Lucid Dreaming Pt.3
Characters: Buffy, Angel, ensembles of both shows
Rating: PG/PG-13 (not really sure)
Words: 2627
Summary: Set outside events as they progressed. Set sometime during Angel S.5 based on the little I know of it and post series finale of Buffy. Buffy arrives in LA to see Angel...something is up. Not the usual something.
A/N: I wrote this a looooong time ago. It is not complete but I just felt like finally posting it. It will be the first time I have posted anything I have written ever. I am nervous. Also, I clearly don't own any of the characters.
So much for answers, he thought to himself as he pushed the key into the elevator pad to let himself back in. Wesley had only brought up more questions. Angel had gotten the sense that he should be freaking out given Wesley’s interpretation of the situation but he couldn’t seem to muster the necessary mental energy for that.
He had not stayed around the office any longer than Wesley had but rather had taken the next elevator upstairs. There were still dozens of people working away but it had been abundantly clear from the way they were ignoring him that he was superfluous to the regular ebb and flow of the firm. That was all to the good as far as he was concerned because he just wanted to get back upstairs and continue to enjoy the newfound ease of he and Buffy’s relationship…or whatever it was.
Before the doors even opened he could smell the food. When they opened he could see that it had been laid out on the table perfectly, full place settings, wine, platters…it was all there. Angel threw his keys down on the small table by the elevator that existed solely for that purpose as far as he could tell, and walked toward Buffy’s room. One of the doors was closed and the other half open, a warm triangle of light streaming through.
Without thinking Angel pushed the door open further and walked into the guest room only to stop dead when he finally chose to pay some kind of attention to what he was doing. Buffy was sitting on the silk covered bench at the small vanity tucked away to the left of the bed. She had been in the act of brushing out her hair, which flowed down her back like molten gold, but she had apparently felt him enter.
The black towel lay loosely twined around her lap and with a small, sharp intake of breath she brought her arms up to cover the front of her naked torso. Angel wanted to move, was willing himself to say something, to apologize and get out but he couldn’t seem to budge. He was rooted to the spot, staring at the gentle curve of her bare back, hair cascading down it, the shadow above her backside that hinted at what came below, and her face, turned half toward him, mouth frozen in a small ‘o’ of surprise.
He finally managed to stutter,
“I’m sorry.” And stumble blindly out of the room, closing the door soundly behind him and then his energy was tapped. He tripped a few more paces and sank down onto the couch feeling haunted by the image of Buffy’s skin, lit by the soft gold glow of the bedroom light. It was like a thunderbolt. She was the sunshine he had been missing in his life. The light and gold that came from every part of her that was the thing that had brightened his life.
His unnecessary breath was coming fast and hard, his physical existence affected by the realization of just how much he had missed her simple presence in his life. Angel had a million responsibilities on his shoulders and yet they were no match for the single fact of one slip of a girl and all the myriad issues that came with her. He was utterly taken by surprise that feelings he thought were gone, or at least dormant, were so easily aroused again by moments in her presence. And yet, he couldn’t help but smile.
“What are you smiling at mister?” She asked, hands on slim but now covered hips, struggling not to smile herself.
“Still you.” He responded, forcing himself to put away the image of soft honey skin and womanly curves.
“I’m sure.” She replied walking toward the laden table, apparently unembarrassed by the situation. “I didn’t know you had so little regard for closed doors.” She lilted.
Despite Buffy’s total nonchalance Angel couldn’t shake all of his embarrassment. Which could have had something to do with that his blood still felt like it was on fire.
“It was open.” He protested, following her. “Well, kind of…I am just not used to having anyone else around.” He finished lamely.
Why had he just walked right in he wondered. That had been very strange. He was customarily very respectful of other people’s space, overly so…but the light from the room, it had been so welcoming. That one little thing had suddenly made this cold apartment feel like home. Odd. He was just about to say something else when he noticed that Buffy was already sitting down pouring them both some wine and so he decided to skip it.
“I hope you like Thai.” He said as he sat across from her.
“I do.” She replied looking over the table, “How did you manage to get all my favorites?” She asked, a sly look in her eye.
