Fic: Something Real [Peyton/Angel, OTH/ATS crossover]
something real
peyton hates this godforsaken city, hates its faceless people and its sweltering heat. but things change, and when peyton meets angel, everything's different. one tree hill/angel crossover. slight peyton/angel, 2582 words, pg-13.
Peyton fucking hates LA. She hate's how hot and dry it is, and how it doesn't even snow on Christmas. She hates the crowds and the buildings and the goddamn fake bleached beaches. She hates the fake people and the fake stores and the fake fur she bought from one of Brooke's clothing stores. She hates that she doesn't know anyone here, and that no one seems particularly interested in knowing her. She hates being a fake blonde in a sea of fake blondes and she hates listening to the same music as everyone else and wearing the same clothes as them. And she definitely fucking hates missing Lucas Scott. Hearing his voice in her head, replaying that scene over and over and over again, saying yes, of course, until she pushes her head into her smelly pillow and starts to sob.
She sits up, eyes red and puffy and shirt covered in wet spots from where her salty tears dripped off her chin. She sees herself in the mirror of her run down studio apartment, looking miserable, feeling shitty, and wishing that high school had never ended.
God, how fucking pathetic can she get?
She throws on Ellie's old leather jacket, wrapping it around her. She sees herself in the mirror again, curly blonde hair all over the fucking place. She finds some old knit cap in the bottom of her suitcase (which she still hasn't fully unpacked from three years ago) and puts it on her head, trying to hide her fake blonde hair. It's warm out, like it always it, but she's bundled up all the same and doesn't give a fucking shit.
She slams the door behind her, hearing something crash in her apartment. She's so far from caring she doesn't even bother to look back as she storms down the six flights of stairs in her building out the front door into the abrasive dry heat.
It's dark out, even with all the lights in the city on. Peyton shoves her gloved hands into her pockets, zips up and walks briskly, listening to the sound of her own boots hitting the pavement. She has no fucking idea where she's going, but she's going there and that's all that matters.
A right turn. Now a left. Go straight for a bit. Look at that red door. Hear screaming from a third story apartment. Bump into a stranger. Another left. Clank, clank, clank. Her boots won't stop their staccato cries.
She looks up, taking off her knit cap. She's sweltering, boiling underneath her mother's jacket and her fake blonde hair. She shoves the knit cap into a pocket, and decides that the gloves are too much and does the same with them. She doesn't realize that she's the helpless blonde victim in the middle of a dark, deserted alley. If she did, she'd probably roll her eyes and walk away, continuing her journey until she makes it all the way back to Tree Hill. But she doesn''t. She stands there, and her life changes.
Angel isn't like any guy Peyton's met before. He's broody, sure, but it isn't that teenage shallow broody Peyton's come to recognize as prominent in the character of Lucas Scott. Angel just sits there and stares sometimes at a blank wall, eyes flickering, as if dreaming. He never speaks about how he feels, or explains why he's feeling it. He just does. And that's completely new to Peyton.
What's also new to Peyton is this whole freaky concept of vampires. At first she thinks that guy in the alley is some mugger high on a massive dose of PCP. And when this guy in a dark trenchcoat swoops down, throws a few punches and makes the guy fucking evaporate, Peyton's not so sure she's totally sober herself.
"You okay?" her hero asks her, a wooden stake in hand. Peyton raises an eyebrow, eyes wide with shock and jaw open.
"What the fuck just happened? Who the fuck are you? What the-" Peyton cuts herself off, trying to breathe. "What's going on?"
The man -- a tall man, with gelled, dark brown hair, wearing all black and looking himself a bit sketchy -- attempts a shallow smile. "Ever heard of vampires?"
Peyton scoffs. She's doesn't fucking believe it. "You're high," she says. "And thanks for saving me and all that, but I've gotta get going." She starts to walk off. She doesn't want to get assaulted again or anything. People in this city are just so fucking creepy.
"Wait!" he calls after her. "Peyton, wait!"
She stops, feeling a chill creep through her chest. She turns around, throat beginning to constrict and panic settling in. "How do you know my name?" she asks shakily.
The man looks a bit uncomfortable. "My friend knows you," he mumbles. "I can't really explain it any better than that."
By now, Peyton's totally having flashbacks to psycho-Derek and his fucking prom night terrorizing of doom. The only thing that's reassuring her is the fact that this guy has this look on his face, one that's reminding her of someone she tries so hard to forget.
