Title: White Flag

Author: Baby Blues

E-mail: purely_blissful@hotmail.com

Rated: R

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, except for the the story.

Summary: Inspired by Dido’s new music video, “White Flag.” Buffy and Angel break up after three years. The trials and tribulations of a relationship in the public eye, and the pride that gets in the way between two individuals.

Dedication: To Dido, for the song and having David Boreanaz’s hot sexiness in her video. You’re my hero!

And this goes to AudBall! Happy 20th Birthday, baby! Much luv to you! One more year, and I fear for your life and 4.0 GPA :P


“White Flag”
White Flag

I know you think that I shouldn't still love you
I'll tell you that
But if I didn't say it
Well, I'd still have felt it
Where's the sense in that?

The cameras flashed everywhere around her, like the twinkling of stars against the velvet darkness of the night. The soft murmurs of the crowd quieted down as she walked with confidence down the catwalk in a skimpy outfit that consisted only of white panties, a baby-doll style sheer top that cascaded down to her hips, four-inch stiletto heels, and a pair of extravagantly expensive wings that hung from her back.

She felt sexy and seductive.

She also felt caged . . . and fake.

Buffy flicked away her blond hair as she reached the end of the runway, posing right and left for the audience, and exuding everything that a Victoria’s Secret Angel should be.

Blessing the entire crowd with an innocent yet captivatingly charming smile, the cameras flashed like lightning before she turned and headed backstage, passing and exchanging winks with Heidi Klum.

Someone handed her a water bottle on her way towards the changing area. She came upon Giselle and a number of other models, giving them each a friendly hug. “Good show,” they all cheered.

“Yeah, no one tripped,” Tyra sighed in relief, taking a huge gulp of water.

“Don’t jinx it,” Adrianna scolded lightly in her Brazilian accent, “We still have the round up to end the show.”

“I saw your boyfriend, Buffy. Front row to the left. If you ever decide to let him go, can I have your permission to put some of my moves on him,” Giselle nudged her playfully with a smirk.

Buffy rolled her eyes and got in line. “We’ve already broken up.”

The taller woman looked shocked. “When?”

“A month ago,” Buffy answered, not really wanting to get into this conversation. But she knew it was futile. She may not be completely close with any of them, but they were still friends and acquaintances.

“You never said anything,” Tyra said.

Buffy shrugged. “It’s not a big deal,” she lied.

“Not a big deal?” Heidi asked, coming up behind her as someone smeared more gloss on her lips, “You’ve been dating him for three years. The whole world expects you two to get married in Bali this September.”

“OK, girl, you’ve been reading WAY too many tabloids,” Tyra told her.

The other girls nodded in agreement.

Buffy sighed. “Look, I know you all mean well but this is how it goes. Nothing last under the limelight,” she said, pasting on a smile as the girls lined up and walked down the runway together in a row.

I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were

“Can I get a few pictures, girls?” a man asked the group after they returned backstage to meet, greet, and conduct interviews with the media.

The models gathered around and gave him their brightest smiles and showed off their scantily clad bodies.

“Thank you,” he said just as an interviewer came into view with a microphone and the ET logo on all sides. A camera man and a pair of lighting and sound crew followed right behind him.

“Hey, Cojo,” they greeted with knowing smirks, getting ready for his outrageous and sometimes blunt questions.

“Hey, girls. Great show,” he said with a bright and sincere smile.

“Thank you!”

“No one tripped,” Tyra, once again, mentioned with a grin.

The others fought to roll their eyes.

He began asking them mundane questions that suited his personality perfectly, and they answered back with grace and humor befitting their own characteristics and qualities. His questions then went onto fashion and underwear before getting on with the personal stuff that Buffy had been dreading with horror.

“So Buffy, we’ve been dying to know, is it really true? Did you and famous business tycoon, Angelus O’Roarke, called it quits?” Cojo asked without hesitation nor embarrassment.

Buffy felt like vomiting, but instead, she gave him her renowned smiled and just replied with only a, “Yes, we did.”

But the entertainment journalist didn’t stop there. “This is rather surprising and sudden. Can you tell us why?”

“We just felt it was time. It was no longer working for either of us,” Buffy said.

“C’mon, girls. Vogue wants an interview. Sorry ET!” one of the spokespersons apologized to Cojo, saving Buffy from explaining herself further to the nosy yet hilarious correspondent.

