Disclaimer: Everything in the Buffyverse belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy. I just play.
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The Viper sped down the California road, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. How Saturday had come so quickly was a mystery to Angel, his week had been occupied by more pressing things. The Circle of Black Thorn, he thought, furrowing his brow. They were top priority. They needed to go down. His preoccupation with the secret evil had become an obsession. Driving out to the middle of the desert for coffee with his ex-girlfriend in the midst of all that was happening was so surreal that he almost cracked a smile. Almost.
The sun was just setting, drenching the landscape in deep oranges and purples, both beautiful and ominous. There was a big fight coming, Angel knew, and it had the potential to be an apocalypse the likes of which he had never experienced. Scratch that, it could be The Apocalypse, the honest to God End. There was so much to prepare for, so many plans to make. So few days were left until inevitable chaos, and he had barely scratched the surface of what needed to be done. Angel berated himself silently for this detour. What was he doing here when the world was in peril?
Just as the sun's last rays disappeared behind the mountains, Angel pulled up to the rundown little coffee joint. His recollections of it from his last visit weren't far off in their assessment, it was a real dive. The coffee hadn't been bad, but the rough exterior, made rougher by California desert dirt, would turn away most casual travelers.
He pulled up to the building, parking marked only by rustic ropes, clearly placed there to attract tourists with a sweet spot for the Wild West. The only other vehicles were a small motorbike and a weatherworn family van. After drawing in a deep, unneeded breath, he was ready.
The restaurant was mostly deserted. A family of five sat in a corner booth beneath a lazily moving ceiling fan, the parents' eyes shadowed and tired, the children fighting over a handheld video game. The only other human being in sight was a middle-aged woman behind a cash register up front, wearing a red apron with a pen tucked behind her ear.
"Excuse me," Angel spoke up to the waitress. His eyes flickered to the cheap t-shirts and coffee mugs emblazoned with the tiny town's name behind the counter.
"Yeah sweetie, what can I do for you?" she said, smacking her gum.
"I'm meeting someone here, a girl," he said, leaning on the counter with one elbow. Angel held out his hand, "She's about this tall, blond hair, blue eyes—,"
"Really, Angel?" someone said from behind him. He turned slowly, although there was no mistaking that voice. Buffy put one hand on her hip and smiled before pointing to her eyes, "Hazel."
"Nevermind," Angel said to the woman behind the counter, but he was staring at Buffy, "I found her."
"So how has the search been, for the slayer?" Angel asked, stirring sugar into his coffee cup packet by packet.
After the initial embarrassment of their meeting, the waitress seated them in a small table near the back of the restaurant, giving them each a laminated menu that was beginning to fade. Buffy had lost weight since he'd last seen her, Angel noticed with concern. She looked leaner, a little stronger, hardly the kind of body he would have expected of a party girl in Rome.
"You look good, Buffy," he had said. He had to admit it, she was beautiful.
In the past when his compliments had come out uncomfortably, she had spun it around, made it sound sweet, and quickly proceeded to the 'basking'. This time, she almost bristled and uttered a quick, "Thanks."
After a moment's consideration about Buffy—and the knowledge that she was involved with or, at least, had something of a relationship with the Immortal in Rome—Angel decided to play it safe. He would stick to safe small talk, no flirting. Where better to start than the safest topic of all? The thing that had pervaded a good percentage of their conversations during their relationship: slaying.
"We found her," Buffy said, relaxing slightly as she sipped her sweetened drink. "She was fighting off at least four vamps when we got there last night. I guess that even a town that tiny had to have a nest. Lucky for them they had a slayer."
"Are you taking her back to Rome with you?" Angel asked, then immediately froze. If Buffy noticed anything strange about him knowing her whereabouts, she didn't say.
"No, she's going to England with Giles and Andrew to train," Buffy said, taking another sip.
"Oh." After his confrontation with Spike, the mention of Andrew sparked his interest. "Andrew seems like a good kid."
Buffy smiled fondly and said, "Yeah, he is. Well, when he's not being a big pain in the butt. I forgot that you two had met."
"He helped me with a slayer problem," Angel said and decided to push his luck. "Although, I wish you could have been there."
It came out a bit suggestively and he felt his expression soften as he spoke. Old habits die hard, Angel thought.
"Angel…" Buffy said, her smile fading.
He cleared his throat and decided not to press her. "How's Dawn doing?"
"For starters, she's doing way better in school than I ever did," Buffy said with a genuine smile, "and, she's already fluent in Italian. She's a complete show off while I can barely roll my r's. She's happy."
