DISCLAIMER: I wish.
WORDCOUNT: 1100
SUMMARY: pre S/I. "What he does is easy to tell, since she sleeps better now and she goes out more often and yet Sunnydale hasn't been overridden by vampires."
THANK YOU: To Sharon (
evillittledog) and Raya (rayalight), for the beta. SMOOCH
FEEDBACK: Please?

written for letterloveComplete List

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B IS FOR BEACON

by Leni

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Angel knows that she suspects, but she's never said a word. What he does is easy to tell, since she sleeps better now and she goes out more often and yet Sunnydale hasn't been overridden by vampires. But he doesn't want to be the one to tell her. It either comes out too smug and condescending or too meek in his head. In two hundred and fifty years, he hasn't had much practice with any other form to address other people. He tries his best with Buffy, and with Giles, but for this particular subject he can't find an appropriate approach.

In the end, he won't tell her because he doesn't want to look like a fool. Or worse, he fears, Buffy would feel obligated to pay him back. She doesn't owe him anything; that's not how they work. But she suspects; he knows she does. Maybe she's afraid to be wrong, that he'd feel inadequate in her expectations and draw away. Maybe she's afraid to be right, that he's doing it because he thinks that she's slacking off. And so they stay silent.

The problem is that if she doesn't speak up, he can't tell her that she'd be wrong on both accounts. He doesn't want to draw away from her, ever, and he really thinks that she does her best to protect Sunnydale. He isn't filling in; he's just backing her up. Because Slayer or not, Buffy is still a teenager. He is not.

She deserves a night at the Bronze with her friends, dancing and singing until their feet hurt and their throats feel scratched. She deserves the chance to do her homework properly, to show everyone at school that she isn't just a pretty face with a bad record. She deserves a good night's rest at least twice every week, not the three or four measley hours she gets after a thorough patrol. She deserves to spend her time as she sees fit, and if she wants to kiss him while they should be looking out for fledglings and other demons, Angel is selfish enough to play along.

But the Hellmouth is no game, and as much as Buffy willingly fights and sacrifices to rid her town from evil, he wants her to retain a semblance of a normal life. So he does an extra sweep, taking the longest route to the Bronze and always arrives late and smelling of blood or dust. She calls it 'playing Mystery Guy', and if she knows the truth, she makes sure not to mention it. She just smiles at him, pulls him onto the dance floor at the first slow song.

He is the one who nudges her to go to Willow's, maybe even sleep over after an hours-long cramming session for a coming exam or intensive research for a paper. Willow always calls just before time for patrol and often he'll find Buffy fiddling with the cord as she talks into the mouthpiece. Sometimes he'll sit at his girlfriend's side while she takes the redhead's call and will cover her hand when he notices her looking between her weapons drawer and her books. He'll hush her doubts with a long kiss and whispers to agree to Willow's proposal.

Angel knows that they'll be awake 'til the wee hours of the morning, addressing the same subjects sixteen-year-old girls have always addressed. Truth be told, he still can't feel comfortable under Willow's knowing smiles and her half-hidden mischievous exchanges with Buffy around the library and at the Bronze. But even that piece of normality, she deserves.

On those nights, he'll patrol alone, going back to the Rosenberg's front yard every couple hours. Sometimes he'll hear them typing earnestly or discussing long dead poets and heroes. On other times, he'll find giggling and barely understandable whispers; his name and Xander's feature dominantly in these conversations and, again, he isn't really comfortable at the knowledge. Even later, on his last round before dawn, he'll hear their soft snores. Those times, he's so tempted to climb to Willow's window and look inside. But if he can barely bring himself to do that at Revello Drive, there's no way he'd do it at a third person's home.

Finally, there are days where school, friends, training and her mother wear Buffy out. On those nights, she'll go to her room at the same time as usual; but she'll really change into her pyjamas and she'll really tuck herself under her covers and try to ignore reality in her dreams. Once, he made the mistake of climbing up her tree and going through her window when the lights were off. He'd woken her up, of course. But for those three seconds where she hadn't sensed the invasion, Angel had been greeted with one of the most serene sights he'd ever witnessed: The Slayer sleeping. Just as simple and just as contradictory.

Sometimes Angel will still go and look at her in the darkness of her bedroom. He never comes too close to her windowsill. Close enough to see but not to disturb her rest. Then he climbs back down, always, disgruntled with himself for letting his imagination fly too far away, for letting the temptation to step inside and kiss her awake grow so strong that he has to leave or give in. There are a thousand scenarios, each more pleasurable than the last. He wonders if he'll ever get the courage to attempt even the mildest of them. So far, he hasn't. He always leaves her and goes through her share of patrolling.

Slaying in the Slayer's stead. That's the only gift he can offer her: Time. Small reprieves in her life.

Tonight, her light is on, one of the few on Revello Drive lit at this late hour. That means that she's up and ready to patrol - or to pretend to patrol until their hands brush or they catch each other's gazes mid-sentence and the Hellmouth, Giles' orders and every trace of respect for the dead are forgotten. Buffy would advance towards him, come to her tiptoes, tilt her head and look at him in such a way that he had no option than to pass his arms around her back and bring her even closer. He would kiss her very softly at first, then let her set the pace. Turning slowly, he would shift their bodies until she could lean against a nearby headstone for balance.

Whichever option, that light is his cue to pick her up. As he advances up her block and catches the smell of her favourite perfume and lipstick, Angel has to smile.

Buffy never dresses up just for patrol.

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The End
03/03/06