So I've reverted back to my Sunnydalian habits of stalking. Sure, I stalk in LA too, but this town really brings it out in me.
After a seemingly endless wait, the sun has finally retreated below the high cliffs of Sunnydale and dissolved into the ocean. I've taken the familiar spot behind the big oak next to Buffy's garage, from where I can get a clear look at both the living room windows and the cars parking in the drive. Only one car currently in attendance.
Yes, I'm lurking. I'm sneaking. I'm lying in wait. And if I could then by god, I'd be eavesdropping too.
What can I say? I'm a vampire; it's practically in the job description.
Hell, I'm a detective. It literally *is* in the job description.
From what I've gathered, Commy isn't at home. I've circled the house and peered inside through all the windows, and there was no evidence that he's here. I'm going make my entrance just as soon as Buffy gets off the phone.
Right. That's about the lamest excuse I've come up with since the infamous "I was working on my tan."
I've been hiding behind this tree for the past half hour, during which time Buffy has made three different phone calls.
I suppose that if pressed, I might admit to being scared shitless. Because who knows what the hell's gonna happen once I walk through that door.
I glance back at my car, which is parked a few yards away, far enough so that it's not visible from inside Buffy's house. A pair of tiny frenzied red eyes meets me from behind a glass sheet in the back seat. On my way here-to stall time, I suppose-I walked into a pet shop that I happened to glimpse and bought a gray hamster for Wesley. His furry little self captured me when the shop owner remarked that his name is Henry, which really is like Enrique, you know. I figure I owe this to Wesley.
Now, surprisingly, these eyes seem to project confidence and reassurance into my mind. I say this is surprising because, well, it is a hamster we're talking about.
You're right, Henry. I'm man enough to make the move.
Correction. I am *vampire* enough to make the move.
I move. The front door of the Summers household is getting nearer and nearer.
Wow, it's really close now.
I realize I'm so close I'm staring cross-eyed at the peephole.
Gonna knock. Gonna knock now.
My hand rises slowly and makes this pathetic tapping noise. Here goes nothing.
Huh.
I... wow.
Can I say that Buffy leaping into my arms and kissing me senseless-
while not unappreciated- is a bit, you know, astounding?
I never expected my strategy to work this fast. Or to be so unbelievably warm and pink and chocolate-chip tasty.
I am *da* man. Vamp. Whatever.
She kissed me!
* * *
Oh. My. God.
Oh my god. Oh, my God.
It's... It's not...
Oh my god!
This isn't my fault. No one can blame this on me in any way whatsoever.
It's... I can't say his name. Not now. Not after that kiss.
I was in the kitchen, baking cookies. Or at least trying to. I admit there might have been more batter on the floor than in the mixing bowl, but I was making an effort. For Rob.
Rob whom I cheated on.
No! It wasn't like that!
I was having trouble reading the recipe that Willow gave me. Apparently, none of my supposedly educated friends know what the hell anise powder is. Giles and Xander, knowing full well what I was baking, both suggested it's a type of Arabian fruit, which shows exactly how much time they spend in the kitchen. Also that they should never go on any game shows, as I'm fairly certain fruits don't come equipped with nationalities.
My third phone call was to Willow, who didn't know what anise powder was but offered to check if she had some at The Magic Shop. I declined politely. If there was any way she had that in the shop, it wasn't going inside my cookies.
I heard the timid knock on the door just as I was opening the fridge. I happened to glance sideways and caught sight of the sweet note Rob left me this morning. So, you see, I was filled with happy, Rob-loving fuzzy feelings and I was absolutely certain that it was him at the door.
Absolutely certain.
Otherwise, I never would have...
I closed my eyes and just went with it. It wasn't for a couple of seconds until I registered that this was neither Rob nor Rob's mouth kissing me, and another few seconds passed before I recognized with shock who the lips belonged to.
All in all, this was about seven seconds of very intense kissing. Very hot kissing. *Mind-blowing* wouldn't be an exaggeration. And I wonder how it happened that I didn't cut it off until the seventh second.
