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Disclaimer: If I owned them, Angel would *so* have talked to Buffy when he called. Or better yet, Angel would still be in Sunnydale with Buffy. But since they're Joss's and not mine, I have to settle on writing angry therapy fic. Don't own the song either, it belongs to Jordan Hill.
Author's Notes: I'm assuming you've all seen the Angel pilot, 'City Of.' If not, here's a quick re-hash. Angel calls Buffy but when she picks up he hangs up. Now we can't have that, can we?? I didn't think so. This is dedicated to Jess, who sent me the lyrics and gave me permission to use them. Love you tons, sweetie! If you guys want more of the sappy therapy fic, all you gotta go is send nice feedback!
I know you thought it was best
That we spend a little time apart
But one night without you
Is so much for my heart
Angel sat quietly in his room. He had just returned from disposing of Russell Winters, the vampire who could do supposedly everything. Well, he couldn't fly, now could he? Angel had had to use the sewers--which were even worse in L.A. than they were in Sunnydale--to get home, and when he had reached his apartment he had the overwhelming urge to call her. Just to check up on her, see how college was going. See how well she sounded without him there.
But to call would be to break the one vow he had made to himself when he had left. Well, actually, there had been two. One had been to go through with the leaving thing. The other, the more painful one, had been to break off all contact with her. So calling her would pretty much break his vow. But to not call...
If he didn't call, at least once, she would think he didn't care for her anymore. That he didn't love her enough to just check up on her once, see how she was doing without his support. It would all be for *her* benefit if he called.
This is what he told himself, in his dark room.
When in actuality he wanted to call for his benefit.
He stared at the black phone for the longest time. It sat unmoving on the small table, waiting for him to pick it up and use it. Waiting for him to give in. The vampire began to lose touch with reality as he gazed at it, his eyes tracing the numbers he would need to push to make the connection... There was nothing, nothing that mattered but the phone and the possibilities it held within its wires. One call wouldn't hurt...
Oh, but it would. It would hurt them both deeply, reopening the wounds that were still raw with new pain and old wants and desires, possibly more than either could bear. How could he expect her to move on if he kept jumping back into her life, giving her false hope and then cruelly extinguishing it when it was time to say good-bye? They would be forever caught in limbo, neither being able to let go of the tiny hope that they could indeed make it work...
But he needed to talk to her, he honestly did. She was the only person he could talk to about his failure. And it had been a failure, a failure and so much more. A human life was so precious and he had been unable to save one he should have. Only she knew what it was like to try and stop the forces of evil, only to lose the person you were trying to save in the process. He had to tell her, he had to tell her that it *did* matter, that he felt like it was his fault and he didn't need another death on his head, another sin to atone for. Would she even listen?
So caught up in his thoughts, Angel didn't even realize his actions as he picked up the black receiver. He quickly punched in the number of her mother's house, the strange feeling that she would be there making him call there. He paused, slightly unsure, before lifting the phone to his ear.
There was no going back.
I know I promised not to call,
Sorry, but I didn't have a choice.
I just had to hear your voice.
The phone rang once on the other side when someone picked up. Angel waited, his body tense with anticipation.
"Hello?"
He tried to speak but his tongue was not functioning properly at the moment. Her voice was so beautiful, like a symphony of emotions that was played only for him, and he basked in its soft sound.
"Hello?" It came again, this time with a sense of urgency that had not been present before. If Angel didn't hurry she would hang up and he would never get to tell her all these things...
Oh, please don't be mad at me.
'Cause I really did the best I could
Not to dial your number,
But I didn't do much good.
"Buffy?" he said, his voice low and husky, in that way he had always said her name when he was unsure of something. He heard her inhale sharply, like she always did when she was startled. Her voice, in return, was tentative and held a glimmer of hope that she tried to force down.
"A...Angel?" she asked. His heart sang when she said his name, her lovely voice sang it as though it was what she had been made to say forever... "Is it really you?"
"It's me," he said, mentally kicking himself for sounding so lame. Of course it was him and they both knew it.
"Oh, I think I need to sit down," she said. The sound of fabric on the wall came over the phone and he assumed she had slid to the floor. Her legs would curl under her small body and she would crouch in a little ball, as if that would keep the pain away. If it worked, she never told anyone. "How've you been?"
"I've been better," he said. How could he be okay when half his soul was an hour and a half away? "And you?"
"I'm...I'm good," she said, false bravado in her voice. He could picture her, pursing her lips like she always did when she wanted to say something but chose not to. The lips he so desperately wanted to kiss until there was no more pain...
Hung up the phone so many times,
'Til I really didn't have a choice
I just had to hear your voice.
"How's school?" he asked, desperate to make conversation--any kind of conversation--with her. He swallowed, never realizing it would be this hard. Or maybe he had and he hadn't wanted to admit it...
"It's fine. Pretty hard, but I'm surviving," she told him, her voice holding a note of cold that had not been there before. It was as if she was slowly icing her heart over once more, icing what he had melted when he had called. Why had he called, again?
"You always do." He couldn't help it, it was true. She was strong, much stronger than him.
"Yeah, well, I never really have a choice, now do I?" she asked, her words stinging much deeper than she would ever know. Angel swallowed.
"Look, if this is a bad time, I can go--"
"Do you want to? Go, I mean."
