DISCLAIMER: None of this is my property. Obviously.
IMPROV 22 - sugar, frame, sheer, time
RATING: PG-13. Vague references to sex
PAIRING: B/A
TIMELINE: Post-Shanshu
SPOILERS: Vague for B/A Canon
SYNOPSIS: 10 years later, what they say and what they really mean to say don't mesh.
DISTRIBUTION: Improv, Land of Denial, others who house my fic are welcome to it.
Anyone else, just let me know.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Pure angsty fluff. Inspired by the song of the same name by Cyndi
Thompson.
FEEDBACK: But of course...
To my honeys Anja, Serena, and Dru, who never, ever let me down with the superfast
beta. Especially to Serena, who suspended her disbelief. SURE they could have gone
ten years without speaking! Just go with it. ;)
***
"It took me by surprise
When I saw you standing there
Close enough to touch
Breathing the same air.
You asked me how I've been,
And I guess that's when I smiled and said "Just fine."
But baby, I was lying..."
***
The first thing she thinks when she runs < right into > him on her way into Java Joe's
is 'Isn't it funny how things always happen to me like this?' She can't quite say if
that's a blessing or a curse, but it seems like she's forever running into bits and
pieces of her past, even ten years after the Hellmouth closed. Like the time she was
walking home from a late night chickflick fest at Willow and Tara's, and she and Dawn
were jumped by a vampire of the non-Spike variety, when there weren't supposed to
*be* any non-Spike vampires anymore. Or how four years ago, just when they thought
they were going to have to give up the house because all the money was gone, a
cashier's check for
50,000.00 appeared in the mail, with an anonymous note that
said, "Thank you for saving the world."
Little blessings, little curses, but they reminded her of what had been. She doesn't really mind, either. The reminders are soothing, somehow, calling to mind < ironically enough > simpler, happier times, when her place in the world was clear, her mom was still alive, Giles was still her guiding light, and Angel's love was so sure and strong that all the wild unpredictabilities of pretty much everything else didn't matter at all.
And now, of course, this. What were the odds that, in a city populated by millions of people, and with a coffee shop on every other street corner, that the two of them would choose to patronize the exact same one at the exact same time?
It had always been a possibility, she knew, however slim. He was here somewhere, and the Fates always messed with her like that.
Always little reminders. Strokes of sheer, blind luck. She chose *today* to drive in from Sunnydale to go shopping before her weakly dinner with Dawn. She chose *now* and *here* for a quick coffee break between lingerie and shoes...
So she runs right into him as he's coming out and she's going in, and his plain, old-fashioned black coffee splashes everywhere, dousing his enormous, muscular < living > frame with hot brown liquid. And she starts to apologize before she even knows its him < though part of her knows immediately -- his still-cool scent, his big hands, that wash of electricity that prickles over her skin > and her eyes shoot up to give her victim a chagrined smile, but instead, her jaw drops clear to the sidewalk, and suddenly she's plunging, swimming < drowning > in fathomless pools of shining chocolate as she finds herself looking into that still oft-dreamed-of face...
A smile bursts across that face like the sun through storm clouds, and those sugar-sweet eyes twinkle just like they always did, just for her, like it hasn't been ten years since they saw one another, and 15, in fact, since he last looked at her that way...
< OhmyGodit'sAngelohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod. >
Her heart takes off on its trademark Angel-race, and for the first time in forever, her every muscle trembles with fight or flight, and her breath catches in her throat, and she wants to scream and run, or grab him and kiss him silly, and...
Funny, neither of them makes any move to wipe the coffee away.
"Buffy," he says, and the fabric of her reality tears open wide and swallows her whole as she fights to remember how to move, how to breathe, how to talk, how to...
< act NORMAL, for God's sake! >
"Angel?" she says, and it's that same old question -- Are you really here? < Do you really love me? > Are you *real*?
Then his big hand comes up what seems like automatically and < where did that napkin come from? > he mops clumsily at her dress. < Are his hands shaking? > She can't be sure, because she's overwhelmed by the foreign, purely magical sound of his laughter, and he's steering her out of the line of lunchtime traffic and cleaning her up like she's a kid with ice cream all over face, and he's a doting parent.
