Author's Note: A spur of the moment thing which I did at 3 o'clock in the
morning right after my exams. Plus I haven't exactly written any ff for
over 2 years or so. Please excuse any mistakes in grammar, English is not
my first language. My first Buffy fic.
Disclaimer: Do we really have to write this stuff? I mean, the fact alone that we're actually just writing the fanfic and not writing or producing the TV show already. never mind. It's not mine.
Spoilers: Season 5 and maybe some of Angel season 2.
Summary: I thought it was not fair to have Angel only appear in one episode and just leave, so I made up a little background story to cheer myself up. Buffy reflects on the few months before she died.
Feedback: Yes. Please.
Phone calls, Revelations and Reflections
When mom died I wanted to go with her. It was only a thought that passed my mind once, only a fleeting moment. To be buried beneath 6 ft of dirt and just become part of what the earth is. I quickly got over it. Without mom, I still have Dawnie- who I am sure that I love and care for. As a sister, as a daughter, as a part of me- maybe an incarnation. Maybe. Before I knew she was made out of me- before I knew what exactly she was- I felt for her. Maybe not exactly. But sometimes I look at her and I would know that whatever she felt- the way she reacted to something, it would give me this sense of déjà vu, like watching myself. Maybe this is why I've been a bitch to her sometimes. Yelling, screaming, because she felt too close to me. And I don't think I really loved myself then. Spaz-ishly shallow, I was not exaggerating when I said that Cordelia- at the stage she once was- might look like a classic philosopher right next to me. But now through Dawn, I'm learning to love myself again. Learning through the numbness of losing mom, losing Riley, without the old confusion and unnecessary doubts of high school. I could bear this responsibility and grow up.
This revelation didn't discover itself, though. I tell you that. It just popped out one day, when I was doing the laundry, thinking about the night Angel came back into my life again. Or so he didn't exactly come so much as that I see him or he sees me. But I was telling the truth when I said I couldn't live through the night of mom's funeral. I wasn't even sure of what to do that day. I didn't say a single word for the speech, just stepped up to the platform, and stood there for a minute to lead the silence that was for mom, held back onto Dawn like she was a life saver, and though she didn't know it, she was probably what anchored me to this world from going into a state of catatonia. I stood there in numbness and then he came. Slipping my hand into his had been the most natural reaction ever, an unconscious flow of movements that we always had. We might have stood there longer, or we might have not. But this is from my memory, and I can only tell you an approximation. At some point I turned away, and he slipped his hand over my shoulder- a simple and comforting gesture- not exactly hugging me close- I think he's afraid I would break- but still enough contact for his presence to comfort me. He lead me to a nearby tree and I'm not lost on the irony that this used to be the place that we'd make out- and sat there. Like we used to. The rest of the night seemed like a blur, I remember his scent, the cool comfort of his body hugging mine, giving me more warmth than a normal human body could and for a moment, there was no curse, no old lovers, no hell, no key sister, no slayer, no vampire- nothing else existed but just 2 beings finding peace and comfort in an old place that used to be their sanctuary.
Funny that I could normally even forget any phrase or word I said within about 10 seconds of saying it, but conversations with Angel always seem to commit to my memory with every specific detail. Now I if only I get my mind to do that during my history class.
Even now as I forgot exactly what happened that night, what fears or doubts I had only revealed to him- his words would still ring clear in my head. Urging me to go on. He said I'm strong. I'm strong. He said that I could make it. One day at a time. I made it until now so far.
Another thing I recalled from that night, when I walked him back to his car (even in my state I never fail to be impressed by how well he's done for himself. His car is beautiful- probably very expensive, and neatly polished, and I can only guess how well that indicates he's going- as opposed to myself who am still struggling with bills and fees and daily needs. Maybe I need to attend one of those financial classes. Or just follow Anya's advice and set up a business to fight demons and get paid. Like Angel does.) I realize that as soon as he takes off, I'll just be left with a memory, and someday I'd be so distant from him that I'd think this night as a fantasy I once conjured up just so to make myself get pass tonight and never get the guts to call him up to confirm it.
He was just about to step into the car when I tugged him on his sleeve. He looked at me. I guess I don't even have to describe his eyes anymore because I'd know that they were brown, they'd remind me of chocolate, they'd be soulful and glint with a little bit of light, a little bit of darkness and something else that would shine- hopefully for me.
