Authors note: this is set generally in Season 3. No Connor or Darla yet. And I have messed with the time line some to suit my story needs. So forgive me if the timing does not match the show's.
Just a few days in the life of our favorite vampire with a soul, and how he reacts when Buffy is resurrected.
Author's note 2: I have 'lifted' this title from some classic writer that I can't remember at the moment. It's a really cool title. So I cribbed it. hehehe.
Disclaimer: Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer are property of Mutant Enemy and the WB, UPN and Fox and Joss Whedon and a bunch of people who aren't me. So there.
Please feed me!
Enjoy.
Cordy watches as he paces. Back and forth, back and forth, over and over. Finally she can't take it anymore and bellows, "Angel! You're gonna wear a track in the carpet! Knock it off."
His head jerks up, startled at her interruption. "Sorry. I didn't know my walking around was bothering you."
She wags her finger at him. "Don't give me that pathetic voice, mister. I know you. I know you're upset about something. Otherwise you wouldn't be mowing a hole in the floor. So come on, spill. What's the what?"
His chest constricts a little at her phrasing. Do all the kids from Sunnydale use the same words? Or just the two women he knows the best?
"Well?" she stares a burning circle into his eyes, and he hems and haws, trying to come up with a resonable explaination for his behavior. Not the truth, that's for sure.
"Really, Cordelia, I'm fine. Honestly. I'm just a little…stiff. From the stuff last night."
"So you're trying to walk your body back into shape? Hmmmm, lessee. Vampire, instant healing, no pain hangovers. Thus, lying!" she tells him, and he knows there's no way to avoid her or her questions.
He sighs, stopping in front of one of the hotel's round chairs scattered about the lobby. Plops into it. "Nothing new. Really."
Cordy walks out from behind her desk, and sits next to her boss and friend on the oddly shaped couch.
"Angel, look. The stuff last night was pretty serious, but surely you can't be this upset over destroying a few demons? I mean, you guys hardly worked up a sweat," she says, her hand patting his shoulder, trying her best to be reassuring and not nosy.
He stands, and begins the back and forth trek of earlier.
"It's not that. It's just, what was with the cryptic? 'a great darkness is coming?' It's not like every demon we've ever dealt with didn't have the same 'I'm gonna destroy the world and eat you for lunch' agenda."
There's no way he's telling her he's heard that line before. From a different Mohra demon. But that time he had had a different Sunnydale female with him.
He has tried, not without some gargantuan effort, to block out that whole day. Had almost been able to forget the whole sun on his face, ice cream in his stomach, lover in his bed thing. And he honestly has been able to move on somewhat with his life. But with the recent death and unexpected reappearance of a certain blonde, he finds himself guilty, confused, and more upsettingly, angry than he has been in a long while. Since that day, actually.
Following his sabbatical summer in Tibet, he and Cordelia had had a 'heart to heart.' She had told him it was okay that he hadn't been there to save her. That he couldn't be there to die with her. And he had told Cordy that he had come to realize that. And that he was actually okay. And that's what was wrong. He couldn't shake the guilt his not being guilty over Buffy's death anymore brought him.
And then she came back. Or was brought back actually. And now he's conflicted again.
After hearing from Willow yesterday, he's not sure what to do or what to think now.
I think you should know, she needs to see you, Angel. Please come.
And then the whole mess with taking out the nest of Mohra demons living under a preschool. Cordy's vision had provided them with the location, but she hadn't been as sure of the type of demon they would encounter. And he had been just as surprised as Wesley and Gunn when the red eyed demons had come flailing at them, determied to destroy the humans and the vampire without a backward glance. Angel had shocked his companions by immediately smashing the jewel type marker in the middle of the demon's forhead, yelling at Wes and Gunn to do the same to the others surrounding them.
It only took a few minutes, but afterward, as the others whooped and hollered about their kills, Angel had stared silently at the ground, absently wiping his sword on his sleeve. Determined not to think about Buffy, and what the hell to do now.
Cordy was saying something about "…demons and their agendas…" but he has tuned her out again.
