Slayer Memories 6
Buffy and Angel have a heart-to-heart in this section!
Previous Parts Here
Buffy was woozy-headed, unsure even who helped her to her feet, whose arm she as leaning on when she looked again, and yup, there he was. Spike. Alive, well, and holding Dana at arms length.
Angel was saying something, above her. Huh, it was Angel’s arm.
“Hell no!” Spike turned pleading eyes on her. “You’re not leaving me here to run off with cavebrow!”
“Spike, someone has to watch the crazy slayer. We’ll be five minutes, alright?”
“You bastard. You’d use a moment like this…”
“I can’t deal with this,” Buffy said, and started back the way she’d come. “This… no.”
Angel followed her, arms reaching out to her.
“No,” she said again. “This is surreal, and if you two are just going to do the adolescent boys thing, again…”
“Buffy,” Angel grabbed her elbow and dragged her back. “My office is right here. You can sit down, we can talk, maybe explain this… uh, well, like I said, it’s a long story.”
Buffy dithered between pain and curiosity. If she didn’t follow, would she ever know?
“You can’t just leave her with me!” Spike said, holding Dana out from himself with panic in his eyes.
Dana was staring at Spike in rapt fascination. Maybe it was best to give them a moment to, uh, resolve, whatever it was Dana had that needed resolving. Numbly, Buffy nodded and let Angel lead her. Behind them, Spike continued to protest, but there was something comforting in that; he sounded so normal.
The office was huge. But dark and quiet and that was nice in and of itself. Angel busied himself getting her a glass of soda - diet Sprite, no ice. Wow, he remembered that?
When he ran out of things to fetch he stood awkwardly in front of her, fidgeting, then sticking his hands in his pockets to stop fidgeting. “So, where do I start?”
Buffy put her water glass on the broad arm of the chair. “Spike,” she said.
Angel scratched the back of his head and shrugged again. “A few weeks after, you know, after, the amulet was delivered back here. Envelope had no return address, no fingerprints on it, either, save three postal workers and our in-house mail guy. Uh, that’s not really important, is it?”
Buffy shook her head.
“So I opened the envelope, and Spike sorta, well, he popped out of the amulet.” Angel made vague popping-out gestures with his hands.
“What, like a jack in the box?” Buffy shook her head again. In her saddest, most serious voice, she asked, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“He was incorporeal.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, he’s all solid now, but for the first couple months, he was a ghost, physically tied to this location. He couldn’t even move things around like your average ghost.”
“So, she repeats: why didn’t you call me?”
Angel opened his mouth, waved his hand a bit, and then shook his head, changing his mind. He walked back to his desk and leaned against it. Folding his arms, he regarded Buffy. “You never called me.”
Buffy’s eyebrows shot up. “Is this high school?”
“I’m not being petty. It’s just the fact of the matter. You never called me, so you didn’t enter into my mind.”
“So much for true love,” Buffy said, only half-mocking. “You were all over my cookie-dough before the battle.”
Angel grimaced and buried his hands in his pockets again. “Faith called me, when you were at the Best Western Salt Lake. She told me about the battle, and who made it and who didn’t. I wouldn’t have known Spike was gone before he appeared in my office if it weren’t for her. And yeah, I was a little hurt. I assumed if you needed to evacuate and re-group, you’d come to LA. I had supplies ready for you.”
“Giles didn’t - doesn’t - trust you.” It was Buffy’s turn to look embarrassed. “He made the call on what direction to head. I was dealing with grief, wounded, and a dozen girls who just developed super-powers, so don’t get on my case because I forgot about your feelings. We said our goodbyes.”
“I need a drink,” Angel said.
Buffy watched him cross to the mini-bar. “So,” she said, “why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to complicate your life. More.” He set down a glass harder than he perhaps should have. “Do you want anything?”
“Soda’s fine.” She picked up her glass again and raised it as if toasting.
Angel poured himself a hefty shot and returned to his seat on the desk.
“I loved him,” Buffy said.
“Buffy…”
“No. I loved him.” She stood, hand to her chest. “And you let me believe he was dead.”
Angel swallowed too much whiskey all at once and coughed. He held the back of his hand to his mouth until he was sure all the liquid was down and he could answer. “You already thought he was dead. I just… let you keep thinking what you already thought.”
“Bastard!” Buffy slapped him.
Angel held the glass up to his stinging cheek. “Ow!” He said, and considered briefly that when it came to Slayers and vampires, perhaps it was best to match up the volatile bottle-blondes and let the sensible brunettes have some peace. “Not all this blame is mine, you know. Spike could have called you himself, once he could pick up a phone.”
“Oh yeah, after he’d been unable to for how long? After he’d gotten used to the idea of not seeing me? Maybe started to think I’d moved on? Or after someone spent every intervening day taking pot-shots at his teeny little glass ego?”
“I did not.”
“Oh, I’ve seen you two in the same room together twice now, Angel. I know there was pot-shotting. Er, shots.”
