FIC: Enough Space.
Title: Enough Space.
Author: Wendy.
Email: wendy@immortalbliss.co.uk.
Disclaimer: BtVs and Angel are the creation of Joss Whedon.
Summary: “Maybe you need to stop waiting.” Set after "Unleashed" and before "Hellbound" of Season 5, Angel.
Rating: PG-13ish, I would say.
Spoilers: All seven seasons of Buffy (just to be safe) and up to "Unleashed", Season 5 of Angel.
AN: "Enough Space" is part of the What If... series, a group of loosely related stories exploring an alternative reality of "Angel" Season 5 involving Buffy.
How long am I gonna stand
with my head stuck under the sand?
I'll start before I can stop,
before I see things the right way up.
“Speed of Sound” by Coldplay.
~~
Buffy
Just wanted to say hey to you and Dawn. Hope everything is good with you.
Let me know. Please.
~~
Another day had almost finished at Wolfram and Hart. Another day Angel had sat in his office, wishing he could be out throttling demons. Or Spike. But Spike wasn’t yet corporeal, so that wasn’t an option. Angel would never have believed that a Spike-ghost could be even more of a pain in his ass than Spike himself. It was complacency, pure and simple. Over the years, Angel had taken for granted the more physical ways of dealing with the annoyance of Spike.
Angel turned a paperclip in his hand, enjoying the scrape of the metal on his skin. It was nearing sunset and he should be thinking about turning in, taking the elevator to his apartment and having some nice warm otter blood. Maybe he could read a book, admire his fine collection of weapons, or better still, obliterate his brains from the ennui. Or maybe Spike could do the job for him. There was nothing to kill, nothing to save. Only form after form to sign, call after call to ignore. And he wondered what he was doing here, why he was the CEO of Evil Incorporated and whether there would ever be an end to the paperwork that swamped his desk.
He squeezed the paperclip harder. It buckled. Eternity was becoming dreary and there was no longer any prize in sight. He couldn’t see the shiny hope of shanshu anymore; he didn’t have the simplicity of knowing the only thing that mattered was all we do. Instead he had his dearest friend in a coma, his son secured in a life that would never include him and he and his crew surrounded by people who had once been their enemies. He longed for something solid, something he could trust was as real as the paper clip bent and broken in his hand. It was useless now, no longer able to fulfil its function. He knew the feeling. He let the paperclip drop to the floor.
A few weeks ago, it had all made sense. He had kissed Buffy, she had kissed him and she had talked about cookies. Weird metaphor, but still it had given him something beyond the heaviness bowing him down. A promise of maybe someday. And a new obsession with Dawson’s Creek he cared not to mention to Spike. That was something Spike didn’t need know about.
Time had passed since then. Things that had once seemed so certain were now hazy and dull. His memories of their last meeting in Sunnydale no longer sparkled in his mind. He knew Spike had died wearing that amulet; he knew Buffy had chosen Spike to fight shoulder to shoulder by her side. She had rated Spike above him and he had been relegated to the second front.
She had called him shortly after the battle in Sunnydale, letting him know she was okay. A week later, she had phoned again. She had moved to Rome, taking Dawn with her to live. He had wished her the best, all the time wanting to ask her to come back to California and work for Wolfram and Hart. But, there was something lighter in her tone, a free and breezy lilt he hadn’t heard since… forever. He couldn’t ask her, couldn’t force his wants on her. She wanted to live her life and he would have to learn to live his.
But he couldn’t leave it.
He didn’t tell anyone, but he’d been emailing her. Short, witty (he hoped), oh-so-casual emails that had taken him hours and hours to concoct, written in between shouting at Harmony and frowning at the phone. Bright anticipation always surged in him as it rang, only to disappear when it was just another client wanting individual attention from the big boss. One day, he would hear her voice. Until then, he contented himself with email and cherished the printouts of her two replies.
His laptop was hidden in a secret drawer in his desk. He had bought it shortly after his return from Sunnydale, probably, he reflected, on some sort of a whim. He had decided to keep it a secret until he was fully au fait with using it, not wanting anyone at Wolfram and Hart to realise he was completely at a loss when it came to technology. He wanted to project an image of no vulnerabilities: revealing he relied on Windows help just to type an email would not exactly fill anyone with confidence. So, he was stealthy and no one in the firm, not even Spike, his shadow, knew about his laptop. It gave him a thrill every time he looked down at the drawer, knowing that he had managed to hide the truth from everyone. He was still quite the genius in his souled state, thanks very much. Hmmmph to evil Angelus IQ.
He opened the drawer and set the laptop on his desk, turning it on and waiting while it booted up and connected to the internet. He stared at his inbox. He had mail. He reigned himself in for disappointment, knowing it could be more stupid junk mail telling him how he could improve her pleasure with some mail order Viagra. A pointless exercise when you considered that there wasn’t a “her” anywhere in sight and he wasn’t human anyway.
He looked at the incoming email, fingers gripped hard against the mouse. The address was familiar. A smile came to his face, his heart expanding and filling with a slow-burning joy. He opened the email.
Sorry, Angel. I haven’t really checked my email much lately. Life has been kind of crazy. Dawn and I are good. She’s starting school soon and she can’t wait. She loves it here and she’s already speaking Italian like a pro. Maybe you can teach me a few phrases and help wipe that smirk off her face?
“What are you looking at?”
Angel slammed down the laptop lid and bundled the whole thing into his drawer, locking it securely. He turned around to face the wall through which Spike had entered the room, a glare on his face. Damn stupid incorporeality and usurping the laws of physics. No body, no noise, no warning and now Spike knew…. Something. Angel thought through it logically. He had had his back to Spike; there was a good chance that Spike hadn’t seen the laptop. Angel studied Spike carefully. He didn’t look more smug or cocky than usual - just curious. Angel felt the tension drain from his body. Spike couldn’t have seen the laptop.
