Title: 3 AM

Summary: Angel gets late night calls from a girl who only sleeps when it rains.

Spoilers: Everything. This takes place sometime in the future. You pick how far.

Rating: G

A/N  The inspiration for this came from Matchbox Twenty’s song 3 AM. Thanks ya’ll! 

 

 

The phone rings persistently. Angel reaches over and grabs it without opening his eyes.

 

                “Hello,” his voice is rough and heavy with sleep.

 

                “It’s raining.” She says.

               

                “Then why aren’t you sleeping?” He asks.

 

                “It’s not raining here. It’s raining in Seattle. You know they get an average of 36.2 inches a year there.” She says.

 

                “No, I didn’t know that.” He chuckles and rubs his eyes. He sits up against the head board, not bothering to turn on the lamp beside the bed.

 

                “I watch the weather channel a lot when I can’t sleep.” She says.

 

                “I know you have cable, you should try watching some of the old movies at night.” He says.

 

                “I did. They made me think of you.”

 

                “They did?” He says.

 

                “Uh huh, cause their old.” She says.

 

                He laughs. “I guess I can see that.”

 

                “It’s getting cold here. The birds have already started flying south for the winter.” She muses.

 

                “You could come here.” Angel tells her.

 

                “I know.” She says and falls silent. They both know she won’t come to him and he’s promised himself he won’t go to her until she asks.

 

                “It’s snowing.” She says.

 

                “Where?” He knows she’s talking about something on the weather channel. She does this every few days.

 

                “Uhm, Utah.” She says absently. “That’s where you can have more then one wife, isn’t it?”

 

                “There are a lot of Mormons up there. It’s a religion that allows multiple wives.” He says.

 

                “Oh, I was thinking Morons.” She says.

 

                He chuckles softly and then grows more serious. “Look in the mirror. What color are your eyes?” He asks.

 

                She pauses a moment. “Hmm gray today, like the rain in Seattle.”

 

                He sighs. Her eyes are gray when she’s sad, emerald green when she’s happy. He doesn’t know when the last time they were emerald green. It was long before these early morning phone calls started.  “How are you doing?” He asks.

 

                “The same. I’m fine. I think it’s time to move again.” She says.

 

                “How many times this year so far?” He asks even though he knows the answer.

 

                She’s quiet a moment finally she says “Nine.”

 

                “That’s a lot of times to move.” He comments.

 

                “I haven’t found it.” She says.

 

                “What are you looking for?” He asks.

 

                “I don’t know, but I’ll know when I find it.” She says. It’s the answer she always gives him. “I’m going to go try and sleep.”

 

                “Is it raining?” He asks.

 

                “Only in Seattle,” She answers and hangs up the phone.

 

                He listens to the line go dead in his ear. He puts the phone back on the nightstand and glances at the clock. It’s 3:30 in the morning. He likes to talk to her. He loves going to sleep with her voice in his ear but she only calls when she can’t sleep and she only sleeps when it rains.

 

*

 

                The phone rings and he picks it up. He knows it’s her because she’s the only one that calls at this time of morning.

 

                “Hello,” he says.

 

                “It’s snowing.” She says.

 

                “In Tennessee?” He asks. That’s where she was last time, Chattanooga Tennessee.

 

                She laughs. “No, in Pojoaque, New Mexico.”

 

                “Where are you?” He asks and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

 

                “Pojoaque, New Mexico. I just got the phone installed today.” She says.

 

                “Where is Pojoaque, New Mexico?” He asks. He wonders how she picks some of these places out sometimes.

 

                “At the foot of the Santa Fe ski area. Tiny town in the mountains. It’s beautiful here.” She says.

               

                He chuckles. “How do you pick these places?”

 

                “I close my eyes and put my finger on the map.” She says.

 

                He grins. “That’s what I thought.”

 

                “I thought maybe I could sleep with the snow.” She says.

 

                “You can’t?” He asks. He knows she can’t. She wouldn’t be calling if she could.

 

                “No, it reminds me of you.” She says.

 

                They both fall into silent reverie, remembering that morning in Sunnydale, California when it snowed.

 

                “I guess I stopped fighting.” She says.

 

                “No, you didn’t. You just took up a different fight.” He assures her.

 

                “It seems more like a search. Less dangerous, more move-y.” She says.

 

                “Just as important. There are others now. You’ve earned this rest.” He says.

 

                “It’s still raining in Seattle. Houston too, but they get hurricanes. I wonder if the people in Seattle sleep well. Maybe they just don’t sell sleeping pills there.” She says.

 

                “Not everyone sleeps well in the rain.” He says.

 

                “I know. It reminds me of you.” She says.

 

                “Then why can’t you sleep with the snow?” He asks.

 

                “I don’t know. It’s a different sort of memory. The rain was before. The snow was after.” She says.

 

                He doesn’t have to ask her before what or after what. He knows. He remembers it every night, just like she does. “What color are your eyes now?” He asks.

 

                She stops a moment, considering. “Gray today, like the rain.”

 

                “The rain isn’t always gray. In Ireland it wasn’t gray.” He says.

 

                “What color?” She asks.

 

                He chuckles to himself. “I don’t know. It’s been so long, probably green. E very thing there is green.”

 

                “Go to sleep. I’ve still got unpacking to do.” She says.

 

                “Okay, try to rest.” He says.

 

                “I will,” She promises and hangs up the phone.

 

                He hangs up the phone and lies back down. He closes his eyes. He knows he will dream of rain and green eyes tonight.

 

 

*

 

                The phone rings. Angel rolls over and glances at the clock. It’s 3:24 in the morning. He picks it up knowing who it is. She’s been calling him a few times a week right around this time for almost six months.