Angel just shrugged and leaned back, sipping his wine, he had just known. Without further ado Buffy began helping herself to pad thai, dumplings and salad.
“I am starving.” She said to him, taking a bite out of a cucumber. “I haven’t really eaten today…I got a little plane sick.” She added by way of explanation. “By the way, I saw the maid.”
“Really?” He asked interestedly.
“Yeah, I don’t think she knew that I was here. I think I kind of scared her.”
“What happened?” Angel had that little nervous feeling in his stomach but picked up a dumpling and took a bite out of it anyway.
“Let’s just say, looks like a tiny South American woman but isn’t really…”
Buffy replied through a mouthful of noodles. Angel just looked at her questioningly, half a dumpling in one hand and his wine in the other.
“Atar demon.” Buffy finished. “When I stepped out of the bedroom she screamed like a banshee and suddenly instead of a four and a half foot Peruvian native, I was looking at a 7 foot red, scaly demon…who then started flickering in and out of existence…or whatever.”
Angel started laughing so hard that he almost choked on his wine. It was completely undignified but it almost came out his nose. He was just picturing the entire scene. Buffy started to laugh right along with him.
“So, she is going visible and invisible and still screaming and I was shouting trying to tell her who I was…I finally got her to calm down and go back to her human form. Then she started to cry…it was a mess.”
“Well, at least I know why I never see her.” Angel replied coughing slightly from the wine. “Atar demons are famously shy, not to mention that as you witnessed they can become invisible.”
“She was really very sweet once I got her to simmer down and stop crying. Very soft spoken. I think she just really wanted to do her job and get out though…so I didn’t keep her long.”
They continued to chat idly throughout dinner or whatever meal one ate at 3:30 am, and just allowed the conversation to follow its own natural course. Angel had picked and Buffy had finished up everything left over, including a slice of dark chocolate cake he had gotten specially because he knew it was her favorite. And now they were sitting quietly, sipping the last of the wine and watching out his enormous windows as the stars started to fade, the first signs of morning.
“I think I ought to go to bed.” Buffy said looking over at him, punctuating it with a yawn. “My internal clock is all messed up.”
As she stood up Angel took the opportunity to examine her. Her hair had dried in soft waves and she hadn’t bothered to tie it back, a few stray strands of it showed up brightly against the black of her long sleeved tee shirt which matched the soft, slim cotton pants she wore. Bare feet completed the outfit and Angel felt a little ripple of joy at how comfortable and at home she looked.
“There is an extra key on the little table near the elevator.” He told her as he stood up and started gathering dishes. “Just come and go however you like.”
Buffy picked up her own dishes and followed him into the kitchen.
“Can I come downstairs and bother you tomorrow?”
“You aren’t a bother.” He answered truthfully. “I would like that. It will also give you a chance to see everyone else…and give me a chance to put all of the resources of Wolfram and Hart at your disposal for your…business.” He finished pointedly, hoping she would reveal something.
“Thank you.” She replied, somewhat awkwardly he thought. No luck on the hinting though. She turned to leave the kitchen and then seemed to think better of it and came back over to him.
Standing on her tip toes she placed her petal soft lips on his cheek, he found that his body automatically leaned over to accommodate her and then she whispered,
“Goodnight Angel.” And turned away again.
“Goodnight Buffy.” He managed just as her slight form disappeared from his view, the feeling of swallowing a rock returned.
Lucid dreaming. Buffy fervently wished that Lilias had warned her of that particular symptom. But then again, she thought deep in her own subconscious, perhaps she hadn’t known. In fact, Lilias had pretty much promised that whatever she told Buffy would only be the tip of the iceberg…and that she herself had no idea what else lay below the surface.
Tonight was a common one. She was back at the beginning. Buffy had this particular lucid dream quite often. Knowing she was dreaming she would find herself standing in front of the small makeshift tent. Campfires and voices all around, ones she recognized, the high, excited voices of the girls, woven with the deep accented tones of strangers.
She knew that inside the tent Lilias sat, surrounded by her little bone figurines, the sharp scent of smoke and incense hanging in the air, her small black braids twisted with colorful wooden beads that matched her bright colorful clothing. Buffy of now knew that in just a moment she would crawl into the tent and hear things that would give her nightmares and dreams and visions, things that she had heard many nights before and would hear many nights again.
