By Tango
E-MAIL: Tangofic@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: Nope. I still don't own them.
SPOILERS: Completely AU. Everyone's just plain ole human.
PAIRING: B/A, of course!
DISTRIBUTION: Eleni Angel's site (www.sphosting.com/yeye/), My site (www.sunflower.com/~tango), Starrkitty's Adult B/A Archive (www.starrkitty.150m.com), Forever, Always and Then Some (Tara's site), Duck's Babble Board and my yahoogroups. Anyone else who houses my fic is welcome to it. All others, please let me know and then, of course you can have it.
FEEDBACK: Please let me know if you think I should continue this. I'm not sure about it yet.
LYRICS: All lyrics are from the Counting Crows
RATING: R? For now.
DEDICATION: For Eleni Angel. I hope this meets the challenge. I don't follow
directions too well. *G* (I will post the challenge at the end of the fic.)
And to trammie.
AN: Before you ask: I plan on continuing my other stories. I promise. The muse still isn't cooperating with me. At all.
***
it doesn't get much worse than this
Most police officers go through their entire careers and never even discharge their weapons. Even in big cities like LA, New York and Chicago, there are police officers who have never released a bullet outside of a shooting range. Detective Liam Angelus wished he was one of those people.
He wasn't.
Three people had lost their lives while he was on duty, by his hands. He shuddered every time he thought about it. He cringed to think that their deaths had made him a hero and spurred on his success, causing him to become the youngest detective on the force. That's when they started calling him "Angel." It sounded like sacrilege coming from these people who barely knew him. It had always been his nickname from his mother and they made into something bloody, something that tasted like death when it came off their lips.
That was all before he became Hank Summers' partner.
Hank was well known on the force and highly respected. Angel knew very little about him for the first few months they worked together but as time passed the details began to leak into daily life. Summers was married with one child. He seemed to care about his family though he rarely talked about them. He had a dry sense of humor that occasionally bordered on offensive, or would have to most people, but it took more than the usual amount of crassness to offend Angel.
After the first few weeks, it became clear why they were made partners. Hank had been forced to kill a man twenty years before and because of that he immediately picked up on the callousness that was growing inside Angel.
It stays with you, boy, Hank had said one night while they were on a stake out, You never get over killing someone. Don't let the guys get to you though. They laugh about it because they're afraid of it and jealous at the same time. Remember that. You saved lives that night, that's what made you a hero.
Hank was right, of course, but he felt like he would never wash that blood off his hands. Every time he heard the name "Angel," it was like he killed them again.
He was beginning to think that his life had plateaued into what it was going to be for the rest of his life. He would get by with whatever female acquaintance he found, which were many, would carry on affairs that were string-free and never let any of them into his heart. He would do his job every day and go home every night, stopping off occasionally to drink himself into a stupor and that would be it.
It seemed like a passable existence until Hank invited him over for dinner. His immediate instinct was to say no.' He didn't want to carry his gloom from the work day into their lives but eventually he agreed when he couldn't think of a single reason to give Hank to not come.
He headed over to the Summers' house at 4:00 PM on Sunday afternoon and trudged up to the door, taking a deep breath before he knocked. He used to be so good at this. He used to be a pro at joking around and melding with other people. Now all he could think of was if he could carry on enough passable table conversation to get himself by.
The door opened after a few moments and standing in front of him in mid laugh was the most beautiful seventeen year old girl he had ever seen. She had golden blonde hair, sparkling green eyes and a tiny hand with perfectly manicured nails pushed open the screen door to let him in.
"Xander!" she shouted, speaking to someone else in the house, giggling like the school girl she was. She kept her smile as she turned to him, "You must be Daddy's partner."
"Yes," he said, swallowing harshly at the sight of her and the sound of her voice. She was exquisite and he had to make himself look away as she stepped back to let him in, trying to miss the swing of her narrow hips. Instead, he looked down and caught sight of her bare feet on the hardwood floor. Her toenails were painted a sparkly purple color and he felt the strangest urge to kiss them. "I'm Liam."
"Hi Liam. I'm Buffy," she said, almost shyly. She shut the door behind him and gestured at the other two teenagers in the living room, a shy little redheaded girl and a gangly dark haired boy, "Those are my friends, Willow and Xander. Guys, this is Daddy's partner, Liam."
"Hello, Liam," Xander sneered, eyeing him viciously, as if he were a serial killer rather than a police detective.
"Hi!" Willow announced brightly, waving a little as she hopped to her feet, "So you're a detective like Mr. Summers, right? I didn't know they could be that young."
"Uh...special circumstances," Angel muttered, shifting uncomfortably.