"I'm glad to hear it," he said. And he was. Besides, it was nice seeing Buffy smile like that. Although, there was something off about it. Blankness in her eyes when they met his. Angel's voice softened as he leaned over the table. "And what about you? Everything all right?"
"I'm good, occasionally great," she said, "I took my vacation. I always wanted a vacation. I didn't go to Disneyland or whatever, but still. I'm living a Roman holiday, shoesy and boozy."
Buffy held out calf encased in a high-heeled leather boot from under the checkered table-cloth to prove it.
"So, you're doing okay?"
"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" she said, overly bright. "I mean, no it's not always sunshine and daisies in Buffyland, but—"
"It's just, after Sunnydale," Angel paused, searching for the right words. "That had to have been… traumatic."
Buffy shrugged and her face darkened slightly. "The first few months were hell, and not the literal kind. I should know. That kind I can deal with." Her smile faded as she gazed at the ground, "God, Xander was just…broken. We lost Anya, so many potentials, Spike…" Buffy trailed off. She was withdrawing into herself, Angel could tell. She shook her head, as if banishing the pain away and met his eyes. "How have you been, Mr. CEO? What's it like to be Angel, head of Evil Inc?"
"It's been…different," he replied.
When she realized he wasn't going to say more, Buffy laughed. "Wow, Angel. And I was beginning to wonder why we used to call you Cryptic Guy. Really, how's Cordelia and your whole gang? Willow never did get a chance to fill me in, like at all, before the apocalypsing, the aftermath, and the running away to Brazil with her girlfriend…"
Angel was jolted by her lighthearted tone, fresh pain flooding him. "Cordy's dead."
"Oh no," Buffy whispered, her hand froze halfway to her coffee mug. "Angel I—how did she die?"
"Well," Angel began, clearing his throat. "It's a pretty long story, but, ah," Angel took a useless breath, "something evil crawled inside her, possessed her, and it almost killed her. She fell asleep after it was gone and, um, well she never woke up."
"God, I'm so sorry," Buffy said, her voice hushed and mournful. "It sounds like you really miss her."
Angel didn't quite know what to say. He finally found his voice, but could only get out, "I'm sorry too."
"What about your other friends?" Buffy asked. She seemed so much gentler, knowing he had lost as well.
"Wes, Gunn, and Lorne are doing all right, but Fred," Angel stopped. "We lost her too. You never met her, but I think you would have gotten along. She was a sweet girl. When I took this job, I never expected people to get hurt, to die…"
Angel paused, Buffy seemed to understand what he meant without any elaboration. She settled back in her chair and sipped her cold coffee, a somber expression on her face.
"Andrew said you didn't trust me anymore. Because of Wolfram and Hart. Believe me Buffy, it isn't like you think—"
"It's not because of the law firm," she said quietly.
Angel stopped at the sound of her angry tone. "Well, what is it then?"
Buffy opened her mouth, gaping for a moment before her face fell back into a passive mask, her voice lowering. "It's nothing."
"No," Angel said, "it's not nothing, Buffy. I think that I deserve to know why I had to hear that you want nothing to do with me from the mouth of a kid I barely know."
"You gave me that amulet," Buffy said.
"Wh-what?" Angel was stumped. Okay, that was not what I was expecting, he thought.
Buffy's face fell slightly, and Angel could tell from past experience that her emotions were bubbling to the surface. Whenever she made that face, tears were sure to follow.
"You mean you don't remember?" she whispered, clearly confused. "You were, there, we were talking—"
"No, it's not that," Angel shook his head and cracked a smile. "I definitely remember."
"Angel," Buffy said seriously. "You gave me the amulet," her eyes—how had he forgotten she had hazel eyes?—welled slightly. When Buffy next spoke, her voice broke, "and I gave the amulet to him."
The reality of the situation slowly sunk in. "Buffy…are you saying that you don't trust me because you think I killed Spike?"
"No," Buffy said. "I don't think you killed him."
"Well, I sometimes consider it," he mumbled, too low for her to hear.
"I killed him," Buffy said. "You just made it easier."
"Buffy, you didn't kill Spike, trust me when I say that—"
"Does it really mean anything if I didn't do it on purpose? If I didn't dust him myself?" she said. "I knew it was dangerous, Angel. I knew and I gave it to him anyway."
"I wanted to wear it Buffy, I was going to do it," Angel said. "I didn't mean for him to die."
