Baked: Baked
by inlovewithangel
She stares out the window, pushing her food back and forth with her fork. She sighs. Twenty eight years old, a husband, a good set of friends, a nice, respectable life. But she isn’t happy. And so, time passes and every day she sits across from her husband and searches the night, thinking about the days when the other one used to emerge from the darkness, that somber look on his face cracking, breaking into a slight half smile at the sight of her.
********************************************************
He reads the poems aloud to her, looking up and seeing her dark hair, and big, brown eyes, and cannot help but feel that the words written by Wordsworth and Frost and all others would be better suited for golden, burnt honey hair, and moss green eyes.
**********************************************************
He sets down his fork. “It’s tiring, pet,” he says softly, and she tears her eyes away from the window.

“What is, love?” she asks, but the heavy dread in the pit of her stomach knows what he’s talking about.

He sighs, and shuts his eyes for a moment before opening them. He stares at her through icy blue orbs. “Do you want him?”

She frowns, cocks her head to the side. “Who?”

He looks her up and down disgustedly before getting up from his seat and walking out, without another word.

She jumps when she hears the bedroom door slam shut.
********************************************************
“You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?”

He turns away from the window and looks at this woman. This woman that he loves. More than life itself. More than her? His brain asks, but he quickly shakes that thought away. He raises himself from the chair and goes to her. Her arms are crossed protectively in front of her chest, and he puts his hand on her shoulders. “No,” he tells her. “No.” He leans down and kisses her gently.

She gives in at first, but then pushes away. “Liar.” It is a whisper, but filled with unimaginable amounts of pain and anger. She looks at him once, and then leaves, turning her back, just as he does so unconsciously to her.

He jumps when he hears the bedroom door slam shut.
******************************************************
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you, pet?” His cool voice pulls her out of her daydream.

“Who?” she asks, but wearily, as if she knows her charade hasn’t been believed for a long time now.

He comes around and stands behind her chair, raking his fingers through her sunny locks. He says nothing: there is nothing more to say. What can you do when the woman you love is in love with another man but refuses to admit it to anyone, including herself?

She turns around in her seat and smiles up at him. “Wanna go see a movie tonight?” she asks.

He shivers. The words sound false, as if she is inviting him to a movie because she feels it is what she’s supposed to do. “No,” he answers.

Her smile fades and she nods, turning around in her seat. “Okay,” she murmurs. “Okay. I understand.” She picks up the fashion magazine by her chair and flips through it, her fingers shaking as they move over the glossy pages.

He sighs and moves away.
*********************************************************
He stands in the doorway, looking up at the stairs, wondering if on her side of the world, she does the same thing.

“You look like you’re waiting for something,” the raven haired beauty murmurs from behind, slipping her lithe arms around his waist.

Waiting, he thinks. Yes, I am. I’ve been waiting for five years now, and I will continue waiting. Just like I promised I would. He turns in her embrace and kisses her lightly. I love her, he thinks to himself. But only while I’m waiting.
*******************************************************
“What?” she cries, staring at her husband. “Why are you leaving me?!”

He smiles down at her, tears shining in his eyes. “Don’t pretend, pet.” He leans down and kisses her tears. “I understand.”

She reaches down into herself and finds the last part of herself that still feels that burning, passionate love for the man who stands before her, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. She uses that last love to say two mournful words: “Don’t go.”

A tear falls from his eyes, which have now turned to a stormy gray, and he lays an awkward hand on her shoulder. “I’m leaving you so you can find happiness,” he tells her.

She would have smiled a bitter, ironic smile that almost those exact words were pronounced to her ten years before, by such a different person. In such a different situation. The opposite, in fact. “I do love you,” she says.

He removes his hand from her shoulder. “Once upon a time,” he murmurs. “But you’ve been in love with him forever,” he adds, as if reminding her.

He leaves, and she stares around her house that never really struck her as home. She sighs, it was sad, when he walked away, like so many before him, but expected. She knew it was coming, and prepared. That’s why she sinks down onto the couch, reaching for the cordless phone that rests on the coffee table. She dials the number, which she memorized years ago, though this is the first time she’s used it.

“Hello?” His voice, soft and deep, like molasses and velvet, sounds over the airwaves, and lights her on a fire that she hasn’t felt for years.

“Angel,” she purrs.

“Buffy.” He knew she was going to call. He felt it.

“I’m baked,” she says. “That’s it. I’m done.”

Angel sighed, relieved. “I’ll be there tomorrow,” he tells her. “My love,” he adds.
**********************************************************
Angel feels slightly guilty as he scribbles those five world-ending words on the notepad. He searches in his closet for the coat that he hasn’t worn since last time he saw her, and slips it over his shoulders.

His hand on the doorknob, he pauses to look at the house they had spent so much time and money building. Their life together was like that house. Built with time, and friendship: solid, sturdy things for a foundation, but not real love. It was so unfair of him, to build that with her, while, really, he was just biding time. He knows he should feel worse for his actions, but finds himself unable to muster any unhappiness.

Because She’s ready.
*********************************************************
She twists the doorknob, and calls: “I’m home!” When there is no answer, she frowns. “Angel?” She goes from room to room, panicking when she finds him nowhere. She stands in the middle of the living room, raking her hands through her dark tresses with worry. Her eyes catch on the message pad. She almost fears what they have to say. She tentatively reaches down and picks it up, seeing his round, cursive hand writing before the impact of the actual words hit her.

She clutches the note to her chest, tears gathering in her eyes rapidly, and falling just as quickly. The note echoes in her mind.

“She’s baked, Cordy. I’m sorry…”


This story archived at: The Slayer\'s Fanfic Archive
The Slayer\\\\\\\\'s FanFic Archive - http://www.slayerfanfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=6134