Take Me To The Ice-Show
I started this fic ages ago, and never finished it. But now I did. It’s still pretty crappy, I’m afraid, but now that it’s written, I thought, what the heck, out with it. So here it is. It’s not serious, and it’s set in season 3 BtVS, so waaaaay back. Maybe some of you still enjoy!
Disclaimer: hysterical laughter – not even in my dreams I would want them – oh wait, should I say nightmares?
Distribution: my site ffnet, several lists including BA_Fluff, if you have any of my stuff, just take it, anybody else please tell me where it goes
Spoilers: the whole Buffy and Angel canon up to the end the season 3 episode “Helpless”
Summary: What if Buffy hadn’t thrown those tickets her father sent her into the trash, and put them to good use instead?
Feedback: oh yes, please!!! send it to email@example.com or to Connemara.Scarlets@t-online.de
Dedication: For my friend Ines, whose birthday I forgot I while ago. Sorry, sweetie.
“Here, here,” Buffy cries excitedly, tugging at my arm. “That’s our row, and there are our seats, eleven and twelve.” Her face is practically glowing with excitement, and I can’t take my eyes off her. I’m just getting a glimpse of the normal girl she always wanted to be, and it’s breathtaking. Which doesn’t mean I’m completely enjoying being here.
“Buffy-,” I try to protest but that simply makes her pull harder.
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Angel,” she says without looking at me. She’s far too busy stepping over legs of people who have been here before us, didn’t have to dust four vamps on their way over. On the plus side, those four won’t hurt humans again, so there’s actually a reason to feel good about it. At least if I can look over the rectangular tear in my favourite pants and the grass stain on Buffy’s red dress.
I have to swallow looking at her in the little red nothing she wears. I’m not sure if the name “dress” really fits. I’m not even sure if you can call it clothing at all. It’s tight and red and … I groan inwardly, trying to get my mind to other things than Buffy’s beautiful backside wiggling right before me, then glare at the guy staring at her.
“Hey, be careful.”
Buffy stops for a moment, then gives the woman who has complained a dazzling smile, “Sorry,” she apologizes, at the same moment tugging my arm again. The woman glares at her, her dyed red hair in stark contrast to her overdone makeup, and the wrinkles she tried to cover with it.
Buffy grins at her again, tugging at my arm for a third time. I follow her with a sigh, and pray that this soon will be over, than we can go back to the mansion and to a lot less scary things, like vampires … or demons.
“I don’t know, Buffy-“
“Here we are,” she announces the same moment, pushing me into a seat, that seems too small for me, there’s not enough space for my legs, and generally I’m feeling uncomfortable amongst all the people around us. The woman beside me is in her sixties, and she’s happily munching a bag of nachos, something that’s instantly reminding me of Xander.
God, what did I ever do to deserve this?
“Isn’t it great?” Buffy beams beside me, sighing happily as she looks out to the ice. “My dad took me here every year since I was six. I loved it. It’s like being someone completely different for one night.”
Another life, huh? It’s not as if my life has been free of such pleasures. I used to go to the opera – quite often actually. I even knew some of the singers, one or two I ate … which … thinking about it, doesn’t sound too bad right now, when I try to block out the munching noises beside me.
Anyways. I used to be an outgoing person actually. I know, it’s hard to believe these days, but hey … people change. Or rather souls change people … or … non-people. And I’m used to a lot of things. There isn’t a lot I haven’t seen.
But an Ice-show?
“You liked watching me ice-skating, remember.” Once again my red-dressed companion beams up at me, her eyes sparkling with life and happiness.
I went there to see you, I want to tell her, I wanted to be with you, but can’t in the face of her relaxed happiness. Whatever she would’ve chosen for tonight, I’d have been happy with it. “Yeah,” I agree weakly, trying to squeeze my large frame between Buffy and the fat woman beside us. On the plus side it means I can sit so close to Buffy as if I’m permanently attached to her. On the negative I am reminded that being close to her like this isn’t actually allowed.
And once again my mind wanders to her tight red nothing and how her backside …
“Lighten up, Angel,” she grins at me. “Fun will be good for you. You’re far too serious anyway.”
What I good idea I chose the wide pants – and decided to keep the duster on for the night.
“Something I can’t say for you,” I grumble, shrugging deeper into my coat. God, I wish I could just disappear. She gives me a look before she reaches for the popcorn I bought her. The lights go down and music starts and to my surprise it’s classic music. Carmen.
Buffy goes to something to listen to classic music?
Frowning slightly I keep my eyes on the ice where a spotlight announces the arrival of a skater. It’s a man, dressed like a torero, which is a little bit ridiculous given the fact that the bull is missing, but the music is still good, and so I think I can live through it.
Glancing at Buffy I see her eyes glued on the ice, following each step, each jump of the artist. For a moment I feel jealous then instantly dismiss the thought. But I have to admit he looks kind of hot in that dress. Unfortunately Buffy seems to think the same. Her eyes are glued to him. They said his name was Brian Boytano.