There was no avoiding it now, nor would Buffy choose to if she could choose again. This was just a dream, a reliving of a moment many months past. She was still afraid and her mind paused her astral body, to put off something that was inevitable.
Just as she released herself to go in, as so often happened, there was a shift, like thunder without sound, and she was in a space of utter blackness, Lilias’ words echoing in her mind,
“He must walk the path unknowing, untold, choosing without guidance…you must save him…SAVE HIM!” The last words rocketed around Buffy’s brain though they had only been whispered in the time when they were said and she forced herself fully awake, back into her body.
This dream was her least favorite because she always woke up covered in a cold sweat and remembering the hundreds of worse things Lilias had said after that…
Angel had only been sleeping for about an hour when he woke up with the unerring sense that something was wrong. The apartment was totally silent. He had put a few things away, had a glass of blood after Buffy had gone to sleep, and had tried to settle some of the insane thoughts crashing around his brain before going to bed himself. Unsuccessful as that was everything had seemed normal. But now it didn’t.
Throwing the comforter off his legs he stood up and grabbed the pair of loose drawstring silk pants that he had lying close at hand for such moments and pulled them roughly on. He was able to be utterly quiet when he tried and therefore slipped out of his bedroom and into the living area without making a sound.
“Did I wake you?” Buffy asked from the shadows.
Angel wasn’t startled, he had known she was there from the moment he set foot in the living area, the only question was why.
“No.” He lied smoothly. “I don’t sleep very deeply.”
“Me either, not anymore.” She said softly. “And also, liar.”
With his predator’s senses he could see that she was curled up on the couch, face toward the windows…she really seemed to like the view…and she was holding a mug between her hands.
“There’s tea.” She added.
Angel walked to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of peppermint tea, Buffy’s favorite; it made him smile and he joined her on the couch. He hadn’t noticed before that she was wearing nothing but a tee shirt. Her long tan legs were folded up against the arm of the couch but when she shifted to look toward him and away from the window he caught a glimpse of her black panties…he quickly looked away and tried to stifle the feeling of dirty old man welling up inside him…along with other feelings.
Once she had reoriented herself he looked back over and she said sarcastically,
“Apparently neither of us can afford a complete pair of pajamas.” She looked pointedly at her bare legs and then at his bare chest and Angel felt a flush of embarrassment. Apparently she is going to embarrass me into ceasing to be embarrassed, he thought.
“So it seems.” He replied looking down at his own half naked body.
“I’m not complaining.” Buffy answered, light laughter back in her voice. But still the sadness was there.
Angel resisted both the urge to throttle her out of frustration and the urge to run his hands from her ankles all the way up her legs to…other places. God, he needed to get a grip. Wincing at his mind’s unfortunate choice of words he asked,
“So what woke you?”
“Nightmare.” She replied succinctly, taking a sip of her tea. Angel knew that much already from the way the apartment had felt when he woke up.
“Anything you want to talk about?” He asked, already knowing the answer. Her eyes were back on the window watching the sky slowly lighten and his were locked on her.
“No…it was just your average nightmare.”
Average nightmares don’t make you get up and make a pot of tea after a 12-hour plane ride and a full day’s activity, he thought in response.
For a second it seemed like Buffy had read his thoughts because she sharply turned to look at him. But her features remained soft and unreadable in the early morning light and he smiled to put her at ease. For a moment he wanted to grab her and demand to know what was going on. Why she was so easy, so quiet, so sad. But he didn’t and she whispered,
“Can you still feel me like that?”
Angel knew what she meant, that her dream had woken him across the apartment and also knew that she knew the answer but told her anyway.
“Some things don’t change.”
There was a tinge of unreality to this situation, but Angel ignored it and did something he never would have done in times past. He reached over, took Buffy’s teacup from her, put both hers and his on the coffee table, and gently pulled her to rest against the bare expanse of his chest and wrapped his arms around her. As they leaned back she put her own thin but strong arms around him and lay her hot face against his bare skin, lending him her body’s warmth.