"No."
"Oh, well, since you're always making the decisions I just thought you'd want to make this one too," Buffy snapped. Angel dropped his head into his free hand, sighing deeply. She was being so cold, why was she being so cold? All he had wanted to do was talk...right, *he* wanted to talk, *he* wanted the relationship to end, *he* made all the decisions. When had he become so dominating?
"Do you want me to go? Because I can, Buffy, if you don't want to talk, just let me know..." Angel said, his voice almost pleading. He silently begged her to stay, to talk to him like old times, just for a few minutes.
"No...don't go. I'm sorry, I've had a really bad week," Buffy apologized.
"What's wrong?"
"Besides everything?" she said. "College sucks, my mom has turned my room into Inventory Central, Willow's Little-Miss-Popular all of a sudden, I got kicked out of class, some vamp totally kicked my ass last night, and my arm is killing me. Not to mention I ruined a nice pair of pants last night. Take your pick."
"Wow, sounds like you've had the week from hell. If fact, I think yours tops mine," Angel told her, chuckling softly. He heard her breath out softly, knowing he had made her smile and loving the way it made him tingle.
"What's happened with you?"
"Oh, I met my new mentor, whose name is Doyle, who'd rather be at the racetrack than with me, I tried to save this woman who came out here to be a star but ended up serving coffee at a little shop but was killed by a vamp before I could save her. I did kill the vampire though, the pompous bastard," Angel told her. She was silent for a time.
"Oh, Angel, I'm sorry. I know what it's like--"
"I know. That's why I called," he told her.
"You can't let it discourage you, I know you tried your best. You always do," she whispered.
"Thank you," he murmured, "that means more to me than you'll ever know."
"You're a good person, Angel. Don't let anyone ever tell you different. If they do, send 'em down here and I'll take care of 'em for you," she said with a sparkle of laughter that he knew would spread to her whole face, so it would seem as if she was blessed with a glow that could only be described properly as heavenly... God, he missed her. He missed this, just talking as friends.
"And if you have any problems with those college boys that I know are lined up outside your door, you let me know and I'll take care of them as well," Angel said uncertainly. The subject of new boyfriends was incredibly touchy, and at her silence he wondered if it had best been unsaid.
"None of them will ever hold a candle to you," she said, her voice a bare whisper. If possible, Angel felt himself fall in love with her all over again.
I had to know that you're okay
I couldn't get to sleep this way
And I had to hear you say hello
I had to
Because I love you so...
He heard scuffling on the other line. "Hang on a sec, Angel," she whispered before muffling the phone with her hand. He heard talking and assumed it was Joyce Summers who had walked in. Joyce finding out he had called would *not* be a good thing. He thought he could hear Buffy say Willow's name, but he was unsure. After an eternity, Buffy uncovered her hand and began talking again.
"Sorry, my mom wanted to know every word of my conversation with 'Willow'. Of course, it wasn't Willow, it was you...but she doesn't need to know that little detail," Buffy said. Angel smiled.
"Well, I'll let you go," he said reluctantly. Buffy sighed.
"Yeah, I probably should, I have a class soon. This was nice," she told him.
"It was. Would it..." he trailed off, gathering his nerve. "Would it be okay if...I called again?"
"Sure," she said warmly. "Let me give you my dorm room, I kinda doubt I'll be back here for a while. Seeing as how my mom will probably next be turning my room into an office... Anyway, it's 555-8443. Oh, and if you call and get some weird girl who's blasting Cher or Celine Dion, you still have the right room. My roommate Kathy is a little psycho..."
"I'll keep that in mind," Angel said as he scribbled her number down, unconsciously drawing a small heart around her name. Childish, sure. But it looked so pretty...
"So...I guess I'll talk to you later?" she asked. He sighed. He didn't want to let her go...not again...
"Yeah, I'll call soon," he replied.
"Okay," she said softly.
"I...I love you," he murmured, realizing instantly how much he had missed saying those three little words and how much he yearned for her to reply...
"I love you too, Angel. Always," she whispered. There was a short silence, as both dealt with the ramifications of uttering those words so freely, yet with so much feeling in them. They knew what they were doing when they said it, knew they were slipping back into their old ways, but neither cared. It was all they could do to survive.
I know you thought it best
That we spend a little time apart
But I had to hear your voice
"I'll talk to you later," Angel said.
"Angel...thanks for calling. I'm glad we can still...talk," Buffy said, her voice wavering slightly.
"Me too, Buffy. Thanks for listening," Angel said.
"Anytime. Good-bye, Angel."
"Good-bye, Buffy."
Though I know it just wasn't right
I had to hear your sweet voice...
Tonight
Angel hung up the phone slowly, feeling somewhat at peace. She didn't hate him. She had listened to him. She still loved him.
A scream from upstairs jarred him from his thoughts. Thinking Cordelia was in trouble, he stood and bolted, leaving the thoughts and sadness of talking to Buffy behind him to be dealt with later.
In his flight, the slight wind he created lifted the tiny scrap of paper on which he had written her phone number, taking it softly off the table and carrying it over to the picture frame that was resting on the far side of it.
A picture frame that held the picture of Buffy Summers.
The piece of paper, with the heart drawn carefully around the name, sat, propped up against the frame.