White Noise
The Angel Chronicles #4
more fic from the BuffyOtaku
Disclaimer: The characters abused herein are the property of Joss Whedon, the WB, the actors, and assorted others who are NOT ME. Don’t sue.
Rating: PG-13
It seems to me that the character into whom I most easily slip is Angel. If anyone has the number of a good psychoanalyst, I’d be deeply grateful...
I see her almost every day when I sleep. She haunts me; the shadow of a slip of a girl, a tough, smart, vulnerable person who managed to play a large part in the life of the woman I love -- in all our lives.
The first time I saw her, it was only a flash, in passing, of bright sunlight on her face, smiling, saying my name. I blinked once, and she winked at me. I blinked again and she was blowing a kiss. The third time, she just disappeared. I sat up in bed, wide awake and shaking.
I was shocked that she’d appeared to me; I hadn’t really known her well, and she never expressed an interest in getting to know me. To her, I was just her counterpart’s freaky boyfriend, another freaky part of an otherwise equally freaky world. And I was content with the level of distance she kept. I didn’t want to get too close anyhow. She scared me, reminding me too much of myself as a demon.
The second time I saw her, she was floating upright on a field of stars, naked, cradling a cat in her arms and smiling. She said my name and smiled at me, then floated away. I called after her, but she didn’t come back, and then my dream took a turn toward the nightmarish and I forgot her until I woke up.
The flashes of Faith continued for several weeks until, during one dream, she said, “What are you thinking of, Angel?”
“Wondering why I keep seeing you, mostly.” I replied.
Faith adjusted the bodice of her black 19th century dress. It was exactly like one Drusilla owned, and my heart leapt into my throat as her face seemed to melt, becoming Dru’s face. The vampiress’ face morphed back again into Faith’s and she asked, “You don’t want to see me?”
“It’s not that. I just don’t understand why you want to see me.”
“Well,” she said wryly, “Now you have something to think about.”
She smiled and snapped her fingers, and then I woke up. Cordelia, my roommate, was puttering around the apartment dusting when I came out. “It’s about time, sleepyhead. We were supposed to meet Doyle an hour ago.”
I hurried about my night, forgetting again my strange encounter with the comatose Vampire Slayer.
That was yesterday. I’m in bed now shaking off the freshly repainted image of Faith turning into Drusilla, not wanting to face another night of the same old thing -- wandering the bars of Los Angeles looking for vampires on the prowl, stopping them if they try to eat anyone, busting heads if I have to, then going home to brood and put off another day of nightmares. Huh. Day of nightmares.
Cordelia enters my bedroom and holds a cup of coffee out for me. “Angel. How are you?”
“Great,” I grimace, sitting up to take it from her.
“You don’t sound great.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“We’re late again.” She sighs, heading back out the door. “I’m gonna get you an alarm clock, as if it’ll do any good. You sleep like the dead.”
“Cordelia,” I say, “I am dead.”
“Oh,” she frowns, “right.”
Doyle is sitting at the usual table at Moxie’s, our standard meeting place. Like I said, same old thing. He stands up when we enter, holding out a chair for Cordelia. She sits, smiles at him, and says thank you.
I sit next to them, and the waitress brings over drinks for us. I’m still not sure why or how Doyle gets Cordie in here; we’re in a bar, and she’s only 18. She drinks like a fish, too. That’s beside the point, I suppose, seeing as I’ve killed enough people to fill a fleet of school buses. Last time I checked, murder is still illegal.
I’m trying to make up for that now by doing this saving-lost-souls gig, and beacuse of that I’m beginning to feel like Batman, you know, brooding over the world’s evils and combing the night and the city trying to fight them.
So Cordelia sips her Heineken and I taste my martini (a guilty pleasure of mine) as Doyle outlines our latest case in hushed tones. I sigh, bored, and let my mind wander.
Doyle notices. “Something on your mind?”
“Nothing I’d care to discuss, thank you.” I reply.
“Whatever,” Doyle says, taking Cordie’s arm and leading her away. “We don’t really need you for this one. Why don’t you go home and relax?”
“And do what?” I ask. Really, what would I do? Worry about how Buffy is? Wonder why I’m being haunted by Faith?
“Brood.” Cordelia says. “You’re so good at it. Why fight it?”
“Everybody’s got to be good at something.” I say, standing up. “Bye.”
Cordelia and Doyle look at each other, and I take the moment to do my patented disappearing act.
I smile as I hear her whine, “I hate when he does that.”
I go home and turn on the TV. A rerun of the Tonight show is on, and the flickering lights and pretty colors soon lull me into a deep sleep.
The next thing I know, I’m outside the Sunnydale Cinema. It’s night time, the street is deserted and all the lights in the stores are out except for the marquee, which reads GHOST IN THE SHELL.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Faith says from behind me.
I whirl around, surprised. “You again?”
“Me again.”
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I’m here to help you.” She extends her hand, and a breeze flutters the collar of her leather trechcoat, pulling it aside to reveal a bloody hunting knife sheathed on her hip. Her eyes follow my gaze to it. “This is it, you know. The one Bee killed me with.”
“She didn’t kill you.”
“Might as well have, don’t you think?”
I nod.
“My hand. Take it.”
I take her hand and she leads me along the route we walked the night Buffy and I “played” her. “Why are you here?” I ask.
“I want to show you something.”
Xander walks by, and my fist seems to swing itself into his jaw. “That guy just bugs me.” I say as he slumps to the ground.
“Why did you do that?” Faith asks.
“Couldn’t resist. He just bugs me.”
“No, I mean really. Why did you hit him that night?”
“It seemed to be in character.” I shake the pain of impact out of my fist. Kid had a hard head.
“Besides that.” Faith says. “You hit him for another reason, didn’t you?”
“Buffy.”
“Yes.” Faith sighs. “He’s in love with her.”
“I assumed he was in love with Willow.” My voice takes on an edge that I only notice after I’m done speaking. I take a deep, unneccesary breath and continue. “Isn’t he in love with her?”
“No. Xander is most definitely not in love with Willow.”
“And Cordelia?” I ask.
“Xander loves her. He’s not in love with her.” She pauses and looks around. We’re outside the Bronze now, and Faith leads me inside.
The Bronze is hopping, and I can see teenagers milling around the stage. Oz’s band is playing, and Buffy and Willow are sitting at a table off to the side. Faith speaks again. “If Xander loved Willow, he would be here with her.”
“But you said he was in love with Buffy. He would be here for her, don’t you think?” I’m starting to get cranky with the girl, and I’m sure it shows when I say, “Make your point, Faith.”
“Don’t you think it’s time you let go?” The Slayer by my side says quietly. “Don’t you think it’s time to let someone love her who can give her the world? He would give it to her, if he could. If she lets him.”
“Would she?” I ask, not wanting to hear the answer.
“She would. If he were willing to try, then to make it work, and to love her unconditionally.” Faith pauses. “To love her more than you can.”
“Let’s get out of here.” I say. “I don’t want to hear this.”
Faith grabs my arm and pulls me closer to her. “Do you want her to be happy?”
My eyes shoot open; Cordelia is unlocking the apartment. It’s 3:30 AM, and I’ve been asleep half the night. She waves, says hello, and heads to her room. It’s nice to have the motion and white noise of another body roaming about the house; in my 100-plus years of solitude, I’d forgotten the comforting feeling of sharing a home.
Faith’s words echo in my mind: “Do you want her to be happy?”
Of course I do. I just wish it could be with someone other than Xander.
Like I said, he just bugs me.
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