She needs to see you. We don't know what's wrong. But she needs you.
"Angel!" a ticked off voice reaches his ears.
"Oh, sorry, Cordy. Kinda drifted off there for a minute. You were saying?"
She makes a hmpfff! noise at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Nevermind, oh broody one. I'm going to an audition now. So just be ready to listen to me when I get back." She walks back to the circular desk in the middle of the lobby, grabbing her giant bag from the top of it.
Angel frowns slightly. "Audition? Are you still doing that?"
Now it's her turn to frown. "When a good one comes along, I'm still interested…and I'm still a good actress. I was a princess, remember? And you can't just learn that. It's a born in kind of talent." She wiggles her fingers goodbye, and saunters out of the lobby into the bright day beyond the doors.
Angel just shakes his head, mumbling to himself. "How in the world could I forget?"
Later that night, he crouches atop an apartment building, not really sure what has drawn him here. Resolute in his desire to be nowhere near the hotel when Cordelia returned from her audition, he had left as soon as he was able, slipping through the basement, avoiding Gunn and Wesley in the process. Still hyped about their easy kill, the two completely missed his exit as they exchanged comments about the total lack of hard work they had had to do the previous night. Angel smiled to himself as he left, amused at their bravado and happy they were getting along at the moment.
Right as he is sure absolutely nothing is going on here at the lovely Lampwood Apartment homes, a scream cuts the night. Leaping into action, he takes the easy plunge from 4 stories up and lands cat like on his feet, a small axe in his right hand, and stakes filling the leather rachets attached to his wrists.
The scream is closer now, and he whips as quickly as inhumanly possible around the corner. Two young women stand together, jumping up and down, waving pieces of paper in the air.
He approaches them sureptitiously, glancing up and down the street for demons, muggers, or general evil doers. When he is within 5 feet of them, the closest one exclaims to her friend, "Oh my God, Amber, these are awesome seats! Joe'll go nuts when he founds out we got tickets!" The second girl, equally as excited, replies, "I know! Bitchin' huh? I am so severely stoked. This'll be awesome. I heard this band was really good, plus, party, you know? Lot's of frat boys on hand. What kind of music are they again…" the two girls glance at Angel as they pass him, and he turns to the wall, pretending to study the list of upcoming shows and trying to hide his axe in his coat. They both give him the "Whatever" look, and continue on.
When they are out of hearing range, he lets the axe clang to the ground, and shakes his hand disgustedly. "Concert tickets???" is all he can manage. I've got to relax…I'm wound so tight I can't tell a scream of joy from a scream of…well, any other kind.
He decides to head back to the hotel, figuring it's late enough that Cordy will have gone home, and he won't have to bring up the subject of his pacing or of Buffy again. Not with her, anyway.
He stands outside on the balcony of his rooms, the moonlight glowing softly down on his bare chest. Arms braced on the ledge, he looks out over the city, and considers everything that's happened to him in the past 6 years or so.
What does she mean to him now? Is she just a good memory, brought up when times are especially tough, and he needs a respite from all the pain and never ending battles? Or does he still love her?
And what about Cordy? Lately he's been noticing little things about her that he hadn't really considered before. He's always cared about her, even when she was just a vapid teen and a hanger on of Buffys, but of course when he came to L.A. and everything changed, she became just as important as Doyle had. Had taken on the burden of the visions, and had kept them, even though they might be don't think it! slowly killing her.
It's amazing how much she has changed in three years, he thinks, and look at the others as well… who would have thought Wesley would turn out to have a spine? And a very loyal one at that.
Willow's words haunt him again. We don't know what's wrong…she needs you.
Do I need her?
Now that's the million dollar question isn't it?
She had made him feel like someone again. Made him from a sewer rat into as close to a human being as he could get. And how had he repayed her? By taking her innocence, killing her friends, and breaking both their hearts again and again.
He shivers slightly, and it's not from the cold.