< tendersweetloving >
She realizes that he's talking. Apologizing for being so clumsy When he's done wiping at her, he does the same to himself, but gives it up as
hopeless with a chuckle and a dismissive 'oh well', and says how he doesn't really
mind third degree burns over 3/4 of his torso, just so long as it's her that
inflicted them < like going to Hell on the end of her sword and still loving her after
an eternity of torment he was condemned to because she was young and stupid and too
hopeful and hopeless to know better... >
His hands stop, and time stops with them as he gazes down at her. Isn't it funny how
things always happen to her this way, and she could swear she still sees forever in
his eyes?
"How have you been?"
That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? The one that everybody who's vanished
from your life always asks. She knows the truth isn't the right response and so she
lies and spins a summary tale of Dawn-raising and college-graduating and having a
real job that actually pays money and doesn't require putting her life on the line at
every turn, although the kids she teaches seem to get scarier and scarier every year,
so you never know ha ha. She moves on into Xander and Anya married and spawning like
the bunnies the latter still carries an irrational fear of, and Willow and Tara in a
big house on the outskirts of town with an obscene number of cats, and Giles moving
back to England to retire and marrying some genius supermodel or something, and Dawn
marrying a football player, of all things and living here in LA now, writing horror
novels and playing part-time cheerleader. Isn't that ironic? Ha ha.
He kills her comfortable, chattering denial with six simple worlds, a perfectly
reasonable question to ask, really, and couldn't he have just plunged a stake through
her heart?
"What about you? Are you married?"
What about me? Am I married? Oh, he means, 'you're not a desperately lonely spinster
who still pines away after a decade for a love that never should have been and never
could be and you don't still remember the taste of my lips < I bet they're still
sweet, but warm now too, like life and joy instead of death and sorrow, but I still
loved his kisses anyway... > and the touch of my hand and one night making love that
you recall in perfect, heart-shattering detail, are you?'
"Me? Oh... God no," she laughs, "Almost, once, but..." But why? She has to explain,
it's the proper thing to do... to tell him *why* without telling him < It's because I
still love you and every time I tried to be with somebody else all I did was break
their heart and break my own and finally I figured out it was all a waste of time, so
I gave up and now I'm playing favorite auntie, but I have two really great dogs, does
that count? > the truth, "I like my freedom way too much."
And boy, is that the biggest lie yet. Her heart shrieks, 'I STILL WANT YOU! ONLY
YOU!', but she manages to hold on to her smile even in the wake of his.
"I'm surprised," he informs her.
She follows the script with an, "And what about you? You're all human and studly, you
must be lousy with chicks." < Oh, God, I didn't just *say* that, did I? > and then
< Please say no. Please say no. Please say no. >
"Also an 'almost, but never'," he replies, and she can almost taste the sadness in
it. "A couple hundred years as a loner doesn't exactly qualify me as an ideal mate."
Her heart rejoices, but she doesn't know why it should, because it's not like he ever
called *her* or showed up on her doorstep like he always does in her dreams, with
promises of a finite human eternity by her side because she's the only one he's ever
loved... ever *could* love and they live happily ever after.
"Oh," she says, and she realizes with terror that her automatic script reading brain
center has finally shorted out and she's not sure what happens next.
The silence falls and they stand there staring at one another, years of longing and
regret echoing in their heartbeats. She doesn't know who looks away first, but he
finally says he should go, he has a meeting with a client and he's already late, and
now he has to change, but at least he can honestly say he had an accident, ha ha. You
take care of yourself, a gentle hand on her shoulder and don't be a stranger as he
presses a business card into her trembling hand with a number printed on it < is that
a lobster? > they both know she'll never use, and then he's turning and walking away
with a final backward glance, a sad half-smile and a little wave, and God, she'd
forgotten how magnificently he moved. Her soul explodes and shoves at her and wails,
< Don't let him go! Stop him! Tell him now's the time! Now, finally, when there's
nothing standing between you but your pride and a couple of easily defeated demons
from the past. Tell him you're withering away to nothing inside and still starving
for him and tell him about the dreams of you making love until you both melt into
puddles of blissful mush. I still love you! I'm dying inside and I thought time would
make it better, but it never did, and I still cry myself to sleep at night sometimes
remembering how it felt when you loved me! DON'T GO! STAY! COME BACK TO ME! >
But she's frozen in place, and he's already gone, and time starts to move again just
like it always does, but now she's filled with a whole new-old agony and her heart is
sobbing his name over and over again.