"Whatever," Buffy scoffed, waving her hand at him dismissively, "He's a huge hero. Even Daddy says that he saved a bunch of people's lives. They promoted him because of that. Come on, Liam. I'll show you where Daddy's burning hamburgers."
Angel followed Buffy through the house, into the kitchen where he met a very pleasant Mrs. Summers and out to the backyard where Hank was cursing at a barbecue pit. He thought Buffy would go back to her friends right away but she led Angel right up to her father, padding barefoot through the soft grass and bumped her father's hip with hers playfully.
"Hi pumpkin," Hank said, kissing her forehead. Angel struggled to breathe through the smoke rising up from the pit and through his nearly unchecked very, very wrong lust for a seventeen year old girl.
"I found your partner," she said, smiling shyly at Angel.
"Hey Angel," Hank said, reaching out to shake his hand, "Glad you could make it."
"Thanks," Angel said, peering uneasily at the burning patties on the grill, "Uh...do you need help?"
***
she don't deserve this
she is a flower and i am a flower
and we are alone
Despite Angel's better judgement, he started making every excuse in the book to appear at Hank's front door after that day. They began watching baseball games together over beer on the weekends and the amusing part of it all was that Angel never really liked baseball. It was a frightfully boring sport but when Buffy came bounding through the room, regarding their television choice with disdain or just passing through, he knew that hours of watching men run around a baseball diamond was more than worth it.
He wasn't even sure when he noticed it, but she started making excuses to come into whatever room he was in. Sometimes, she passed through four or five times during the game, thankfully disrupting the room, the air, the pace of his heartbeat. She started batting her eyes at him and smiling at him like that. And when she started calling him "Angel," rather than Liam, it rolled off her pink lips like a sigh, like a promise, a vow and all of a sudden his name was no longer dipped in the blood of those deaths. She had returned it to its former status; it was a loving caress again.
He wasn't sure at which point he actually admitted to himself that he was falling in love with her but one night when he was leaving, she was sitting on the front steps and as he realized she was crying, he knew without a doubt that he loved her. She wiped her face quickly with the back of her hand, unable to hide the wetness on her cheeks, and forced a fake smile, "Hi Angel."
"What's wrong?" he asked, settling on the step next to her. Buffy looked away, focusing on the grass rather than him. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. The most beautiful man ever to grace the planet, who probably thought of her as an immature little girl, happened to walk out when she was sniffling and crying. She wished she was an ostrich so she could bury her head in the ground and pretend he wasn't there.
"Nothing," she muttered, "I'm fine. Thanks."
"Something's bothering you," he prodded gently, "I'm a good listener."
Angel had suspected for some time that there was trouble in the Summers' household. As of late, Hank had been becoming more and more bitter at work, speaking of his family less and whenever Angel came over Joyce was rarely in the same room. Angel knew it would only be a matter of time before the bitterness flaring off of Hank in palatable waves seeped into Buffy. He wanted to rush in and preserve her innocence, but it wasn't his place. He couldn't protect her and he knew it.
But God, he wanted to. For weeks his dreams had been filled with those deep green eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, even before he had ever seen her cry. In the middle of the night, they fell, streaming across her cheeks. Sometimes he was able to brush them away, lightly swiping them with his thumbs. He imagined touching her silky skin, gliding his fingers over the soft line of her jaw, over her round cheek. In some of the dreams he was allowed to pull her into his arms and he would promise over and over that he would keep her safe.
"It's stupid," she said, shivering slightly in the night air, "And you have better things to do than talk to me."
"You're cold," he said, craning his neck to try and catch her eyes, but she kept her gaze planted firmly in the surrounding foliage.
"You can take it," she replied saucily. For the last six months, she would have given anything for Angel to give her the time of day. Now that she was all in pieces on the front porch he thought he could pity her and lower himself to speak to her? The mere idea of his sympathy pissed her off.
"No," he said, shrugging out of his leather jacket and putting it around her bare shoulders, "I mean, you look cold."
"Thanks," she said, turning toward him finally and looking at him questioningly. Even in the dark, she could see the caring coming from his dark eyes and she was slightly more than confused.
"Sure," he said, leaning in and kissing her temple softly. He surprised himself at the gesture and stood quickly before he could touch her again. Struggling for something to say he pulled out his wallet and extracted a crisp, white business card. He handed it to her and backed away a couple of steps, "If you ever need me, call."
***
wait for the hunger to come
"Where'd you get that?" Willow asked the next day at school as Buffy sauntered into the library.
"Angel," Buffy answered. Her hand was tucked inside the pocket and she shifted her fingers over the edge of his business card.
"What?" Xander shouted, "You know him for ten minutes and you're exchanging clothing?"
"Children," Giles said, ducking out from his office, "Although I am thrilled that you find comfort in lounging in the library in your free time, you might pretend that you are here for studies."
