DISCLAIMER: none of these characters belong to me
SPOILERS: S2 of Ats and S5 of BTVS
SUMMARY: takes place when Angel is in his darla obssession and is cleaning all those boxes and he finds the sketches he did of darla
RATING: PG.....bittersweet
FEEDBACK: yes please! spockdragon88@yahoo.com
A/N1: wow it really has been a looong time since ive posted anything, RL has been busy busy.....but i found this while looking through some old files and thought i'd share...short fic, i was mad that angel didn't really think of buffy during this darla phase, had to fix it ;-)
A/N2: thanks to all the people who sent me feedback on my last fic!!!!

The rage and the obsession were a poison. A gaping black hole that Angel was already helplessly trapped inside. Such darkness. Such pain. Darla…Darla…Darla. The fire slowly consumed her charcoal images. The paper burned black and crumbled within themselves. He watched as her face disappeared into ash. Shutting the furnace door with an angry crash, he continued to move cardboard boxes. He stretched to pile on another and then it slipped from his grasp. Cursing, Angel snatched the books and began haphazardly throwing them back into the box. The picture lay on the floor. Charred around the edges from when his office had exploded but still beautiful. Tentatively, Angel reached for it. “Buffy,” he murmured quietly, “ what happened to me?” His fingertips traced her eyes, her hair, her soft smile. She looked so pure, untouched by the evil she fought night after endless night. A sudden rush of almost forgotten love swelled past his dark and cold shield. He clutched the photograph in his hand and the bitter resolve returned. There was another blonde he needed to take care of. ~

Angel sat on his bed. Shock couldn’t even begin to describe his emotional state. How could he have been so stupid? To go so far with Darla and risk everything that mattered? To feel. The answer was clear, so simple. To feel anything. What a fool. Angel could feel his precious Shanshu slipping through his fingers. “But I knew,” Angel whispered to himself. He knew that perfect happiness could never have happened. Only one could bring about such utter contentment and soul soaring joy. But she was gone. Destiny was an ugly thing. Angel laughed without any trace of humor. What a hero, such a champion. Angel was lost and in desperate need of guidance. Caritas was the logical destination but first…he had something to take care of. He reached for the phone and carefully pressed the number branded into his mind.

“Hello?” Angel almost groaned in the complete comfort that her voice gave him. “Hello?” Silence. “Angel…I know it’s you. Is something wrong? ” Still silence. A heavy sigh could be heard through the phone. “Fine don’t talk. I’m gonna-“

“Don’t go. I-” Angel pulled the cord nervously between his hands, “wanted to hear your voice.” He finished lamely.

“Oh.” Angel wondered if she was mad. It wouldn’t surprise him very much if she simply slammed the phone down and cursed him for opening the forbidden chapter that was Buffy and Angel. Instead, she laughed. Angel relaxed. “What,” Her voice was warm, “would you like me to say?”

“Anything.” And so Buffy talked about Dawn, her mother, Giles, the Scooby Gang, herself, and Monday nights at the Bronze. Pieces of the pre-Darla Angel were delicately reappearing and sewing themselves back together again. After awhile she trailed off and there was quiet. Nice quiet. Quiet where Angel was screaming through their link how much he still loved her.

“Buffy, I…” He had wanted to say that he needed her, desperately. But the words remained firmly lodged in his throat.

“I know Angel. Me too.” And then with a soft click, the dial tone began to whine in Angel’s ear.

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