Summary: Angel's pov a few months after his move to LA.
Spoilers: Nothing big, some mild rumors for season 4.
Disclaimer: I want them, but alas, they are not mine.
Rating: PG
Feedback: Oh, Amy loves it! Will you give it to Amy? Amy wonders why she
is speaking in the third person.
by: Amy
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Her stationary smells like flowers. Silver roses. She has written me almost every day, and though I love her all the more for it, I wonder how she fits me in. Why she takes the time.
I answer her letters with the same words she sends to me. I love you, I miss you. Words that shouldn't be spoken are easily recorded down on paper. Words that have kept me alive and killed me at the same time become part of my daily routine. Words that I wished for, needed, ached when I couldn't hear them are now in front of me every day before I sleep.
I save them for that time just before dawn, when I rest in my bed and the quietness is so consuming that I can hear it. I slip into the sheets and see Buffy's careless, careful scrawl and it warms my heart, how much thought she puts into telling me that she loves me. I shouldn't allow myself even this long-distance indulgence, but I do.
What could I claim as mine, otherwise?
Her letter tonight was simple, brief. "Angel, My days are getting shorter and the nights stretch on forever without you here. I hope you know what I mean. I wish neither of us had to know what this felt like. Are wishes still okay to make? If so, I wish that you could feel my love from the miles that separate us. Love, Buffy."
Words that would have been saccharine and syrupy from some other ring lovely and sweet in my head. I imagine her voice, talking to me, comforting me. I imagine her hands, touching face, warming my skin with a loving caress. Her fingers pawing at my hair, stroking it softly. Such glorious feelings shouldn't be remembered by me.
I wonder what she'll write tomorrow.
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No letters came for three days. It made me anxious, and I finally gave into the temptation to call over there. Giles answered the phone, as half of me hoped he would.
"Hello, Library."
"Hi, Giles."
"Angel!" The word came out as an explosion of surprise, and I smiled to myself at the familiarity of it.
"Is everything okay there, Giles?"
He seemed to pause and I was overcome with worry. Finally, "Yes. Why?"
It was my turn to hesitate. "Well, Buffy and I have been... corresponding and I haven't heard from her. She just kind of disappeared. Is everything all right with her?"
Disapproval colored his voice. "Yes, she's fine. A friend of her mother's came into town with her family. They are staying at Buffy's house. One of Buffy's old friends is with them."
Relief engulfed me. "Oh. That's good to know. Well, I'm sorry for having bothered you, Gil..." Something clicked, some half-remembered tone in my mind. "Old friend?"
"Mmm. A boy. Quite nice. Quite..." He trailed off, drew in a breath. "Human."
That stung. But what was I to do? He was right. I had been wrong. The whole reason I left Sunnydale in the first place was basically to help Buffy get over me. Her mother was no doubt pushing this along, I thought bitterly before I could catch myself.
"Well, tell her... I don't know. Don't tell her anything, I guess."
"You can be sure I won't," he supplied helpfully. A beat of time passed and he spoke again, compassion overtaking his heart for a moment. "It is best this way, Angel. For both of you. For the world."
I nodded though he couldn't see me. "Thank you, Giles. Please call if you need anything. Cordelia says hello."
His voice warmed, "Tell her, ah, hello back. She is talking to Xander, yes?"
I made a sound of affirmation.
"Good. Then I needn't relay messages of Xander's undying love," he told me dryly and I laughed.
One of my first laughs since I got to LA.
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Another letter. I told myself that it was nothing, that I deserved nothing, that Buffy didn't deserve the kind of love I could give her, that she deserved so much more. I told myself this while holding the envelope with shaking fingers, told myself it didn't matter what was inside.
And then I tore it open anyway. The paper cut my finger and I pulled it back as it stung, absently sucking on the blood even as it healed. Her letter, again, was short.
"Angel, I'm sorry I haven't written. I'm working towards something. If all else fails, I'll write to tell you about it. Love, Buffy."
My eyebrows drew themselves together as I contemplated what that meant. Was she falling in love? If so, what would I say, how would I feel? Surely I couldn't begrudge her that; that knowing she could be with someone, that feel of arms around her shoulders and having no aching heart accompany them. My mind screamed out against that betrayal of our feelings, telling me No! no she wouldn't fall in love again. Not so soon, not ever. She was mine, claimed, blooded and confessed. I squelched the thought immediately. She wasn't mine. She was hers. I had no claim.
