Buffy Summers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whattingawhat) wrote2008-10-08 11:27 pm
whattingawhat) wrote2008-10-08 11:27 pm
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All you know of heroines is what you read[Sometimes we burn, sometimes we bleed]
[All you know of heroines is what you read//Sometimes we burn, sometimes we bleed]
Immediately follows this
It seems like the entire city is holding it’s breath, chest burning, lungs tight. It’s only her perception and she knows this because a city like New York doesn’t stop for anyone, least of all her. She’s sitting on the cold concrete of the balcony, legs dangling between the rails. She’s wearing the sweats and the wife beater Danny had worn only an hour before. The ashtray next to her is puffing and she juggles her cell phone from one hand to the other. With a sigh that is part resignation and part relief, she finally dials a number she knows by heart but is never in her speed dial. He answers quickly, as if he were waiting with bated breath for her call. She knows he wasn’t, it is just a coincidence or maybe he was waiting for another damsel in distress. They’re not waiting for each other at all anymore. His voice is the same, velvet soft, rich with age and she feels her muscles start to unwind.
“Tell me it doesn’t always hurt. Tell me it’s worth it all. Lie to me, Angel, and while you’re at it, throw in that the good guys wear white, the villains are stuck in black and we always, always win.”
And so he does and she listens, letting herself believe for just a little while. Angel always has been a better liar than Giles ever was.
“What happened?” he asks and she can hear the concern and protection in his voice. He is half gearing up to fix whatever it was and half resigned to let her struggle on her own.
“I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough or good enough. I lost her.”
She doesn’t have to define her. He knows it’s not a specific her. He’s been there. He’s lost enough hers in his existence to know. “You were enough. They just had a good day.”
“And I had a really bad one.”
“It happens. Sometimes.”
“I hate it.”
She is pouting but its okay to do that with him. It’s not guilt or manipulation any longer. It is merely an expression and he knows there is little he can do to remedy it.
“So do I. I lost someone a few weeks ago. Are you alone?” It is part question, part concern and part desire. It is also asked for the simple sake of asking. He knows she’s alone, otherwise she would be taking comfort in someone else. He is a surrogate and they’re both alright with that now. He is also a confidante because he knows in an intimate way how hard this is.
She nods before she speaks. “He’s working the scene. He got the call not long after I walked in.” She had known he would. She’d cleaned up the scene and made an anonymous call. She might not have saved the girl but she wouldn’t let her body lie out in an alley for who knew how long until someone found it.
“He’ll be back soon though?” It’s not out of curiosity that he asks this time. It is concern; he knows how she gets and he doesn’t want her to be alone.
“Yeah…I mean in a while. Can you talk to me until then?”
And so he does. The hours slip away, the cigarettes burn down and she thinks they should have talked this much when they were so very much a we. He even gets a laugh out of her by relaying some ridiculous story involving Spike but it is short lived. She knows he still regards it as a victory of some sort. She wonders if she was always something to be conquered in that way, always a goal or a project or a salvation but she doesn’t ask him. She doesn’t need to know anymore. Not the way she once would have.
“He’s home,” she says when she hears the door open. There is a contentment in her voice that Angel has never heard. She’s sure of herself now and sure of her place in this man’s life. She may not know what the future holds but she knows that he’s in it.
“Go on. I’ll talk to you later. Tell him to make sure you eat.” It is the first thing Buffy forgets when her world goes pear shaped.
“Thanks for lying,” she tells him. He says she’s welcome and when Danny steps out onto the balcony, she is just hanging up the phone. She tilts her face up to look at him as she holds a new pack of cigarettes out to him (she’s burned through all the old ones) and their fingers brush as he takes it. They don’t speak as he lights the cigarette then sits down behind her, legs on each side of her. He rests his chin on her shoulder as his arms go around her. For several minutes they don’t say anything as he smokes and she leans against him. She can feel his heart beat against her back and she draws in his warmth like air.
“How bad was it?” she finally asks.
He shakes his head, saying volumes there. “Lab’s stumped and I can’t clear anythin’ up for them.” He leaves off the words ‘feel like a dope’ but she knows they’re there. She leaves off the apology because she could say it a million times and it wouldn’t make anything better or change what happened.
“I didn’t leave anything behind?” she’d tried to make sure she’d cleaned the scene up well, knowing that Danny and a whole team of investigators would be there.
“Shoe print but alley’s full of them. Won’t lead anywhere.” Her back is already bent with guilt so he doesn’t tell her that there was some blood that he’s certain was hers. From her nose he thinks as he reaches up and runs his finger down the bridge of her nose lightly. She ducks her head in apology; apology for not healing faster, for not being invulnerable.
“It’s healing but it’s still sore. I think I might have actually gotten it set straight this time. Who needs a plastic surgeon when you’ve got me?” she jokes because it is the only way she knows how to deal with guilt like this.
Neither of them ask if the other is ok because they know they can’t be. She can imagine how hard it is for him to work a scene knowing she was there and he knows how it feels to be responsible for a life extinguished. They only go inside when the sun comes up, drapes pulled in refusal to let the day burn this away just yet. They preserve it, respect it and let it go in their own way between breaths and sighs, desperate touches and lingering kisses.