Rating: PG/PG-13 (not really sure)
Words: 2627
Summary: Set outside events as they progressed. Set sometime during Angel S.5 based on the little I know of it and post series finale of Buffy. Buffy arrives in LA to see Angel...something is up. Not the usual something.
A/N: I wrote this a looooong time ago. It is not complete but I just felt like finally posting it. It will be the first time I have posted anything I have written ever. I am nervous. Also, I clearly don't own any of the characters.
So much for answers, he thought to himself as he pushed the key into the elevator pad to let himself back in. Wesley had only brought up more questions. Angel had gotten the sense that he should be freaking out given Wesley’s interpretation of the situation but he couldn’t seem to muster the necessary mental energy for that.
He had not stayed around the office any longer than Wesley had but rather had taken the next elevator upstairs. There were still dozens of people working away but it had been abundantly clear from the way they were ignoring him that he was superfluous to the regular ebb and flow of the firm. That was all to the good as far as he was concerned because he just wanted to get back upstairs and continue to enjoy the newfound ease of he and Buffy’s relationship…or whatever it was.
Before the doors even opened he could smell the food. When they opened he could see that it had been laid out on the table perfectly, full place settings, wine, platters…it was all there. Angel threw his keys down on the small table by the elevator that existed solely for that purpose as far as he could tell, and walked toward Buffy’s room. One of the doors was closed and the other half open, a warm triangle of light streaming through.
Without thinking Angel pushed the door open further and walked into the guest room only to stop dead when he finally chose to pay some kind of attention to what he was doing. Buffy was sitting on the silk covered bench at the small vanity tucked away to the left of the bed. She had been in the act of brushing out her hair, which flowed down her back like molten gold, but she had apparently felt him enter.
The black towel lay loosely twined around her lap and with a small, sharp intake of breath she brought her arms up to cover the front of her naked torso. Angel wanted to move, was willing himself to say something, to apologize and get out but he couldn’t seem to budge. He was rooted to the spot, staring at the gentle curve of her bare back, hair cascading down it, the shadow above her backside that hinted at what came below, and her face, turned half toward him, mouth frozen in a small ‘o’ of surprise.
He finally managed to stutter,
“I’m sorry.” And stumble blindly out of the room, closing the door soundly behind him and then his energy was tapped. He tripped a few more paces and sank down onto the couch feeling haunted by the image of Buffy’s skin, lit by the soft gold glow of the bedroom light. It was like a thunderbolt. She was the sunshine he had been missing in his life. The light and gold that came from every part of her that was the thing that had brightened his life.
His unnecessary breath was coming fast and hard, his physical existence affected by the realization of just how much he had missed her simple presence in his life. Angel had a million responsibilities on his shoulders and yet they were no match for the single fact of one slip of a girl and all the myriad issues that came with her. He was utterly taken by surprise that feelings he thought were gone, or at least dormant, were so easily aroused again by moments in her presence. And yet, he couldn’t help but smile.
“What are you smiling at mister?” She asked, hands on slim but now covered hips, struggling not to smile herself.
“Still you.” He responded, forcing himself to put away the image of soft honey skin and womanly curves.
“I’m sure.” She replied walking toward the laden table, apparently unembarrassed by the situation. “I didn’t know you had so little regard for closed doors.” She lilted.
Despite Buffy’s total nonchalance Angel couldn’t shake all of his embarrassment. Which could have had something to do with that his blood still felt like it was on fire.
“It was open.” He protested, following her. “Well, kind of…I am just not used to having anyone else around.” He finished lamely.
Why had he just walked right in he wondered. That had been very strange. He was customarily very respectful of other people’s space, overly so…but the light from the room, it had been so welcoming. That one little thing had suddenly made this cold apartment feel like home. Odd. He was just about to say something else when he noticed that Buffy was already sitting down pouring them both some wine and so he decided to skip it.
“I hope you like Thai.” He said as he sat across from her.
“I do.” She replied looking over the table, “How did you manage to get all my favorites?” She asked, a sly look in her eye.