Or rather, I don't wonder at all.
So now here's me, panting, and *him*, whom I haven't laid eyes on for more than a year, with some flour on his shirt and lipstick on his bottom lip, and the note Rob wrote clutched in my hand. I squeeze it with distress and say the first thing that pops into my mind.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!"
His eyes widen and he takes a step back. "Me? You were the one who started kissing!"
"I did not!" I sputter.
I so did.
"I distinctly remember knocking on the door and the next thing I know I got a faceful of Buffy!"
"'A faceful of Buffy?'" I repeat with amazement.
"Uh..." he looks nervous. "Bad phrasing."
"You tricked me into kissing you!" I accuse.
"No, I didn't!" he objects, but he's flushing a bit. My eyes narrow. Aha!
"I thought you were Rob!"
For some reason he looks taken aback. "You thought I was... Rob?" he asks uncertainly.
"Duh, yeah," I reply, a bit uncertain as well. Why would he be surprised at this?
"Rob is..." he trails off. Something in my mind clicks.
I get it.
Angel doesn't know who Rob is!
God, I feel embarrassed. He's probably in town for business and decided to drop by for a courtesy call-something God knows I haven't had the guts to do during the few times I've been to LA this year. So he shows up innocently on my doorstep, and there I go planting one on him like I'm trying to suck out his tonsils, poor guy. This might possibly qualify as assault.
I gush out an anxious apology. "God, Angel, I'm so sorry! I never-I thought you were Rob-my fiance-I never would have kissed you otherwise."
I can't quite fathom what that look he's giving me is, which is strange because I'm used to reading him naturally. All I can excavate from the situation now is that he's shaken about something.
Boy, so am I.
And I guess that wasn't the gentlest way to break the news about Rob to him, either.
I weakly try to put him at ease, but I'm suddenly acutely aware that we haven't really talked for over a year and that I'm engaged and he's my fricking EX. "So... you're in town for...?"
"Business," he says unconvincingly, repeating my thoughts from earlier. "I can't really tell you about it, it's part of this great big prophecy..."
"Right, okay." The silence in the air is like a thousand-mile gap between us. "Are Cordelia and Wesley here?"
"Yeah, yeah." He shifts. "We're staying at The Tulip."
"Oh," I say, with an approving hum. "You're doing well if you can treat your staff to a five star hotel."
"I guess," he says, and looks at the ground shuffling one foot on the doormat. This is getting awkward.
It's stupid. I should just invite him over to meet Rob and get it over with, otherwise I'll just dread that moment and with both of them in Sunnydale it's bound to happen eventually. I shouldn't even worry about it. This isn't an issue. There's nothing between us anymore. There isn't.
"Say," I watch him lift his eyes to look at me, "would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night? We can catch up?"
He brightens immediately. "That'd be great," he answers enthusiastically, seeming relieved.
"Good. Invite Wesley and Cordelia, and I'll tell Rob you guys are coming. Maybe I'll ask some of the others to come by as well, and we can have a sort of reunion." God, this is coming out sounding so dumb I want to smack myself. I sound like my grandmother. A reunion? I see almost all of these people every day.
Angel, however, doesn't laugh at my phrasing. In fact, he seems a bit deflated. "So, everyone'll be here, then?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," he agrees feebly. "Sounds great." What's his problem?
"Great," I repeat with more enthusiasm than I feel. Frankly, I just feel strange about this whole conversation.
"Great."
"Okay, then."
"So I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yes," he confirms, and steps backwards to depart. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," I respond, and close the door in front of me.
Okay. I feel so incredibly weird right now, and I don't know why.
I'm just gonna go finish my cookies now.
As I walk to the kitchen I catch a glimpse of myself in the front hall mirror, and softly drop Rob's note on the counter to carefully wipe the smeared lipstick off my face.
