Author's note: Set a few weeks after BTVS season three. A morose and lonely Angel runs into some unexpected friends in L.A.
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L.A. Now.
He wanders the streets, lost in oblivion. Trying really hard not to think of anything besides don't get hit crossing this corner. He ignores the blithely carousing couples around him, ignorant of their laughter and freewheeling attitudes. Right now, all he wants is to hone his favorite skill. Brooding.
I want my life to be with you.
I don't.
He knows this was a bald faced lie. He couldn't have told her the truth. The truth will set you free? Not bloody likely. Not in his experience. To lie so boldly to the one he loves was tricky at best, mind blowing at worst. He still can see the look on her face as he turned and walked away throught the smoke and mist and flickering lights. Doesn't want to see it. His mind's eye won't let him see anything else.
Angel crosses the hip corner of Melrose and Fairfax, and keeps trudging along. Kids of all ages and sizes pass by him, smoking, trading insults with their friends, trying to look exponentially tougher than they feel. He is amazed that in the few weeks he's been in the city, and the several times he's walked this path, that he's never seen the same group or the same happenings more than once. This city; twinkling and beautiful on the outside, harsh, dirty and cruel in its heart, ever changing and promising, yet such a good liar. Like him.
He really hadn't know exactly where he was going after the ascension. He just got in his newly acquired GTX and drove. All night. Ended up here. He knows some places where vampires can crash during the day safely here. Had planned to move on the next night, but really didn't have the energy. And sloth being the mother of invention, he ended up staying. Found a small, useable space under an old office building. Not using the office in front not generally a problem. The only other tenants, a dentist and a mail service, really didn't care who moved in or what they did with the space, as long as he didn't interrupt or bother any of their clients. So, easy peasy. So far.
He jolts slightly as a speeding pair of small tricked out Hondas almost make him into yesterday's road kill. Leaps out of the way as they caroom past him, the kids driving the cars yelling at one another as they haul ass down the over crowded street.
Shaking his head, he looks up and notices a small coffee joint on the corner. Liking the smell of freshly roasted beans, he pushes open the door and enters.
Dimly lit interior, good for my sensitive eyes, and small round tables are placed haphazardly around the room. Not too many spaces taken up. He approaches the bar hesitantly, and orders a regular drip. The pierced and tattooed child behind the counter gives him a funny look before telling him, "okay, dude, one regular coffee. That'll be 2.00."
Angel hands over his money and takes his hot drink to a table in the corner, where he can keep his back to the wall, and his eyes on the door. Over the course of his long life he has unfortunately developed a reputation for being a trouble maker, at least to people of the demon persuasion. He never knows if someone will come looking for a fight, so better to be able to see who or what could walk through the door.
He closes his eyes, inhaling the strong aroma of almost over burned caffeinated goodness. Takes a small sip. Not bad. And then he almost pours the stuff in his lap when two familiar faces enter the shop.
They don't seem to notice him, ordering their own frothy beverages from the same kid Angel had talked to. Take a table in the opposite corner. He notices he is breathing roughly, which is strange since he normally feels no need to breath at all, unless I'm nervous or stressed. This would qualify as one of those times.
I'm not supposed to have boys in my room.
I promise I'll behave myself.
Her red hair is a lot shorter than he remembers, and the boys is blond again. Angel watches as they lean together, and smile one of those smiles that only lovers smile for each other. He can't seem to look away from the pair, and just as he had feared, the boy looks over at him, perhaps sensing someone watching him.
A look of surprise crosses the boys' face, and he stands, tugging the hand of the redhead. She follows the boy across the room, and they stand together, staring at Angel as if his face is covered in boils.
"Oz. Willow. How are you?"
Willow gapes at him some more, while Oz has the presence of mind to be polite.
"Angel. Good to see you. Weird, but good. We're fine. What are you doing here?"
Leave it to Oz to get right to the point.
"I, well, I'm having coffee. You?" he tries to avoid the answer he knows Oz is actually asking him.
"Us too. Been in town long?" Oz asks, not fazed by Angel's dodge.
"Few weeks. Are you two taking a break?" Angel attempts to salvage the situation by getting them to talk about themselves.
"We are. We got tired of watching the news and well, wanted some L.A. fun," Willow finally says. She glares at him. "Have you spoken to Buffy?"
Angel winces, and with a gesture invites them to sit down. He doesn't want to have to crane his neck while lying to the friends of his lost love.
They sit, and Oz gives Willow a gently reproachful look. She glares at him too, and tells him sotto voce, which Angel can still hear clearly, "Well, look, she's my best friend. Naturally it's gonna come up, and darned if I'm gonna pull any punches with him. You enjoying your time here?" she says abruptly, turning to Angel.
"It's fine. If a little large. I haven't been to the city in a long while," he tells her, grateful for the change of subject.
"Yeah, my parents used to bring me to Disneyland every summer, and that was big enough. Although, rides, fun," Willow says, a smile on her face. "Oz wanted to show me his L.A." she squeezes the werewolf's hand, and he smiles back at her. "The band used to have a gig here every few months. I've been coming to this place for a few years now. What do you think?" Oz asks him.
"It's nice. If a bit dark. Although I guess that's good for me," Angel tells him, and Oz replies, "well, you know kids these days. They want their coffee houses full of dire." The corner of his mouth upturns slightly at his own joke. Angel can't help but smile himself; he always had liked the young man. He's actually a lot like me. Except a lot less tortured.