Angel just shrugged and leaned back, sipping his wine, he had just known. Without further ado Buffy began helping herself to pad thai, dumplings and salad.
“I am starving.” She said to him, taking a bite out of a cucumber. “I haven’t really eaten today…I got a little plane sick.” She added by way of explanation. “By the way, I saw the maid.”
“Really?” He asked interestedly.
“Yeah, I don’t think she knew that I was here. I think I kind of scared her.”
“What happened?” Angel had that little nervous feeling in his stomach but picked up a dumpling and took a bite out of it anyway.
“Let’s just say, looks like a tiny South American woman but isn’t really…”
Buffy replied through a mouthful of noodles. Angel just looked at her questioningly, half a dumpling in one hand and his wine in the other.
“Atar demon.” Buffy finished. “When I stepped out of the bedroom she screamed like a banshee and suddenly instead of a four and a half foot Peruvian native, I was looking at a 7 foot red, scaly demon…who then started flickering in and out of existence…or whatever.”
Angel started laughing so hard that he almost choked on his wine. It was completely undignified but it almost came out his nose. He was just picturing the entire scene. Buffy started to laugh right along with him.
“So, she is going visible and invisible and still screaming and I was shouting trying to tell her who I was…I finally got her to calm down and go back to her human form. Then she started to cry…it was a mess.”
“Well, at least I know why I never see her.” Angel replied coughing slightly from the wine. “Atar demons are famously shy, not to mention that as you witnessed they can become invisible.”
“She was really very sweet once I got her to simmer down and stop crying. Very soft spoken. I think she just really wanted to do her job and get out though…so I didn’t keep her long.”
They continued to chat idly throughout dinner or whatever meal one ate at 3:30 am, and just allowed the conversation to follow its own natural course. Angel had picked and Buffy had finished up everything left over, including a slice of dark chocolate cake he had gotten specially because he knew it was her favorite. And now they were sitting quietly, sipping the last of the wine and watching out his enormous windows as the stars started to fade, the first signs of morning.
“I think I ought to go to bed.” Buffy said looking over at him, punctuating it with a yawn. “My internal clock is all messed up.”
As she stood up Angel took the opportunity to examine her. Her hair had dried in soft waves and she hadn’t bothered to tie it back, a few stray strands of it showed up brightly against the black of her long sleeved tee shirt which matched the soft, slim cotton pants she wore. Bare feet completed the outfit and Angel felt a little ripple of joy at how comfortable and at home she looked.
“There is an extra key on the little table near the elevator.” He told her as he stood up and started gathering dishes. “Just come and go however you like.”
Buffy picked up her own dishes and followed him into the kitchen.
“Can I come downstairs and bother you tomorrow?”
“You aren’t a bother.” He answered truthfully. “I would like that. It will also give you a chance to see everyone else…and give me a chance to put all of the resources of Wolfram and Hart at your disposal for your…business.” He finished pointedly, hoping she would reveal something.
“Thank you.” She replied, somewhat awkwardly he thought. No luck on the hinting though. She turned to leave the kitchen and then seemed to think better of it and came back over to him.
Standing on her tip toes she placed her petal soft lips on his cheek, he found that his body automatically leaned over to accommodate her and then she whispered,
“Goodnight Angel.” And turned away again.
“Goodnight Buffy.” He managed just as her slight form disappeared from his view, the feeling of swallowing a rock returned.
Lucid dreaming. Buffy fervently wished that Lilias had warned her of that particular symptom. But then again, she thought deep in her own subconscious, perhaps she hadn’t known. In fact, Lilias had pretty much promised that whatever she told Buffy would only be the tip of the iceberg…and that she herself had no idea what else lay below the surface.
Tonight was a common one. She was back at the beginning. Buffy had this particular lucid dream quite often. Knowing she was dreaming she would find herself standing in front of the small makeshift tent. Campfires and voices all around, ones she recognized, the high, excited voices of the girls, woven with the deep accented tones of strangers.
She knew that inside the tent Lilias sat, surrounded by her little bone figurines, the sharp scent of smoke and incense hanging in the air, her small black braids twisted with colorful wooden beads that matched her bright colorful clothing. Buffy of now knew that in just a moment she would crawl into the tent and hear things that would give her nightmares and dreams and visions, things that she had heard many nights before and would hear many nights again.