She forgets about coffee. Forgets about her planned shopping spree. Begs off dinner
with Dawn and Matt < and funny that Dawn *knew* she had seen Angel and chastised her
for being an idiot, "you're *exactly* like him!" and not even asking him to "*dinner*
or anything *sane* like that, god forbid" > and crawls home, more weary than she was
after that last battle to save the world... the last time he had turned and walked
away and said, "See you around."
Funny, that she *feels* like crying, but she doesn't, and kicks herself over and over
again for all of the things she didn't/couldn't say. But that's not new, she's never
been a good communicator, and she's spent half her life beating herself up over one
thing or another anyhow...
So she feeds Romeo & Juliet < Ah, the poetic irony...and she'd felt so witty at the
time... > and shampoos the living room carpet and does the laundry, mows the lawn and
reads for a while until she falls asleep on the couch and dreams of cool kisses in
graveyards and longing for a future that never was.
It's late when the doorbell rings -- about Spike-chess hour, actually. With no demon
ass left to kick and not much better to do with his time, he often shows up with a
bottle of bourbon and a gory slasher flick, and they get drunk and play chess and
critique the killing methods in the stupid movies and wax poetic about the Bad Old
Days like a couple of old folks in a park somewhere... in Stephen King's world...
But tonight, she's not in the mood for Spike, and so she prepares to send him away as
she hauls her weary carcass to the door, and pulls it open with a, "Not tonight,
okay? I had a really bad..."
She blinks rapidly at the virtual meadow of wildflowers in her face, and gasps aloud
to find a sheepish smile glowing at her from above it.
"Hi. I, uh..." Angel swallows hard, and Buffy watches his Adam's apple bob up and
down with dumbfounded fascination as he fumbles for words. "Look, I lied to you this
afternoon. I never got married -- I never even came close -- because... no one else
was ever you, and you were all I ever wanted, so it just seemed like a big waste of
everyone's time to try. I've almost called you a million times over the years, but I
was afraid you'd moved on like I asked you to, and you'd tell me you weren't
interested anymore... in a nicer way, of course, but... I didn't think I could
survive that. So I thought leaving well enough alone was the way to go. I had a life
to build, and you were fine, and... I figured that eventually, I'd forget. That's the
way it works, right? Time dulls the pain and fades the memories. But it never has,
Buffy. I still think of you every day, and dream about you every night. And when I
ran into you this afternoon, it was like... someone ripped the blinders I'd been
living behind away, and I was standing there, lying to you, while my heart was
screaming and my hands were itching to reach out and touch you. The truth is, I've
never stopped loving you. Not even for a second. Not even after all these years.
And... I want another chance. I want us to... try, at least. I want to be with
you -- that's all I've ever really wanted. And... that's what I really meant to say."
His babbling pounds and rips into her like sharp-edged rocks and waves of warm
comfort all at once, and to her great horror, something inside her snaps like a
rubberband, and she finds herself bursting into tears, leaping straight into his
arms, and smothering his < tear-stained -- oh, God, he's crying too... > beloved,
beautiful face with desperate kisses. The flowers are crushed between them, and the
air is infused with honeysuckle and earth and home and God, I missed you.
He carries her upstairs and makes love to her slowly, all the while whispering
promises of a finite human eternity by her side, because she's the only one he's ever
loved... ever *could* love, just like he always does in her dreams, and when they
finally slip into sleep, two melted puddles of blissful mush, wrapped tight in each
other's arms, she's soothed by the rhythm of his heartbeat against her back and his
warm breath puffing softly against her neck, and she thinks, 'Isn't it funny, how things always happen to me like this?'
***
"What I really meant to say
What I really mean to say
That's what I really meant to say."
Send feedback to Ducks Back to the Fanfiction
Archive
Is I'm dying here inside
And I miss you more each day
There's not a night I haven't cried.
Baby, here's the truth:
I'm still in love with you.
Is that I'm really not that strong
No matter how I try,
I'm still holding on.
And here's the honest truth:
I'm still in love with you.