The man steps toward her, and Peyton feels her heart speeding up, blood rushing to her head; then everything cuts to black.
If there's one thing about Cordelia Chase that will always stick with Peyton, it's how similar to Brooke Davis she is. Right down to the unhealthy lingerie obsession and the size four waist and the little flip of the head that Brooke used to do. The inflection of the voice, the handwriting, the clothes that she wears -- Clothes Over Bros, by the way -- all remind Peyton so much of a best friend that she misses.
So when Peyton comes to, groggy, head aching, and sees this girl's face looming over her? She thinks, Oh, God, not again.
It's only when she sees the dungeon of a basement that she's in that she realizes this hasn't all been some freaky dream after a wild party with the Tree Hill High crew.
"Oh my fucking God holy shit let me the fuck out of here!" she screams, moving around, trying to free herself from bindings that she soon realizes aren't actually there. She's breathing heavily, starting to tear up again, her heart beating ohmyfuckingodfast.
And the girl says in this total Brooke Davis voice, "Jesus, take a chill pill."
At that, Peyton begins to breathe a bit more normally, hands still clenching at the covers beneath her. The girl looks at her, eyebrow raised, a total "so what" look on her face. "Angel!" she calls, turning towards the staircase. "Our case just woke up!" The girl turns back to Peyton and holds out her hand. "That will be fifty dollars, please."
"For what?"
"For saving your scrawny ass, that's what," the girl says, putting her hands on her hips. "Oh, wait, I forgot. Vision people get free rides. Wonderful."
"What?" Peyton asks, totally confused. She wonders if the girl is on drugs or she is.
The same man comes down, as calm as ever, and looks up. "Oh, hi," he says, his voice soft. "You feeling better?"
"Um. What?"
"Maybe she has some sort of hearing problem and didn't hear you right when you said that vampires exist," the girl says, in a matter-of-fact manner, as if she really believes that vampires are real. Maybe Peyton's in a psych ward or something.
"Oh. Right," the guy says, not really listening to his friend. "Um...I'm Angel," he says.
Peyton feels an unwanted smile creeping on to her face. "Are you like a rocker or something?" she asks.
The girl rolls her eyes. "He so totally wishes."
A slight smile plays at the edges of Angel's lips. "This here is Cordelia." Cordelia waves at Peyton, who unsurely waves back. "And we...hunt the supernatural. Well, some of it. The bad kind."
"And you, my friend, have been showing up in these creepy ass visions I get. I know, it's totally bad for my complexion, it gives me migraines and stuff but really, it's pretty good that I have them. I mean, Angel saved you, right?"
Peyton can't really find the words. "Um...what?"
Cordelia rolls her eyes again. "Are you serious? Vampires. Are. Real. Totally. So's a bunch of other stuff."
Peyton figures that these people seem benign enough, although that might just be Cordelia's similarities to Brooke and Angel's oh-so-familiar broodiness. So she decides to play along. "Say I believe you," she says. "Can you prove it?"
"Do you really want us to?" Cordelia asks. "I mean, didn't that guy in the alley like, try to bite your neck? Total vampire behavoir."
Peyton has to agree with that one. She thought the guy just had some sort of fetish, but she can still feel these weird, cold bumps on her cheek and something sharp and freezing coming in contact with the warm skin of her neck. Her hand immediately shoots to the right side of her neck, where she can feel two small scabs.
"Oh," she says. She has a lurking feeling that maybe, possibly, somehow, they're right.
"Want more proof?" Cordelia asks. Peyton, unsurely, nods. Cordelia smiles. "Okay, Angel, hit it!"
Peyton looks at Angel, who she realizes has still been standing over her the entire time. Angel smiles, unsurely, at her, and then all of a sudden his face turns gruesome; there are bumps on his forehead, his eyes are this bright yellow, and he has...Jesus fucking Christ, he has fangs.
As Peyton begins to black out again, she hears Cordelia's voice, murky and fading: "Don't worry, Angel is a good vampire."
Peyton's learned by now to expect the unexpected. But before she met Angel and Cordelia, that hadn't really sunk in.
She wakes up, head aching, filled with this sense of dread that she can't get rid of. And then she sees it: his face, embalmed in her mind, forever staying there. A pang of fear shoots through her.
Cordelia is still sitting next to the bed, reading the latest issue of some fashion mag. Peyton's eyes involuntarily look over there, and realizes that Cordelia is reading B. Davis, Brooke's own fashion magazine.
"Brooke?" escapes Peyton's lips, faint and scratchy.