* * *
Don't worry, the next part'll be out very soon. Please, drop me a line if you've read this-I'm interested in how many people-well, read this :-)
After a seemingly endless wait, the sun has finally retreated below the high cliffs of Sunnydale and dissolved into the ocean. I've taken the familiar spot behind the big oak next to Buffy's garage, from where I can get a clear look at both the living room windows and the cars parking in the drive. Only one car currently in attendance.
Yes, I'm lurking. I'm sneaking. I'm lying in wait. And if I could then by god, I'd be eavesdropping too.
What can I say? I'm a vampire; it's practically in the job description.
Hell, I'm a detective. It literally *is* in the job description.
From what I've gathered, Commy isn't at home. I've circled the house and peered inside through all the windows, and there was no evidence that he's here. I'm going make my entrance just as soon as Buffy gets off the phone.
Right. That's about the lamest excuse I've come up with since the infamous "I was working on my tan."
I've been hiding behind this tree for the past half hour, during which time Buffy has made three different phone calls.
I suppose that if pressed, I might admit to being scared shitless. Because who knows what the hell's gonna happen once I walk through that door.
I glance back at my car, which is parked a few yards away, far enough so that it's not visible from inside Buffy's house. A pair of tiny frenzied red eyes meets me from behind a glass sheet in the back seat. On my way here-to stall time, I suppose-I walked into a pet shop that I happened to glimpse and bought a gray hamster for Wesley. His furry little self captured me when the shop owner remarked that his name is Henry, which really is like Enrique, you know. I figure I owe this to Wesley.
Now, surprisingly, these eyes seem to project confidence and reassurance into my mind. I say this is surprising because, well, it is a hamster we're talking about.
You're right, Henry. I'm man enough to make the move.
Correction. I am *vampire* enough to make the move.
I move. The front door of the Summers household is getting nearer and nearer.
Wow, it's really close now.
I realize I'm so close I'm staring cross-eyed at the peephole.
Gonna knock. Gonna knock now.
My hand rises slowly and makes this pathetic tapping noise. Here goes nothing.
Huh.
I... wow.
Can I say that Buffy leaping into my arms and kissing me senseless-
while not unappreciated- is a bit, you know, astounding?
I never expected my strategy to work this fast. Or to be so unbelievably warm and pink and chocolate-chip tasty.
I am *da* man. Vamp. Whatever.
She kissed me!
* * *
Oh. My. God.
Oh my god. Oh, my God.
It's... It's not...
Oh my god!
This isn't my fault. No one can blame this on me in any way whatsoever.
It's... I can't say his name. Not now. Not after that kiss.
I was in the kitchen, baking cookies. Or at least trying to. I admit there might have been more batter on the floor than in the mixing bowl, but I was making an effort. For Rob.
Rob whom I cheated on.
No! It wasn't like that!
I was having trouble reading the recipe that Willow gave me. Apparently, none of my supposedly educated friends know what the hell anise powder is. Giles and Xander, knowing full well what I was baking, both suggested it's a type of Arabian fruit, which shows exactly how much time they spend in the kitchen. Also that they should never go on any game shows, as I'm fairly certain fruits don't come equipped with nationalities.
My third phone call was to Willow, who didn't know what anise powder was but offered to check if she had some at The Magic Shop. I declined politely. If there was any way she had that in the shop, it wasn't going inside my cookies.
I heard the timid knock on the door just as I was opening the fridge. I happened to glance sideways and caught sight of the sweet note Rob left me this morning. So, you see, I was filled with happy, Rob-loving fuzzy feelings and I was absolutely certain that it was him at the door.
Absolutely certain.
Otherwise, I never would have...
I closed my eyes and just went with it. It wasn't for a couple of seconds until I registered that this was neither Rob nor Rob's mouth kissing me, and another few seconds passed before I recognized with shock who the lips belonged to.
All in all, this was about seven seconds of very intense kissing. Very hot kissing. *Mind-blowing* wouldn't be an exaggeration. And I wonder how it happened that I didn't cut it off until the seventh second.