Cojo pouted and turned back to the camera as the girl smiled, waved, and left. “That was a disappointment,” he sighed, “But . . . oh. Hey!” He began waving his arm towards someone and the camera quickly spun around to see who it was. “It’s Angel O’Roarke. Mr. O’Roarke! A moment of your time, please,” Cojo begged, trying to catch up with the multi-billion dollar man.

Angel gritted his teeth but stopped on his tracks and pasted on a smile for the camera. “Hello,” he greeted, hating interviews such as these with their highly amusing reporters and their meddlesome questions.

“We were just talking to Buffy Summers a few minutes ago,” Cojo gushed, disappointed he didn’t see any drama if the two had met face to face.

Angel just wanted to hit him. He didn’t want to get into this with the media. He hated the fact that his relationship had been out in the open like a movie or reality show, now that it was over, they were still prying.

“She told us that you two are no longer dating.”

Angel took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes . . . no, no we’re not.”

“And you’re here because . . . ”

“I was invited, and I always come to these functions,” he lied easily, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an overseas business meeting on the phone in a few hours.” And before the interviewer can ask another question, Angel quickly left.

Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

Thor, a small white Bichon Frise that weighed no more than 7 pounds dragged his owner down the sidewalk with the strength of seven Siberian Huskies. Laughing gaily, Buffy tried to keep up with him as she fixed her hat over her head and ignored the paparazzi that stood just down the end of the block in a small assembly with their flashing cameras.

“Oh, my, God! It’s Buffy Summers,” a group of young teenagers screamed as they ran across the street, not bothering to look at the traffic. Buffy stopped on her tracks and cringed as the drivers halted just a few feet away from the sprinting cluster, honking their horns and yelling obscenities in their car.

The teens yelled and tossed each driver a bird in return.

Their face brightened as they came upon her.

“Holly shit! Can we get your autograph!” Pens and pieces of notebook paper were waved in front of her face as the three girls and two boys prattled and cursed out their excitement at meeting a celebrity.

Buffy smiled politely and nodded.

“School’s over?” she asked.

“No. We’re actually playing hooky,” one of them answered.

She chuckled. “I remember those. I’d try the beach this time of day. Good waves, nice breeze, hot bodies of lazy college students doing the same thing you’re doing.”

“Nice,” the two boys commented before slapping each others’ hands.

“We loved the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show last night on CBS,” one of the girls informed her.

“I actually almost missed it,” the tallest of the two boys commented.

“We also went to the store earlier today and got some underwear,” another said, holding up her pink bag of panties and bras.

The two boys once again nodded and gave each other high fives at the memory.

Buffy smiled, signing the last autograph with a mental sigh of relief. She loved her fans, but sometimes, she just wanted to be just like every other person and walk her dog without having to be stopped for an autograph.

“Well, I hope you guys make the most out of your Slack-Off Day. I don’t get too much of those so you five are lucky,” she said enviously.

With a few more comments and flattering words, Buffy turned away and left, missing Angel O’Roarke completely as he passed by the chatting group, his attention solely on his cell phone.

“The press are having a field day with this one, Angelus. They want to know the dirt and I don’t know what to tell them,” Wesley, Angel’s spokesperson, said on the other line.

“Say anything. I don’t care, just get them off my back,” he replied.

“Oh, ok, so I’ll just tell them that she cheated on you with a male model from GQ and is having his baby sometime around next year and that you’ve suddenly decided you liked men more than you liked women,” Wesley said sarcastically.

Angel groaned. If he told the world that, he would never hear the end of it. His business would probably fail, women would keep a ten feet radius away from him while the men flocked around his ass. Not to mention that Buffy would be devastated and hate him for the rest of her life.

“What the hell happened, Angel? At least tell me the censored version of it all, even a summarized version will bloody work.”

Angel rubbed his forehead wearily as he made his way towards the park with his dog, Bertha Blue, dragging him behind her. “I don’t even know.”

“Try again,” Wes snorted.

Angel sighed tiredly. “Stuff just happened. I’m not ready to talk about it,” he answered truthfully.

There was a pause on the other line.

“Fine, but you better get your story straight, and soon.”

I know I left too much mess
And destruction to come back again
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again
And if you live by the rules of 'It's over'
Then I'm sure that that makes sense

Buffy stared at the framed pictures that sat on the shelves on both sides of her big screen television.

How pathetic was she? A month has gone by and his pictures were still sitting there as though nothing between had changed . . . as though he was still in love with her . . . and she was of him.