Cordelia keeps looking at the magazine. "Yep." She then looks up, eyes widening. "Oh, hey."
"Hi," Peyton says, in a monotone. "Um..." She can't think of anything else to say.
"You passed out when we proved that vampires are real. You are such a lightweight. No offense, or anything. Just seriously," Cordelia explains, glancing back down at the magazine.
"You said...you said Angel is a good vampire?" Peyton says, still barely unable to grasp the concept that vampire are fucking real.
"Super good," Cordelia answers. "A total goody two shoes. See, he was cursed with this soul about a hundred or so years ago and now he feels so bad he has to help people out. Like you."
"Seriously?"
"Yep."
Peyton doesn't say anything. She's sort of just accepted the fact that vampires are real by now. Even if they aren't, it's just best to play along. But Peyton has a sneaking feeling that Cordelia and Angel are telling the God's honest truth.
"I know her," she says.
"Know who?" Cordelia asks in a disinterested voice.
"Brooke Davis."
Cordelia's head snaps up. "Are you fucking kidding me? That's so awesome! No way! Wait, don't tell me that you only know her 'cause you stalked or something. That'd be too weird."
Peyton nods. "We're best friends. Or, we were. Back in high school."
Cordelia's jaw drops open. "Ohmigod!" she squeals. "Can you totally hook me up with like, free clothes and ohmigod can I meet Brooke? That would be like the best thing ever!"
Peyton laughs at bit at Cordelia's enthusiasm. "Sure, if I ever get out of this place."
She hears faint footsteps coming from the stairs. She looks to the side and sees Angel there, looking concerned. "Is everything okay? I heard a scream."
"No! Peyton knows Brooke Davis! This must be fate. This must be why the Powers That Be sent me that godawful vision! So I can meet Brooke Davis!" Cordelia screams, giggling.
Angel's brow furrows, which makes Peyton smile. "Oh."
Peyton's not so sure the next time she goes to talk to Angel. After a barrage of questions from Cordelia about Brooke, Peyton decides that it's time to confront the monster himself. She walks up the stairs slowing, heart beating against her chest. She sticks her hands in her back pockets. Biting her lip, she walks into Angel's office. He's sitting there, quietly, looking at the wall.
"Hey," she says softly. He turns around.
"Hey." He sounds a bit surprised.
"I just wanted to...um...say sorry?" Peyton tells him, unsure and wishing she could just totally disappear right now.
Angel shrugs. "It's okay. This is what usually happens."
Peyton inhales deeply. "Well, um, thanks. For...you know, saving my life and all."
Angel nods and looks back down at his desk. "Well, uh, the way out is through the front door, I guess. You can see it from here." He turns around in his chair, looking back at the wall.
"I just wanted to ask a question," Peyton says suddenly, the phrase rushing out from her. Angel looks back at her, and Peyton continues. "Why? I mean, if vampires are real and evil and ugly and awful...why are you doing all this? Why are you helping people? Why did you save me?"
Angel pauses before speaking. "What did Cordelia tell you?"
Peyton shrugs, looking at the floor. "Something about a soul."
"Yeah, well, that part's true. I have a conscience, and it's not getting any lighter," Angel answers, staring past Peyton. His eyes dart up at her. "Why do you think I saved you?"
Peyton can feel this big fucking pit in the middle of her stomach, weighing down on her. "I dunno," she mumbles. "I thought maybe...maybe I was special or something." She looks up to see Angel smiling a bit. "It's stupid, I know. I should just go."
"You are special," Angel replies as Peyton starts to leave. "All these people are. Which is why every time I think about what I've done in the past I want to die."
The statement sits in the air for a bit. Neither says anything. Angel doesn't look perturbed, or as if he made any sort of grand confession. And Peyton, well...Peyton is feeling that burning in her head that she felt the first day she met Lucas. She feels like she has to pull away, but doesn't. She wants to know him, wants ask him about everything that's happened.
After a while, Angel speaks: "I'll see you later, Peyton," he says. He lifts his hand up, a small card in his hand. "This is our business card. Feel free to call us any time."
Peyton takes the card gingerly, looking it over. Angel Investigations, it says, and below it is a phone number. "Yeah," she answers, feeling a stinging in her throat. "See you later."
