“Awhile?” She doesn’t know why that feels like a kick to the gut, but it does. Angel hasn’t existed in her world for sometime now so why does Buffy feel like a rerun of Miss insecure ex is about to air?
“How long is awhile?” The pause that comes after is even longer, uncomfortable. Her body language mimics that while her voice so desperately tries for casual. “Did you know I was here?”
Angel knows the question is coming, he does. He knew that once Buffy caught wind of him, he’d be saddled with that low, deep guilt he so often finds himself wallowing in. He’s got guilt enough for decades – guilt from now until eternity, plus some to share. This sort, though, the kind he deserves is so often rooted up by random encounters with people he’s hurt that it never sits long enough for the paint to dry, the wound to heal.
Emotions not giving him a choice, he averts his eyes, gaze hitting the damp concrete rather than look in her eyes right now. She’s got a way about her that guts you. When she was good, she was very, very good. But when she was bad… it’s not something Angel likes to think about.
He almost speaks up, chokes her name out of his lungs but all he can manage to get out is something that resembles, “I…” and that’s when he finally looks up at her. She hasn’t changed, much. Not on the outside, anyway, but she’s bruised and torn just beneath her skin. He has to find his voice, force it out, “Few weeks.” drowned into a long pause and then his eyes flick up, catching and holding her gaze, “Not at first but then… I thought it would be better if I just. You have enough on your plate.”
There’s flashbacks every time she says his name like that. Some good, others painful. But his return? Although inevitable by nature, it still managed to surprise her all the same. New big bad promising impending doom and neither of them were one to sit by the sidelines. “When did you get into town?”
“Buffy…” there’s a little twitch in Angel’s muscles, a little extra bite to the night when Buffy’s around. Maybe it’s her perfume, cutting the air with that special sort of green, happy citrus he so associates with seventeen, orange bubble gum and strawberry lip gloss. The damp and cold of Restfield Cemetery, long since gone. Maybe he’s got some kind of weird vampire spidey senses, who knows? Still, he’s always surprised to find himself in her company. Especially on nights like this.
He’s been in town for weeks, circling someone special – a blue-eyed werewolf, the only white one Angel’s ever come across, who doesn’t have the common sense to not cause a ruckus in the Slayer’s backyard. Not just one Slayer, either. He’s heard rumblings that Faith’s in town, too, with her over-grown hunter but he’d bet his life that Buffy’s the one to be worried about.
There’s no telling her, though, he knows that and so he goes for vague and cryptic. Something he used to be good at, “Awhile. It’s good to see you.”
RP Blog 