“Nothing.” Angel sealed up tight, determined not to let anything out. It was emotional constipation being around Spike.
“So what the hell were you doing grinning like an idiot while looking so guilty?” asked Spike, hand cupping his face in feigned wonder. Angel grimaced. Spike’s voice was a persistent whine in his ear, a gnat that wouldn’t stop buzzing until it had sucked all the warm blood in the vicinity. Spike had a radar for all the hot and juicy gossip when it came to Angel, knew just where to centre the worst of his verbal attacks. “It almost looks like Buffy-face, but then I know she isn’t having anything to do with you.”
Angel ignored the insult, the bliss of Buffy contact buoying his mood. He stood, pushing back his chair and walked towards the elevator, pressing the call button with a triumphant jab of his finger. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Bloody hell I would.” It was said under Spike’s breath, but Angel still heard it. Sometimes Spike’s lack of self-control was really fun.
The elevator doors opened and Angel stepped in, knowing Spike would be close behind him. Even if he closed the doors quickly, he would not be able to avoid Spike for long. Spike’s new ability to pass through walls ensured Angel was almost never alone. It was a real inconvenience to his privacy.
He allowed himself a small satisfied smile, carefully levelling it as Spike entered the elevator, grumbling. He was lucky that Spike hadn’t seen the laptop. It had been a close call. He would have to be more careful or Spike would work it out.
The elevator went up to his apartment and he prepared himself for a long night of Spike-special interrogation. He could handle it, but he feared the consequences of his obsession with one-upping Spike. Could he truly resist not letting Spike know just how much he and Buffy had been in touch? Okay, two phone calls and three emails, but it was better than what Spike had.
He conveniently skirted the issue that Buffy thought Spike was dead.
It wouldn’t pay to spoil his fun.
~~
He was dreaming. He was on a beach, looking out at the incoming tide. His feet were bare upon the grainy sand, enjoying its warmth as the sunshine streamed down softly upon him. It was an hour past dawn and the sun had not yet reached its full intensity. He moved closer to the sea, the sand beneath his toes wet and pliable as his feet sank down into it. He watched as a seagull flew to the edge of the shore, its large ungainly wings settling neatly as it landed. It screeched to the sky, a low, mournful cry, alone and separate in the stillness of the early morning. They were the only the ones on the beach.
The sea washed lazily over his legs, soaking the lower half of his jeans. He had meant to roll them up, to let his legs be uncovered to the gentle morning light, but as the sea pulled him closer, wrapping him in its see-saw dance, it had become unimportant. There was just the sea, the sand and him. His arms rose, arching gracefully above his head. He leaned into the pose, feeling the peace and contentedness in the lengthening of muscle, the slow, regular rhythm of breath. He closed his eyes and focused. The waves tip-toed onto the empty beach and the wind blew lightly, billowing his t-shirt out. This was his favourite time of day to do tai chi.
He took deep, controlled breaths, letting his body slide through the moves in a tempo that seemed to echo the beat of his heart. He felt poised at the edge of a world of possibilities, his energy harnessed and trained to a fine and steady point. He could do anything, be anyone. Nothing was beyond his reach.
The swish-swaying of footsteps upon the sand stirred him. The sound was that of feet propelled by the swing of feminine hips, sensual, young and alive. He knew who he would find. He opened his eyes and gazed at the woman.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
She smiled, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “You should know me better.”
He lowered his arms, fitting them around her loosely as she stepped towards him. “I think I know you pretty well.”
Her lips twisted into the beginnings of a giggle, a free and boundless ha-ha-ha breathed in by him as his lips touched hers. It was a light caress, a simple hello of want and need. Slow, lingering, soft - not pressured or rushed. They had all the time in the world.
Their kiss ended gently, sliding into a comfortable embrace. They stood smiling at one another. He looked into her eyes. They were bright, sparkling with something he knew was not tears. The reality overwhelmed him. His mouth felt dry; he swallowed.
“I’m glad that you’re here,” he said. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her nose. Her arms twined around his neck and she fell into him, hugging him close. Her body shook in his arms.
“You do the best hellos,” and a soft laugh he felt he had waited a million years to hear.
A loud growl came from her stomach. Her eyes swooped down and she clutched her midriff shyly.
“You’re hungry.”
“Yeah,” she admitted. Finally she lifted her eyes to his. It was all so new, so perfect and she didn’t want her hunger to spoil it. His heart ached at her vulnerability, yet he found it oddly endearing. He took her hand and began leading her from the shore.
“I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“Yummy,” she said and already he could see the misty longing for scrambled eggs in her eyes. The last time he had cooked, she had almost scraped her plate clean.
It was one of the best compliments he had ever had.
Her fingers twirled in his hand, lacing and looping around his fingers, like a spider spinning a web. He could tell she was preoccupied, her hands in pure distraction mode. He caught her fingers, squeezing gently. She looked up.
“I was just wondering…”
His breath froze in his throat and he wondered if he wanted to hear this. Too much thinking, in his experience, could be very, very bad.
She must have seen something in his face. “No, nothing like that.”
He relaxed, breath flowing freely in and out of his lungs once again.
“I just don’t know why we waited so long, why we talked ourselves out of this so many times.”
He looked at their joined hands.
“We missed so much,” emotion bare but her lips pressed together sternly, quivering from the effort. He could almost hear her shout, “Do not cry. Do not cry.”
Their eyes connected and slowly he felt a change in tension, sadness slipping into something hot and raw. Her arms came around his neck, their lips crashing together as he grabbed her hips and lifted her to him. They took a clambering step backwards, tumbling to the sand, arms and legs tangled, mouths questing, tasting unshed tears and long-held doubts. Sand was getting everywhere. He could feel it gritty and hard on his back, the friction building and building. Her shirt was half off, her shoulders naked to the sunlit sky and he was kissing, worshipping, dying, thinking more skin, more skin, groaning as she grasped him tightly, kneading his back.