"Don't be a stranger. Call me. please. I want to talk." The words tumbled out of my mouth before I knew what exactly I wanted to say.
He didn't even seem to hesitate or want to object.
"I will. We'll talk. Soon. Be strong, Buffy."
He looks at me one last time and climbs into the car. And somehow I feel much better when I get back home.\
A few days after that he really did call. And apologized about not calling sooner. We both exchanged stories and I found that strangely our conversations were barely awkward and sometimes it was so natural that I found it almost disturbing. We could have been old friends since high school- which technically we really were- but our newfound relationship- if it could be called that- was far more easy and natural than our current face to face, curse-hindered, guilt-ridden, underlying burning-passion- filled one. I didn't have to look at his face, didn't have to feel his presence near me, didn't have to know that I can't touch him even though he's so close.
At first we mostly talked about work- namely demons, and he would still be concerned about my injuries which I sometimes complained about. Then later about family and I learned about his Darla problem and how he is struggling to get earn back his friend's trust- knowing Angel, he's probably let Wesley and Cordelia step all over him. I gave him some advice in the area- clothes for Cordelia, definitely. And an apology to Wes, who might feel the most betrayed. And he would give me some Spike stories. Times when before he was turned, and after. Sure there might be some rounds of guiltapaloza , which I would never get tired of teasing Angel. And at times I almost felt compassion for Spike. So at long last, when I learnt that he had been beaten up so badly, yet remained loyal to us. me and Dawn. I kissed him. He may be a demon. But he wasn't a bad man. And he deserved that much.
I don't ever remember Riley coming up. Or maybe he did. I don't know. But he must have known that we broke up somewhere on the way. He never asked. So I never told.
After that we talked about places we'd like to visit, or childhood memories, sometimes even movies or bad jokes, or some funny facts about the demon world. Sometimes we'd talk about the more heavy, like about Glory, about my responsibilities, about his demonic law firm, about his responsibilities. And he'd prep me up and vice-versa. Sure, telephone bills would kill us, but he's paying. And I know he's rich. No one knows about these phone calls- except for Dawn, who doesn't seem to mind at all that I sometimes hog up the phone line or I talk too late a night. Maybe she's growing up, or she's guilty. But still I'm grateful and both of us are coping well. She's been quite good lately. And I'm grateful for it. Sometimes I even let her talk to Angel too, who seems only too happy to answer her questions and complains. Maybe she reminds him of his sister, Kathy, which he told me once when he was waxing on poetic angst. Which I don't really mind at all.
In any case, we were good. Good long distance friends, god, I'd wish I'd learnt this way of communicating with him sooner. So simple. Pick of the phone. Call him. Or maybe if this happened sooner, it may not have been good. We were both too scarred, too seared by our own passion and youth to understand. He was way too broody, I was too young. Now we're growing, and hopefully I wish someday it'd come that we can be together again. Someday.
Or if we ever come to talk about it. Funny thing about me and Angel. We talk about everything else, sky, clouds, moon, jelly donuts and we never talk about us. Us as in together. Sure we talk about old times, when I almost got eaten by what kind of demon and he was slashed in the ribs by what monster, but we always avoided us. We're too afraid of how it would spoil what is between us now. It would cost us too much. I understand that. I really do. But sometimes I wonder. I wonder if he still loves me. I wonder if he misses the passion we used to have. The unspoken communication. Not once have we mentioned officially going to see each other. Joked about it, sure. But we avoided solid plans. Of course, him being ever the gentlemen had suggested only so many times that he had enough space for the whole gang, me and Dawn to stay. I used to tease him about that. Some unbidden habit of his; first his large apartment with ridiculously wide spaces, then the mansion, and now the hotel. He'd probably get a castle soon.
At first I could handle it. I too was afraid of what we had, and I had other things to worry about- home, Dawn, slaying, college, Glory, training, my slaying issues which I had to deal on my own, all balanced unsteadily on my head and shoulders. My lack of love life hangs at the back. But above all, I always knew that he would be hovering at the back, waiting and supporting me.