 

                “Hello,” He says.

 

                “It’s foggy, kind of like the rain but more sinister somehow. Things always come of the fog but they always bury people in the rain.” She says.

 

                He smiles. She always gives him a weather report. It may not be the weather where she’s at. There’s really no telling. “Yeah I’ve noticed.” He says.

 

                “Willow says it was raining the day they buried me. The sun shone when we buried Mom though. I think maybe it knew you’d be there. I wouldn’t need the rain to sleep.” She says.

 

                “I could be there now, before the sun comes up.” He says. They both know all she’d have to do was say please and he’d be there within a matter of hours, no matter where she was.

 

                “I know. I still haven’t found it though.” She says.

 

                “Are you still in New Mexico?” He asks.

               

                “Yeah. I like it here. There’s an old lady up the road that makes me chicken noodle soup and tells me I don’t eat enough and I don’t sleep enough. I told her I only sleep when it rains. She told me I should move to Seattle.” She says.

 

                “You could.” He says.

 

                “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have an excuse to call you.” She says.

 

                “You never needed an excuse.” Angel says.

 

                “I know.”

 

                She always gives him her weather report. He always makes sure to ask about her mood. “What color your eyes?” He asks.

 

                She pauses, like she always does. He knows she’s looking in a mirror. “Gray, the color the snow is when it melts on the side of the road.”

 

                “Are you okay?” He asks. She seems quieter, more introspective then usual.

 

                “Yeah. Mildred, the lady who makes me soup, her comment just made think.” She says.

 

                He waits, gives her a chance to finish the thought. He knows her well enough to know that there’s more to it. Finally he prods her. “About what?”

 

                “Why I don’t move to Seattle. I used to watch you sitting in my window like a great big cat through slitted eyes. I was afraid if you knew I was awake you’d leave. You always guarded over my sleep. You reminded me of those gargoyles on Notre dame Cathedral. They help keep away the demons. You kept away my demons.”

 

                “I knew you were awake but I was willing to play along. I didn’t want to leave you. I never wanted to leave you.” He says and they both know he’s not just talking about sitting in her window anymore.

 

                “I know. You’re the reason I always slept with my window open. I don’t sleep with it open anymore.” She says.

 

                “I will still come. You just have to open the window.” He says. He wonders when they started talking in code like this, stepping around all the things they want to say.

               

                “Someday,” She promises.

 

                He smiles to himself. “I’m not getting any older, ever.” He promises her again.

 

                “I know. It’s snowing. I’m going to try to sleep.” She says.

 

                “That was one of the best mornings of my life.” He says.

 

                “Me too,” She hangs up the phone.

 

 

*

 

                Her late night conversations always make it hard to get up in the morning but he does it. He’s got to keep some normality in his life or he will rush off to New Mexico, or where ever she is that month.  Wes’ voice draws him back out of his thoughts.

 

                “Angel, are you alright?” Wes asks.

 

                He nods. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep much last night.”

 

                “Something bothering you?” Wes asks.

 

                He smiles to himself. “No, but it wasn’t raining.”

 

                Wes looks at him oddly. “Angel are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

 

                “I’m fine, just tired. Why?” Angel asks.

 

                “It rained all night last night.” Wes says.

 

                “Yeah, I guess it did but it didn’t rain in Pojoaque, New Mexico.” Angel says.

 

                Wes gives him another odd look and then returns his attention back to the papers he and Angel are discussing.

 

                Harmony walks in and hands Angel a bundle of mail. She places a mug full of warm blood on the desk. Angel flips through the mail while Wes talks about the reports. Angel stops when he sees the front page of the Sharper Image catalogue. He picks up the phone and has Harmony get an address for him. Then he calls the catalogue order center.

 

                Wes watches him as if he’s lost his mind. He doesn’t know about the 3am phone calls. It’s something Angel has kept to himself because he didn’t want to share her. Wes just shakes his head. “I’ll get back to you on these.” He says and walks out of the office, leaving Angel on the phone with Shaper Image Catalogue ordering center.

 

 

                *

 

                The phone rings. Angel rolls over with a grumble and glances at the clock. It reads 3:15 a.m. A smile replaces the scowl as he picks up the phone.

 

                “Hello,”

 

                “Mr. Angel, Sir, its Tom down in the lobby.” A young man’s voice says. Tom is the night security guard for Wolfram and Hart.

 

                “What’s wrong, Tom?” He rubs his eyes. This better be good.

 

                “Nothing, Sir. There’s someone here to see you.” Tom says.

 

                He growls. If it’s Lilah or Eve he’ll strangle them. “Who is it?” He growls into the phone.

 

                “She won’t say, Sir, but she says to tell you it’s raining. Sir, there’s not a cloud in the sky.” Tom says.

 

                A smile bursts across Angel’s face. “Send her up.” He says.

 

                He leaps out of bed and quickly pulls on a pair of black pants and a white wife beater. He pads barefoot into the living room. His entire being tingles. He’d forgotten what this feels like. He opens the front door and looks down into green eyes. Golden hair spills over her shoulders. They always talk about rain but she is sunshine in the form of a girl.  He steps back, allowing her to step into the room. She is holding the box he sent her under her arm.

 

                “Someone sent me a rain machine and I realized I was never going to find it.” She says.

 

                He quirks an eyebrow at her, asking her to explain.

 

                “I never lost it. I just forgot where it was.” She says.

 

                “And you remembered?” He says.

 

                She nods and sets the box on the floor. She steps toward him, her arms going around his waist. He enfolds her into him.

 

                “It’s right here. It always was.” She says.