What kind of stupid name is that, anyway?
“Isn’t he simply perfect?” Her question is merely rhetorical, but I decide to answer it nevertheless.
“He certainly looks well trained,” I whisper, leaning over to her. “Still, I wonder how he’d look in a fight with a vampire.”
She gives me the evil eye before she turns her gaze back to the guy in the skin tight dress, and I start wondering about the real reason she came. Maybe it has nothing to do with the actual ice-show and everything with men in dresses that hide close to nothing.
“He’s an artist,” she says without looking at me.
“He’s not an artist,” I argue. “He’s a sportsman. Believe me, I know all about artists.”
“I suppose you do,” she mutters. “Probably ate one or two as well.”
Oh, thanks so very much. The problem is, she’s not wrong. I did eat some of them. One of two of them were even famous. Jealousy still getting the better of me, I bite out, “Unfortunately I missed sportsmen completely.”
She narrows her eyes, but doesn’t look. “Maybe I should’ve invited Xander. He would at least appreciate going out with me.”
And the mere thought of Xander seeing her in that little red nothing she wears… “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”
She actually giggles at that, then takes a deep breath, and looks at me. “No. I’m sorry, Angel. I don’t want to get you worked up. It’s just that I’m enjoying this ice-show and I kind of hoped you would, too. You never go out, so … so … I thought-“
She gives a little, helpless shrug, and her expression is so disappointed, I melt right at her feet. I don’t want her to be disappointed. I want her to be happy and glowing, and enjoying her evening. It’s her birthday after all. “*I’m* sorry. This is your birthday. And you’re supposed to have fun.”
“I am having fun,” she insists, but she doesn’t look like it, and I feel like the worst heel.
We laugh at each other, both having spoken at that same time.
“You first,” I tell her.
Her nose scrunches in that adorable way it always does, “To tell you the truth. It’s kind of dumb anyway. I’ve seen the same thing at least twice.”
“You mean it?” I try not to let too much hope infuse my voice.
“I do.” She leans over and pecks my cheek. It’s just a little touch of her lips to my skin and it makes me shiver. Suddenly her eyes twinkle, “It’s Tuesday, isn’t it?”
After a second I feel a grin spread over my features. “Yeah.”
She grins right back. “Then lets go.”
And so, not half an hour later, we find ourselves at the ice-rink where our last date was so rudely interrupted by the Order of Taraka. We made a stop at her house on our way to pick up her skates and now she’s gliding over the surface, looking so beautiful, I wish I had the right to show her how special she really is. But unfortunately a curse and …
… or maybe there is a way … maybe a little painful, but at least it’s not going to endanger my soul.
So only a few moments later I set my feet on the slippery surface, too, feeling like my legs have turned into a pair of spaghetti. I’ve never been on skates before, and the ones I found in the corner aren’t exactly my size either. But the look on her face, the huge grin I see lighting up her eyes is worth it.
“Angel,” she laughs, gliding over to me. “Do you even know how to do this?”
“No,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean I can try.”
She laughs again. “You have to be the only vampire on skates.”
“Probably for good reason,” I mutter, feeling my feet slip from underneath me. The last possible moment, Buffy grabs my arm to keep me upright.
“Poor baby,” she grins.
Still holding her hand, I grow serious, “We can’t actually do a lot of things … you know date-like things.” She grows serious as well, and I go on. “But I thought, well, we could at least share this. And maybe the next time you invite me to an ice-show I’ll be able to appreciate it.”
Instantly her eyes grow watery, and she blinks. “Oh, Angel.”
“Hey,” with my free hand I tilt up her head. “Only smiles allowed tonight.”
She smiles while a tear slips from her right eye, “I don’t need ice-shows for my birthday. All I need is you. All I want is you.”
We both smile, remembering another moment we shared. In a graveyard, when we still let ourselves believe in the impossible. I let my thumb follow the trace the tear has left, allowing myself the joy of feeling her satiny skin. “I never wanted anything else. But-“
“No,” she interrupts me. “No buts tonight. We can think about buts tomorrow.”
We share another smile. “Agreed,” I reply, and take a deep, unnecessary breath. “So. Are you going to show me how to do this, or not? Because I’m freezing.”
“Do not,” she says, grinning again. “You’re a vampire.”
“That means no body heat. You’re cold anyway.”
I give her a dramatic sigh, “You know all my secrets.”
“Yeah,” she laughs. “Always keep that in mind.” Then she lets her hand slip from my arm.
“Hey,” I protest, feeling my legs slip again. “Buffy!”
“Just copy what I’m doing, Angel,” she tells me, starting to glide ahead.
And I do. In the end my whole body hurts, and if I was human I’d be black and blue. But I don’t mind. Because for one night she was almost a normal girl. And even though I was far from being a normal boyfriend, we let ourselves forget about all the darkness that usually surrounds us.
For one night the laughter won. And I will treasure it forever.
Thanks for taking the time to read. Please send feedback to Connemara.Scarlets@t-online.de
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