I dealt well, until Tara got attacked. I freaked. I did. Glory was going to know Dawn was the Key. I called Angel. He answered, comforted, mentioned something about a dimension and I relaxed. Dreaming of a dimension where Glory did not exist, Dawn was safe, Mom was alive and Angel and I worked together. Screw a normal life. Sure, I'm the Slayer. But I gained more from my Calling than I ever would if I hadn't. But my gut was aching to ask him. To tell him I loved him. To tell him how much I wanted to see him, and how I was afraid it would break our new found friendship. How proud, how happy I was to see him being his own man, in his own right and shining and helping people not because of duty, but because he wanted to earn his forgiveness. I didn't know about his Shanshu, but I assumed someday he would his get his light at the end of the tunnel.
So on a very high impulse, maybe a high adrenaline rush. something, I told him. I didn't remember what words I said. I just blabbed and blabbed and blurted out everything I wanted to say. At the end I was blushing so furiously at the other end, I swore I could transmit my redness to his face at the end of the telephone line. He waited for me to finish. And then there was silence. I almost panicked and hung up. After an eternity, he spoke. "Buffy, I love you. I always have, and forever will." I burst on the spot. Almost cried.
"Thankyou." I could almost hear him smile.
"Anytime."
We hung up.
That was our last conversation.
Dawn was found out. I got her out of the way only because Glory got hit by the truck. I called Angel when we got home before we headed to meet the others' at Xander's place. No answer. No one was home. If I hadn't been so scared I probably would have worried if Angel didn't want to speak to me, now that I think back.
When I went to gather supplies for our great runaway, I tried to call him again.
At the little hut, I wished and wished he'd come.
When they got Dawn, I stopped thinking about him. Until the moment I decided to jump off the tower. I don't think I ever regretted anything. I had already said goodbye to him. I had the world to save and a beautiful sister left behind to be remembered by. Living is hard, and it's everyday. I once said to him. I knew he remembered it. "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it." Live for me, Dawnie. Live for me, Angel.
Maybe I should have said something wiser. Like Slayerish stuff. Or quote a dead guy. Or "carpe diem." Seize the day. Or gotten some sudden revelation of what is the slayer. Death is my gift. Maybe I still haven't got it. But now I'm falling, falling and falling.it doesn't matter.
Disclaimer: Do we really have to write this stuff? I mean, the fact alone that we're actually just writing the fanfic and not writing or producing the TV show already. never mind. It's not mine.
Spoilers: Season 5 and maybe some of Angel season 2.
Summary: I thought it was not fair to have Angel only appear in one episode and just leave, so I made up a little background story to cheer myself up. Buffy reflects on the few months before she died.
Feedback: Yes. Please.
Phone calls, Revelations and Reflections
When mom died I wanted to go with her. It was only a thought that passed my mind once, only a fleeting moment. To be buried beneath 6 ft of dirt and just become part of what the earth is. I quickly got over it. Without mom, I still have Dawnie- who I am sure that I love and care for. As a sister, as a daughter, as a part of me- maybe an incarnation. Maybe. Before I knew she was made out of me- before I knew what exactly she was- I felt for her. Maybe not exactly. But sometimes I look at her and I would know that whatever she felt- the way she reacted to something, it would give me this sense of déjà vu, like watching myself. Maybe this is why I've been a bitch to her sometimes. Yelling, screaming, because she felt too close to me. And I don't think I really loved myself then. Spaz-ishly shallow, I was not exaggerating when I said that Cordelia- at the stage she once was- might look like a classic philosopher right next to me. But now through Dawn, I'm learning to love myself again. Learning through the numbness of losing mom, losing Riley, without the old confusion and unnecessary doubts of high school. I could bear this responsibility and grow up.
