Good-night, Sweetheart
By: Cricketpoor
Paring: Angel(us)/Xander
Rating: PG
Feedback: Yes please
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Author's Notes:
1753 Galway, Ireland
Darkness fell over Galway's rooftops. Most God-fearing people were asleep at such an unholy hour, but not the visitors at the Grey Goose Tavern. As always the tavern on the docks was full and pretty wenches were serving men drinks.
I had been one of those happy sots, myself, until four nights before, the night I had been thrown out of the Goose with my new drinking buddy. My. . . condition made it unwise for me to be back so soon.
But on that particular night, I was drawn there, just in time to see another pair had been tossed out. The blonde one was about 6'4; his friend was shorter and had dark hair. The blonde was shouting vile invective at the closed door of the Goose, much as I had, four nights past. The darker man is quiet and pale, as if he sensed they were being watched.
I wanted him.
I didn't know why, but I wanted him.
He managed to lever himself up off the mucky ground and staggered away from his loud friend. I followed keeping to the shadows, knowing I couldn't have him, not in anyway. My Sire would take him from me, kill him.
For most of my unlife, I believed that if I couldn't have what I wanted, no one else should have it, either. Back then the idea was wholly new to me; new and intoxicating. My father had seldom given me what I wanted when I was alive, but I didn't steal it or destroy it, nor did I kill. . . but that was before. . . that was before.
Now, my Father would say nothing about it, nor could he.
So I followed the young man as he entered Sin Alley, called so because it was dense with rough-trade. He walked pass them all and entered a brothel I had spent many a night and even more money at. He finally fetched up in a dank, dark room I'd never been to in all my visits. His back was still turned to me and I watched as he took off his shirt.
Then he said the magic words:
"Come in."
As I entered and shut the door, he turned to face me.
"Oh! Your pardon, sir! I thought y'were someone else." His blush and stammered apology were so pretty, as was the whispered rush of blood pumping through his veins.
I gathered my wits and said:
"No harm done, lad." I approached him slowly, till I was quite close to him, and held out my hand.
"Let me introduce meself: the name's Angelus, and ye are?"
His mouth curved in a pleasant, slightly puzzled grin and he took my hand. "Alexander."
I smiled back and tugged him forward by the hand that I held in my grasp. He struggled as I held him tight against me. There was the queer, new-old sensation of changing to my true face; my eyebrows became ridged and how my teeth grew into fangs. I instinctually dove for his jugular and let my fangs sink in. His blood filled my mouth in hot, salty-sweet gulps.
Thus, his blood was drawn out of his body and his heart slowed to a stop.
When Alexander was dead, I let the corpse drop to the bed, already cooling:
"Good-night Sweetheart"
The night after that, my Sire and I left Ireland. Over the course of the next century-and-a-half, my family came to be known as the Scourge of Europe, the most feared and ruthless vampires in the world. During those years, we killed more people than I care to count.
I was cursed by gypsies, given my soul. Shortly after that, I left the family and crossed the Atlantic. What better place for a newly-souled vampire than the New World?
After a century of aimless remorse, I arrived at a town two hours from Los Angeles. I was to aid the Slayer as part of my atonement.
One night, I sought her out, determined to warn her about a very dangerous vampire and I saw a familiar face. When I later asked the Slayer who he was, she smiled fondly.
"That would be Sunnydale High's resident wise-ass, Alexander Harris."
Shivers ran down my spine as I recognised HIM. The man I'd killed 244 years ago.