Blind

AUTHOR: Leni
DISCLAIMER: If I could claim it, I wouldn't write about them.
GENRE: Romance. kinda?
WORDCOUNT: 1294
SUMMARY: B/A, future. They tried. They failed. They won't do this again - or so she says.
CHARACTERS: Angel/Buffy
QUOTE: "I know I'm probably six years too late... but will you give me strike one back?" - Oliver in A Lot Like Love.
THANK YOU: to Raya (raya_light). *smooch*
Warning for language.

Written for moviequoteminis



---

“I don’t believe this.”

The sad truth is, some people don’t recognise the moment they are defeated. They keep on, step forward blind and stubborn. A sword through their belly and they keep fighting. A running bus a meter away and the certainty they can avoid it. Buffy Summers gazing sadly and shaking her head…

…and Angel still believed he could convince her. “Just think about it. Please?” he rushed to say. When she didn’t reply, he continued to press. “I know it’s been a long time, Buffy.”

“Six years,” she murmured, still shaking her head.

“Well, yes.” Now would be the wrong time to mention the times he’d shadowed her without her knowledge. He had stalked her, followed her, skulked in shadows and kept out of sight for more time than their previous relationships put together. The three of them.

It wasn’t romance. Angel was done being romantic. He tried that the last time – the right music, the right atmosphere, the right cookies for God’s sake – and fourteen months later he booked a plane back to California and swore he’d never look back. Except that he’d never been good at keeping promises to Buffy, neither to stay nor to stay away. He looked back. He came back. He wanted her now and he wouldn’t let her disillusionment come in his way.

But he was done with romance.

Leaning forward, he held her gaze and smiled softly. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to abandon a great, fulfilling love life.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Excuse me?”

In an instant, she lost the dim amusement at his proposal. This wasn’t a woman being courted by her ex-ex-ex boyfriend. This wasn’t a Slayer ticked off by a particular vampire. This was a close approximation of the seventeen-year-old Buffy (back when there’d only been one ‘ex’ in his title) being told that running for Homecoming Queen wasn’t important. He was right; she was wrong, and both knew it – but that didn’t stop him from being the bad guy.

A bad tack, sure. But he wouldn’t back away. Instead he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, challenge evident between them.

Buffy stared. “Look. I’m sorry if you think I’ve been pining for you or something. But I’ve been plenty busy, believe me.”

Jonas. Ricky. Jean Manuel. Venganza. Francesco… and the list went on. Spike delighted in telling him about Buffy’s newest lovers, nice romantic fellows who swept her off her feet with small thoughtful details and later were puzzled when she wouldn’t take them seriously. Afterwards, he and Spike would continue their newest masochistic ritual by planning untraceable ways to dismember the guy in question over a bottle of whiskey. Angel had quickly taken to keep his liquor cabinet well stocked; sometimes Buffy changed her mind more quickly than he’d think to replace the latest bottle.

“I said fulfilling love life, not a filled agenda,” he answered easily.

Her expression went from an outraged ‘Out!’ to ‘How dare you!’ and finally settled in the vicinity of ‘Your opinion doesn’t matter since my life is none of your business'. “Whatever. It’s not your business, Angel.”

Bingo.

“I love you. That makes me an interested spectator of your life. Think of it as an investment, if you must follow your business analogy.”

She sighed in exasperation. “When did you become this stubborn?”

“I took classes.”

Against her better judgement, she chuckled at that. The tense atmosphere relaxed once more. “I can’t believe this,” Buffy repeated, unconsciously she turned her palms upwards, trying to plead with him. “We tried, Angel. Six years ago, we did our best.” She smiled a little despite her discouraging words. It was a fond smile.

Angel agreed with the unsaid words accompanying that smile. Good memories, even after the fights and misunderstandings that’d driven him away from Buffy.

Then she shook her head. “And look where it got us,” she said, signalling the space between them.

Space. Time. A string of half-loves for her, none lasting more than ten weeks. Two years of silence for him, of rage, of cursing stubborn blonde Slayers who didn’t know how to compromise – as if he were the big expert. On top of that, as if it weren’t enough, being forced to endure Spike’s alternating amused and pitying glances which mocked both of them.

It’d been two years until Angel had wanted to see her again. Another until he’d come back to Europe. Three more to knock at her door – but in that time he’d discovered all the answers he needed: “I was a jerk.”

Buffy drew back, surprised. Vaguely pleased, too.

“And you were a bitch,” he continued and shrugged dismissively. “Probably we still are. Doesn’t mean we’ll make the same mistakes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Because what? You love me and I love you and that’ll make everything else go away? Or, wait! Because fourth time is the charm?” She tapped her lips as if she were in deep thought, then clicked her fingers. “But, damn, we used that one last time.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”

A shrug. “I’ve lost my knack for puns.”

“They weren’t that funny anyway.”

Angel knew he’d reached the last of her patience the second she pushed herself off her seat. “Buffy…”

Her voice rose as she spoke, overriding his attempt at calming her. “First you insult my life style, but that’s fine. You always were too nosy around me.”

He gaped. Nosy? Then he remembered he'd been stalking her and kept quiet.

"Then you insult me. Okay. Exes always say things like that."

He couldn’t keep quiet at that. "Triple exes," he supplied, miffed at being added so thoughtlessly to the pile of Buffy's old lovers.

Buffy blinked, not really expecting an interruption. "Whatever! But you don't insult my sense of humour and stay." With that, she pointed to the door commandingly.

Now, when a Slayer pointed a vampire to the door, he was wise to follow directions. When said Slayer's expression implied that their next interview would begin with a stake through the heart, the vampire walked quickly, returned to his hotel room, booked a flight back to California and licked his wounds until he was a safe ocean away.

But Angel always had to be the exception.

"Don't think I didn't notice you love me. You said it."

“Figures you'd choose to listen now,” she muttered. But she didn’t invite him back.

He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

She called his name before the door closed behind him. "Don't do this."

"Bet I'm more scared than you are."

Buffy didn't laugh. "Damn it, Angel. Be serious! I know everyone thinks we are this great star-crossed couple, meant to be, Destiny's children and all that."

"TV would have loved us," Angel agreed.

She continued as if he hadn't said anything. "I do believe in Fate. Nobody lives my life and doesn't believe."

He nodded. He knew the feeling. "But," he prompted.

"But?" She shook her head, as if having to explain was ridiculous. "But it's been thirteen years. Thirteen. Is there an expiration date to Fate's whims? There must be. Because right now I'm less sure about us than when I was sixteen."

"You still love me. I still love you." It sounded trite to his own ears, but Buffy always needed facts, explanations, motives, promises, and on top of that she always needed space.

"It still takes us less than an hour to slip into angsty dialogue."

Angel thought about that. "I'll bring a movie next time. Or baseball tapes, those last longer." And he shut the door on her protest.

Because, no, some people didn't recognise the moment they were defeated. But, in Angel's 262 years of experience, some things couldn't be defeated at all.


The End
03/03/07

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