She turns around, putting the card into her pocket, looking down and walking out of the building. The first thing she does after she feels the hot air on her cheeks and turns around the corner is take out the card and take out her cell phone and program the number in. Because now this city, this hot, pointless city, doesn't seem so faceless after all.
peyton hates this godforsaken city, hates its faceless people and its sweltering heat. but things change, and when peyton meets angel, everything's different. one tree hill/angel crossover. slight peyton/angel, 2582 words, pg-13.
Peyton fucking hates LA. She hate's how hot and dry it is, and how it doesn't even snow on Christmas. She hates the crowds and the buildings and the goddamn fake bleached beaches. She hates the fake people and the fake stores and the fake fur she bought from one of Brooke's clothing stores. She hates that she doesn't know anyone here, and that no one seems particularly interested in knowing her. She hates being a fake blonde in a sea of fake blondes and she hates listening to the same music as everyone else and wearing the same clothes as them. And she definitely fucking hates missing Lucas Scott. Hearing his voice in her head, replaying that scene over and over and over again, saying yes, of course, until she pushes her head into her smelly pillow and starts to sob.
She sits up, eyes red and puffy and shirt covered in wet spots from where her salty tears dripped off her chin. She sees herself in the mirror of her run down studio apartment, looking miserable, feeling shitty, and wishing that high school had never ended.
God, how fucking pathetic can she get?
She throws on Ellie's old leather jacket, wrapping it around her. She sees herself in the mirror again, curly blonde hair all over the fucking place. She finds some old knit cap in the bottom of her suitcase (which she still hasn't fully unpacked from three years ago) and puts it on her head, trying to hide her fake blonde hair. It's warm out, like it always it, but she's bundled up all the same and doesn't give a fucking shit.
She slams the door behind her, hearing something crash in her apartment. She's so far from caring she doesn't even bother to look back as she storms down the six flights of stairs in her building out the front door into the abrasive dry heat.
It's dark out, even with all the lights in the city on. Peyton shoves her gloved hands into her pockets, zips up and walks briskly, listening to the sound of her own boots hitting the pavement. She has no fucking idea where she's going, but she's going there and that's all that matters.
A right turn. Now a left. Go straight for a bit. Look at that red door. Hear screaming from a third story apartment. Bump into a stranger. Another left. Clank, clank, clank. Her boots won't stop their staccato cries.
She looks up, taking off her knit cap. She's sweltering, boiling underneath her mother's jacket and her fake blonde hair. She shoves the knit cap into a pocket, and decides that the gloves are too much and does the same with them. She doesn't realize that she's the helpless blonde victim in the middle of a dark, deserted alley. If she did, she'd probably roll her eyes and walk away, continuing her journey until she makes it all the way back to Tree Hill. But she doesn''t. She stands there, and her life changes.
Angel isn't like any guy Peyton's met before. He's broody, sure, but it isn't that teenage shallow broody Peyton's come to recognize as prominent in the character of Lucas Scott. Angel just sits there and stares sometimes at a blank wall, eyes flickering, as if dreaming. He never speaks about how he feels, or explains why he's feeling it. He just does. And that's completely new to Peyton.
What's also new to Peyton is this whole freaky concept of vampires. At first she thinks that guy in the alley is some mugger high on a massive dose of PCP. And when this guy in a dark trenchcoat swoops down, throws a few punches and makes the guy fucking evaporate, Peyton's not so sure she's totally sober herself.
"You okay?" her hero asks her, a wooden stake in hand. Peyton raises an eyebrow, eyes wide with shock and jaw open.
"What the fuck just happened? Who the fuck are you? What the-" Peyton cuts herself off, trying to breathe. "What's going on?"
The man -- a tall man, with gelled, dark brown hair, wearing all black and looking himself a bit sketchy -- attempts a shallow smile. "Ever heard of vampires?"
Peyton scoffs. She's doesn't fucking believe it. "You're high," she says. "And thanks for saving me and all that, but I've gotta get going." She starts to walk off. She doesn't want to get assaulted again or anything. People in this city are just so fucking creepy.
"Wait!" he calls after her. "Peyton, wait!"
She stops, feeling a chill creep through her chest. She turns around, throat beginning to constrict and panic settling in. "How do you know my name?" she asks shakily.
The man looks a bit uncomfortable. "My friend knows you," he mumbles. "I can't really explain it any better than that."
By now, Peyton's totally having flashbacks to psycho-Derek and his fucking prom night terrorizing of doom. The only thing that's reassuring her is the fact that this guy has this look on his face, one that's reminding her of someone she tries so hard to forget.
The man steps toward her, and Peyton feels her heart speeding up, blood rushing to her head; then everything cuts to black.
