Part Seven
Buffy stopped. She had the strangest feeling, like a nagging in the
back of her mind. She couldn't place it, it evaded her. She shook her
head with a sigh of irritation, and continued walking.
As the feeling got stronger, she slowed again. "Marco?" she ventured,
snorting with laughter at the childishness she was displaying.
"Polo," she heard called softly about twenty feet to her right. The
voice... Buffy's eyes got wider as she realized who it belonged to.
That explained the feeling. She ran in the direction of the voice.
Angel heard her call, "Marco?" He smiled. Did she know it was him, or
just know something was out there? He wasn't sure, but he was sure
this was shaping up to be the strangest reunion of all time. Despite
himself, he said it. "Polo." It worked, he heard her coming. He faced
the direction of the footfalls.
Discovery Number Three: apparently two-hundred-odd years of not
needing to breathe had made his involuntary functions unreliable at
times. He had to remind himself to breathe, and slowly.
He saw her then. She ran out of a grove of trees, and stopped short
when she saw him. All words left him, so he contented himself with
studying her. She was beautiful. More beautiful than the eighteen
year old he'd left, if that was even possible. She was still the
slender blonde with the perfect figure. Her blonde hair still shone
in the night, and her hazel eyes still sparkled. But she seemed more
graceful somehow. More confident in the way she carried herself.
Buffy hit a clearing, and her eyes landed on him. She wasn't sure
whether to laugh, cry, or scream. She then realized it didn't matter,
the English language was suddenly too challenging for her to attempt.
She stared at him in disbelief that he was actually standing there,
in front of her, after all these years. Her timeless lover, he looked
exactly the way she remembered him. *Big surprise, vampires don't
age, remember?*
She walked closer to him, knowing that now they'd gotten this far,
there was no turning back. She wondered briefly if he was the reason
she'd been unable to sleep. If he was somehow behind the feeling
she'd had of the Hellmouth being shaken?
She decided finally that silence was underrated. She stopped about
five feet from him, saying, "Angel? Is it really you?" *Yep, still a
Master at the brilliant questions.*
Angel reminded himself to breath as she stepped closer. *In. Out.
Good. Dropping dead now would be _way_ too shocking for her.* "Yeah,
Buffy," he replied hoarsely. He cleared his throat and tried his
voice again. "It's me." Much better.
"Why? How?" Buffy frowned, and settled on, "Why?"
"I needed to talk to you about something," Angel replied. Discovery
Number Four: Cryptic tendencies were still intact. He sighed at
himself, and added, "It's important. Well, maybe that's obvious since
I'm here at..." he stopped to check his watch, "four in the morning."
Buffy nodded and looked around. "I think sitting is a good," she
said, and walked over to a nearby bench. Angel followed her. She sat,
and he sat next to her. "So what's so important you had to pay me a
visit after twenty years of silence?" she asked then, without not a
little bitterness in her tone.
Angel winced at her tone. No, this wasn't going to be easy,
apparently. There was so much he hadn't told her anyway, so much he
needed to explain to get around to the "Oh, guess what, I'm alive"
story. Maybe starting with a general series of apologies would be in
order.
"Buffy I..." he trailed off. "I was going to say 'I think you should
sit down', and then I realized how silly that would sound. No, I
haven't practiced this for the past three hours straight." He sighed,
and ran his hand through his hair. "It seemed so much easier when I
was saying it in the car."
Buffy looked over at him. He definitely looked like he hadn't slept.
Then she saw the rise and fall of his chest, and realized he was
breathing. *He's nervous. Vamps do that, it's a weird nervous
reaction* she reminded himself. She felt strangely comforted knowing
that being in her presence again made him nervous. It was only
fitting since she felt like jumping out of her skin at his close
proximity.
"Just say what you have to say," she replied. "The sooner you do, the
sooner you can be on your way," she added, not in anger but in
resignation. This seemed so familiar to her, he'd speak his piece and
leave. It's what he had decided was best, after all.
"Buffy, I know about Riley...and your mother," he said. "I'm sorry."
Somehow those words didn't come close to how he felt, and he wished
there were better words.
