but tell me," Angel’s voice took on a smug tone, it taunted him. "how much do you think your precious slayer can take?"

It was the first time that Angel had been able to get a reaction out of him.

"Ah, Buffy, such a sweet girl. How do you think she’d go, tied to a chair?" Angel turned an eye to watch the struggling man, he wanted to see every reaction. "Actually, that’s a nice image. Buffy, tied down. Don’t you think? Can you imagine the sort of things we could do then?"

Giles spat in his face. He didn’t trust himself to open his mouth.

"I could make her scream. Longer and louder than you ever could, watcher man. Screams of pain, screams of pleasure." Angel stood up, nearly hypnotized by his own images. "Actually that’s a nice thought." He began to walk away.

"Wait!" Giles closed his eyes and hoped Buffy would forgive him.

* * * *

"If you walk out of this house, young lady, don’t even think about coming back!"

Not you too, Buffy took one, long, last look at her mother. The last person in the world she thought she’d ever have to use her strength against, and she’d shoved her out of the way. The last person in the world she ever thought she’d walk away from, and she was walking out of the house. Buffy had long ago lost the power of making a decision in this matter. Even if her mother refused to accept it, the world was literally in her hands, again.

She hard her name being called after her, and Buffy was glad that Joyce would never see the tear that it caused her.

* * * *

Angel had not appreciated his games. He’d been stretched to the end of his tether, and had almost killed him, but he had been saved, of all people, by Spike, strangely enough. In his shattered mind Giles didn’t question Spike’s motives, only thanked his stars for them.

As Drusilla knelt in front of him, Giles could feel the vibes literally sing from her. He knew exactly what she was about to do. He forced all thoughts of Buffy from his head and focused on his grief for Jenny. Silently his mind begged Jenny to forgive him, for sacrificing her memory, these monsters could hurt a dead person a lot less than they could a live one.

Drusilla crowed as she leeched images of the dead teacher from his head.

* * * *

It wasn’t the light that blinded her, it wasn’t the realization that it was too late and that Angel had opened the gate, it wasn’t even the sight of Spike carrying Dru out of the factory and abandoning their agreement that made her drop her guard.

It was the shock of seeing Giles, beaten, broken and sobbing, having to be held up by Xander as they fled the building. Buffy stopped thinking about her fight, and that’s what gave Angel the opportunity to corner her. Trap her.

Cold steel pressed into the base of her neck, making her fight for every breath while trying not to move too much, knowing she could impale herself on the blade if she so much as coughed.

"So it’s all come down to this?"

It seemed strange to her that she could have once found that voice soothing, arousing, pleasant, that she could have looked into that face and seen what she thought she wanted. Right now the very things that had once drawn her to Angel, were repulsing her. Hatred escaped her lips with every breath, it pulsed within her like nothing she had ever felt before. Angel missed the sudden stillness which overcame her trembling.

The blade rushed towards her and she caught it between her bare hands, shoving it back towards him with a viciousness she’d never known she had, she felt it connect with a satisfactory thud. Jumping up, she wasted no time in collecting her balance and attacking him with force. Though she was infused with a new feeling that could only be described as no feeling at all, something that went passed mere numbness, but was devoid of anything, and though it gave her an added edge she’d never had before, Buffy was not fooling herself. Angel was putting up a fair fight of his own, as if he too, had been stripped of all his feeling, and in truth, wasn’t that exactly what had happened?

Was this what it was like to be turned? To be stripped of the burden of caring? Was this the freedom that would allow her to exist?

"You should have seen him cry."

But she did care, didn’t she? She was only willing herself not to care, because caring hurt too much. Thinking about how she’d hurt them all did nothing but hurt her, but she couldn’t stop. The only thing that had changed was that she’d finally stopped caring about Angel, about what he had been, about what he was. The only thing that mattered was that she took him out of her life. Permanently.

"You should have tasted his blood."

No. It didn’t happen. Giles was alive, she’d seen him as Xander had dragged him away. Giles had lived. Buffy tried not to let her pain show in her eyes as she fought, she tried not to tremble as she thrust her sword forward. It didn’t mean that Angel hadn’t bitten him.

"He whimpered for you. Called your name and you never showed."

