Phonecall [House and Buffy]
Buffy squashed some more of the wilted flowers into the freshly re-dug grave and then stomped on a particularly big dirt clot. That was sort of helpful so she stomped on some more. She knew everyone back at the Y was sort of waiting for her but she didn't want to go back yet. She wasn't ready to look at those scared faces or hear their tears and she didn't have some fantastic, pep speech planned for them yet. Instead, Buffy sat down on the edge of the grave, boot heels dug into it and chewed on her bottom lip. When she tasted blood she stopped and pulled out her phone. She alternated between two phone numbers, the highlighted bar hitting one, pausing and then hitting the other one. She could call Angel and he'd tell her all the right things. He'd sympathize and say it wasn't her fault. He'd treat her like she was glass and she'd want to break down and cry. There wasn't any time to cry. Not with what was coming and right now, crying would make her want to lock herself in the basement and never, ever come out again. Also, not an option.
Instead of calling Angel, she called Greg. And let it ring. And ring. And ring. It would go to voicemail and she'd hang up on his voicemail. She didn't want to talk to some pre-recorded asshole version of Greg. She wanted to talk to the actual asshole himself. After the second hang up, her persistence and ire started to rise, taking the place of that hollowed out strength. By the third she was willing to sit there and let it ring all night. It was only by the fourth that it occurred to her that Greg was old. He could have had a heart attack. Then she was back to hollowed out steel again, anticipating the worst.
Instead of calling Angel, she called Greg. And let it ring. And ring. And ring. It would go to voicemail and she'd hang up on his voicemail. She didn't want to talk to some pre-recorded asshole version of Greg. She wanted to talk to the actual asshole himself. After the second hang up, her persistence and ire started to rise, taking the place of that hollowed out strength. By the third she was willing to sit there and let it ring all night. It was only by the fourth that it occurred to her that Greg was old. He could have had a heart attack. Then she was back to hollowed out steel again, anticipating the worst.