This revelation didn't discover itself, though. I tell you that. It just popped out one day, when I was doing the laundry, thinking about the night Angel came back into my life again. Or so he didn't exactly come so much as that I see him or he sees me. But I was telling the truth when I said I couldn't live through the night of mom's funeral. I wasn't even sure of what to do that day. I didn't say a single word for the speech, just stepped up to the platform, and stood there for a minute to lead the silence that was for mom, held back onto Dawn like she was a life saver, and though she didn't know it, she was probably what anchored me to this world from going into a state of catatonia. I stood there in numbness and then he came. Slipping my hand into his had been the most natural reaction ever, an unconscious flow of movements that we always had. We might have stood there longer, or we might have not. But this is from my memory, and I can only tell you an approximation. At some point I turned away, and he slipped his hand over my shoulder- a simple and comforting gesture- not exactly hugging me close- I think he's afraid I would break- but still enough contact for his presence to comfort me. He lead me to a nearby tree and I'm not lost on the irony that this used to be the place that we'd make out- and sat there. Like we used to. The rest of the night seemed like a blur, I remember his scent, the cool comfort of his body hugging mine, giving me more warmth than a normal human body could and for a moment, there was no curse, no old lovers, no hell, no key sister, no slayer, no vampire- nothing else existed but just 2 beings finding peace and comfort in an old place that used to be their sanctuary.
Funny that I could normally even forget any phrase or word I said within about 10 seconds of saying it, but conversations with Angel always seem to commit to my memory with every specific detail. Now I if only I get my mind to do that during my history class.
Even now as I forgot exactly what happened that night, what fears or doubts I had only revealed to him- his words would still ring clear in my head. Urging me to go on. He said I'm strong. I'm strong. He said that I could make it. One day at a time. I made it until now so far.
Another thing I recalled from that night, when I walked him back to his car (even in my state I never fail to be impressed by how well he's done for himself. His car is beautiful- probably very expensive, and neatly polished, and I can only guess how well that indicates he's going- as opposed to myself who am still struggling with bills and fees and daily needs. Maybe I need to attend one of those financial classes. Or just follow Anya's advice and set up a business to fight demons and get paid. Like Angel does.) I realize that as soon as he takes off, I'll just be left with a memory, and someday I'd be so distant from him that I'd think this night as a fantasy I once conjured up just so to make myself get pass tonight and never get the guts to call him up to confirm it.
He was just about to step into the car when I tugged him on his sleeve. He looked at me. I guess I don't even have to describe his eyes anymore because I'd know that they were brown, they'd remind me of chocolate, they'd be soulful and glint with a little bit of light, a little bit of darkness and something else that would shine- hopefully for me.
"Don't be a stranger. Call me. please. I want to talk." The words tumbled out of my mouth before I knew what exactly I wanted to say.
He didn't even seem to hesitate or want to object.
"I will. We'll talk. Soon. Be strong, Buffy."
He looks at me one last time and climbs into the car. And somehow I feel much better when I get back home.\
A few days after that he really did call. And apologized about not calling sooner. We both exchanged stories and I found that strangely our conversations were barely awkward and sometimes it was so natural that I found it almost disturbing. We could have been old friends since high school- which technically we really were- but our newfound relationship- if it could be called that- was far more easy and natural than our current face to face, curse-hindered, guilt-ridden, underlying burning-passion- filled one. I didn't have to look at his face, didn't have to feel his presence near me, didn't have to know that I can't touch him even though he's so close.
At first we mostly talked about work- namely demons, and he would still be concerned about my injuries which I sometimes complained about. Then later about family and I learned about his Darla problem and how he is struggling to get earn back his friend's trust- knowing Angel, he's probably let Wesley and Cordelia step all over him. I gave him some advice in the area- clothes for Cordelia, definitely. And an apology to Wes, who might feel the most betrayed. And he would give me some Spike stories. Times when before he was turned, and after. Sure there might be some rounds of guiltapaloza , which I would never get tired of teasing Angel. And at times I almost felt compassion for Spike. So at long last, when I learnt that he had been beaten up so badly, yet remained loyal to us. me and Dawn. I kissed him. He may be a demon. But he wasn't a bad man. And he deserved that much.
I don't ever remember Riley coming up. Or maybe he did. I don't know. But he must have known that we broke up somewhere on the way. He never asked. So I never told.
After that we talked about places we'd like to visit, or childhood memories, sometimes even movies or bad jokes, or some funny facts about the demon world. Sometimes we'd talk about the more heavy, like about Glory, about my responsibilities, about his demonic law firm, about his responsibilities. And he'd prep me up and vice-versa. Sure, telephone bills would kill us, but he's paying. And I know he's rich. No one knows about these phone calls- except for Dawn, who doesn't seem to mind at all that I sometimes hog up the phone line or I talk too late a night. Maybe she's growing up, or she's guilty. But still I'm grateful and both of us are coping well. She's been quite good lately. And I'm grateful for it. Sometimes I even let her talk to Angel too, who seems only too happy to answer her questions and complains. Maybe she reminds him of his sister, Kathy, which he told me once when he was waxing on poetic angst. Which I don't really mind at all.