"Sorry Giles," Buffy said, shooting him a bright smile, "Anyway, Xander I have known him for months and I was cold."
"You live in California, Buffy," Xander retorted, rolling his eyes, "It was balmy last night! There was no need for the giving of very expensive leather jackets that are way too big and could-"
"Xander!" Willow shouted, clamping a hand over her mouth and then whispering harshly, "Could you let her finish the story?"
"Angel, Angel, Angel," Xander muttered heading toward the library doors, "Why does every conversation have to revolve around that freak?"
"He thinks I'm a little girl," Buffy whispered, not for the sake of Giles, but to keep him from hearing, "He doesn't even talk to me."
"But you like him," Willow protested, "And jacket! He gave you his jacket!"
"He's a honey," she sighed, slumping in her seat dreamily, "When he's around, it's like the lights dim everywhere else. You know how it's like that with some guys?"
"Yeah," Willow said, looking over at the library doors still swinging from Xander's exit, "I do."
***
dreaming of wrong and right
wrapped in grace and in sin
The following Wednesday night, Hank invited Angel over for lasagna night and baseball. He searched his mind for any reason not to go, but in the end he knew that he was going to be there. He walked in without knocking as he had been for months and found Buffy curled up in Hank's reclining chair, her face scrunched up over a history book.
"Hey," he said, startling her. She looked up at him in surprise, obviously not knowing he was coming tonight and then looked back down at the leather jacket that had become an integral part of her outfit in the last couple of days. Starting to pull it off, she said, "Here you can have your jacket back."
"Looks better on you," he said in his sexy rumbling voice and a tossed her a tiny half smile that made her heart bubble over. She sat there in shock and listened to him enter the kitchen. His voice sounded far away as he greeted her mother and commented on the smell of the food. She could almost predict where he was standing and what he was doing after months of watching him. He had slowly become a part of their family and she pictured him setting the table while he chatted easily with her mother. Groaning at herself in frustration, Buffy gathered her books and headed up to her room to deposit them. No man that sexy should be allowed to come over for dinner only twice a week and fill her dreams all seven.
Dinner was a disaster. Buffy ended up leaving the table early when her parents began arguing at the table. She couldn't believe that they weren't able to restrain themselves at least until Angel left. She lowered herself to the ground in front of the oak tree out front and wished it would swallow her whole. She had never been that humiliated in her life and was beside herself with panic when Angel walked out the front door and made his way toward her.
"Hey," he said, offering his hand, "Come on."
"Are you under the impression that I'm going somewhere with you?" she snapped, but accepted his hand anyway. She couldn't believe how large his hands were and gentle, how hers seemed to get lost in his.
"Ice cream," he said matter of factly, pulling his hand away from hers quickly, "I already told your parents."
"Do you think I'm some three year old who can be appeased with ice cream when Mommy and Daddy get in a fight?" she demanded. She had no idea why she was so angry with Angel, but she couldn't help it. There was so much irritation and frustration inside her and he was treating her like a child again. It made her insane.
" I want ice cream," he said, unfazed by her outbursts, "and I thought you might want to come along. Was I wrong?"
"No," she admitted, falling in step behind him. He opened the passenger side of his convertible with a dramatic sweep of one of his large hands and smiled as he said, "My lady."
"Thank you, kind sir," she said, giggling despite herself as she sat down.
She tried to pay attention to the road ahead of them, her ice cream, anything to keep herself from looking at him during their little trip, especially since she had to continually convince herself that it wasn't a date. Buffy was aware, even though she didn't want to admit it, that the terms "police officer" and "jail bait" were mutually exclusive. There was just no way he would be interested in her. And yet, every once in awhile, she could catch him looking at her or stopping himself from saying something. Her seventeen year old mind raced with what those sentences could have been.
When they reached her house, he walked her up to the door and she saw that her father's car was gone. She knew he was probably "out for a drive" again. The lights were off in the house which meant her mother was pretending to be asleep. She sighed loudly as she mounted the front steps. Turning to face Angel, she found him standing so close to her that she had to crane her neck to look into his handsome face.
"I have to go," he said, not moving from his spot as he looked into her vulnerable green eyes. If she wasn't quite so lovable, just a tad less beautiful or slightly unravishing, he might have been able to walk away, but she was all those things and much more.
"Kay," she whispered, moving her lips very, very slowly over the single syllable. She curled her fingers around the cuff of the leather jacket she wore and kept her eyes on his, holding her breath while she waited for him to move away.
"I really can't be around you, Buffy," he said, looking down on her, so close he could smell her perfume and her shampoo, "Because when I am..."