And when she had died…when they all had come back from Pylea, and the few days there that had proven to be successful in that they had saved the girl and he had faced his true demon and forced him back…when they had opened the doors to find Willow sitting there…and God, he'll never forget her face, not as long as he lives…
All he could think at the time was something's happened to Buffy, and damned if it hadn't been true. The worst thing.
And he hadn't been there to protect her. Or to go with her. And the truth that he was, if not comfortable, at least getting used to the fact that he was starting to be at peace with her death, wasn't bothering him as much as he felt it should.
And then Willow had called. And his world was turned upside down again.
And what about Cordy?
He shakes his head, trying to empty it of the whirlwind of craziness and tiredness. Round and round, back and forth, just like earlier. No wonder pacing feels right to him.
He goes back inside when he feels the dawn beginning to come. Lays down in bed, pajama'd legs crossed on top of the comforter. Arms behind his head, he closes his eyes, needing to get a little rest before the rest of the A.I. team shows up in a few hours.
Red eyes swim before him, and a girl shrieks in the background, yelling his name over and over again. He swings his sword desperately, hitting nothing, but knowing if he doesn't do something soon, the screaming girl will die. Harsh laughter sounds in his ears, and he knows he's doomed as well. The sword is yanked from his grip, and he hits the ground, head smacking a concrete floor. He opens his eyes dazedly to realize he is face to face with the screaming girl, only now the poor thing can't scream anymore, for her tongue is gone, and her dead sockets stare sightlessly into his, her blonde hair coated in blood and gore. As he can do nothing but watch, the girls face and body collapse inward on themselves, becoming nothing but dust faster than he can even reach out his hand toward her…
As his mouth opens, his mind shuts down at the horror of the sight, and a sob fills his ears as he jerks into a sitting position-
-and wakes suddenly, his chest coated in sweat, his body heaving unneccesary breaths, his eyes swimming with unshed tears.
He reaches for the phone before he can even form a thought.
Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!
"Hello?" a sleepy voice answers.
His mouth hangs open, then he replies. "Willow. It's Angel."
"Angel? Are you alright? What time is it?" she says, voice panicked now, since most people or undead people don't call their friends at 5am.
"No, everythings fine. Listen, can I speak with Buffy?" he gets out in a rush.
"Oh, yeah, sure. Um, she may be asleep. Let me go check." There's a thump as she puts the handset down, and the noise of the bed creaking as she gets up. He waits patiently, knowing that his heart would be going a million miles an hour if it could.
A few dead minutes pass, and he wonders if Willow has forgotten about him, or maybe fallen back asleep. Just as he's about to hang up, a voice comes on the line.
"Hi."
He grins stupidly just at the sound of her voice. She's alive! She's alive!
"Hey. Um, look, I'm really sorry to call so early, but, well, I just…you know." Silence. "How are you?"
A short laugh reaches his ears and she says, "Pretty spry for a corpse. You?"
He's stunned by her answer, and replies, "fine. Uh, well. I…I…damn. I didn't think this was going to be this hard. I had a dream, Buffy. About you. And I think I need to see you. But I don't know what you want. So that's why I'm calling," he finishes lamely, inwardly shaking his head, really smooth, man.
Silence again. Then, "That would be nice." As quietly as he's ever heard her.
"Where?"
The sun is just setting as Angel decends the staircase. He begins to make a beeline for the back door and his GTO, when he notices three pairs of eyes staring at him and the duffel bag in his hand.
"Uh, Hi?" he asks, sheepishly.
"What was that old saying about letting sleeping vampires lie?" Gunn states dryly, and gives Wesley a look. "He's taking off on us."
Angel turns back toward them, avoiding Cordy's glare. "No. I'm just going to see a friend. Just a day, two at the most. I'll be back soon."
"So you finally called her," Cordelia says archly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I was wondering what was taking so long…"
Angel sighs, not liking where this is going. He opens his mouth to make some kind of explaination, when Wesley interrupts.
"Go on, Angel. We'll be fine for a few days. Call if you need anything, alright?"
Angel has never appreciated Wesley more than this moment. He gazes at his friend, trying to communicate his gratitude through his eyes. Wesley just nods once.
