AN: I’m not following any certain pattern with the shows; I haven‘t been interested with what’s going on in them for a while . -And- this is my second (?) Buffy fic...I’m more of a reader. You can tell...
Rating: PG
Summary: Buffy wants to call Angel....but will she? WILL SHE?!?! ohhh hhhhhhh yeeeeeaaaaaaah.
Pairing: B/A
Disclaimer: ...doesn’t matter...
Feedback to: LauraM322@aol.com

So many nights I just lay in bed wondering about him; too full of pride to pick up the phone and call L.A. I know he’d answer, and I can even imagine how the conversation would go. He’d ask how I was, and after the casualties he’d tell me it was late and he had to go. Oh, but he’d ‘talk to me later.’ I think hearing that lie would hurt me more than anything in the world.

I don’t know what I’m scared of, I’m already dying a little more each day he’s not around. I could just call him, tell him I’ve missed him and listen to the air that he doesn’t need escape out of his lungs in a long sigh. I could never tell if he was sighing because it was hard for him too, or he was just aggravated with me. I like to think it was just hard for him.

Maybe Cordelia would answer when I called the office; and it would be a little easier for me. I could get some of my nerves out with the sarcasm that will surely happen if we exchanged words. That possibility almost makes me pick up the phone, but what if he answers first? Would I say anything? He’d know it was me, of course; but would HE say anything?

The bile is contently sitting in my throat, just waiting for an opening to make an appearance into the world. The sweat at the back of my neck makes me want to crawl out of my skin. Hot August nights in southern California are not something to be desired. I go to open the window, but what good w ill that do? Certainly it won’t relieve the discomfort; it just makes me think of Angel, as so many things in my bereft life without him do. We would spend hours at this window. I’d be resting against his broad torso, lazily tracing circles on his pant leg, and he’d be stroking some bare skin, ever so gently. I might get a peck or two on the cheek, or on top of my head, and he’d be rewarded with a prize winning smile; reserved completely for him. Sometimes he’d stay there until it was almost sunrise, and still I’d beg him to stay. If I had the power I’d slay the sun. I wouldn’t care about all the rest of the world, just my angel. It’s a selfish thing, love is. He‘d do the same for me, I’m sure.

I know I still would for him, but would he for me? He told me he’d love me forever, always, and I wish I could believe him. I want to so badly, but I can’t begin to comprehend why he isn’t here with me if he loves me like he claims to. He told me why, but I won’t accept it. There’s more to it, there has to be. I could still call him...it’s 3:30 in the morning, but I know he’s up. If I just dialed...and listened to that sigh. All I need is a sigh.

The anxiety has already consumed me...and I pick up the phone. Suddenly the familiar buttons look foreign and new. It’s like a 23 year-old -blonde-Californian-girl looking at an ancient, forgotten text. But still I know what to press, know what to do to get to Angel. I hear the phone ring once, twice, ohmygod it’s rang four times...and then,

"Hello?"

"..."

"Hello?"

"A-aangel?"

"Buffy?"

"Hi." I say, almost cheerfully, almost familiar, like we do this every day at 3:30 in the morning. Then he asks the ‘how are you?’ that I already knew was coming.

"I’m okay." I lie, "I just wanted to call and see how you were, actually. I’ve...been wondering for a while. Dangerous jobs we have here. Make sure you’re okay, make sure you’re still breathing ." Ah... "metaphorically speaking, of course."

"Heh...well....you could say that. Still breathing, or just started to breathe again a couple months ago."

"Good." I smile, then realize he can’t see it, then realize what he just said. "What? Breathing..."

"Buffy." long-pause-that’s-preparing-me-for-what-comes-next. "Buffy, a couple of months ago I was rewarded my humanity. My Shanshu. I didn’t know how to tell you, but God I wanted to."

"....."

"Buffy?"

"Yes?"

"You okay?"

I shake my head...but still he can’t see me. "Uh huh."

"You sure?"

"Nope."

"I want to see you..."

"Thank you."

"Huh? Buffy?" He’s chuckling... "Can I come over?"

I know this isn’t real, this can’t possibly be happening. But it’s okay.

"Yes, Angel. You can come over....

Uh, now?"

"I’d like that." he says.

"Ooooooooooooooooooooookay. Well..."

"I’ll be there in 40 minutes." he tells me.

And then I’m on the floor laughing so hysterically, because what in the HELL is happening?

"Angel...." lots of laughing. "You’re *NOT* human!" more and more and *OHGODITHURTS* laughing.

"Buffy, I’ll be there in forty minutes."

And I feel his grin behind those words, and I stop laughing. I have to clean the house...I have to take a shower. I have to make the bed....because he knows, and now I know, that we NEED to be messing it up. Because God damn it; Angel is human.

"Sigh..."

Go to the sequel One More Time

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