She chocked back on a sob as she lifted a hand to cover her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes as she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the images of Angel and the both of them.

She did still love him, love him so much that it hurt.

What had happened to them?

Two months ago they had been talking about eloping to Bali (as Heidi had mentioned) or some other island hideaway in the pacific. They had laid here on her bed, completely naked and talking candidly about their future, about their careers . . . their potential children.

Buffy laughed bitterly.

The two of them had hurt each other immensely around the days their relationship had ended. It had been like a dominos effect that left only a fallen destruction around them, broken remnants of pain and bitterness.

But what exactly had happened a few weeks ago?

Buffy gazed intently at the many pictures of Angel and herself that stared back at her mockingly. She closed her tearful eyes.

She couldn’t even remember what had occurred.

Did anything even happen?

No one, not even herself, could answer those questions.

And his many pictures continued to gaze at her with soulful brown eyes.

Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

The limo moved sluggishly through the traffic of New York as Buffy’s personal assistant touched up her make-up and her agent talked rudely on his cell phone. Buffy’s gaze went to the Radio Music Hall where the press and the crowds of fans surrounded the red carpet, screaming for their idols and flashing their cameras . . . among other things.

“I don’t care! I want him gone before we get there,” Xander continued to scream at the unfortunate individual on the other line.

Buffy bit her lower lip and chewed on it, causing Willow to glare at her and smear on more gloss on her lips. She mouthed her apology and closed her eyes, taking a deep and calming breath. Angel was there, probably getting bombarded by video cameras, MTV VJ’s, and other journalists from other networks, asking personal questions that he hated answering.

“We’re not leaving this limo until he’s at least 20 meters down the carpet,” her agent continued to threaten.

“Xander, it doesn’t matter,” Buffy sighed, “Let’s just go and get it over with. There’s a good chance I won’t run into him,” she lied, knowing full well that she will, at the most, see him and brush-up against him sometime during the night.

Whether it was on the red carpet or backstage, no one could avoid other celebrity peers. It was impossible. Shows such as the VMA’s, Oscars, or the Emmys is like having a small world of superstars.

Xander rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered, hanging up the phone without even a polite good-bye.

Willow and Buffy exchanged looks just as the limo pulled up in the front of the red carpet.

“Ready?” her PA asked softly.

“No, not really,” Buffy replied truthfully.

Someone opened the door, and the screams and camera flashes intensified as a hand helped Buffy out of the limo. She gave the crowd her brightest smile and a grand wave as she was led down the posh runway and given a few minutes to stand on a heightened stage to get her pictures taken.

“Miss Summers,” John Norris greeted happily, gently leading her down the steps so they may talk.

“Hello, John,” she returned.

“You’re actually here to present an award.”

“Yes, I am,” she said with a nod, trying not to notice Angel who stood just a few feet down the carpet . . . with a blond woman in his arms. “For Best . . . something,” she laughed, trying to emit a laidback attitude that didn’t reveal or suggest her awkwardness with the fact that Angel had brought a date just a month after their break-up.

“Who knows, right?” John joked.

“I’ll figure it out later,” Buffy laughed easily.

“Now, onto the next important business,” John said, and Buffy froze. If he asked her about Angel . . . “Who are you wearing?”

Buffy mentally bawled her relief, and he wanted to kiss him. Instead, she looked down at her red mini-dress that stopped just down her mid-thigh. “Well, first off, gotta give props to my shoes, Jimmy Choo all the way. The dress is Betsey Johnson, custom made, which is really strange because this is the first time I ever wore her. I’m not too confident about wearing her outrageous designs, but I gave her a try and I fell in love with the dress.”

“And rightly so, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“So, who are you looking forward to seeing tonight? Any performances? Any individual you’ve been wanting to meet?”

“I’m looking forward to seeing Madonna’s performance. I hear that she’s doing something awesome to open the show with, so I can’t wait to see that. Also, Duran-Duran. Huge fan, and I’m so happy that they’ve reunited. Also, Metallica, classic band, Fifty Cent, Christina Aguilera, and . . . Coldplay. Love them.”

“Well, we’re gonna let you go since the show’s about to start. And onto Ian who’s with . . . ”

Buffy slightly turned her head to the right, watching Angel in the corner of her eyes. He was laughing at something his little friend was whispering in his ear, and Buffy felt like someone had gutted her.

“C’mon, Buff,” Xander said, urging her forward to meet with others.