"A year late, and fifteen years late," Buffy replied, looking away.
She fought the anger, because it wouldn't do any good. Twenty years,
but she bet that Angel hadn't changed. That was reassuring somehow.
So many things in her life she couldn't count on, but one thing she
could: she'd always be able to read him. She figured he'd beat
himself up enough for not being there for her for the past twenty
years, and here he was to ask forgiveness.
She sighed. "Why now, Angel? I get that you're sorry, but why not a
phone call at least?"
"I...I'm a coward," he shrugged.
Buffy turned and glared at him. Damn him for taking the words out of
her mouth. Then she saw his sad, puppy-dog brown eyes, and giggled in
spite of herself.
Angel blinked in surprise. He'd expected many reactions, but that
wasn't one of them. "Wha--"
"You," Buffy rolled her eyes. "It's not fair you realize. You give me
that look and all my intentions of hating you go out the window."
"Tell me what look it is so I can remember it," Angel said eagerly.
"Stop that," Buffy replied, shaking her head.
"Stop what?" Angel asked.
"Stop acting like nothing's changed, because _everything's_ changed.
What do you _want_? The cryptic act really isn't charming anymore,
I'm not getting any younger, and I can't DO THIS!" Buffy stood up
with the intention of leaving, because it was either do that or cry. And
she was NOT giving him the satisfaction of crying,.
"Wait, please, Buffy," Angel grabbed her arm to stop her. Her shocked
look up at him made him realize that hadn't been a good idea.
"No," she whispered, and yanked her arm out of his _warm_ grasp. *No.
It was your imagination. You're all worked up. It's been a long
night, and you're not thinking clearly.* "Tell me it wasn't--" She
reached out for him, this time, and he backed away quickly. She
frowned, "Now you're just being childish," she accused. "I just
thought I felt..." Then she realized the truth, from the look in his eyes, the
fact he was breathing, and the fact he wouldn't let her touch him.
He was alive. Somehow, Angel was alive.
"Oh. My. God." Buffy said, then promptly fainted.
********
Buffy stopped. She had the strangest feeling, like a nagging in the
back of her mind. She couldn't place it, it evaded her. She shook her
head with a sigh of irritation, and continued walking.
As the feeling got stronger, she slowed again. "Marco?" she ventured,
snorting with laughter at the childishness she was displaying.
"Polo," she heard called softly about twenty feet to her right. The
voice... Buffy's eyes got wider as she realized who it belonged to.
That explained the feeling. She ran in the direction of the voice.
Angel heard her call, "Marco?" He smiled. Did she know it was him, or
just know something was out there? He wasn't sure, but he was sure
this was shaping up to be the strangest reunion of all time. Despite
himself, he said it. "Polo." It worked, he heard her coming. He faced
the direction of the footfalls.
Discovery Number Three: apparently two-hundred-odd years of not
needing to breathe had made his involuntary functions unreliable at
times. He had to remind himself to breathe, and slowly.
He saw her then. She ran out of a grove of trees, and stopped short
when she saw him. All words left him, so he contented himself with
studying her. She was beautiful. More beautiful than the eighteen
year old he'd left, if that was even possible. She was still the
slender blonde with the perfect figure. Her blonde hair still shone
in the night, and her hazel eyes still sparkled. But she seemed more
graceful somehow. More confident in the way she carried herself.
Buffy hit a clearing, and her eyes landed on him. She wasn't sure
whether to laugh, cry, or scream. She then realized it didn't matter,
the English language was suddenly too challenging for her to attempt.
She stared at him in disbelief that he was actually standing there,
in front of her, after all these years. Her timeless lover, he looked
exactly the way she remembered him. *Big surprise, vampires don't
age, remember?*
She walked closer to him, knowing that now they'd gotten this far,
there was no turning back. She wondered briefly if he was the reason
she'd been unable to sleep. If he was somehow behind the feeling
she'd had of the Hellmouth being shaken?
She decided finally that silence was underrated. She stopped about
five feet from him, saying, "Angel? Is it really you?" *Yep, still a
Master at the brilliant questions.*
Angel reminded himself to breath as she stepped closer. *In. Out.
