Work Text:
"Did you love him?" Riley asked the blond woman sat on the bar stool next to him. She was quiet for some time, but that was okay. Silence was a big part of their relationship. It wasn't that sort of relationship though. They'd been meeting at the same bar, every week for just over two months. It wasn't a formal arrangement; neither expected the other to be there. There was no obligation, but every Friday night, there they were.
Riley noticed her one night; loneliness smoking off her. He knew the look well, had worn it himself more than once. Was wearing it at that point and resigned himself to the inevitability that it would feature in his future. He almost went to talk to her, but when he watched her viciously and spectacularly shoot down some guy that fancied his chances, nerves overpowered him. He'd fought and beat demons three times his size, but that little voice that lived at the pit of his stomach, the one that said don't do it Riley - She'll laugh in your face, always seemed to beat him.
Yet the following week she was there again, rejecting anyone who dared to approach her. The week after, Riley dared. He didn't talk, just sat at the empty bar stool as though she wasn't there. Several pints later, a few glimpses of her looking at him, he finally managed enough courage to speak.
"Do you wanna share a pitcher?" he'd asked. That was nine weeks ago, and Riley smiled at the memory. Part of him was so scared at how she might react. Now though, he was more comfortable than he had been in some time.
"Can you love someone that part of you hates?" she asked, in answer to his question. Riley continued to look at his glass
"I hate someone that part of me loves. I don't know if that's the same thing." He took a large gulp, emptying the glass. Raising his hand to catch the bar tender's attention, he then pointed at their empty glasses. She nodded and moments later, brought two more glasses of beer.
"Your ex-wife?" the woman asked. Riley let out a laugh before taking a mouthful of his new drink.
"Oh no," he said, wiping his top lip with the back of his index finger. "I don't hate Sam. I could never hate her." The woman too took a drink.
"But she left you?" she asked.
"I didn't really give her a choice," Riley said, then smiled. "You've done it again."
"Done what?" the woman asked, looking to Riley like she genuinely did not know what he was talking about. He wasn't buying it.
"Oh you know," he said. "You've managed to get the conversation back to me so you don't have to talk about yourself." She breathed out a quick laugh, before smiling.
"Maybe," she began, "Or maybe you are just self-centred and make everything about you." She took another drink, looking somewhat triumphant.
"It's you," Riley said flatly. "I was raised to be polite and helpful and very un-self-centred." He ignored her scoffing laughter and continued. "You on the other hand, were trained to make people talk about things that you wanted them to talk about. I believe that makes you more qualified to steer the conversation than me." They both chuckled at this, and then another silence followed. He liked the natural quality to their conversations. Riley felt almost like they had their own mind; that they knew when to cease and give the pair some quiet, because although the silences were frequent, they had never been awkward or uncomfortable.
"You never did answer my question," Riley said.
"Yes I did."
"With another question. That does not count" He watched as she swallowed, and then took a deep breath.
"He opened my eyes. Showed me a new world, or rather, showed me the true nature of the old one." She had another drink of beer, stalling, Riley thought. "I'm grateful that he did. I can't imagine living a life without knowing what he let me see, but in doing so, he also destroyed my life."
Riley could relate. He hardly knew any details about her life, but her words made him think of what he had sacrificed, willingly and otherwise, for and because of Buffy.
"Did you love him?" Riley asked again.
"On some level, I don't know." She said. "I don't think I would have allowed myself to love anyone at that time, but he..." She faltered. Riley didn't press. She didn't owe him an explanation. "What about you? This person you hate. If it's not your ex, then who?"
"A girl from college. First girl I loved." He replied.
"Loved?" Riley nodded and emptied another glass. He looked to his side, seeing she was, as usual, matching his pace. He beckoned for more drinks.
"She didn't love me back. I became a completely different person for her."
"Let me guess?" she said. "It wasn't enough?" Riley smiled to one side of his face and shook his head.
