ALWAYS ABOUT BLONDES

A/n: This idea was one of my first attempts at fan fiction. I never published this story for various reasons, and actually, this is a "recreation" of my idea of a one-shot involving Rose and Angel on Pete's World since I lost the original. This chapter in particular also ties in with another fan fic I am writing: "Affecting Probability Two: Mending Broken Fences".

Disclaimer: I don't own Rose Tyler, Angel, or any publicly recognizable characters, and I am not making any money off of this. This work is purely for fun and no infringement is intended.

Synopsis: Pretend that Rose never linked up with either Doctor Number Ten, or his cloned self, and she is in London, working for Torchwood. Pretend also that, after the events of "Not Fade Away" on Angel, the vampire ended up in London. Let's see what happens.

CHAPTER ONE

Angel nursed the glass he had been staring at for the past half hour in the English pub he visited in the heart of London. He stared at the amber contents, remembering how his unlife had changed dramatically in the past four months. He smiled at the irony that whenever something big happened in his unlife, a blonde had always been at the heart of it. Yes, he decided, it was always about blondes.

Take the few scant hours before he'd visited the pub. He had gone to his usual "meeting", a gathering with yet another blonde temptress in his life. (Not really blonde, he realized as he could still smell traces of the hair color she had used, but blonde by any other standards.) They always met at her flat, a place that, while certainly larger than his, was just a place she went to whenever she wanted to escape the grind of daily life, to pretend that things for both of them were somehow "normal".

Whenever they were together outside of work, there were no hello's, no polite chitchats by her fireplace, no whispered words of forever or even thoughts of it like lovers shared. There was just the here, the now, the let's-get-this-over-with-out-of-base-sexual-needs-rather-than-because-we-love-each-other connection.

She was taller than either Darla or Buffy, and of course, she was British rather than American. When she removed her clothes and they kissed with such animal passion, such ferocity, Angel often thought about the Premiere Slayer, and sometimes his deceased sire, and cried out either one or both of their names whenever he had sex. The woman he banged was also crying out a name, or really a job title, though he conjectured that this "Doctor" must have meant the universe to her from the way her sexy mouth uttered her complete devotion to his memory. The vampire didn't try to psychoanalyze it too closely; after all, she satisfied his basic need for release of a kind not found by fighting and killing, and she was his employer.

The woman, Rose Tyler, also wasn't judgmental, wondering why he so obviously wanted to be with two someone else's rather than with her. She just took it in stride, riding him with stamina which rivaled a vampire's, then left the usual pound notes in his pocket whenever she left.

So it was most nights that he found one of the few solaces he craved after he wore her scent on his body, in a bar Rose had recommended that catered to humans, vampires, and all manner of strange beings even by his standards with no questions asked. Angel finally downed his third glass of blood mixed with Scotch, thinking about what had driven him to London, to work for Rose Tyler, and for this pub.

(Almost five years ago…)

"Are you sure about this?" his lawyer, Steve Masonry, had asked Angel. "I mean, the Wolf, the Ram, and the Heart won't take too kindly to you just…abandoning ship."

Angel had sat in his chair at his desk, not really registering the lawyer's question. He just thought about how lonely his life had gotten since his team had left. Gunn had been first, saying that after all that went down, he wanted to "keep it real" and find his old gang buddies in Encino. Nina had also left, saying that she "craved more" from their relationship than Angel was willing to provide.

Illyria had given him her usual disdainful look, the one she hurled in his path whenever her mind conjured up memories of Wesley, or even when she was just simply in one of her moods (which was all the time).

"It is not a good idea for us to be together," she had told him. Angel just stared at the blue hued, former god.

"Why not?" he had asked matter-of-factly. "You're the last one of my team left."

"I grow tired of the endless chasing, and although the killing provides some satisfaction, the fact that we do not triumph in any way is becoming tedious," she answered just as matter-of-factly. Angel sighed. He hated these philosophical discussions he got into with Illyria about how it wasn't about winning the war, but more about what good could be accomplished in fighting the battle.

"If you leave this, where are you going to go?" he had wondered aloud. The blue hued woman/god who very loosely resembled Fred Burkle looked at his brooding, somber expression and cocked her head.