She gave John one last smile as well as a friendly embrace before moving on.


Buffy looked up and found William ‘Spike’ Browning gazing at her with his trademark smirk. Dressed in a black, vintage rock shirt, faded blue jeans, his combat boots, and a paper-boy hat, he looked like a young teenager rather than an almost 30-year-old actor.

“Spike,” she gazed at him up and down and smirked teasingly, “You look like a Justin Timberlake reject,” she joked.

“Touche, pet, now smile,” he said, taking her by the arm before they turned to photographers and smiled in unison.

And when we meet
As I'm sure we will
All that was then
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on

Angel gritted his teeth as he watched Buffy getting hit on by none other than William Browning without any sort of subtlety or tact. But he wasn’t surprised, Spike lacked class and refinement. Here he was, around his thirties, and dressing like he was some 21-year-old wannabe . . . something.

Angel sneered and turned back to the interviewer.

“So who’s your date?”

“Darla Covington, hello,” the woman said before he could introduce her.

The journalist and his date continued to chat, mostly about her barely-there dress and how the two of them met, but his attention was solely on Buffy who was now in Spike’s arms as they posed for the paparazzi. He watched with cold eyes as Spike’s hands traveled leisurely down Buffy’s back towards her posterior. It then stopped just above the curve of her ass, and Angel continued to clench his jaws.

Spike had always had it for her. And here he was, making the moves on her when Buffy and Angel have barely broken up.

What the hell was he saying? He had a DATE with him now. Who was he to judge and pout about something he, himself, was doing.

God, he hated this. He wanted her back . . .

“What are you wearing, Angel?”

“Armani,” he answered without losing a beat.

“I told him it was little uptight for the VMA’s, but he wouldn’t listen to little ‘ol me,” Darla laughed effortlessly.

“It’s a safe bet,” Angel told the camera with a grin, yet mentally frowning at his ‘date.’ Buffy wouldn’t have said such a thing to him. She enjoyed his ‘uptight’ fashion sense and jokingly told people it made her stood out more. Which was pretty close to the truth. Buffy was beautiful in her own, individual right, but as a couple, the two of them were enchanting.

“Who are you two looking forward to seeing tonight?”

“Anyone,” Darla laughed giddily, annoying Angel to no end.

“Mr. O’Roarke?”

“Madonna’s opening act. I have a feeling it’s gonna be genius. I wouldn’t expect it any other way. Metallica and Duran-Duran, definitely. They’re classic. Also, Fifty Cent, Coldplay, and . . . Christina Aguilera.”

“Well you two have fun tonight . . . ”

Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

Buffy pushed her cart along the junk food aisle, pouting at all the goods that she couldn’t ever eat. Instead, she steered her attention towards the other side where all the healthy products sat.

The grocery store had done it on purpose. The right side were for the young teenagers who didn’t have to worry about their weight yet, and the left side were for those 20-something year olds who modeled for their living and were not allowed to gain any weight to save their lives . . . literally.

She gazed at the bags of Doritos and Cheesy Chips and groaned, finally grabbing them and throwing the offending junk food in her cart. One to two pounds wasn’t gonna hurt, right?

She disappeared down the corner, missing Angel entirely as he came down the aisle, grabbing health and granola bars on the way as he talked to Wesley on his cell phone.

“Did you see her?” his spokesperson and friend asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Angel muttered, remembering Spike and where his hands had been on Buffy’s body.

“Did you run into her?”

“No, I left early. Darla was getting on my nerves so I dropped her home.”

“You didn’t sleep with her?” Wes asked, surprised.

“Of course not.”

“OK! Just asking.”

Angel rolled his eyes and there was a pause on the other line.

“Was it that bad?”

“No, it was worse.”

“Then fix it, Angel.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Wes asked exasperatedly.

“ . . . I can’t surrender . . . not this time.”

Well I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

Buffy stared at Angel’s photos with regret. Yes, two months ago they had been happy and carefree . . . now . . . ?

She shook her head.

No, she had too much pride to go to him. She would drown in a pool of water before she made the first move.

* * * *

Angel stared at the photos and images of Buffy above his headboard.

Yes, two months ago they had been together, they had been thinking about marriage and children . . . now . . . ?

He shook his head.

He won’t be the one to wave the white flag first. Not today . . . maybe not ever.

I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be

PS: Since I've had so much e-mails encoruaging me to continue this story, you guys won. *lol* A prequel and a sequel will be coming up. ^__^


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