This is another series, I've got three complete stories this time. This is what might have developed if Angel and Buffy had spoken to each other in that phone call from "The Freshman"/"City of"
DISCLAIMER: (n) a denial of legal responsibility; a written statement embodying this. I do not own these characters. The evil little acid-tripping troll – er, Joss Whedon – does.
SUMMARY: (n) a brief account of the main points of something. This is my (slight) rewrite of the infamous phone call in the episode "The Freshman/City Of." This is the first part of my "Phone Calls" series.
SPOILER(S): (n) a projecting structure on an aircraft wing that increases drag - what the...!? I'd better use `to spoil:' (v) to damage as to make useless, etc; to impair the enjoyment of. Or spoilsport: (n) a person who spoils the fun of others.
Various mentions of previous "Buffy" and "Angel" episodes.
RATING: (n) an assessment, an evaluation, an appraisal. Rated `PG: Parental Guidance suggested'.
FEEDBACK: (n) information about a product, service, etc returned to the supplier for purposes of evaluation. Send all flames, compliments, questions, etc to GAKDragon@msn.com. Be sure to put "Re: Hello or Phone Call" as your subject title or my dad will delete it (My dad's boss eats a whole can of turkey spam and a jar of yellow banana hot peppers for lunch. So if you send me spam, that's where it'll go).
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This marks the beginning of a series where Angel and Buffy phone each other on and off, trying to remain friends.

Angel picked up his phone and dialed a number. He'd memorized it in case something had ever happened to Buffy and he needed to call her mother. She picked up after the second ring, but it wasn't the Ms. Summers he was expecting.

"Hello?"

God, her voice. It was Buffy, his Buffy – no. He had no place in her life anymore, despite the act that had claimed her as his forever. Or maybe because of it. Because he had tasted her, and reawakened his bloodlust, he was unworthy of her perfect love.

"Hello?"

What should he do? If he said hello, she'd be angry. Or, she might always hope for his call, and then she'd never move on. Never attain that normal life he so desperately wanted her to have. He maintained his silence.

"Angel?"

He gasped involuntarily, confirming her guess. He heard her sniff, a precursor to holding back tears. "H-ho-how did you know it was me?"

"Mr. Cryptic Guy himself?" The humor in her voice relaxed him. If she was angry, she was hiding it well.

"I was trying to call – I mean, that is – I wanted to know you were okay."

"I have a demon for a roommate," she began. There. Small talk was safe. No divulging how many pieces her heart was broken into, no selfless groveling for him to return to her, no mention of how much just hearing his voice again ached and soothed at the same time.

"Me, too."

"Seriously?"

"Well, he's not my roommate. He's – I don't know what he is, except Irish, and half-human-half-demon, and psychic, and my-my Jmsh Crt," he mumbled off.

"What was that?"

Angel sighed. "He's my Jiminy Cricket."

"He's your conscience?"

"Sort of. He gets visions from the Powers That Be. Little things, that tell me where to go, who to save. That's if I don't fail from lack of people skills."

"Fail? How?"

"I got a young girl killed. She wanted to go home, and … I couldn't save her." His voice broke, as a tear slipped from behind closed eyes.

"I'm sorry, Angel."

"I did save Cordelia, though." She could hear the smiling pride in his voice.

"Cordy's there? You're in LA?"

"Yeah."

"How ironic. A real Angel in the City of."

"I'm no angel," he quickly corrected.

"Coulda fooled me."

"Buffy, I –"

"What's your demon's name?"

"Huh? Oh, Doyle."

"My roommate – Kathy's her name – likes Cher and Celine Dion."

Angel wasn't very pop-culture savvy, but he did remember Cher's music. "What *dimension* is she from?!"

Buffy laughed. "I guess she's human, unless she's hiding it."

"Oh, she's hiding it. I bet you a dollar."

"Give me your phone number, I'll take you up on that."

He chuckled, and rattled off the number for his apartment. She gave him her dorm number. "Just don't leave a message with her, I'll never get it."

"Maybe I'll get you a cell phone for Christmas."

"I liked your present last year better."

"What, the snow?"

"That, and my claddagh. You found it when we went back to the mansion."

"Are you still wearing it?" he whispered. He'd never take his off, of course, but hers was –

"On a chain around my neck. So I can keep it – and your heart – close to mine."

Tears spilled from his eyes freely. "God, I miss you."

"I miss you, too." She sniffled. "I wish you weren't so far away."

"I love you, Buffy. Forever."

"I love you."

Buffy wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Angel was silent, getting his emotions under control.

"How's Giles?"

"He wants me to learn to work on my own. Willow's super cool, Oz knows people from the band, this vamp named Sunday stole all my stuff, Mom's made my room into a storage area."

"I'm sorry. The mansion's still open, plus it's closer to the college. So, if you want to throw a big, freshman-acceptance party, or get in good with a sorority, you can use the space."

"Thanks." She smiled. "I guess I can have that drawer now, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

"Shh, don't. It's for the best. I love you, Angel."

"Do ghréas, Ionúin. I'll call you." He hung up the phone.

Buffy looked at the receiver in confusion. Do ghréas Ionúin? He'd never called her that before. She replaced the handset on the cradle. She smiled smugly. Now she had chosen her language elective: Gaelic.

Send feedback to MCP

Back to the Fanfiction Archive