There was no avoiding it now, nor would Buffy choose to if she could choose again. This was just a dream, a reliving of a moment many months past. She was still afraid and her mind paused her astral body, to put off something that was inevitable.
Just as she released herself to go in, as so often happened, there was a shift, like thunder without sound, and she was in a space of utter blackness, Lilias’ words echoing in her mind,
“He must walk the path unknowing, untold, choosing without guidance…you must save him…SAVE HIM!” The last words rocketed around Buffy’s brain though they had only been whispered in the time when they were said and she forced herself fully awake, back into her body.
This dream was her least favorite because she always woke up covered in a cold sweat and remembering the hundreds of worse things Lilias had said after that…
Angel had only been sleeping for about an hour when he woke up with the unerring sense that something was wrong. The apartment was totally silent. He had put a few things away, had a glass of blood after Buffy had gone to sleep, and had tried to settle some of the insane thoughts crashing around his brain before going to bed himself. Unsuccessful as that was everything had seemed normal. But now it didn’t.
Throwing the comforter off his legs he stood up and grabbed the pair of loose drawstring silk pants that he had lying close at hand for such moments and pulled them roughly on. He was able to be utterly quiet when he tried and therefore slipped out of his bedroom and into the living area without making a sound.
“Did I wake you?” Buffy asked from the shadows.
Angel wasn’t startled, he had known she was there from the moment he set foot in the living area, the only question was why.
“No.” He lied smoothly. “I don’t sleep very deeply.”
“Me either, not anymore.” She said softly. “And also, liar.”
With his predator’s senses he could see that she was curled up on the couch, face toward the windows…she really seemed to like the view…and she was holding a mug between her hands.
“There’s tea.” She added.
Angel walked to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of peppermint tea, Buffy’s favorite; it made him smile and he joined her on the couch. He hadn’t noticed before that she was wearing nothing but a tee shirt. Her long tan legs were folded up against the arm of the couch but when she shifted to look toward him and away from the window he caught a glimpse of her black panties…he quickly looked away and tried to stifle the feeling of dirty old man welling up inside him…along with other feelings.
Once she had reoriented herself he looked back over and she said sarcastically,
“Apparently neither of us can afford a complete pair of pajamas.” She looked pointedly at her bare legs and then at his bare chest and Angel felt a flush of embarrassment. Apparently she is going to embarrass me into ceasing to be embarrassed, he thought.
“So it seems.” He replied looking down at his own half naked body.
“I’m not complaining.” Buffy answered, light laughter back in her voice. But still the sadness was there.
Angel resisted both the urge to throttle her out of frustration and the urge to run his hands from her ankles all the way up her legs to…other places. God, he needed to get a grip. Wincing at his mind’s unfortunate choice of words he asked,
“So what woke you?”
“Nightmare.” She replied succinctly, taking a sip of her tea. Angel knew that much already from the way the apartment had felt when he woke up.
“Anything you want to talk about?” He asked, already knowing the answer. Her eyes were back on the window watching the sky slowly lighten and his were locked on her.
“No…it was just your average nightmare.”
Average nightmares don’t make you get up and make a pot of tea after a 12-hour plane ride and a full day’s activity, he thought in response.
For a second it seemed like Buffy had read his thoughts because she sharply turned to look at him. But her features remained soft and unreadable in the early morning light and he smiled to put her at ease. For a moment he wanted to grab her and demand to know what was going on. Why she was so easy, so quiet, so sad. But he didn’t and she whispered,
“Can you still feel me like that?”
Angel knew what she meant, that her dream had woken him across the apartment and also knew that she knew the answer but told her anyway.
“Some things don’t change.”
There was a tinge of unreality to this situation, but Angel ignored it and did something he never would have done in times past. He reached over, took Buffy’s teacup from her, put both hers and his on the coffee table, and gently pulled her to rest against the bare expanse of his chest and wrapped his arms around her. As they leaned back she put her own thin but strong arms around him and lay her hot face against his bare skin, lending him her body’s warmth.