Title: Taken Back
Author: Lady Shalott
Email: R
Category: Post "Not Fade Away", Romance/Drama
Content: A/C
Summary: Fifty years after the events of "Not Fade Away", Angel realizes that the mission is not lost.
Spoilers: Umm…none really. References to events from NFA and through out the series.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss
Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: You only need to ask.
Notes: Sometimes a story gets in your head and demands to get out. I wouldn't say this one jumped from my skull like Athena, but pretty dang close.
Feedback: Is loved more than Karl Urban.

Let go,

Let go
Jump in
Oh well, what you waiting for?
It's all right
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

Prologue

A horrible, nasty beast. It always started with the beast. The monsters got uglier as her dream progressed, but the first one was always the same. Oddly, although she hated and feared the monsters in her dreams, she never felt as if she were in danger. Instead, she was always overcome with a sense of…urgency. It was as if the dreams were trying to guide her into a purpose.

She had been having the dreams for years. She didn't know what they meant, or where they came from. She had seen dozens of specialists (some with degrees and licenses, others without), but none had ever been able to help her with the dreams. Oh, they often tried, but she always knew they were wrong.

The dreams were getting worse. More vivid, with taste and smell. She woke up in the mornings with head pounding nausea sweeping over her. Sometimes the migraines would last into the early evening. She didn't know what was causing them, but she did know one thing.

She was dying.

Chapter One

The lights of Las Vegas were always bright. Artificial day reigned supreme in a city where nightlife never ended. Angel loved it. He had come here after the Demon Wars, like so many other refugees. It was a city of sanctuary, and had always held a special place in his heart.

The Demon Wars were his fault, of course. After Angel had destroyed the Black Thorn, fighting had broken out all over the country. It was Good versus Evil. The Good had won, eventually, as it always must, but demon kind was nearly obliterated. Humans were largely untouched, barring those who had joined with one side or the other. Angel had done his part, and as payment watched his friends fall one by one.

For nothing.

The wars had taken a toll, yes. Eradicated evil? No. Only a year after the final battle was fought, Angel felt the pull on his soul, a quite demand from the Powers That Be telling him to go out and resume the good work. Of course, Angel had ignored it. Los Angeles was a wasteland, and it may never be whole again. He refused to give into the knowledge that without him, the Powers That Be would have a hard time keeping the scavengers away from what had once been a thriving metropolis.

To be frank, he didn't care.

Angel had witnessed every one of his companions fall, either to their inevitable mortality or to the despair that washes over a battlefield when both sides realize the prize they are fighting for is no longer there to be won.

Wesley's death had seemed surreal. Gunn's was an all too clear reminder that Angel's fight had consequences affecting more than just Angel. Illyria couldn't shake her anger , and so had disappeared into the combat to wreak havoc. She had subsequently vanished. Spike had fought by Angel's side the longest, no one more surprised than the two vampires themselves. After the war, Spike had left to see what could be made of the rest of his ensouled eternity. He had threatened to visit, but so far had not lived up to his words.

So Angel had come to Las Vegas. Here morals were loose and demons accepted. Fighting was not unheard of, but for the most part everyone maintained a modicum of peace. Angel had found it easy to take up the mantle of private security, for in Las Vegas, everyone needed security. He lived in modest comfort.

Alone.

Once, not long after his arrival, Angel had discovered Lorne doing what he loved best, performing in a night club only a mile off the strip. Angel had approached him, but Lorne had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with Angel and would not be resuming his role of friend and aural guide.

"I am through with that business." Were Lorne's exact words.

Angel had left, and he hadn't gone back. In his new existence, friends were only a burden, anyway.

Callista Brown had rarely lacked for male attention. She had known from a very young age that there was something special about her, and that confidence had served her well. In junior high, when other girls were fighting the awkwardness that came with new breasts and periods and braces, Callista was turning down dates to the senior prom. In high school, those awkward girls flocked to her, their desire to be near her almost palpable. She was Queen C, and she ruled with an iron fist.

She had been Homecoming Queen, Prom Queen, Miss Las Vegas. Her desire for stardom reached its peak when she was standing on that stage, at the Miss Nevada pageant, waiting with one other girl. Waiting to hear the name. It was hers that was called. Callista had lost out to a girl from Jackpot whose only other brush with fame had been that time she thought she saw Willie Nelson in the casino at Cactus Pete's.

Well, never mind. Callista was strong, and determined to make her star known to the world. She had been a cheerleader, and her beauty and her body got her work as a showgirl.

She didn't work topless. At first.

The money was better for the girls that bared it, so Callista gave in to the pressure. It wasn't perfect, but it was good.

Good enough for now.

Her parents? Well, things had been great growing up. Rich family, everything she ever wanted. That first year, however, after she had lost the Miss Nevada title (First runner-up, what did that mean? Callista knew Miss Crackpot wasn't going to relinquish the title, so she might as well not even have competed), Callista learned the truth. Her parents were gamblers, and they were losing everything to cover the severe debts.

It had been that night she had told her producer she wanted to go topless. He had looked at her with a leer and said, "It's about time."

It was better than stripping, better than being a whore. The other girls bemoaned their wrinkles and softening legs and swore up and down that when it was time for them to go, they would never revert to those cheap tricks. Callista didn't care. She had no reason to worry about the future.

After all, it wasn't like she had one.