Her stomach gurgled. Their caresses dwindled to a stop and they stared at each other. He felt the tickle of laughter in his belly, racing and rolling to his mouth, until he could no longer hold it in and he was cackling hysterically along with her, gripping her tightly, not knowing if they ever would stop.
Gradually he calmed. He noticed the disarray of her shirt and straightened it diffidently. “Food first?”
She pulled her shirt back up, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I was never one for breakfast. I prefer brunch.”
His weight fell upon her and they were grinding against each other, wanting, needing more. Her hands down his jeans, lips on his neck and he was halfway to heaven, hoping she would never stop.
“Buffy.”
“Angel, for bloody hell’s sake!”
It didn’t sound like something Buffy would say. His eyes snapped open and suddenly he was wide awake. Spike was staring back at him.
“I knew it!” Spike stalked away triumphantly.
Angel stumbled out of bed in his boxers, trundling after Spike. “What!?”
Spike stopped and wheeled around slowly to face Angel. “I should have known. It’s always about Buffy with you.” He guffawed, gesturing to Angel’s near undressed state. “And why don’t you get some clothes on?”
Angel sighed. “You saw the laptop.”
“Saw it ages ago.” Spike gave a little shrug. “Now I know why you were acting like a brainless twerp for weeks.”
“Better than a bodiless idiot.” Tit for tat, it was childish, but right now, it felt good. His cover was well and truly blown; his pride still had a fighting chance.
Spike shook his head, spite coming into his voice. “You never get it, do you? She’s not interested. She never will be. She moved on. To me.”
Angel walked to his drawers and retrieved several pieces of paper. He calmly showed them to Spike. “That would explain the emails then.”
A swipe of Spike’s hand whistled through the paper. Angel waited for a “bugger!”, an insult, but nothing came. He watched as Spike walked away.
Triumph tasted no where near as good as he’d thought it would. Regret was always much more bitter.
~~
Morning came. Angel awoke in soft sunlight, eyes blinking at the intrusion. He wasn’t yet used to the safety that came with necrotempered windows or the groggy feeling of eyes filled with sun. He never intended to be. He wouldn’t become wrapped in a gentle lie of sunshine and laughter and a world of humanity he had no right belonging to. He was a vampire; he would probably always be a vampire. He would never pretend to be something that he wasn’t.
He folded the covers back from himself and got out of bed, slipping into his robe. As he walked out of his bedroom into his living area, he felt a strange sense of disconcertion, as if his arms were no longer connected to his body and his teeth were creeping away from his gums. He had been alone since last night, when he had revealed Buffy’s emails to Spike. A slight pang of guilt sliced through him and he wondered where Spike was. It passed quickly. Freedom was all around. He spread his arms and slowly turned, allowing himself to trail to the papers that contained his only link to Buffy.
He sat down, holding the emails tightly in his hands. He stared down at the type until it became a blurry mass of black on white, a splotchy, whirling inkblot to interpret which would surely show him as madness itself. He had read each email so many times that he knew them by heart. Each word, each run-on, rambling sentence was locked as surely in his memory as a prisoner in Alcatraz. The printouts, his physical proof, were just a memento. Everything important was in his head.
He focused on her last email, reading it slowly to himself. God, he missed her. Her voice, her smile, her twinkling eyes and the way she twisted words into a language all of her own. His longing pushed for physical mass and he could almost imagine her next to him, sitting on his couch, legs slouched across his lap. She would be telling him all about Dawn and her new school, complaining about how her spaghetti bolognaise hadn’t worked out, while eating Italian ice cream from the carton with a spoon. As he reached for the TV remote control, he would accidentally jiggle her so she dropped the spoon, splattering ice cream all over her shirt. Then they would recreate a moment from their long-lost day and make a new memory neither of them would ever forget.
His dream from last night returned to him. He remembered how right it had all felt and her words echoed in his mind: We missed so much. Why did we wait so long? They were his own feelings, his own thoughts - he understood the psychology of dreams - but they hit upon a fundamental truth. They were wasting time being apart; they were throwing away every chance to have what he knew they could have together. They could have it all. Even if the curse was still there, he would find a way around it. He would do anything to ensure they had some kind of future if she gave him the slightest sign she wanted it.
He had to know. He couldn’t wait.
He tore from his living room, dressing quickly before heading down in the elevator to his office. With shaking hands, he opened the desk drawer and took out the laptop, tapping his foot impatiently against his desk while the computer came to life.
When finally it finished loading, he opened his email program and began to type.
Buffy,
I promised myself about a million times that I wouldn’t write this, but I’m sorry, I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t think I can be the friend who you swap news and jokes with, all casual and platonic, while inside I feel like I’m going crazy without you. I need you here with me, Buffy. I miss you and I want you back in my life for real. I know you said you need time, and I’ll give you that - I won’t ever go back on that promise - but I want you to come home.
He heard the sound of footsteps moving towards his office. Hastily he saved the email to his drafts folder and closed the laptop’s lid. He slid it into his drawer just as the door opened and Wesley walked in.
“Hey, Wes.” Angel was heavy on the casualness, leaning back into his chair and crossing his legs. Balance almost eluded him and he tipped himself forward, righting himself with an awkward smile. “I was just, um, finishing up on some paperwork.” There was an arch of eyebrow, a quirk of lip and Angel thought for a moment that Wesley might laugh. “What?”
Wesley straightened his face and became serious once again. “It’s alright, Angel. I know.”
Angel looked at Wesley with confusion.
“I know about the laptop and that you’ve been emailing Buffy. You don’t have to pretend.”
Anger curled in Angel’s guts. “Spike.”
There was a pause. Wesley gave a consoling shrug. “Yes, to all accounts, he’s not best pleased. Ranting and raving about you and your stupid emails. Although, to be fair, he didn’t mean for that part to be heard. Only the part about your ineptitude and the laptop.”