If there's one thing about Cordelia Chase that will always stick with Peyton, it's how similar to Brooke Davis she is. Right down to the unhealthy lingerie obsession and the size four waist and the little flip of the head that Brooke used to do. The inflection of the voice, the handwriting, the clothes that she wears -- Clothes Over Bros, by the way -- all remind Peyton so much of a best friend that she misses.
So when Peyton comes to, groggy, head aching, and sees this girl's face looming over her? She thinks, Oh, God, not again.
It's only when she sees the dungeon of a basement that she's in that she realizes this hasn't all been some freaky dream after a wild party with the Tree Hill High crew.
"Oh my fucking God holy shit let me the fuck out of here!" she screams, moving around, trying to free herself from bindings that she soon realizes aren't actually there. She's breathing heavily, starting to tear up again, her heart beating ohmyfuckingodfast.
And the girl says in this total Brooke Davis voice, "Jesus, take a chill pill."
At that, Peyton begins to breathe a bit more normally, hands still clenching at the covers beneath her. The girl looks at her, eyebrow raised, a total "so what" look on her face. "Angel!" she calls, turning towards the staircase. "Our case just woke up!" The girl turns back to Peyton and holds out her hand. "That will be fifty dollars, please."
"For what?"
"For saving your scrawny ass, that's what," the girl says, putting her hands on her hips. "Oh, wait, I forgot. Vision people get free rides. Wonderful."
"What?" Peyton asks, totally confused. She wonders if the girl is on drugs or she is.
The same man comes down, as calm as ever, and looks up. "Oh, hi," he says, his voice soft. "You feeling better?"
"Um. What?"
"Maybe she has some sort of hearing problem and didn't hear you right when you said that vampires exist," the girl says, in a matter-of-fact manner, as if she really believes that vampires are real. Maybe Peyton's in a psych ward or something.
"Oh. Right," the guy says, not really listening to his friend. "Um...I'm Angel," he says.
Peyton feels an unwanted smile creeping on to her face. "Are you like a rocker or something?" she asks.
The girl rolls her eyes. "He so totally wishes."
A slight smile plays at the edges of Angel's lips. "This here is Cordelia." Cordelia waves at Peyton, who unsurely waves back. "And we...hunt the supernatural. Well, some of it. The bad kind."
"And you, my friend, have been showing up in these creepy ass visions I get. I know, it's totally bad for my complexion, it gives me migraines and stuff but really, it's pretty good that I have them. I mean, Angel saved you, right?"
Peyton can't really find the words. "Um...what?"
Cordelia rolls her eyes again. "Are you serious? Vampires. Are. Real. Totally. So's a bunch of other stuff."
Peyton figures that these people seem benign enough, although that might just be Cordelia's similarities to Brooke and Angel's oh-so-familiar broodiness. So she decides to play along. "Say I believe you," she says. "Can you prove it?"
"Do you really want us to?" Cordelia asks. "I mean, didn't that guy in the alley like, try to bite your neck? Total vampire behavoir."
Peyton has to agree with that one. She thought the guy just had some sort of fetish, but she can still feel these weird, cold bumps on her cheek and something sharp and freezing coming in contact with the warm skin of her neck. Her hand immediately shoots to the right side of her neck, where she can feel two small scabs.
"Oh," she says. She has a lurking feeling that maybe, possibly, somehow, they're right.
"Want more proof?" Cordelia asks. Peyton, unsurely, nods. Cordelia smiles. "Okay, Angel, hit it!"
Peyton looks at Angel, who she realizes has still been standing over her the entire time. Angel smiles, unsurely, at her, and then all of a sudden his face turns gruesome; there are bumps on his forehead, his eyes are this bright yellow, and he has...Jesus fucking Christ, he has fangs.
As Peyton begins to black out again, she hears Cordelia's voice, murky and fading: "Don't worry, Angel is a good vampire."
Peyton's learned by now to expect the unexpected. But before she met Angel and Cordelia, that hadn't really sunk in.
She wakes up, head aching, filled with this sense of dread that she can't get rid of. And then she sees it: his face, embalmed in her mind, forever staying there. A pang of fear shoots through her.
Cordelia is still sitting next to the bed, reading the latest issue of some fashion mag. Peyton's eyes involuntarily look over there, and realizes that Cordelia is reading B. Davis, Brooke's own fashion magazine.
"Brooke?" escapes Peyton's lips, faint and scratchy.