"Not even close. I hate her for that." He said, his voice sounding dry as he'd been breathing through his mouth. He licked his lips and wet his throat with the new beer. "I suppose meeting her also destroyed my life."
"Would you go back, if you could? Re-do things?"
"Probably not," he replied.
"Me neither. Except for the part with my Dad." Again silence. He wondered how just one period in a person's life can have such a lasting impact. Over two years after leaving Sunnydale and Riley was still struggling to repair the damage left in its wake. He'd given his career to it once. Nearly his mental and physical health as well. After that it had taken his marriage. Sam thought he was still in love with Buffy. Part of him was, but the bigger part of him felt only bitterness towards her. She probably would have liked that even less; she would want to be married to a bitter and spiteful man even less than someone who carried a torch for another.
"Do you believe in miracles?" she asked after some time. Riley found himself shrugging his shoulder as he thought about the question. He asked himself, of all the things he'd seen, could anything be actually described as a miracle? He didn't think so. Three years ago, he'd have probably been smitten enough to say that Buffy was a miracle, but now he was not so sure about them; whether it was though cynicism, realism or his lost idealism, he could not say.
"I'm not convinced," he said. "I've never seen one and I don't think I can buy the whole a tree or a baby's smile is a miracle way of thinking." The woman laughed again.
"I'm alive because of a miracle," she stated calmly after her laughter ceased. She ignored, and Riley could tell that this was an effort, his questioning looks. She carried on drinking as if she'd made a comment on the weather outside. After sensing no follow up, he had to ask.
"What?"
"I should have died," her voice was barely changing tone now; clearly she had practiced not revealing her emotions, because Riley could not imagine anyone talking so calmly about such things. "Someone saved me when there was no possible way he could." Riley did not know how to respond. Finally she looked up from her drink. "You kind of have to believe in them after you see one for yourself." Riley smiled.
"Kind of like vampires," he said absent mindedly, thinking out loud, and instantly regretted his slip up. He was surprised when she didn't look shocked or make some comment of disbelief. She just looked at him before raising her glass to make a toast. Riley obliged and as their glasses clinked together, Riley realised he should not have been surprised; she had told him that she'd been stationed in LA. Before he left the military, he'd read several reports from their agents there detailing events that rivalled his own experiences in Sunnydale.
"So Mr Finn?" She began after a while. "Are you ready to tell me what it was you used to do?" Hid didn't make eye contact with her. He didn't really want to tell her about the Initiative or his life at Sunnydale; much of it was classified anyway, and even though he was no longer on their payroll, the military had him signed many documents before he left, promising his silence.
"I'm guessing the Army," she said when he did not answer. He did not look at her, hoping she wouldn't see the surprise in his eyes. "You have the posture of someone who's been in the military. You have scars that suggest you've seen combat, and your gait is reminiscent of a march; measured, uniform and confident." Riley couldn't help but be impressed; he'd worked hard to lose all his military tells too. Apparently, she was a good detective.
"Crossing guard," he said as he could feel her stare upon him. "You have to stand tall and proud. You take a lot of bumps from angry motorists, and you have to stride assuredly out into that road, to stop that traffic." He was struggling to keep his face straight. After a moment, she started to laugh. Riley couldn't help but reciprocate.
"Another beer?" she asked when she calmed. Riley emptied his glass and then shook his head.
"I think that's enough for me," he said and stood. He paid the bar tender and they said their farewells. They never planned to meet the following week; part of each of them hoped that the other wouldn't show as that would mean they maybe had developed some semblance of a life, or that they had met somebody; that they were not pathetic enough to be drinking alone on a Friday night. The other part though, the selfish part, was glad when they showed. That way they wouldn't have to spend the night desperately trying to make a connection with someone else, just for the company.
As Riley walked back to his apartment, as he had done every week for the past nine weeks, he smiled. Maybe it was a post-alcohol buzz, or maybe for Riley Finn, things were looking up.