"Hey, no big," Buffy pffted, looking down at her feet but seeing his instead, "Water...over the bridge, under the bridge..."
"When I am, I can ever think about is how badly I want to kiss you," he said, rushing the words out in a single breath, running them together.
"...over the dam," she continued until his words registered and she snapped her head up to look at him in shock, "Kiss me?"
"I'm older than you," he whispered, "and this can't ever...I better go."
"H-how much older?" Buffy asked quietly, still meeting his eyes.
"I should..." he said, tapering off. She had that look in her eyes that often blinked through his mind during the day, that look that made him wonder if there actually was real love in the world.
"Go, you said," she whispered, stepping forward. She turned her head up and they leaned into each other at the same time, meeting lips gently at first. He wound his fingers through her hair as he urged her lips apart and slipped his tongue into her warm mouth. He was certain he heard her sigh as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her tiny body delightfully against his.
He meant to stop it. He really did but she tasted so sweet and for the first time since he killed those drug dealers a year ago, he thought he could find peace. Passion rose inside their kiss and he pulled apart finally, breathing harshly.
"What? What is it?" she gasped through swollen lips, "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," he said, stepping away, "I shouldn't've done that."
"Angel..." she said, her voice threading through his skin and taking root in his veins.
"Look, Buffy, this can't..."
"Ever be anything," she breathed bitterly, "I know. You're like 10 years older than me, right?"
"Seven," he said quietly, "I'm twenty-five. It's not that I don't want..."
"I get it," she said harshly. She didn't mean for it to come out like that, but the idea of losing him when she'd only just gotten him made her blood turn cold. No other boy ever kissed her like that. No other boy ever made her feel like that either, like she was alive for the first time, burning all over and cold at the same time.
"Your father would kill me," he said, "I could lose my job. I just gotta...I gotta walk away from this."
"I know," she replied dejectedly, "Me too...One of us has to go here and since I live here..."
"I know," he said, licking his lips as he looked down at her. Once again, he dipped down and captured her lips. Knowing it had to be the last time, he allowed himself one final taste of her. Again their emotions got the better of them and the kiss became more passionate. He felt her fingers moving through his hair as they plunged in each other's mouths. Angel was about to break away and make a run for it when it died down and they stepped away from each other reluctantly. Giving him a sad little smile, she opened her front door and went inside.
***
she's trying to be a good girl
and give em what they want
They were halfway into their second baseball season as partners, when Buffy came trotting through the living room wearing a mini skirt that should have been outlawed in several states. Angel nearly choked on the beer he was sipping when she came in - beautiful, tiny and eighteen. Her golden, toned legs were blurred to his vision for a second and he glanced at Hank with alarm as she told him she was leaving. He was actually letting leave like that? The slice of skin visible between her shirt and skirt was sending sirens off in his brain. It was all he could do not demand that she change clothes. I mean, someone could see her!
Instead, he took a long pull of his beer and scowled at the baseball game. He fucking hated baseball and now the woman - correction, girl - of his dreams was sauntering out the door and climbing into - who's godamn car was that?
"Don't even think about it," Hank said, shaking him out of his thoughts.
"About what?"
"Don't play innocent with me," Hank said, eyeing his partner severely, "I'm not stupid, Angelus. I know you've had a hard-on for my daughter for a long time. I'm fully aware of how beautiful she is as I know you're fully aware that she is only eighteen years old. You're my friend, so let me make this plain - You ever touch her and I'll kill you."
"I wouldn't-"
"Yes, you would," Hank said, cutting him off and turning back to the television, "But you better fuckin' not."
Angel most certainly would. In fact, most of his dreams were filled with just how he would. He could already taste the sweet salt of her skin, could already feel her hair slipping between his fingers again. He might have been able to resist though. He told himself that he might have been able to carry on his miserable existence without her in it if that same evening she hadn't called his cell phone as he was driving home.
"Angel?" she whispered into the phone. He strained to hear her over the rushing of cars and wind. Pressing the phone closely to his ear he said, "Buffy?"
"Don't say my name!" she shouted and then realized it was too late, "Please say you're not at my house."
"I'm in my car, Buffy," he said, pulling over and gripping the steering wheel as he tried not to panic yet. Her voice sounded strained and he was sure he heard the familiar ring of tears there. He cleared his throat and continued, "By myself. What's wrong? Are you in trouble?"
"Yes," she whimpered, "Can you come get me?"
"Where are you?" he demanded, starting his car and putting it in gear. She gave him directions to a dance club ten minutes away and Angel's car lurched onto the road as he pulled a U-turn in the center of the busy LA street. Street laws be damned, he thought as he pressed on the gas, he was going to make it there in five.
***
TBC? I'm not certain whether or not I should continue this. What do you guys think?