“Buffy.” Angel lowered his head, looking pleadingly into her eyes. “It was his choice, and he chose, same as I did, to let you live your life. We’re not good for you, neither of us. We’ll never not be vampires.”
“I’ll never not be a slayer. Do you honestly think I care? I thought you were beyond making my decisions for me.”
Angel winced. “Buffy, I’m sorry. However, why-ever this happened. I’m sorry. We’re here now, and talking. What are you going to do?”
Buffy was surprised to find herself relaxing, letting Angel take her hands in his. “I don’t know,” she said. She shook her head. “I’m so angry. And happy, too. And… nauseous.”
He leaned back. “Uh… want to sit down?”
She smirked and shook her head. “No. It’s just… I had to find out this way. Through Dana drawing pictures of him without his hands. Oh god. I was so afraid I’d get here and he… he’d be in pieces.”
Angel’s big arms wrapped around her, drawing her face down onto a broad chest. “I was scared too,” he said.
Buffy stiffened, pulled back to see his face. “Really?”
“Spike’s special to me, for a variety of reasons, half of which don’t make sense, but, there you have it. I thought my stomach was going to fall out of my mouth when I saw him like that, with his arms cut off.”
They shared a long, thoughtful gaze. Buffy broke the solemn moment with a smirk. “So Xander was right all along.”
Angel grimaced. “I don’t want to know.”
Buffy buried her face against his chest again, this time to hide her giggles. “No, you really don’t.”
Angel let out a much-suffering sigh. “If you tell Spike I said anything remotely mushy about him, I’m going to have to stake the guy to save face. Just remember that.” He stroked her hair and back while the giggles subsided. “What are you going to do? Ask him to go back with you?”
Buffy disentangled herself and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know. Would he?”
“I think he’d follow you into a pit made out of fire and filled with holy water. That doesn’t mean he should.”
Awkwardly, Buffy returned to her seat. She picked at lint on her pants. “He never believed me.”
“He’s an insecure idiot.” Angel sighed again and looked for his empty whiskey glass. To himself, he added, “Someone made him that way.”
Buffy bit her lip, watching his expression. “Hey,” she said, with false cheer, “twenty minutes alone in the same room together and we’ve only had one slap and one brood. Well, maybe one apiece. Still, go team us!”
Angel turned to see Buffy give him a mock toast with her soda. He returned it with his empty whiskey glass. “Well, we are the heroes,” he said.
They settled side by side on the edge of the desk, looking out the windows together in heavy silence.
Continued -->
Previous Parts Here
Buffy was woozy-headed, unsure even who helped her to her feet, whose arm she as leaning on when she looked again, and yup, there he was. Spike. Alive, well, and holding Dana at arms length.
Angel was saying something, above her. Huh, it was Angel’s arm.
“Hell no!” Spike turned pleading eyes on her. “You’re not leaving me here to run off with cavebrow!”
“Spike, someone has to watch the crazy slayer. We’ll be five minutes, alright?”
“You bastard. You’d use a moment like this…”
“I can’t deal with this,” Buffy said, and started back the way she’d come. “This… no.”
Angel followed her, arms reaching out to her.
“No,” she said again. “This is surreal, and if you two are just going to do the adolescent boys thing, again…”
“Buffy,” Angel grabbed her elbow and dragged her back. “My office is right here. You can sit down, we can talk, maybe explain this… uh, well, like I said, it’s a long story.”
Buffy dithered between pain and curiosity. If she didn’t follow, would she ever know?
“You can’t just leave her with me!” Spike said, holding Dana out from himself with panic in his eyes.
Dana was staring at Spike in rapt fascination. Maybe it was best to give them a moment to, uh, resolve, whatever it was Dana had that needed resolving. Numbly, Buffy nodded and let Angel lead her. Behind them, Spike continued to protest, but there was something comforting in that; he sounded so normal.
The office was huge. But dark and quiet and that was nice in and of itself. Angel busied himself getting her a glass of soda - diet Sprite, no ice. Wow, he remembered that?
When he ran out of things to fetch he stood awkwardly in front of her, fidgeting, then sticking his hands in his pockets to stop fidgeting. “So, where do I start?”
Buffy put her water glass on the broad arm of the chair. “Spike,” she said.
Angel scratched the back of his head and shrugged again. “A few weeks after, you know, after, the amulet was delivered back here. Envelope had no return address, no fingerprints on it, either, save three postal workers and our in-house mail guy. Uh, that’s not really important, is it?”
Buffy shook her head.
“So I opened the envelope, and Spike sorta, well, he popped out of the amulet.” Angel made vague popping-out gestures with his hands.
“What, like a jack in the box?” Buffy shook her head again. In her saddest, most serious voice, she asked, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“He was incorporeal.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, he’s all solid now, but for the first couple months, he was a ghost, physically tied to this location. He couldn’t even move things around like your average ghost.”
“So, she repeats: why didn’t you call me?”