Angel slumped onto the desk, his head hitting the wood with a hard, heavy crack. He banged it again. “Great. Now everybody knows.”
Wesley’s hand shot out, cushioning Angel’s head. “Not everybody, but he’s made sure that Harmony’s in on the loop.”
He pushed Wesley’s hand away and brought his head down with a thud of finality. “Then that’ll take care of everybody within the entire known world.”
“A fact that hasn’t escaped Spike’s notice,” said Wesley. “He hasn’t been seen since people started gossiping about you and Buffy.” Even the sweetener of Spike’s embarrassment did not take away the sting of humiliation. He wondered how he could ever make anyone at the firm take him seriously again. He heard the scrape of a chair as Wesley pulled up a seat and sat down. Angel did not bother to lift his head.
“You know, women are a funny thing.”
Angel made a small hmmph sound. Wesley really wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.
“I don’t think the male of the species is ever meant to work them out.” Angel peeked up and frowned. “It’s part of the ever-evolving mystery of life, the hidden truths of the female heart.” Wesley’s face took on a wistful look, and he cradled his hands against his chest. Angel raised his head fully up. “What they want, what they don’t want, do we ever truly know? It’s a waiting game, I think.”
“Fred’s still hanging with Knox?” Angel asked.
At the mention of Fred, he noticed that Wesley’s hands clung closer together. It was the gaping hole in the Wyndham-Pryce defence mechanism and Angel knew to tread carefully. But sometimes a short, sharp jab got the job done, and Angel suspected that this was the case here. He would not let Wesley drown in his own meandering philosophies.
“I think so,” said Wesley.
“Maybe you need to stop waiting.”
Wesley looked at him keenly. “Are we talking about you or me here?”
“I don’t know.” Angel sighed. “Maybe both of us.”
Silence stretched between them. The chair creaked as Wesley turned and stared out at the sunshine. “It seems with Fred that there never is a right time. There’s always something in the way. But maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
Angel looked down at his desk. “How do you know how much space is enough? How do you know when the time is right?”
Wesley shrugged. “I think that you just do. There is no scientific formula for these things. But I believe that things happen for a reason and you have to trust in that.”
There was a knock at the door. Angel looked up. “Come in.”
The door opened and a woman entered. She stood at the door, her finger twirling a longish strand of blonde hair. She smiled coyly at Angel. “Hey.”
“Nina… hey.” Angel pushed the papers on his desk into a messy pile, his hands making quick, hurried movements. “It’s, um, good to see you.”
He grinned nervously and she took a few tentative steps into the room and paused, glancing uncertainly at Angel and Wesley. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”
Wesley stood, pushing his chair in. “Hello, Nina. No need for apologies. I’d say Angel and I were just about finished. You’ll have to excuse me but I have other matters to attend to.” His lips pulled into a smirk only meant for Angel. “I’ll speak to you later, Angel.”
Angel watched him leave and shut the door. Nina grew bolder, her tentative steps now becoming confident, leading right to his desk. His chest felt tight, as if his ribs were creeping inwards and the space his lungs occupied was getting smaller and smaller. If she leant forward just slightly, her body would touch his desk and her bright, smiling face would be unavoidable. He edged his chair away from the desk.
“So how are things?” There was a lilt of tinkle-tinkle to her voice and warmth in her eyes. Angel proceeded with caution.
“Good.”
She nodded, smiling again. “That’s good. It’s always so busy here, and so vibrant. It must be amazing to run this place.”
His brow furrowed. “You’d be surprised.”
She continued, unfazed. “It’s so great what you’re doing. Using all these resources for good. If it wasn’t for yo…” She trailed off, glancing away for a second. “… for you all here, I don’t know where I’d be.”
He saw naked fear in her eyes, vulnerability and uncertainty. His face softened. “You’re not on your own, Nina.”
“I know.” She allowed her eyes to linger on him for a moment. He could not look away. And an old dread blossomed, one he believed was long gone. She couldn’t, couldn’t possibly want him, could she? Doubts, fears and curses screamed through his brain. Then lightness returned and their gazes fluttered apart. “Well, I’m just doing my part to keep you in business.”
He grinned wryly. “Thanks.”
“Um, I was wondering if you’d like to get a cup of coffee,” Nina asked, her hands nervously playing with the folds of her skirt.
He looked at her skittishly, wondering if he had heard right. Coffee was never, ever as innocent as it sounded. The last time he had thought about having coffee with a girl, one thing had led to another and he had lost his soul.
Nina smiled at him, all bright white teeth and hopeful pleading. He glanced at his drawer and thought of the email he had yet to send.
“Sure, coffee would be good.”
~~
Moonlight shone in a silvery sliver across the office. He sat behind his desk, the laptop poised before him. Coffee with Nina had been… better than he had guessed. She had talked, he had listened and said something other than “um” and “yeah”. He had tried not to think about his unsent email and for a few minutes, he had succeeded. Maybe he was a hidden conversationalist after all.
Wesley had seen him shortly after he returned from seeing Nina. Wesley told him that he had his sign, and now it was up to him to make of it what he would. Angel still didn’t really know what Wesley meant by that. He didn’t intend to dwell on it for long.
He opened the email and read it one more time. Something about it didn’t feel right. He deleted it before he could change his mind and wrote another quickly. He told her he would wait and that he hoped she was enjoying her life.
Angel understood that some things are better left unsaid. Buffy knew what was in his heart, what was behind the careful words and restraint. They always could read in between the lines.
He closed the laptop and let himself stare out into a night of misty starlight and dulled city lights. Everything just for that moment made sense. He was right where he was meant to be, and so was she. They would have their day, somewhere, sometime.
For now, they both needed their space.
EDIT: Wesley/Angel scene has been slightly modified to better reflect the intricacies of the B/A/S dynamic. Thanks to semby for the insightful comments.