In any case, we were good. Good long distance friends, god, I'd wish I'd learnt this way of communicating with him sooner. So simple. Pick of the phone. Call him. Or maybe if this happened sooner, it may not have been good. We were both too scarred, too seared by our own passion and youth to understand. He was way too broody, I was too young. Now we're growing, and hopefully I wish someday it'd come that we can be together again. Someday.
Or if we ever come to talk about it. Funny thing about me and Angel. We talk about everything else, sky, clouds, moon, jelly donuts and we never talk about us. Us as in together. Sure we talk about old times, when I almost got eaten by what kind of demon and he was slashed in the ribs by what monster, but we always avoided us. We're too afraid of how it would spoil what is between us now. It would cost us too much. I understand that. I really do. But sometimes I wonder. I wonder if he still loves me. I wonder if he misses the passion we used to have. The unspoken communication. Not once have we mentioned officially going to see each other. Joked about it, sure. But we avoided solid plans. Of course, him being ever the gentlemen had suggested only so many times that he had enough space for the whole gang, me and Dawn to stay. I used to tease him about that. Some unbidden habit of his; first his large apartment with ridiculously wide spaces, then the mansion, and now the hotel. He'd probably get a castle soon.
At first I could handle it. I too was afraid of what we had, and I had other things to worry about- home, Dawn, slaying, college, Glory, training, my slaying issues which I had to deal on my own, all balanced unsteadily on my head and shoulders. My lack of love life hangs at the back. But above all, I always knew that he would be hovering at the back, waiting and supporting me.
I dealt well, until Tara got attacked. I freaked. I did. Glory was going to know Dawn was the Key. I called Angel. He answered, comforted, mentioned something about a dimension and I relaxed. Dreaming of a dimension where Glory did not exist, Dawn was safe, Mom was alive and Angel and I worked together. Screw a normal life. Sure, I'm the Slayer. But I gained more from my Calling than I ever would if I hadn't. But my gut was aching to ask him. To tell him I loved him. To tell him how much I wanted to see him, and how I was afraid it would break our new found friendship. How proud, how happy I was to see him being his own man, in his own right and shining and helping people not because of duty, but because he wanted to earn his forgiveness. I didn't know about his Shanshu, but I assumed someday he would his get his light at the end of the tunnel.
So on a very high impulse, maybe a high adrenaline rush. something, I told him. I didn't remember what words I said. I just blabbed and blabbed and blurted out everything I wanted to say. At the end I was blushing so furiously at the other end, I swore I could transmit my redness to his face at the end of the telephone line. He waited for me to finish. And then there was silence. I almost panicked and hung up. After an eternity, he spoke. "Buffy, I love you. I always have, and forever will." I burst on the spot. Almost cried.
"Thankyou." I could almost hear him smile.
"Anytime."
We hung up.
That was our last conversation.
Dawn was found out. I got her out of the way only because Glory got hit by the truck. I called Angel when we got home before we headed to meet the others' at Xander's place. No answer. No one was home. If I hadn't been so scared I probably would have worried if Angel didn't want to speak to me, now that I think back.
When I went to gather supplies for our great runaway, I tried to call him again.
At the little hut, I wished and wished he'd come.
When they got Dawn, I stopped thinking about him. Until the moment I decided to jump off the tower. I don't think I ever regretted anything. I had already said goodbye to him. I had the world to save and a beautiful sister left behind to be remembered by. Living is hard, and it's everyday. I once said to him. I knew he remembered it. "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it." Live for me, Dawnie. Live for me, Angel.
Maybe I should have said something wiser. Like Slayerish stuff. Or quote a dead guy. Or "carpe diem." Seize the day. Or gotten some sudden revelation of what is the slayer. Death is my gift. Maybe I still haven't got it. But now I'm falling, falling and falling.it doesn't matter.