"There is a temple in the place on the Eastern shores, the one with the Statue of Liberty," she told the vampire.

Angel laughed derisively, saying, "New York? You're going to New York?"

"I am," Illyria answered. "My followers there in Manhattan will give me the one thing I always wanted ever since taking over this wretched shell: devotion."

Angel had felt panic at her words. True, theirs was a love-hate relationship, but everyone else had left, even Harmony on a whirlwind trip to France with her new vampire boyfriend. If Illyria left, he would be truly alone. He couldn't live with another 70 years or more on his own the way he had before Buffy had come into his life.

"I'm devoted to you!" he cried. "I was just saying to myself this morning, 'self, let's get a pedestal for Illyria to stand on so that I can show her how devoted I am to her'". Illyria just stared.

Angel ran his fingers over his short, gelled hair, saying, "Well, actually…I wasn't doing that. But we could find some slab of wood for you to stand on so that…".

"Enough, Angelus," the former god had said, using the Latin version of his name. "I have thought about this long and hard, and I have made up my mind." She morphed into the image of Fred and grabbed the girl's clothes which she kept whenever she didn't wish to attract undue attention.

"Do not try to find me," Illyria said, then she softened at Angel's stricken look. "I'm sorry," she said apologetically. She left Angel standing in the empty office.

Yes, Illyria's unexpected departure had been bad, but the one which sent him selling his position as Wolfram and Hart's manager and booking a plane ticket across the pond after much soul searching was Spike. Though he and the former William the Bloody had never gotten along, Angel had still felt an almost kinship on the both vampire's parts. They were sort of like distant cousins, each with their own peculiarities, each with their own hang ups about the unlives they'd had. But after the battle with the Circle of the Black Thorn, all that had changed.

"Well, Peaches, 'm goin' back to bein' by myself for a time," Spike had told Angel about a few days before Illyria's departure.

"Why, William?" Angel asked, using Spike's human name when he really wanted to discuss something deep.

The platinum blond being looked at his former grandsire and sighed, saying, "'M human now. I Shanshued, an' I only have the one short life. I stay with you much longer, I'll be dead before the ink on my house deed is dry."

"But you still have the strength and the senses of a vampire, and your aging is slower," Angel reminded him. They both didn't say anything as they thought of the gift the Powers that Be had given the younger being. In exchange for the former Spike's help combatting the supernatural forces of darkness, he would keep most of his vampiric abilities intact, with none of the demonic influence he had had before.

"Yeh," William conceded, "but I get tired an' hungry more often, an' I have certain needs that bein' with you just won't cut."

Before Angel could say something, William said, "Look Peaches. I know my life'll never be like 'The Brady Bunch', but I want a shot at havin' at least a somewhat domestic life, a li'l woman and all that. Can't do that if we're constantly fightin' the Big Bads."

"We'll try semi-retirement from fighting evil," Angel had found himself promising.

William had snorted. "Yeh, right, 'cause that always works whenever we're together," he ground out.

"Look at it this way," William had said, trying to placate Angel, "you'll find some other extraordinary git to fight demons with, in addition to Blue, of course."

It had been William's good fortune a few years after the former younger vampire had departed which had cemented Angel's decision to relocate to England. Even though he knew Giles and Willow were there, the vampire decided he could do much worse than relocating to Spike's country of origin.

"Mr. Angel?" the lawyer asked hesitantly. Angel leaned forward, his solemn, brown eyes staring at the man.

"Just 'Angel'," he said. "Yes, I'm sure, and I'm not exactly leaving you all empty handed."

"Well…" the attorney had mused, "you are leaving us in good hands with the demon Sh'r'takan. He comes highly recommended, and, I must admit, my superiors are very happy with this. But I don't know…".

Angel said in his most confident voice, "Look, I've fought and won the Right of Severance with my contract with this place. I and anyone I might have been with are no longer bound by your—" the revenant searched for the right words—'conditions'. I just want to start over."

"Do you know where you're going?" the lawyer asked as he put copies of the signed contract terminating Angel's control of the firm. Angel had gotten up and stared out the window tinted with sunlight ray defense properties.

"Pond hopping," he said. He walked out of the office and went home to pack.