"I'm trying to put Sunnydale behind me. I am trying to live my life and so far I've been doing a pretty damn good job of it. I shop, I date, I laugh and sometimes I even mean it. I came here to forgive you," Buffy paused, searching for the right words, "for not wearing it, for giving it to me in the first place, for not insisting you stay and do…something. I know it's not your fault but..."
She really doesn't know, Angel thought. If she did, Buffy would not be switching between cheerful, angry, and worst of all detached.
"God, look at us," Buffy said with a humorless laugh. "We're kind of tragic."
"That's what they're always saying," Angel commented.
"Whoa, hold on. I didn't mean like us, us," Buffy said.
"No, I know, I—" Angel stopped as he leaned across the table, hearing the minute crackling of paper coming from the inner pocket of his coat. In the strangeness of seeing Buffy again, and with everything that was happening, he'd almost forgotten about the letter in his pocket. The one he'd scribbled out furiously the previous night in preparation for the meeting. Angel almost reached for it, but stopped himself. He needed to know something first before he gave it to her.
"Buffy, do you ever—I mean do you still —" he paused, unsure of what her reaction would be, "think that far ahead?"
It took her a moment to process what he was saying. Her eyes widened as if she could not comprehend the question. When she spoke, it was not the angry reaction that Angel recoiled inwardly for, her voice was calm and patient. "Honestly, Angel? I don't," Buffy paused and thought a moment, "I can't."
"I understand."
"You know what? I don't think you do," Buffy's voice rose, the waitress at the front turned and looked at them before returning to the register. "When I told you that, things were different. I was different. I've tried going down that road this year, a few times. I've been dating, sure, but I'm not ready for the kind of commitment that I know you're thinking of."
Angel leaned forward and covered her hands with his. "Buffy—"
Buffy flinched and pulled her hands away, holding them in her lap, she spoke to them instead of him. "I thought I could do this, but I can't. If this is how things are always going to be between us, maybe it's best if I go. I'm sorry, Angel."
She can't even look at me, Angel thought, and then another thought rang out clearly in his mind. She doesn't know.
Buffy gathered up her small backpack from the chair beside them, slinging it over her shoulders. She stood and turned toward the exit. When she spoke, Angel had to strain to hear her, he wasn't quite sure if he was supposed to.
"You don't know what we had."
The echo of Spike's words was enough to convince him. Angel knew what he had to do as he watched Buffy's retreating back. He stood up so hurriedly that his chair fell, just as Buffy walked out the door.
"Buffy, wait!" he called.
"Hey!" the waitress said behind him as he knocked down a display cup and shattered it. He ignored her and ran out the door behind Buffy.
"Buffy, hold on a minute," Angel called. Buffy froze, halfway to a shadowed SUV that had pulled up in front of the café, the engine purring quietly.
"What?" she snapped, blond hair whipping around her face as she turned.
Angel reached into his coat. "Look, I'm not going to try anything, if that's what you're worried about," he said, extracting the small white envelope. "I just wanted to give you this."
Buffy took it and eyed it suspiciously. "What is it?"
"Don't open it here," Angel said quickly just as she began edging it open. "Wait until you get back to wherever it is you're staying."
"Why?" Buffy asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Just trust me, you're gonna want to be alone," Angel said.
"But what is it?" Buffy asked again.
"It's about what happened in Sunnydale," he replied, barely meeting her eyes. "Maybe it will give you some closure."
Buffy searched his face. "Angel, what aren't you telling me?"
Angel smiled for the first time that night. "But I am telling you. Buffy, I know how you felt when you lost him."
"No you don—"
"Like you're whole world just ended? Like you can hardly breathe?"
"Angel, you don't breathe," Buffy said, unamused, but she graced him with a small smile.
"That's not the point," he said. He sighed and looked away from her. "I'm never getting back what I lost, Buffy."
She tilted her head. "You aren't talking about me, are you?"
It was not a question.
Angel shrugged and began backing toward his car. "Open it when you're alone."
"Angel," Buffy called and took a tentative step toward him, the envelope clutched tightly in her hands. He stopped at the car door. "Why won't you tell me more?"
He held his hands out apologetically. "Cryptic Guy."
Buffy smiled. "How could I forget?"
He gave her a small wave, which she returned, and got back in the Viper, rolling down the windows to enjoy the night air. The desert breeze that swirled around him brought comfort. It felt like soothing fingertips on his furrowed brow. He watched her in the rearview mirror, envelope tight in hand, as she got in the SUV and disappeared over the desert horizon.