Author: Wendy.
Email: wendy@immortalbliss.co.uk.
Disclaimer: BtVs and Angel are the creation of Joss Whedon.
Summary: “Maybe you need to stop waiting.” Set after "Unleashed" and before "Hellbound" of Season 5, Angel.
Rating: PG-13ish, I would say.
Spoilers: All seven seasons of Buffy (just to be safe) and up to "Unleashed", Season 5 of Angel.
AN: "Enough Space" is part of the What If... series, a group of loosely related stories exploring an alternative reality of "Angel" Season 5 involving Buffy.
How long am I gonna stand
with my head stuck under the sand?
I'll start before I can stop,
before I see things the right way up.
“Speed of Sound” by Coldplay.
~~
Buffy
Just wanted to say hey to you and Dawn. Hope everything is good with you.
Let me know. Please.
~~
Another day had almost finished at Wolfram and Hart. Another day Angel had sat in his office, wishing he could be out throttling demons. Or Spike. But Spike wasn’t yet corporeal, so that wasn’t an option. Angel would never have believed that a Spike-ghost could be even more of a pain in his ass than Spike himself. It was complacency, pure and simple. Over the years, Angel had taken for granted the more physical ways of dealing with the annoyance of Spike.
Angel turned a paperclip in his hand, enjoying the scrape of the metal on his skin. It was nearing sunset and he should be thinking about turning in, taking the elevator to his apartment and having some nice warm otter blood. Maybe he could read a book, admire his fine collection of weapons, or better still, obliterate his brains from the ennui. Or maybe Spike could do the job for him. There was nothing to kill, nothing to save. Only form after form to sign, call after call to ignore. And he wondered what he was doing here, why he was the CEO of Evil Incorporated and whether there would ever be an end to the paperwork that swamped his desk.
He squeezed the paperclip harder. It buckled. Eternity was becoming dreary and there was no longer any prize in sight. He couldn’t see the shiny hope of shanshu anymore; he didn’t have the simplicity of knowing the only thing that mattered was all we do. Instead he had his dearest friend in a coma, his son secured in a life that would never include him and he and his crew surrounded by people who had once been their enemies. He longed for something solid, something he could trust was as real as the paper clip bent and broken in his hand. It was useless now, no longer able to fulfil its function. He knew the feeling. He let the paperclip drop to the floor.
A few weeks ago, it had all made sense. He had kissed Buffy, she had kissed him and she had talked about cookies. Weird metaphor, but still it had given him something beyond the heaviness bowing him down. A promise of maybe someday. And a new obsession with Dawson’s Creek he cared not to mention to Spike. That was something Spike didn’t need know about.
Time had passed since then. Things that had once seemed so certain were now hazy and dull. His memories of their last meeting in Sunnydale no longer sparkled in his mind. He knew Spike had died wearing that amulet; he knew Buffy had chosen Spike to fight shoulder to shoulder by her side. She had rated Spike above him and he had been relegated to the second front.
She had called him shortly after the battle in Sunnydale, letting him know she was okay. A week later, she had phoned again. She had moved to Rome, taking Dawn with her to live. He had wished her the best, all the time wanting to ask her to come back to California and work for Wolfram and Hart. But, there was something lighter in her tone, a free and breezy lilt he hadn’t heard since… forever. He couldn’t ask her, couldn’t force his wants on her. She wanted to live her life and he would have to learn to live his.
But he couldn’t leave it.
He didn’t tell anyone, but he’d been emailing her. Short, witty (he hoped), oh-so-casual emails that had taken him hours and hours to concoct, written in between shouting at Harmony and frowning at the phone. Bright anticipation always surged in him as it rang, only to disappear when it was just another client wanting individual attention from the big boss. One day, he would hear her voice. Until then, he contented himself with email and cherished the printouts of her two replies.
His laptop was hidden in a secret drawer in his desk. He had bought it shortly after his return from Sunnydale, probably, he reflected, on some sort of a whim. He had decided to keep it a secret until he was fully au fait with using it, not wanting anyone at Wolfram and Hart to realise he was completely at a loss when it came to technology. He wanted to project an image of no vulnerabilities: revealing he relied on Windows help just to type an email would not exactly fill anyone with confidence. So, he was stealthy and no one in the firm, not even Spike, his shadow, knew about his laptop. It gave him a thrill every time he looked down at the drawer, knowing that he had managed to hide the truth from everyone. He was still quite the genius in his souled state, thanks very much. Hmmmph to evil Angelus IQ.
He opened the drawer and set the laptop on his desk, turning it on and waiting while it booted up and connected to the internet. He stared at his inbox. He had mail. He reigned himself in for disappointment, knowing it could be more stupid junk mail telling him how he could improve her pleasure with some mail order Viagra. A pointless exercise when you considered that there wasn’t a “her” anywhere in sight and he wasn’t human anyway.
He looked at the incoming email, fingers gripped hard against the mouse. The address was familiar. A smile came to his face, his heart expanding and filling with a slow-burning joy. He opened the email.
Sorry, Angel. I haven’t really checked my email much lately. Life has been kind of crazy. Dawn and I are good. She’s starting school soon and she can’t wait. She loves it here and she’s already speaking Italian like a pro. Maybe you can teach me a few phrases and help wipe that smirk off her face?
“What are you looking at?”
Angel slammed down the laptop lid and bundled the whole thing into his drawer, locking it securely. He turned around to face the wall through which Spike had entered the room, a glare on his face. Damn stupid incorporeality and usurping the laws of physics. No body, no noise, no warning and now Spike knew…. Something. Angel thought through it logically. He had had his back to Spike; there was a good chance that Spike hadn’t seen the laptop. Angel studied Spike carefully. He didn’t look more smug or cocky than usual - just curious. Angel felt the tension drain from his body. Spike couldn’t have seen the laptop.