Was that true? Had he called for her?

"But in the end, he was crying for his beloved Jenny. When he could no longer think, he was calling for her. Not you. His Jenny."

The words cut like a knife. She knew they were aimed at her to do just that, but she couldn’t help but let them in. What if it was true? Had Giles really called for her, then thinking she wouldn’t come, or that she didn’t care, turned to Jenny? Had he given up on her? The steel tore through the flesh of her arm and the coppery smell of blood filled her nostrils. She looked down at her bleeding arm, then up at Angel. Raising her good arm, holding the sword high, she steadied herself for the plunge.

Angel choked and fell on his knees before her. His eyes lost the cold, scorn filled hatred and melted into confused pools of pain. He looked up as if to plead with her, for what she was not sure. Her hand stopped its thrusts, though, as she waited to see if this was a ploy. There was something achingly familiar about his posture.

"B-Buffy? What’s going on?"

No. No. And no. It wasn’t happening, it wasn’t possible. Could the fates be so cruel?

His arms came around her waist to pull her close and she was frozen, she couldn’t move. Fresh tears bubbled up. After all that had happened, could he really be back?

"I felt as if I haven’t seen you months. I…" He looked at her arm. "You’re hurt."

She wanted to push him away, shout at him that, yes, she was hurt and he’d done it. He’d done it all and she was broken because of him. She wanted to accuse him of everything he’d done since her birthday, she wanted to hurt him. But she couldn’t. Looking into his eyes, she knew she couldn’t.

The sobs were painful when they came out of her, bursting up through her shoulders and out of her mouth like acid. Her eyes stared at the gaping whorl of blue behind him. She knew what she had to do and it was a million times harder than anything she had prepared herself for.

Angel couldn’t get enough of the feel of her, the smell of her, he really did feel as if he hadn’t seen her in months. The last thing he could remember was her birthday, that night. Suddenly, in a blindingly painful spark, he could remember. He could remember it all. The pain in her eyes was all because of him.

"Oh god Buffy, I’m so…"

He never got to finish the sentence.

* * * *

Joyce walked up her stairs like a person dreaming. It was automatic, she didn’t even realize she was doing it. Buffy had not come home. A sudden thump woke her to reality. Had Buffy climbed into her room through her window? She needed to talk to her, to tell her that she’d been a fool. It had come as a shock, but now that Joyce had had time to think about it, she would support Buffy. Most important, she hadn’t meant what she’d said. Not a word.

"Buffy? Is that you?"

Walking into Buffy’s room, Joyce saw the piled of abandoned clothes, the drawers pulled out, the cupboard door hanging open. It didn’t register, not until she saw the letter lying on the bed. She didn’t want to pick it up, if she read the words, they would be real. It would be final. She had to read them. Shaking, she bought the paper close enough to read.

Dear Mom,

I know you didn’t mean the words you said last night, the heat of the moment makes us all a little crazy, but I had to go anyway. I have to think, to clear my head, to find out who I really am. Funnily enough, I once thought I knew.

The last few years have been hard on me, I never wanted to be the chosen one, the slayer, whatever you want to call it. I didn’t choose this life, it chose me. It was my calling, my destiny and though it would have been easy for me to shake it off, I finally came to understand one thing. I could not stand by and watch innocent people suffer, or die, knowing that I could have done something. Surely you can understand that.

Don’t blame Giles, he’s a good man. He didn’t make me who I am, only guided me. I owe my life, many times over, to him.

Tell the gang I love them, that I’m sorry I couldn’t do things right, that I’m sorry they got hurt because of me. I did try, but I was never good enough to deserve any of them. I love them.

Tell Giles I’m so sorry I failed him. Tell him that it was me who failed, not him, never him, no matter how hard he argues. Tell him I understand why he turned away, that it’s his turn to understand now. Tell him I love him.

And tell yourself that I’m sorry. That I’m so sorry it hurts. I’m sorry I could never be the daughter you always wanted. I’m sorry I lied to you about that part of my life. I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did. I never wanted to hurt you, to put you in danger.

I’m so sorry that you couldn’t accept me the way I am, you never could, but I tried to be who you wanted, who everybody wanted and that didn’t work out either.

I love you.

Buffy.

END

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