Good. Dropping dead now would be _way_ too shocking for her.* "Yeah,
Buffy," he replied hoarsely. He cleared his throat and tried his
voice again. "It's me." Much better.
"Why? How?" Buffy frowned, and settled on, "Why?"
"I needed to talk to you about something," Angel replied. Discovery
Number Four: Cryptic tendencies were still intact. He sighed at
himself, and added, "It's important. Well, maybe that's obvious since
I'm here at..." he stopped to check his watch, "four in the morning."
Buffy nodded and looked around. "I think sitting is a good," she
said, and walked over to a nearby bench. Angel followed her. She sat,
and he sat next to her. "So what's so important you had to pay me a
visit after twenty years of silence?" she asked then, without not a
little bitterness in her tone.
Angel winced at her tone. No, this wasn't going to be easy,
apparently. There was so much he hadn't told her anyway, so much he
needed to explain to get around to the "Oh, guess what, I'm alive"
story. Maybe starting with a general series of apologies would be in
order.
"Buffy I..." he trailed off. "I was going to say 'I think you should
sit down', and then I realized how silly that would sound. No, I
haven't practiced this for the past three hours straight." He sighed,
and ran his hand through his hair. "It seemed so much easier when I
was saying it in the car."
Buffy looked over at him. He definitely looked like he hadn't slept.
Then she saw the rise and fall of his chest, and realized he was
breathing. *He's nervous. Vamps do that, it's a weird nervous
reaction* she reminded himself. She felt strangely comforted knowing
that being in her presence again made him nervous. It was only
fitting since she felt like jumping out of her skin at his close
proximity.
"Just say what you have to say," she replied. "The sooner you do, the
sooner you can be on your way," she added, not in anger but in
resignation. This seemed so familiar to her, he'd speak his piece and
leave. It's what he had decided was best, after all.
"Buffy, I know about Riley...and your mother," he said. "I'm sorry."
Somehow those words didn't come close to how he felt, and he wished
there were better words.
"A year late, and fifteen years late," Buffy replied, looking away.
She fought the anger, because it wouldn't do any good. Twenty years,
but she bet that Angel hadn't changed. That was reassuring somehow.
So many things in her life she couldn't count on, but one thing she
could: she'd always be able to read him. She figured he'd beat
himself up enough for not being there for her for the past twenty
years, and here he was to ask forgiveness.
She sighed. "Why now, Angel? I get that you're sorry, but why not a
phone call at least?"
"I...I'm a coward," he shrugged.
Buffy turned and glared at him. Damn him for taking the words out of
her mouth. Then she saw his sad, puppy-dog brown eyes, and giggled in
spite of herself.
Angel blinked in surprise. He'd expected many reactions, but that
wasn't one of them. "Wha--"
"You," Buffy rolled her eyes. "It's not fair you realize. You give me
that look and all my intentions of hating you go out the window."
"Tell me what look it is so I can remember it," Angel said eagerly.
"Stop that," Buffy replied, shaking her head.
"Stop what?" Angel asked.
"Stop acting like nothing's changed, because _everything's_ changed.
What do you _want_? The cryptic act really isn't charming anymore,
I'm not getting any younger, and I can't DO THIS!" Buffy stood up
with the intention of leaving, because it was either do that or cry. And
she was NOT giving him the satisfaction of crying,.
"Wait, please, Buffy," Angel grabbed her arm to stop her. Her shocked
look up at him made him realize that hadn't been a good idea.
"No," she whispered, and yanked her arm out of his _warm_ grasp. *No.
It was your imagination. You're all worked up. It's been a long
night, and you're not thinking clearly.* "Tell me it wasn't--" She
reached out for him, this time, and he backed away quickly. She
frowned, "Now you're just being childish," she accused. "I just
thought I felt..." Then she realized the truth, from the look in his eyes, the
fact he was breathing, and the fact he wouldn't let her touch him.
He was alive. Somehow, Angel was alive.
"Oh. My. God." Buffy said, then promptly fainted.
********