Angel opened his mouth, waved his hand a bit, and then shook his head, changing his mind. He walked back to his desk and leaned against it. Folding his arms, he regarded Buffy. “You never called me.”
Buffy’s eyebrows shot up. “Is this high school?”
“I’m not being petty. It’s just the fact of the matter. You never called me, so you didn’t enter into my mind.”
“So much for true love,” Buffy said, only half-mocking. “You were all over my cookie-dough before the battle.”
Angel grimaced and buried his hands in his pockets again. “Faith called me, when you were at the Best Western Salt Lake. She told me about the battle, and who made it and who didn’t. I wouldn’t have known Spike was gone before he appeared in my office if it weren’t for her. And yeah, I was a little hurt. I assumed if you needed to evacuate and re-group, you’d come to LA. I had supplies ready for you.”
“Giles didn’t - doesn’t - trust you.” It was Buffy’s turn to look embarrassed. “He made the call on what direction to head. I was dealing with grief, wounded, and a dozen girls who just developed super-powers, so don’t get on my case because I forgot about your feelings. We said our goodbyes.”
“I need a drink,” Angel said.
Buffy watched him cross to the mini-bar. “So,” she said, “why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to complicate your life. More.” He set down a glass harder than he perhaps should have. “Do you want anything?”
“Soda’s fine.” She picked up her glass again and raised it as if toasting.
Angel poured himself a hefty shot and returned to his seat on the desk.
“I loved him,” Buffy said.
“Buffy…”
“No. I loved him.” She stood, hand to her chest. “And you let me believe he was dead.”
Angel swallowed too much whiskey all at once and coughed. He held the back of his hand to his mouth until he was sure all the liquid was down and he could answer. “You already thought he was dead. I just… let you keep thinking what you already thought.”
“Bastard!” Buffy slapped him.
Angel held the glass up to his stinging cheek. “Ow!” He said, and considered briefly that when it came to Slayers and vampires, perhaps it was best to match up the volatile bottle-blondes and let the sensible brunettes have some peace. “Not all this blame is mine, you know. Spike could have called you himself, once he could pick up a phone.”
“Oh yeah, after he’d been unable to for how long? After he’d gotten used to the idea of not seeing me? Maybe started to think I’d moved on? Or after someone spent every intervening day taking pot-shots at his teeny little glass ego?”
“I did not.”
“Oh, I’ve seen you two in the same room together twice now, Angel. I know there was pot-shotting. Er, shots.”
“Buffy.” Angel lowered his head, looking pleadingly into her eyes. “It was his choice, and he chose, same as I did, to let you live your life. We’re not good for you, neither of us. We’ll never not be vampires.”
“I’ll never not be a slayer. Do you honestly think I care? I thought you were beyond making my decisions for me.”
Angel winced. “Buffy, I’m sorry. However, why-ever this happened. I’m sorry. We’re here now, and talking. What are you going to do?”
Buffy was surprised to find herself relaxing, letting Angel take her hands in his. “I don’t know,” she said. She shook her head. “I’m so angry. And happy, too. And… nauseous.”
He leaned back. “Uh… want to sit down?”
She smirked and shook her head. “No. It’s just… I had to find out this way. Through Dana drawing pictures of him without his hands. Oh god. I was so afraid I’d get here and he… he’d be in pieces.”
Angel’s big arms wrapped around her, drawing her face down onto a broad chest. “I was scared too,” he said.
Buffy stiffened, pulled back to see his face. “Really?”
“Spike’s special to me, for a variety of reasons, half of which don’t make sense, but, there you have it. I thought my stomach was going to fall out of my mouth when I saw him like that, with his arms cut off.”
They shared a long, thoughtful gaze. Buffy broke the solemn moment with a smirk. “So Xander was right all along.”
Angel grimaced. “I don’t want to know.”
Buffy buried her face against his chest again, this time to hide her giggles. “No, you really don’t.”
Angel let out a much-suffering sigh. “If you tell Spike I said anything remotely mushy about him, I’m going to have to stake the guy to save face. Just remember that.” He stroked her hair and back while the giggles subsided. “What are you going to do? Ask him to go back with you?”
Buffy disentangled herself and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know. Would he?”
“I think he’d follow you into a pit made out of fire and filled with holy water. That doesn’t mean he should.”
Awkwardly, Buffy returned to her seat. She picked at lint on her pants. “He never believed me.”
“He’s an insecure idiot.” Angel sighed again and looked for his empty whiskey glass. To himself, he added, “Someone made him that way.”
Buffy bit her lip, watching his expression. “Hey,” she said, with false cheer, “twenty minutes alone in the same room together and we’ve only had one slap and one brood. Well, maybe one apiece. Still, go team us!”
Angel turned to see Buffy give him a mock toast with her soda. He returned it with his empty whiskey glass. “Well, we are the heroes,” he said.
They settled side by side on the edge of the desk, looking out the windows together in heavy silence.
Continued -->