SPOILER WARNING: Story intended to immediately follow 'What's My Line?'.
RATING: PG
CONTENT WARNING: Story deals with thoughts of suicide.
SUMMARY: An interlude. This is my first attempt at... (GASP!)... a
Buffy/Angel piece. ;) Those of you who are familiar with my work will
understand the humor intened here. Buffy is the most difficult
character (for me) to write so I hope this is meaningful.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy & Co. Joss Whedon and the WB do. No
copyright infringement intended.
Buffy wanted to fly...
The Sunnydale Tower was the highest building in Sunnydale. From her
perch atop its roof she could see all of the Hellmouth sprawling before
her in its suburban glory.
She crept closer to the edge. One small step and she’d be flying
forever.
This was it... one of those moments in between hunting and studying and
training when she had a free personal and utterly private moment to
wallow in herself. .
Buffy extended her arms gracefully above her head, the way one begins
a swan dive. She balanced on her toes, teetering on the edge of the
building, on the edge of her life.
Now more than ever, her life seemed empty and depressing. Before she’d
carried only the seeming hopelessness of her task, the unbearable weight
of her duty, and her totally non-happening love life.
“Hi.” The soft greeting behind her set her arms flailing. Buffy would
have plunged right off the edge if his hand hadn’t fastened securely on
her shoulder and pulled her back.
Buffy spun on Angel sputtering. “THAT IS SO NOT FUNNY!” She slapped
her hands down on his chest and shoved him back in order to make room
for herself on the now crowded ledge. “How many times have I told you
NOT to sneak up on me?!” she demanded.
“Sorry,” Angel grimaced, looking apologetic. “I thought that I made
plenty of noise this time.”
“What did you maybe make... ONE footfall?!” Buffy demanded
sarcastically, coming across as much more hostile and cutting than she
wanted to. She felt defensive about having been caught off-guard in
such a vulnerable position.
Angel gave her that vulnerable, scolded puppy-dog look that melted her
heart and made her feel like the biggest witch since the Wicked Westerly
One. He turned, starting to leave.
“Wait!” Buffy lunged after him, grabbing his arm. “I’m sorry. It’s
not you, it’s me. I’m feeling kinda... moody.”
His eyes fastened on her bandaged wrist. Her self-inflicted injury...
When he glanced up guilt and remorse clouded his eyes. They never
discussed this; one or the other always changed the subject first.
“You’ve been moody a lot lately,” Angel observed, putting physical and
emotional distance between them. Buffy ground her teeth together in
annoyance at his retreat.
“Look, Angel, you need to stop feeling bad about what happened.” Buffy
laid a hand on his shoulder, managing to overcome some of her own angst
in order to offer him compassion. “It was my decision,” she added with
finality.
Angel kept staring down. However, his shoulder relaxed slightly under
her hand. “It’s a long way down isn’t it?” he asked. Buffy’s throat
tightened.
She nodded, afraid to speak. Angel glanced back at her. “I thought
about it a lot. At first,” he added.
“What stopped you?” Buffy asked, despite herself.
“Don’t know,” he flashed her his cryptic man smile. The one she loved
to hate. “Too stubborn, I guess.”
“I can see that,” Buffy teased, considering him thoughtfully.
“So, are you going?” he asked softly. His expression was complex and
indecipherable. Buffy stared at him, wondering how such a obscure
question could be so pointed.
“Will you follow?” she demanded, in an attempt to throw him. She
didn’t really expect an answer.
“I’d follow you into sunlight,” he stated clearly, meeting her gaze
levelly. Buffy felt her heart skip a beat. “If you asked.” She stared
at him in disbelief.
Suddenly, she smiled. Her moments in between didn’t seen so lonely
anymore.
Buffy extended her hand. “Walk me home?” She pleaded with an ingenue’s
pout.
He smiled and took her hand, saying nothing in reply.
The End