“Nothing.” Angel sealed up tight, determined not to let anything out. It was emotional constipation being around Spike.
“So what the hell were you doing grinning like an idiot while looking so guilty?” asked Spike, hand cupping his face in feigned wonder. Angel grimaced. Spike’s voice was a persistent whine in his ear, a gnat that wouldn’t stop buzzing until it had sucked all the warm blood in the vicinity. Spike had a radar for all the hot and juicy gossip when it came to Angel, knew just where to centre the worst of his verbal attacks. “It almost looks like Buffy-face, but then I know she isn’t having anything to do with you.”
Angel ignored the insult, the bliss of Buffy contact buoying his mood. He stood, pushing back his chair and walked towards the elevator, pressing the call button with a triumphant jab of his finger. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Bloody hell I would.” It was said under Spike’s breath, but Angel still heard it. Sometimes Spike’s lack of self-control was really fun.
The elevator doors opened and Angel stepped in, knowing Spike would be close behind him. Even if he closed the doors quickly, he would not be able to avoid Spike for long. Spike’s new ability to pass through walls ensured Angel was almost never alone. It was a real inconvenience to his privacy.
He allowed himself a small satisfied smile, carefully levelling it as Spike entered the elevator, grumbling. He was lucky that Spike hadn’t seen the laptop. It had been a close call. He would have to be more careful or Spike would work it out.
The elevator went up to his apartment and he prepared himself for a long night of Spike-special interrogation. He could handle it, but he feared the consequences of his obsession with one-upping Spike. Could he truly resist not letting Spike know just how much he and Buffy had been in touch? Okay, two phone calls and three emails, but it was better than what Spike had.
He conveniently skirted the issue that Buffy thought Spike was dead.
It wouldn’t pay to spoil his fun.
~~
He was dreaming. He was on a beach, looking out at the incoming tide. His feet were bare upon the grainy sand, enjoying its warmth as the sunshine streamed down softly upon him. It was an hour past dawn and the sun had not yet reached its full intensity. He moved closer to the sea, the sand beneath his toes wet and pliable as his feet sank down into it. He watched as a seagull flew to the edge of the shore, its large ungainly wings settling neatly as it landed. It screeched to the sky, a low, mournful cry, alone and separate in the stillness of the early morning. They were the only the ones on the beach.
The sea washed lazily over his legs, soaking the lower half of his jeans. He had meant to roll them up, to let his legs be uncovered to the gentle morning light, but as the sea pulled him closer, wrapping him in its see-saw dance, it had become unimportant. There was just the sea, the sand and him. His arms rose, arching gracefully above his head. He leaned into the pose, feeling the peace and contentedness in the lengthening of muscle, the slow, regular rhythm of breath. He closed his eyes and focused. The waves tip-toed onto the empty beach and the wind blew lightly, billowing his t-shirt out. This was his favourite time of day to do tai chi.
He took deep, controlled breaths, letting his body slide through the moves in a tempo that seemed to echo the beat of his heart. He felt poised at the edge of a world of possibilities, his energy harnessed and trained to a fine and steady point. He could do anything, be anyone. Nothing was beyond his reach.
The swish-swaying of footsteps upon the sand stirred him. The sound was that of feet propelled by the swing of feminine hips, sensual, young and alive. He knew who he would find. He opened his eyes and gazed at the woman.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
She smiled, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “You should know me better.”
He lowered his arms, fitting them around her loosely as she stepped towards him. “I think I know you pretty well.”
Her lips twisted into the beginnings of a giggle, a free and boundless ha-ha-ha breathed in by him as his lips touched hers. It was a light caress, a simple hello of want and need. Slow, lingering, soft - not pressured or rushed. They had all the time in the world.
Their kiss ended gently, sliding into a comfortable embrace. They stood smiling at one another. He looked into her eyes. They were bright, sparkling with something he knew was not tears. The reality overwhelmed him. His mouth felt dry; he swallowed.
“I’m glad that you’re here,” he said. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her nose. Her arms twined around his neck and she fell into him, hugging him close. Her body shook in his arms.
“You do the best hellos,” and a soft laugh he felt he had waited a million years to hear.
A loud growl came from her stomach. Her eyes swooped down and she clutched her midriff shyly.
“You’re hungry.”
“Yeah,” she admitted. Finally she lifted her eyes to his. It was all so new, so perfect and she didn’t want her hunger to spoil it. His heart ached at her vulnerability, yet he found it oddly endearing. He took her hand and began leading her from the shore.
“I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“Yummy,” she said and already he could see the misty longing for scrambled eggs in her eyes. The last time he had cooked, she had almost scraped her plate clean.
It was one of the best compliments he had ever had.
Her fingers twirled in his hand, lacing and looping around his fingers, like a spider spinning a web. He could tell she was preoccupied, her hands in pure distraction mode. He caught her fingers, squeezing gently. She looked up.
“I was just wondering…”
His breath froze in his throat and he wondered if he wanted to hear this. Too much thinking, in his experience, could be very, very bad.
She must have seen something in his face. “No, nothing like that.”
He relaxed, breath flowing freely in and out of his lungs once again.
“I just don’t know why we waited so long, why we talked ourselves out of this so many times.”
He looked at their joined hands.
“We missed so much,” emotion bare but her lips pressed together sternly, quivering from the effort. He could almost hear her shout, “Do not cry. Do not cry.”
Their eyes connected and slowly he felt a change in tension, sadness slipping into something hot and raw. Her arms came around his neck, their lips crashing together as he grabbed her hips and lifted her to him. They took a clambering step backwards, tumbling to the sand, arms and legs tangled, mouths questing, tasting unshed tears and long-held doubts. Sand was getting everywhere. He could feel it gritty and hard on his back, the friction building and building. Her shirt was half off, her shoulders naked to the sunlit sky and he was kissing, worshipping, dying, thinking more skin, more skin, groaning as she grasped him tightly, kneading his back.