Cordelia keeps looking at the magazine. "Yep." She then looks up, eyes widening. "Oh, hey."
"Hi," Peyton says, in a monotone. "Um..." She can't think of anything else to say.
"You passed out when we proved that vampires are real. You are such a lightweight. No offense, or anything. Just seriously," Cordelia explains, glancing back down at the magazine.
"You said...you said Angel is a good vampire?" Peyton says, still barely unable to grasp the concept that vampire are fucking real.
"Super good," Cordelia answers. "A total goody two shoes. See, he was cursed with this soul about a hundred or so years ago and now he feels so bad he has to help people out. Like you."
"Seriously?"
"Yep."
Peyton doesn't say anything. She's sort of just accepted the fact that vampires are real by now. Even if they aren't, it's just best to play along. But Peyton has a sneaking feeling that Cordelia and Angel are telling the God's honest truth.
"I know her," she says.
"Know who?" Cordelia asks in a disinterested voice.
"Brooke Davis."
Cordelia's head snaps up. "Are you fucking kidding me? That's so awesome! No way! Wait, don't tell me that you only know her 'cause you stalked or something. That'd be too weird."
Peyton nods. "We're best friends. Or, we were. Back in high school."
Cordelia's jaw drops open. "Ohmigod!" she squeals. "Can you totally hook me up with like, free clothes and ohmigod can I meet Brooke? That would be like the best thing ever!"
Peyton laughs at bit at Cordelia's enthusiasm. "Sure, if I ever get out of this place."
She hears faint footsteps coming from the stairs. She looks to the side and sees Angel there, looking concerned. "Is everything okay? I heard a scream."
"No! Peyton knows Brooke Davis! This must be fate. This must be why the Powers That Be sent me that godawful vision! So I can meet Brooke Davis!" Cordelia screams, giggling.
Angel's brow furrows, which makes Peyton smile. "Oh."
Peyton's not so sure the next time she goes to talk to Angel. After a barrage of questions from Cordelia about Brooke, Peyton decides that it's time to confront the monster himself. She walks up the stairs slowing, heart beating against her chest. She sticks her hands in her back pockets. Biting her lip, she walks into Angel's office. He's sitting there, quietly, looking at the wall.
"Hey," she says softly. He turns around.
"Hey." He sounds a bit surprised.
"I just wanted to...um...say sorry?" Peyton tells him, unsure and wishing she could just totally disappear right now.
Angel shrugs. "It's okay. This is what usually happens."
Peyton inhales deeply. "Well, um, thanks. For...you know, saving my life and all."
Angel nods and looks back down at his desk. "Well, uh, the way out is through the front door, I guess. You can see it from here." He turns around in his chair, looking back at the wall.
"I just wanted to ask a question," Peyton says suddenly, the phrase rushing out from her. Angel looks back at her, and Peyton continues. "Why? I mean, if vampires are real and evil and ugly and awful...why are you doing all this? Why are you helping people? Why did you save me?"
Angel pauses before speaking. "What did Cordelia tell you?"
Peyton shrugs, looking at the floor. "Something about a soul."
"Yeah, well, that part's true. I have a conscience, and it's not getting any lighter," Angel answers, staring past Peyton. His eyes dart up at her. "Why do you think I saved you?"
Peyton can feel this big fucking pit in the middle of her stomach, weighing down on her. "I dunno," she mumbles. "I thought maybe...maybe I was special or something." She looks up to see Angel smiling a bit. "It's stupid, I know. I should just go."
"You are special," Angel replies as Peyton starts to leave. "All these people are. Which is why every time I think about what I've done in the past I want to die."
The statement sits in the air for a bit. Neither says anything. Angel doesn't look perturbed, or as if he made any sort of grand confession. And Peyton, well...Peyton is feeling that burning in her head that she felt the first day she met Lucas. She feels like she has to pull away, but doesn't. She wants to know him, wants ask him about everything that's happened.
After a while, Angel speaks: "I'll see you later, Peyton," he says. He lifts his hand up, a small card in his hand. "This is our business card. Feel free to call us any time."
Peyton takes the card gingerly, looking it over. Angel Investigations, it says, and below it is a phone number. "Yeah," she answers, feeling a stinging in her throat. "See you later."
She turns around, putting the card into her pocket, looking down and walking out of the building. The first thing she does after she feels the hot air on her cheeks and turns around the corner is take out the card and take out her cell phone and program the number in. Because now this city, this hot, pointless city, doesn't seem so faceless after all.