Written for jossverse LAS over on livejournal, in which it received no votes, either positive or negative. The prompt was 'Emotional Baggage'. Needless to say, I own nothing.
Dust coats the hardwood floor. Yesterday, it was a family. People Buffy knew. That bit never gets easier. Part of her knows she should go to Giles, or home, but she needs a big dose of feeling better, not business or faked normalcy
Seeing Angel helps. As he looks up, his broody expression changes to concern "Buffy, what's wrong?"
"Rough night at the office," Buffy sighs, and flops into Angel's lap, "A girl in my French class got vamped last night while we were being all Bronze-y and thought it'd be fun for the whole family."
"It's my fault," Angel holds Buffy close "I was distracting you."
"Don't blame yourself," Buffy insists, "You're the only thing that makes any of this okay, Angel," she says, staring desperately into his eyes
There is silence, followed by a whisper, "Make it okay," Buffy begs
Angel leans into a kiss, and Buffy's tongue slides effortlessly into his mouth. Everything isn't okay, she knows that. Yet, in Angel's embrace, a light at the end of the tunnel burns with such intensity that all other senses, emotions, and memories fade, leaving nothing but Angel, nothing but passion.
The vampire is pinned to the grass, the point of a stake pressing against his shirt. Buffy grips the weapon tightly, her fingertips red with pressure. All she needs to do is push it down, and he will turn to dust. She has done this to hundreds of them.
"Buffy?" Angel's voice asks softly.
Angel's face is scarcely a foot beneath Buffy's. Angel is not in there. And yet, it is his face. The lips, twisting into a smile, are lips she has kissed. Angel has declared his love through those lips. The lips open, and their bearer begins to speak.
"I'm proud, Buffy. Only your second time, and you're off the bed!" He smirks, and continues, "I knew you'd be kinky, but realizing what you can do with a stake?" He whistles, grinning now
"I can kill you with this," Buffy tries to speak calmly, but she's close to tears.
"Oh, I forgot. You're not in it for the sex, you just care about love," he says in mock realization, "Buffy loves Angel, but Angel..."
The sentence is left mercifully unfinished as Buffy's fist, powered by the full force of Slayer strength and pain and rage, connects with Angel's head.
Unconscious, Angel's body shows no evil. It is as if Angel is asleep, and nothing ever changed. Buffy kisses him on the lips, and a tear falls from her cheek to his.
"What's Anne short for?"
Buffy freezes. No one questions Anne. It's just a name: unnoticeable, normal, everything Buffy was not, everything she desperately wants to be. "Nothing," she answers hastily, "Just Anne"
"Don't lie to me, I know what you are," the man growls, swaying as he stands. "An Angel, as if I couldn't tell from that body," he leers. "An Anne-gel in Los Angeles, but you belong in heaven 'cause that's where angels are."
Angel. Not Heaven, Hell. That's where Angel is, because that's where Buffy put him.
The bottle in Buffy's hand shatters. Droplets of blood mix with glass and beer, but she cannot feel the cuts.
"I'll go clean that up," Buffy's voice is hollow, numb. She never noticed how close her middle name is to Angel's, but now the name tag burns her chest. Anne. Angel.
It's fitting. Angel is gone, so Buffy, his murderess, must keep him in herself.
This must be how Angel felt when he was cursed. Buffy wants to ask him. She wants to run crying into his arms, because only he could make her feel better. She can't, because she killed him.
Buffy's cheek rises and falls with Riley's breathing. His bare chest is warm against her face, and his heart beats rhythmically in her ear as he sleeps. The heartbeat should be a lullaby, not the noise which is just slightly off, keeping her awake. The little assurances that her boyfriend is alive should not be making her feel wrong.
Mere weeks into their relationship, she has already spent more nights in Riley's bed than she ever spent in Angel's. After she sleeps with Riley, they can go out into the morning together, still themselves. This, Buffy knows, is what a relationship is supposed to be like.
The one night she slept with Angel led to the worst days of her life. Yet, every time she lays down, she wants him back. She thinks of the nights with Angel spent just talking, sleeping, or kissing. Those nights had pain, and worry, and guilt, even fear, and some small part of Buffy knows that she should not still use them to define love.
Buffy shifts so she can see Riley's face and tries in vain to think of him.
Lines extend from the corners of hazel eyes. Blonde dye covers gray strands as well as light brown roots. 47 flames flicker on a cake, but as Buffy begins to extinguish them, there is a knock at the door.
"Someone's late," Buffy observes, although everyone she was expecting is already here.
Buffy opens the door. Angel looks exactly the same. He slips a necklace around Buffy's neck. "Happy Birthday, Buffy"
More by reflex than by choice, Buffy leans upwards, and her lips touch Angel's. Thirty years melt away.
For a moment, Buffy is not the leader of the Slayer army. She is not even a woman. For a moment, Buffy is a girl, staring into the eyes of the dark, mysterious man who she loves. For a moment, there is nothing but Angel.
They part, and the moment is over. Buffy is thrust back into adulthood and understanding. Angel will be gone before sunrise. Buffy will barely even think of him for months, perhaps years, until he knocks on her door again. Then, for another moment, it will be as if nothing ever changed.