He wakes her up before he leaves to go back to work because he knows how some scars don’t go away. When she gets up she finds he’s put a plate of left over lasagna in the microwave with a note instructing her to eat. Angel isn’t the only one who knows her anymore.
Immediately follows this
It seems like the entire city is holding it’s breath, chest burning, lungs tight. It’s only her perception and she knows this because a city like New York doesn’t stop for anyone, least of all her. She’s sitting on the cold concrete of the balcony, legs dangling between the rails. She’s wearing the sweats and the wife beater Danny had worn only an hour before. The ashtray next to her is puffing and she juggles her cell phone from one hand to the other. With a sigh that is part resignation and part relief, she finally dials a number she knows by heart but is never in her speed dial. He answers quickly, as if he were waiting with bated breath for her call. She knows he wasn’t, it is just a coincidence or maybe he was waiting for another damsel in distress. They’re not waiting for each other at all anymore. His voice is the same, velvet soft, rich with age and she feels her muscles start to unwind.
“Tell me it doesn’t always hurt. Tell me it’s worth it all. Lie to me, Angel, and while you’re at it, throw in that the good guys wear white, the villains are stuck in black and we always, always win.”
And so he does and she listens, letting herself believe for just a little while. Angel always has been a better liar than Giles ever was.
“What happened?” he asks and she can hear the concern and protection in his voice. He is half gearing up to fix whatever it was and half resigned to let her struggle on her own.
“I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough or good enough. I lost her.”
She doesn’t have to define her. He knows it’s not a specific her. He’s been there. He’s lost enough hers in his existence to know. “You were enough. They just had a good day.”
“And I had a really bad one.”
“It happens. Sometimes.”
“I hate it.”
She is pouting but its okay to do that with him. It’s not guilt or manipulation any longer. It is merely an expression and he knows there is little he can do to remedy it.
“So do I. I lost someone a few weeks ago. Are you alone?” It is part question, part concern and part desire. It is also asked for the simple sake of asking. He knows she’s alone, otherwise she would be taking comfort in someone else. He is a surrogate and they’re both alright with that now. He is also a confidante because he knows in an intimate way how hard this is.
She nods before she speaks. “He’s working the scene. He got the call not long after I walked in.” She had known he would. She’d cleaned up the scene and made an anonymous call. She might not have saved the girl but she wouldn’t let her body lie out in an alley for who knew how long until someone found it.
“He’ll be back soon though?” It’s not out of curiosity that he asks this time. It is concern; he knows how she gets and he doesn’t want her to be alone.
“Yeah…I mean in a while. Can you talk to me until then?”
And so he does. The hours slip away, the cigarettes burn down and she thinks they should have talked this much when they were so very much a we. He even gets a laugh out of her by relaying some ridiculous story involving Spike but it is short lived. She knows he still regards it as a victory of some sort. She wonders if she was always something to be conquered in that way, always a goal or a project or a salvation but she doesn’t ask him. She doesn’t need to know anymore. Not the way she once would have.
“He’s home,” she says when she hears the door open. There is a contentment in her voice that Angel has never heard. She’s sure of herself now and sure of her place in this man’s life. She may not know what the future holds but she knows that he’s in it.
“Go on. I’ll talk to you later. Tell him to make sure you eat.” It is the first thing Buffy forgets when her world goes pear shaped.
“Thanks for lying,” she tells him. He says she’s welcome and when Danny steps out onto the balcony, she is just hanging up the phone. She tilts her face up to look at him as she holds a new pack of cigarettes out to him (she’s burned through all the old ones) and their fingers brush as he takes it. They don’t speak as he lights the cigarette then sits down behind her, legs on each side of her. He rests his chin on her shoulder as his arms go around her. For several minutes they don’t say anything as he smokes and she leans against him. She can feel his heart beat against her back and she draws in his warmth like air.
“How bad was it?” she finally asks.
He shakes his head, saying volumes there. “Lab’s stumped and I can’t clear anythin’ up for them.” He leaves off the words ‘feel like a dope’ but she knows they’re there. She leaves off the apology because she could say it a million times and it wouldn’t make anything better or change what happened.
“I didn’t leave anything behind?” she’d tried to make sure she’d cleaned the scene up well, knowing that Danny and a whole team of investigators would be there.
“Shoe print but alley’s full of them. Won’t lead anywhere.” Her back is already bent with guilt so he doesn’t tell her that there was some blood that he’s certain was hers. From her nose he thinks as he reaches up and runs his finger down the bridge of her nose lightly. She ducks her head in apology; apology for not healing faster, for not being invulnerable.
“It’s healing but it’s still sore. I think I might have actually gotten it set straight this time. Who needs a plastic surgeon when you’ve got me?” she jokes because it is the only way she knows how to deal with guilt like this.
Neither of them ask if the other is ok because they know they can’t be. She can imagine how hard it is for him to work a scene knowing she was there and he knows how it feels to be responsible for a life extinguished. They only go inside when the sun comes up, drapes pulled in refusal to let the day burn this away just yet. They preserve it, respect it and let it go in their own way between breaths and sighs, desperate touches and lingering kisses.
He wakes her up before he leaves to go back to work because he knows how some scars don’t go away. When she gets up she finds he’s put a plate of left over lasagna in the microwave with a note instructing her to eat. Angel isn’t the only one who knows her anymore.