Or rather, I don't wonder at all.
So now here's me, panting, and *him*, whom I haven't laid eyes on for more than a year, with some flour on his shirt and lipstick on his bottom lip, and the note Rob wrote clutched in my hand. I squeeze it with distress and say the first thing that pops into my mind.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!"
His eyes widen and he takes a step back. "Me? You were the one who started kissing!"
"I did not!" I sputter.
I so did.
"I distinctly remember knocking on the door and the next thing I know I got a faceful of Buffy!"
"'A faceful of Buffy?'" I repeat with amazement.
"Uh..." he looks nervous. "Bad phrasing."
"You tricked me into kissing you!" I accuse.
"No, I didn't!" he objects, but he's flushing a bit. My eyes narrow. Aha!
"I thought you were Rob!"
For some reason he looks taken aback. "You thought I was... Rob?" he asks uncertainly.
"Duh, yeah," I reply, a bit uncertain as well. Why would he be surprised at this?
"Rob is..." he trails off. Something in my mind clicks.
I get it.
Angel doesn't know who Rob is!
God, I feel embarrassed. He's probably in town for business and decided to drop by for a courtesy call-something God knows I haven't had the guts to do during the few times I've been to LA this year. So he shows up innocently on my doorstep, and there I go planting one on him like I'm trying to suck out his tonsils, poor guy. This might possibly qualify as assault.
I gush out an anxious apology. "God, Angel, I'm so sorry! I never-I thought you were Rob-my fiance-I never would have kissed you otherwise."
I can't quite fathom what that look he's giving me is, which is strange because I'm used to reading him naturally. All I can excavate from the situation now is that he's shaken about something.
Boy, so am I.
And I guess that wasn't the gentlest way to break the news about Rob to him, either.
I weakly try to put him at ease, but I'm suddenly acutely aware that we haven't really talked for over a year and that I'm engaged and he's my fricking EX. "So... you're in town for...?"
"Business," he says unconvincingly, repeating my thoughts from earlier. "I can't really tell you about it, it's part of this great big prophecy..."
"Right, okay." The silence in the air is like a thousand-mile gap between us. "Are Cordelia and Wesley here?"
"Yeah, yeah." He shifts. "We're staying at The Tulip."
"Oh," I say, with an approving hum. "You're doing well if you can treat your staff to a five star hotel."
"I guess," he says, and looks at the ground shuffling one foot on the doormat. This is getting awkward.
It's stupid. I should just invite him over to meet Rob and get it over with, otherwise I'll just dread that moment and with both of them in Sunnydale it's bound to happen eventually. I shouldn't even worry about it. This isn't an issue. There's nothing between us anymore. There isn't.
"Say," I watch him lift his eyes to look at me, "would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night? We can catch up?"
He brightens immediately. "That'd be great," he answers enthusiastically, seeming relieved.
"Good. Invite Wesley and Cordelia, and I'll tell Rob you guys are coming. Maybe I'll ask some of the others to come by as well, and we can have a sort of reunion." God, this is coming out sounding so dumb I want to smack myself. I sound like my grandmother. A reunion? I see almost all of these people every day.
Angel, however, doesn't laugh at my phrasing. In fact, he seems a bit deflated. "So, everyone'll be here, then?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," he agrees feebly. "Sounds great." What's his problem?
"Great," I repeat with more enthusiasm than I feel. Frankly, I just feel strange about this whole conversation.
"Great."
"Okay, then."
"So I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yes," he confirms, and steps backwards to depart. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," I respond, and close the door in front of me.
Okay. I feel so incredibly weird right now, and I don't know why.
I'm just gonna go finish my cookies now.
As I walk to the kitchen I catch a glimpse of myself in the front hall mirror, and softly drop Rob's note on the counter to carefully wipe the smeared lipstick off my face.
* * *
Don't worry, the next part'll be out very soon. Please, drop me a line if you've read this-I'm interested in how many people-well, read this :-)
