Author's Notes: I'd just like to thank all those who left reviews for this story so far. It's been wonderful to hear from you. Now, I'm going to take a moment to explain my grammar and punctuation (or lack of it). In this fic, and most of my work, I write character introspection: basically, what's going through their minds. And I don't know about you, but I've never met anyone who thinks in complete sentences with punctuation. In interests of keeping the story's tone as close to actual thought as possible, I've sometimes discarded grammar and punctuation in favor of simple words. Thanks again for your comments, and please, continue to send feedback with love.
"Angel?" She spun around to face him, dropping Willow and letting her arms fall to her side, "Angel?" And then he was gripped around the waist and he could smell the gathering of salt in her eyes, under her vanilla scent, "Angel, I was so scared! You're okay? I was so worried that you were dust or being tortured or...something really really bad!" She gave him one last squeeze and then released him and stepped back. 'Okay, back into scorned woman and Slayer mode- what happened, what are you doing here? Where you been for the past few months?" Here her voice slowed and her hazel eyes turned toward the asphalt now underneath, "I was so scared."
His voice left again, traitorous thing, and he stumbled over the rough words as he croaked, "I'm sorry... that you were worried. I didn't know... if you wanted me to stay in touch."
"It's okay... do you want to come in? We can talk, and you can tell what you've done, who you've fought, who you've... been with this whole time. Compare new battle scars. Stuff."
Buffy turned and left, walking purposely towards her dorm, while Angel followed like the lovesick puppy he was. His eyes skimmed over her back, taking in her red jacket, the black leather pants- she dressed harsh. No matter her words, her clothes showed her anger, her shield against the world. Like Faith, he thought, and then banished the thought. He was back now, and he would stay. Even if... if she wanted him to go. He could lurk. Angel was a good lurker.
(no one should see her dressed like that. mine, mine, other men looking at her tight clothes, eyes all over his Buffy, maybe even hands, Parker, Parker, the name of the boy who touched my Buffy, mine!)
(MINE- the demon roared. Mine to watch, mine to stalk, mine to take and kill and turn and live near for eternity!) Angel stifled the thoughts of his demon, as he always did, even when they mimicked his own so closely.
Buffy opened a door, lifted her eyes to meet his and said, "Come in, Angel." He managed a weak smile and entered.
"So, where've you been? Whatcha done, whatcha seen?" Her voice was bright, cheerful, and lying.
"Buffy..." He croaked, looking away when she cast a sad gaze at him for disrupting her facade, "in L.A. Fighting. Nothing exciting." Here he cleared his throat, "And you? what
(who)
have you done?"
"Nothing much. College, slaying, got my soul partially sucked out by my demon roommate. Regular Buffy-type stuff."
"Been...dating?" Angel forced it out.
Buffy laughed at him, lightly, casually, -better to laugh than to cry- he saw written in her eyes, "Nicely done. Your casual voice is improving. But, no. Not really. You're kind of a hard man to get over, I guess."
"But you slept with someone."
(someone not me)
It was out quickly, over fast, but he could see the reaction in her face and he cringed, "Is that why you came back? Parker? You break my heart, leave me worrying about you for months, and then when you hear about my pathetic attempt to move on, you come running back with a severe case of jealous-man syndrome? Angel, what do you want from me?"
"I..." Angel didn't know how to respond, mostly because it was true, "I have something... I need to tell you."
His face must have betrayed his anxiety, because she quickly replied, "Angel? What's wrong? Is...is it...are you okay?" At his lowered eyes, she walked over to where he was sitting, head tilted down, running his hand over the soft red and orange quilt on what he assumed was Willow's bed. Willow. Angel wondered if she and Oz were talking about them right now. Is Willow angry at him? For breaking Buffy's heart and leaving her for Willow to comfort. And Xander too. Xander. He growled, deep in his throat, at his mental image of the boy comforting Buffy. His Buffy in that boy's arms- oh, god. The summer after she died, when she returned- that dance in the Bronze, that boy's body pressed up against his silky blonde...
"Angel, please. You're scaring me."
His head jerked up, "I have my soul."
"Angel?" She spun around to face him, dropping Willow and letting her arms fall to her side, "Angel?" And then he was gripped around the waist and he could smell the gathering of salt in her eyes, under her vanilla scent, "Angel, I was so scared! You're okay? I was so worried that you were dust or being tortured or...something really really bad!" She gave him one last squeeze and then released him and stepped back. 'Okay, back into scorned woman and Slayer mode- what happened, what are you doing here? Where you been for the past few months?" Here her voice slowed and her hazel eyes turned toward the asphalt now underneath, "I was so scared."
His voice left again, traitorous thing, and he stumbled over the rough words as he croaked, "I'm sorry... that you were worried. I didn't know... if you wanted me to stay in touch."
"It's okay... do you want to come in? We can talk, and you can tell what you've done, who you've fought, who you've... been with this whole time. Compare new battle scars. Stuff."
Buffy turned and left, walking purposely towards her dorm, while Angel followed like the lovesick puppy he was. His eyes skimmed over her back, taking in her red jacket, the black leather pants- she dressed harsh. No matter her words, her clothes showed her anger, her shield against the world. Like Faith, he thought, and then banished the thought. He was back now, and he would stay. Even if... if she wanted him to go. He could lurk. Angel was a good lurker.
(no one should see her dressed like that. mine, mine, other men looking at her tight clothes, eyes all over his Buffy, maybe even hands, Parker, Parker, the name of the boy who touched my Buffy, mine!)
(MINE- the demon roared. Mine to watch, mine to stalk, mine to take and kill and turn and live near for eternity!) Angel stifled the thoughts of his demon, as he always did, even when they mimicked his own so closely.
Buffy opened a door, lifted her eyes to meet his and said, "Come in, Angel." He managed a weak smile and entered.
"So, where've you been? Whatcha done, whatcha seen?" Her voice was bright, cheerful, and lying.
"Buffy..." He croaked, looking away when she cast a sad gaze at him for disrupting her facade, "in L.A. Fighting. Nothing exciting." Here he cleared his throat, "And you? what
(who)
have you done?"
"Nothing much. College, slaying, got my soul partially sucked out by my demon roommate. Regular Buffy-type stuff."
"Been...dating?" Angel forced it out.
Buffy laughed at him, lightly, casually, -better to laugh than to cry- he saw written in her eyes, "Nicely done. Your casual voice is improving. But, no. Not really. You're kind of a hard man to get over, I guess."
"But you slept with someone."
(someone not me)
It was out quickly, over fast, but he could see the reaction in her face and he cringed, "Is that why you came back? Parker? You break my heart, leave me worrying about you for months, and then when you hear about my pathetic attempt to move on, you come running back with a severe case of jealous-man syndrome? Angel, what do you want from me?"
"I..." Angel didn't know how to respond, mostly because it was true, "I have something... I need to tell you."
His face must have betrayed his anxiety, because she quickly replied, "Angel? What's wrong? Is...is it...are you okay?" At his lowered eyes, she walked over to where he was sitting, head tilted down, running his hand over the soft red and orange quilt on what he assumed was Willow's bed. Willow. Angel wondered if she and Oz were talking about them right now. Is Willow angry at him? For breaking Buffy's heart and leaving her for Willow to comfort. And Xander too. Xander. He growled, deep in his throat, at his mental image of the boy comforting Buffy. His Buffy in that boy's arms- oh, god. The summer after she died, when she returned- that dance in the Bronze, that boy's body pressed up against his silky blonde...
"Angel, please. You're scaring me."
His head jerked up, "I have my soul."
