"I thought we had..."
"A date? So did I. But who am I kidding? Dates are things normal girls have. Girls who have time to think about nail polish and facials. You know what I think about? Ambush tactics. Beheading. Not exactly the stuff dreams are made of."
Buffy exits the Bronze leaving Angel in her wake and Cordelia cozies up next to him. "Cappuccino?" the brunette entices, but he doesn't bother to answer.
Confused and a little dazed he makes his way after Buffy.
He finds her on Sturges Avenue, perfectly balancing on the yellow line dividing the road. For every few steps she takes, she does a back flip, a cartwheel, or something else that takes Angel a little by surprise. Soon, despite the frustration clouding her mind, she senses him and stops her tumbling.
"Buffy." Startled, she whips around to find him directly behind her per usual.
"Could you not do that?"
"What were you doing back there?" He queries with a weary quarter-grin.
"I used do gymnastics." She turns toward him and her cheek shimmers with a single tear track in the moonlight.
"I don't understand."
"What can't you understand, I'm never going to have an even semi-normal life. I never get to be a normal girl again. Get it!" The wetness in her eyes belies her curt tone and angry mouth.
He wants to tell he she is normal, because she is. He wants to tell her she's extrodinary because she's that too, but he knows neither will be a comfort because it's being both that makes everything so difficult. He isn't sure what to say, but when she begins to spin to walk away again he manages to find his voice. "What makes you think that I want a normal…," he pauses looking down. "I'm not exactly a normal guy," he stresses painfully.
"What about Cordelia?" she poses hesitantly.
"Cordelia?" he chokes a little at the thought.
Her voice softens, rife with self-conscious jealousy, "I mean, you two seemed pretty chummy."
He can't help but smirk.
"Cordelia? Cordelia's…" He can't quite find the words.
"What, funny, quaffed, gorgeous?"
"A flake."
A small grin escapes Buffy's lips.
"I mean she's a nice flake…" he trails off seeing Buffy begin to nervously chip away her nail polish. "They look fine to me."
"What?"
"Your nails."
"Oh." She smiles sheepishly and stops fussing.
He stares her down, "I was there to see you."
She exhales apologetically, "I know."
He caresses her jaw momentarily and she relaxes.
"Can I walk you home?"
"If I said no, you'd probably follow me anyway."
Now it's his turn to look sheepish. "Probably."
Smiling genuinely and rolling her eyes a little she holds out her hand. Cautiously he slips his hand into hers and they walked the rest or the way to her house in silence.
They take the long way.
"Goodnight," he murmurs against her ear as he kisses her cheek.
As he begins to leave, "Angel?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry."
"About what?" He grins knowingly then starts to leave once more.
"Angel?"
"Yeah."
"See you tomorrow?"
"Sure. Night." Again he turns to leave.
"Angel?"
"Yeah," he smirks completely bemused.
"Would you just kiss me?"
Wordlessly he strolls back up the path to stand before her. Between her heels and standing on the porch, she has the slight height advantage and the new perspective makes her more giddy than usual as his lips brush hers.
What starts out as a fairly innocent peck quickly gives way to something more as she tugs at fistfuls of his lapels and his hand winds its way up into her hair. Suddenly, the epitome of eager awkwardness, Buffy tumbles from the step and crashes into his chest. He catches her around the waist, suspending her against him in mid air.
Frighteningly aware of their crazy chemistry he desperately looks at her as if to say, "I'm in so much trouble."
Sighing into his mouth, rolling her forehead against his, silently she retorts, "You're telling me."