"So, Angel, you didn't actually answer my question. Does Buffy know where you are?" Damn. Willow hasn't gotten as off track as he had hoped.
"Uh. Well, I really haven't talked…or really tried to talk to her. That was kind of the idea behind leaving without saying goodbye," he finishes, surprised that he feels comfortable enough with these two to tell them anything that closely approximates the truth.
Oz gives her the look again, but she refuses to be sidetracked again. "I'm just saying, I think it might make her feel a little better if she knew where you were. And that you were okay. And not…well…dust," she says, speaking rapidly. "She still cares for you, Angel. Well, still loves you, actually. And I know it's not my business, but she is my best friend, and well, she's hurt! And you're…" she trails off, finishing with, "just as hurt as she is."
Angel says nothing. Just meets her gaze with his normal intensity, heightened by the words Willow has just spouted. She still loves me. I hadn't dared hope…
"I'm alright. You have to understand, Willow, I did the right thing. Buffy would be more than hurt if I had stayed. She would never be able to have the things she needs, she deserves. I can't give those things to her. She has to have the chance to walk a normal path, to live a normal life. With me gone, she has an opportunity to do those things," he explains, but she interrupts him.
"Buffy won't ever have a normal life, Angel! She's the slayer. How can she? And with you gone, her concentrations' gone all wacky, and well, she's just…off her game," Willow tells him indignantly. The passion in her words has made the color of her skin match her hair. Buffy's really lucky to have a friend like this one, he thinks. Her loyalty will never be outmatched.
"Willow," he sighs, and runs a hand through rumpled, spikey hair. "I know you love her. I know you're only concerened for her well being. But believe me when I say I know to my core that I did the right thing. Not the easy thing, but the right thing. She'll make it. I know she will. If knowing Buffy has taught me anything, it's taught me how much strength she has. How strong her will is. She's amazing. And no matter what she's feeling right now, her will and her sense of rightness will help her make it. The only reason I feel okay leaving her is that I know she can take care of herself. And now I know how lucky she is to have friends like you standing behind her. She'll be okay."
Willow opens her mouth, then snaps it shut.
"Okay, not the answer I was expecting, but, hey, impressed here." Oz leans in to her. "The man knows of what he speaks. I say we believe him."
Angel smiles gratefully at him. That little speech took a lot more guts than he would readily admit. Although every bit of it was true. She will make it.
Angel, Willow and Oz exit the small coffee shop together. They stand in an awkward group before Oz finally breaks the tension.
"We'll be seeing you, Angel. Take care."
The two men shake hands, then Angel turns to Willow. The small redhead surprises him by hugging him fiercely. He is taken aback at first, then returns her affection with a gentle squeeze.
"You take care, Angel. Don't be a stranger," she imparts emphatically, and he nods. "I'll keep in touch," he tells her, saddened by the knowledge that he probably won't see either of them again.
They part ways, Angel going left down the street, continuing his original trek, Oz and Willow going right, back towards Fairfax. He turns only once, and waves as they disappear from view.
L. A. Later that night.
Honing the brooding skills takes a lot out of a guy. He finally plods back into his new apartment building, unlocks the door to the unused storefront. Tosses the keys onto the dusty desk next to the small, slow elevator. Closes the gate. The rickety old machine descends into the bowels of the building, carrying a weary and disheartened passenger with it.
Once reaching the bottom floor, Angel tosses his duster over the back of an overstuffed easy chair. Kicking his shoes off in a corner, he plops down into the chair, and takes his chin in his hand. Closing his eyes, he finally lets the implications of that nights' unexpected meeting wash over him.
Willow will tell her she saw me. She'll know where I am. Maybe, just maybe…
He opens his eyes, a newly formed idea bouncing around his brain. Just one phone call won't hurt. Willow did say she was off her game. Maybe just knowing I'm okay will ease her mind.
He crosses the small space to the phone, which is partially covered with the leather straps of a new sheath device he has been working on. Moves the half formed weapons, and picks up the receiver. Dials the numbers he knows he will remember forever. Waits a heart stopping three rings before she picks up.
"Shh, Xander, I'm getting it…Hello?"
He freezes at the sound of her voice. It sounds tentative, but with a hint of the laughter he can hear echoing in his mind.
"Hello? Anyone there?"
He can't bring himself to say the words. Buffy, It's me. I'm okay. I miss you more than life itself. Can you forgive me? Do you still love me? I love you…God, I miss you so much. I want you so badly. I can almost feel you throught the phone. His soul aches at the sound of her voice, confused and a little angry at the non existant person on the other line.
"Look, buddy. I have no patience for crank calls. Bother me again and you won't like the response," she says before slamming down the receiver. He yanks the phone away from his ear as the sound penatrates him like a shotgun blast.
He returns the earpiece to the cradle, and stands stock still, her voice ringing in his mind.
Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?
Someone's here, Buffy. Someone who loves you. Someone who needs you so badly I have to stay away rather than hurt you again. Can you understand? Will you ever forgive me?
He can do nothing else this night to ease the ache, or the rending of his dead heart. Angel sits wordlessly on the edge of his bed, and once again closes his eyes, and silently, deliberately, closes his soul as well.