Her stomach gurgled. Their caresses dwindled to a stop and they stared at each other. He felt the tickle of laughter in his belly, racing and rolling to his mouth, until he could no longer hold it in and he was cackling hysterically along with her, gripping her tightly, not knowing if they ever would stop.
Gradually he calmed. He noticed the disarray of her shirt and straightened it diffidently. “Food first?”
She pulled her shirt back up, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I was never one for breakfast. I prefer brunch.”
His weight fell upon her and they were grinding against each other, wanting, needing more. Her hands down his jeans, lips on his neck and he was halfway to heaven, hoping she would never stop.
“Buffy.”
“Angel, for bloody hell’s sake!”
It didn’t sound like something Buffy would say. His eyes snapped open and suddenly he was wide awake. Spike was staring back at him.
“I knew it!” Spike stalked away triumphantly.
Angel stumbled out of bed in his boxers, trundling after Spike. “What!?”
Spike stopped and wheeled around slowly to face Angel. “I should have known. It’s always about Buffy with you.” He guffawed, gesturing to Angel’s near undressed state. “And why don’t you get some clothes on?”
Angel sighed. “You saw the laptop.”
“Saw it ages ago.” Spike gave a little shrug. “Now I know why you were acting like a brainless twerp for weeks.”
“Better than a bodiless idiot.” Tit for tat, it was childish, but right now, it felt good. His cover was well and truly blown; his pride still had a fighting chance.
Spike shook his head, spite coming into his voice. “You never get it, do you? She’s not interested. She never will be. She moved on. To me.”
Angel walked to his drawers and retrieved several pieces of paper. He calmly showed them to Spike. “That would explain the emails then.”
A swipe of Spike’s hand whistled through the paper. Angel waited for a “bugger!”, an insult, but nothing came. He watched as Spike walked away.
Triumph tasted no where near as good as he’d thought it would. Regret was always much more bitter.
~~
Morning came. Angel awoke in soft sunlight, eyes blinking at the intrusion. He wasn’t yet used to the safety that came with necrotempered windows or the groggy feeling of eyes filled with sun. He never intended to be. He wouldn’t become wrapped in a gentle lie of sunshine and laughter and a world of humanity he had no right belonging to. He was a vampire; he would probably always be a vampire. He would never pretend to be something that he wasn’t.
He folded the covers back from himself and got out of bed, slipping into his robe. As he walked out of his bedroom into his living area, he felt a strange sense of disconcertion, as if his arms were no longer connected to his body and his teeth were creeping away from his gums. He had been alone since last night, when he had revealed Buffy’s emails to Spike. A slight pang of guilt sliced through him and he wondered where Spike was. It passed quickly. Freedom was all around. He spread his arms and slowly turned, allowing himself to trail to the papers that contained his only link to Buffy.
He sat down, holding the emails tightly in his hands. He stared down at the type until it became a blurry mass of black on white, a splotchy, whirling inkblot to interpret which would surely show him as madness itself. He had read each email so many times that he knew them by heart. Each word, each run-on, rambling sentence was locked as surely in his memory as a prisoner in Alcatraz. The printouts, his physical proof, were just a memento. Everything important was in his head.
He focused on her last email, reading it slowly to himself. God, he missed her. Her voice, her smile, her twinkling eyes and the way she twisted words into a language all of her own. His longing pushed for physical mass and he could almost imagine her next to him, sitting on his couch, legs slouched across his lap. She would be telling him all about Dawn and her new school, complaining about how her spaghetti bolognaise hadn’t worked out, while eating Italian ice cream from the carton with a spoon. As he reached for the TV remote control, he would accidentally jiggle her so she dropped the spoon, splattering ice cream all over her shirt. Then they would recreate a moment from their long-lost day and make a new memory neither of them would ever forget.
His dream from last night returned to him. He remembered how right it had all felt and her words echoed in his mind: We missed so much. Why did we wait so long? They were his own feelings, his own thoughts - he understood the psychology of dreams - but they hit upon a fundamental truth. They were wasting time being apart; they were throwing away every chance to have what he knew they could have together. They could have it all. Even if the curse was still there, he would find a way around it. He would do anything to ensure they had some kind of future if she gave him the slightest sign she wanted it.
He had to know. He couldn’t wait.
He tore from his living room, dressing quickly before heading down in the elevator to his office. With shaking hands, he opened the desk drawer and took out the laptop, tapping his foot impatiently against his desk while the computer came to life.
When finally it finished loading, he opened his email program and began to type.
Buffy,
I promised myself about a million times that I wouldn’t write this, but I’m sorry, I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t think I can be the friend who you swap news and jokes with, all casual and platonic, while inside I feel like I’m going crazy without you. I need you here with me, Buffy. I miss you and I want you back in my life for real. I know you said you need time, and I’ll give you that - I won’t ever go back on that promise - but I want you to come home.
He heard the sound of footsteps moving towards his office. Hastily he saved the email to his drafts folder and closed the laptop’s lid. He slid it into his drawer just as the door opened and Wesley walked in.
“Hey, Wes.” Angel was heavy on the casualness, leaning back into his chair and crossing his legs. Balance almost eluded him and he tipped himself forward, righting himself with an awkward smile. “I was just, um, finishing up on some paperwork.” There was an arch of eyebrow, a quirk of lip and Angel thought for a moment that Wesley might laugh. “What?”
Wesley straightened his face and became serious once again. “It’s alright, Angel. I know.”
Angel looked at Wesley with confusion.
“I know about the laptop and that you’ve been emailing Buffy. You don’t have to pretend.”
Anger curled in Angel’s guts. “Spike.”
There was a pause. Wesley gave a consoling shrug. “Yes, to all accounts, he’s not best pleased. Ranting and raving about you and your stupid emails. Although, to be fair, he didn’t mean for that part to be heard. Only the part about your ineptitude and the laptop.”
