Chapter Text
Buffy surveyed the busy docks, taking a final look at the country she had always called home. All around her, people screamed and cried. Happy screams and tears of joy, of course. Everyone was excited, it seemed, except for her.
She took a deep breath.
“Where’s Angel?” Joyce asked, stepping out of the car into the sunlight. The weather was aptly glorious for such a momentous day: the day the unsinkable Titanic – the ship of dreams – set sail.
“Oh, uh. Yeah. He’s already onboard,” Buffy told her mother, snapping back to reality. “He got on… uh, earlier. To do. Stuff. Stuff he had to do. But don’t worry, I have the tickets.” Buffy flashed Joyce the widest smile she could muster. She dug into her purse to find the tickets, which had gotten crumpled under the weight of a stake. If only Giles could see how carelessly she’d treated those precious slips of paper, which the Watcher’s Council had pulled so many strings to get their hands on.
White Star Line officials barked them into the right queue, Buffy lagging behind Joyce as they were steered over the first-class gangway. On the surface, Buffy was moving voluntarily, but she may as well have been in chains. Chains that were dragging her away not only from this country, from her home, but from herself. Stepping onto this ship meant the end of the Buffy she’d always known, and nothing would ever be the same again.
Buffy barely realised she’d paused to lean over the railing, to steal a final glance at home, until she felt Joyce’s hand on her shoulder.
“I know it’s sad, honey. Leaving always is. But there’s a better life ahead of us. I’m sure of that.” Joyce gave Buffy a reassuring peck on the cheek and then she was gone, without hesitation.
And why would she hesitate? As far as Joyce was concerned, all that lay ahead of them was a better life. A roof over their heads, bread on the table; hell, dresses for every occasion. A vast improvement on their previous situation, or at least so it must have seemed to her. Buffy felt a rush of resentment towards her mother’s blissful ignorance. She longed to be so clueless, so devoid of responsibility.
The ship’s interior was adorned with opulent red carpets and gold banisters. Away from the boisterous euphoria of the docks, the air inside hummed quietly with anticipation.
Buffy quickly spotted Angel’s tall frame descending the stairs. His face lit up when he caught sight of Buffy and Joyce. Angel was always put together, but he was truly dressed for the occasion today, in trim black dinner jacket and bowtie. He first took Joyce’s hand and kissed her cheek, welcoming his future mother-in-law warmly. Buffy wondered to herself if Joyce ever noticed Angel’s tepid hands and mouth. Sometimes she thought her mother was wilfully blind to the many oddities of their lives.
“Hey,” Angel whispered in her ear when it was her turn. Buffy felt a surge of affection for him. She gently squeezed his hand with her gloved fingers as he pulled back. He met her gaze briefly, dark eyes flashing with suggestion for a quick, barely discernible second. Buffy’s stomach rushed. His dark hair had been meticulously combed, she could tell, but it still stood stubbornly up.
“Glad you both made it. Wait till you see the rooms. First class.”
Joyce grabbed Buffy’s arm and mewled excitedly. “Oh, Buffy! Can you believe it?”