"I'll be back soon," Angel reiterates,, and is gone, just like that.
Two nights later, and he's back at his balcony, staring out blankly into the night sky.
"Penny for your thoughts. Or, well, how about no pennies since we're so business free these past few days?"
He turns his head at the sound, and smiles a weak half smile at Cordelia. She puts her hand over his where it rests on the ledge.
"Angel, I want to apologize for my comment the other day. I was out of line. I'm sorry…I know how hard this whole thing has been on you, and well, geez, I'm sure it hasn't been too easy on Buffy either. But, we're just kind of skittish, you know? It's not fun when you take off without telling us, telling me at least, where you're going," she stops, embarrassed at her outburst, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
He puts a hand on her shoulder, and sighs. "You have no idea, Cordy. And trust me, you don't want to. But thanks, anyway. I understand the gesture."
She hugs him lightly, then steps back. "So we're good here? Cause I'm feeling an intense desire to get downstairs and drum up some business. Or maybe just have a latte and wait for a vision, you know?" she talks to him as she walks backward through his rooms, toward the door.
"Of course. I'll be down shortly," he reples, and she wags her fingers at him as she shuts the door behind her.
Jasmine, he thinks, she smells like jasmine flowers.
All I want to smell is vanilla. And sun touched blond hair.
He tries, he's been trying for several hours now, to forget the tears, the yelling, the overwhelming sorrow of the past 24 hours. He can hear her even now, her fury and her grief swimming over him like an ocean with no bottom. God, Buffy. He can't take it when she's like that. And this time it was so much worse than any other time.
When he thinks of Buffy now, three things come to mind.
Pain.
Heartache and want.
Crushing,irrestible, unimaginable, pure, firey, passionate love.
All he can see of her now is her face, ghost like floating before him, as she rails at him, at the unfairness of it all. All of it. She never clarifies what is unfair.
He understands completely.
Their last desperate kiss, clutching at each other, her hands pawing through his hair, on his shoulders, gripping his torso and squeezing him so tightly to her he had fully believed they would become one person. His own sorrow and joy, sorrow for her pain, joy at the unbelievable miracle that she was standing there in front of him and not dust in the ground. His own hands on her back, running through her hair, holding her to his chest and never wanting to let go.
Salty wetness still clings to his shirt, although it's dried to a crisp now. He can't bring himself to take the shirt off and wash it.
He bangs his hands slowly on the concrete ledge.
Sound and fury. That's all there was. That's all there'll ever be.
Cordy and Wes glare intently at each other as Angel finally joins them in the lobby, shirt changed and pants freshly pressed.
"…it was a Bulgara demon! I'm sure of it."
"Wesley, it had orange horns, not red. Jeez, even I know the difference. And it was my vision. Duh! Angel! Orange horns- Bulgara or Fallonian?" Cordy barks at him, and his mood lightens slightly. Home again.
"Fallonian. She's right, Wes. Did you have a vision?" he asks, hoping the answer is yes. Please god, some distraction.
"Yes. Another nest. This time under a Starbucks. Can you believe the gall?" she says, and approaches him. Stands closely to him as Wesley, grumbling to himself, fetches weapons out of the weapons cabinet.
"You sure you're up for this?" she asks. He meets her eyes, and nods. She smiles at him, and plants a loud kiss on his cheek.
"Then grab a sword, buddy, cause it's clobberin' time!"
Gunn, who had been muttering with Wesley at the weapons cabinet, suddenly pipes up. "Hey! Flame on!" he replies to Cordy as he hefts his weapon of choice, a compact flame thrower that Angel had recently picked up. She stares at him blankly, then shakes her head. "WhatEVER Gunn. Let's go."
Angel shakes his head at his friends, and follows them out into the night.
And if images of a certain blonde fill his mind, he's not letting anyone else know it. Let them think he's gotten his closure. And maybe he kind of has. Nothing's changed. He's not sure if it ever will. But he is sure of one thing now.
He does need her.
Fin.