Angel slumped onto the desk, his head hitting the wood with a hard, heavy crack. He banged it again. “Great. Now everybody knows.”
Wesley’s hand shot out, cushioning Angel’s head. “Not everybody, but he’s made sure that Harmony’s in on the loop.”
He pushed Wesley’s hand away and brought his head down with a thud of finality. “Then that’ll take care of everybody within the entire known world.”
“A fact that hasn’t escaped Spike’s notice,” said Wesley. “He hasn’t been seen since people started gossiping about you and Buffy.” Even the sweetener of Spike’s embarrassment did not take away the sting of humiliation. He wondered how he could ever make anyone at the firm take him seriously again. He heard the scrape of a chair as Wesley pulled up a seat and sat down. Angel did not bother to lift his head.
“You know, women are a funny thing.”
Angel made a small hmmph sound. Wesley really wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.
“I don’t think the male of the species is ever meant to work them out.” Angel peeked up and frowned. “It’s part of the ever-evolving mystery of life, the hidden truths of the female heart.” Wesley’s face took on a wistful look, and he cradled his hands against his chest. Angel raised his head fully up. “What they want, what they don’t want, do we ever truly know? It’s a waiting game, I think.”
“Fred’s still hanging with Knox?” Angel asked.
At the mention of Fred, he noticed that Wesley’s hands clung closer together. It was the gaping hole in the Wyndham-Pryce defence mechanism and Angel knew to tread carefully. But sometimes a short, sharp jab got the job done, and Angel suspected that this was the case here. He would not let Wesley drown in his own meandering philosophies.
“I think so,” said Wesley.
“Maybe you need to stop waiting.”
Wesley looked at him keenly. “Are we talking about you or me here?”
“I don’t know.” Angel sighed. “Maybe both of us.”
Silence stretched between them. The chair creaked as Wesley turned and stared out at the sunshine. “It seems with Fred that there never is a right time. There’s always something in the way. But maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
Angel looked down at his desk. “How do you know how much space is enough? How do you know when the time is right?”
Wesley shrugged. “I think that you just do. There is no scientific formula for these things. But I believe that things happen for a reason and you have to trust in that.”
There was a knock at the door. Angel looked up. “Come in.”
The door opened and a woman entered. She stood at the door, her finger twirling a longish strand of blonde hair. She smiled coyly at Angel. “Hey.”
“Nina… hey.” Angel pushed the papers on his desk into a messy pile, his hands making quick, hurried movements. “It’s, um, good to see you.”
He grinned nervously and she took a few tentative steps into the room and paused, glancing uncertainly at Angel and Wesley. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”
Wesley stood, pushing his chair in. “Hello, Nina. No need for apologies. I’d say Angel and I were just about finished. You’ll have to excuse me but I have other matters to attend to.” His lips pulled into a smirk only meant for Angel. “I’ll speak to you later, Angel.”
Angel watched him leave and shut the door. Nina grew bolder, her tentative steps now becoming confident, leading right to his desk. His chest felt tight, as if his ribs were creeping inwards and the space his lungs occupied was getting smaller and smaller. If she leant forward just slightly, her body would touch his desk and her bright, smiling face would be unavoidable. He edged his chair away from the desk.
“So how are things?” There was a lilt of tinkle-tinkle to her voice and warmth in her eyes. Angel proceeded with caution.
“Good.”
She nodded, smiling again. “That’s good. It’s always so busy here, and so vibrant. It must be amazing to run this place.”
His brow furrowed. “You’d be surprised.”
She continued, unfazed. “It’s so great what you’re doing. Using all these resources for good. If it wasn’t for yo…” She trailed off, glancing away for a second. “… for you all here, I don’t know where I’d be.”
He saw naked fear in her eyes, vulnerability and uncertainty. His face softened. “You’re not on your own, Nina.”
“I know.” She allowed her eyes to linger on him for a moment. He could not look away. And an old dread blossomed, one he believed was long gone. She couldn’t, couldn’t possibly want him, could she? Doubts, fears and curses screamed through his brain. Then lightness returned and their gazes fluttered apart. “Well, I’m just doing my part to keep you in business.”
He grinned wryly. “Thanks.”
“Um, I was wondering if you’d like to get a cup of coffee,” Nina asked, her hands nervously playing with the folds of her skirt.
He looked at her skittishly, wondering if he had heard right. Coffee was never, ever as innocent as it sounded. The last time he had thought about having coffee with a girl, one thing had led to another and he had lost his soul.
Nina smiled at him, all bright white teeth and hopeful pleading. He glanced at his drawer and thought of the email he had yet to send.
“Sure, coffee would be good.”
~~
Moonlight shone in a silvery sliver across the office. He sat behind his desk, the laptop poised before him. Coffee with Nina had been… better than he had guessed. She had talked, he had listened and said something other than “um” and “yeah”. He had tried not to think about his unsent email and for a few minutes, he had succeeded. Maybe he was a hidden conversationalist after all.
Wesley had seen him shortly after he returned from seeing Nina. Wesley told him that he had his sign, and now it was up to him to make of it what he would. Angel still didn’t really know what Wesley meant by that. He didn’t intend to dwell on it for long.
He opened the email and read it one more time. Something about it didn’t feel right. He deleted it before he could change his mind and wrote another quickly. He told her he would wait and that he hoped she was enjoying her life.
Angel understood that some things are better left unsaid. Buffy knew what was in his heart, what was behind the careful words and restraint. They always could read in between the lines.
He closed the laptop and let himself stare out into a night of misty starlight and dulled city lights. Everything just for that moment made sense. He was right where he was meant to be, and so was she. They would have their day, somewhere, sometime.
For now, they both needed their space.
EDIT: Wesley/Angel scene has been slightly modified to better reflect the intricacies of the B/A/S dynamic. Thanks to semby for the insightful comments.