I just hated the changes; everything so fast and unsure.
At least her stationary smelled the same.
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No more letters came for weeks. I would feel nervous everytime I opened the mail box, eager to see something in her handwriting, and so disappointed when I didn't. I didn't let myself call again. I knew Giles would call me if something had gone wrong, if she was hurt or he was worried.
I didn't let myself think that he wouldn't.
And in her old letters, the paper became softer from me opening them so often. The words became blurred and memorized quickly. The smell faded, and I would still hold it to my nose and inhale, in a remembered excitement and tenderness. I don't actually have the scent, but the memory comforts me, warms me.
And I know I need to let go.
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I woke up, startled, at the whisper of air against my skin. My internal clock told me that it was around noon. I started out of bed cautiously, only to have my hands meet with paper. I looked down.
Dozens of sheets of almond colored paper covered my pillows. I picked one up at random, looking at it for a full minute before my mind processed the information. Her handwriting. Her beautiful writing. I lifted it to my nostrils, inhaling deeply. My heart exploded with joy as the smell, vanilla and those lovely silver roses, filled my head. Dizzy, I stumbled out of bed, looking around, holding the letters close to my chest.
And then, there she was.
She had familiarized herself with my new apartment in the way that only lovers can. She looked at home, standing in my hallway, holding yet moreletters, dropping them in random places over the rooms. I smiled and cleared my throat.
Our eyes met. One moment, she was hundreds of miles way. The next, she was standing in my hallway. Then, not even air separated us. She threw herself into my arms with an energy that made me stagger back toward the bed. We fell on it, all love and kisses and hurried, mumbled words. I felt a flash of recollection and smiled. We were acting like we had before we had found out about the full extent of the curse.
The thought made my hands still on her back, made me stop returning her kisses. She faltered and then rolled off of me, looking at me with bright eyes. She sighed.
"I know, Angel."
A smile lifted her features and I found myself reaching out, touching, tracing that smile with the tips of my fingers. Her little, hot tongue snaked out and licked me and I drew back, laughing.
"How did you..."
She cut me off. "I've been planning this for months. My mother found my letters and, lets say, *discouraged* me from writing them. But I didn't. I just stopped sending them. And I stored away my money and waited and waited until it hurt to wait, and I came here." She stopped, breathing heavily, as though those words had been pent up for quite a while.
I looked at her. "You know that this can't happen."
Her smile left and she looked at me pleadingly. "I know, Angel. I just... I needed to see you. I felt like I was half alive the whole time you were gone. And I knew that I wouldn't ever feel like I was whole unless I saw you again."
She ground away tears from her eyes with little fists. "And they can't take away how I feel about you, Angel!" she told me fiercely. "Not even you can. Not by leaving, not by staying away..."
I helped her wipe away her tears, my palms fondling her face. "I know, Buffy. I feel.. the same." I stopped, grinned slightly. "For a while there, I thought your old friend might have taken your heart."
She laughed. "And were you jealous?"
"Insanely," I confessed.
Buffy settled in my arms, comfortable, fitting. We laid in silence for a few minutes. She looked up into my eyes, searching, probing, pulling information out when I hadn't spoken. I felt thoroughly vulnerable underneath her gaze.
Finally that soft, lilting smile lifted her face again. "You were," she confirmed. "It drove you nuts, thinking I was with someone else." Such satisfaction in her voice made me chuckle.
Again we were quiet for a little while. And then, again, she looked up at me.
"I'm leaving tonight. Giles and my mom think I'm out with Willow today. They don't know that I'm here. But I thought..." Doubt filled her tone.
"No, don't tell them." I murmured into her hair.
"Why?"
"Just because." I shifted, holding her closer. "Just because."
I couldn't tell her that I loved her. The words that I had written over and over in the past months stuck on my tongue and froze there, the foolhardiness of saying them flashing over and over in my mind.
And then she rescued me, like she had so many times in the past.
"I know."
She kissed me lightly and fell into my arms again, tiredly, closing her eyes in the heat of the day, the dark of my room. I shoved my thoughts into the place where they could be examined later, but really never would. Everything that we knew about each other rested around us. The secrets that we kept stayed unspoken.
But we each knew what they were.
The End