Howdy all. This is my first multi-chapter Angel story, so I'm not 100 certain about the characters voices and such; please don't hesitate to correct me if you think they are OOC or anything. This story is post-NFA, and does not follow the comic books (Same goes for any Buffy characters that may appear). It's not real big on explaining how the uber-battle went just yet, so bear with me for a while, k? Also, Angel, Spike and Illyria were the only survivors.
Disclaimer: Angel belongs to Joss and Joss is God. Don't tell Illyria.
Chapter 1
It was almost dawn in the City of Angels. Up on the high rises, where the smog was much thinner, it was possible to glance up and see a few remaining stars winking in the navy, mauve and rose-hued sky.
Cordelia would have found it pretty. Gunn, likely, would have never seen it at all.
Angel turned his gaze downward, focusing on the city before him. It seemed a lot quieter these days; either that, or he'd just stopped listening. There had once been a time when he'd been intensely tuned in to the sound of the city, when he'd been able to sense every shade of grey that it had to offer just by paying attention. The very unique presence of evil had shown up on his radar like a big black dot, and he'd jumped at the opportunity to play hero.
Perhaps his stint at Wolfram and Hart, a grey place if there ever was one, had desensitized him. Perhaps the firm had never really been grey at all, but black, and the tiny specks of white defined by he and his friends had only given it the illusion of grey. Perhaps he was just making more excuses, and playing hero was all he was really good for.
The vampire had just spent the better part of the night prowling along the rooftops of LA. Like listening, it was a habit he hadn't indulged in a long time, and while the motions were familiar, he had never felt more out his element.
He remembered Cordelia had once dismissed his "obsessive lurky-ness" with a flippant shrug, labelling it as a vampire thing. Wesley had been quick to counter, his eyes shining with a slight hero worship that had yet to be squashed be the reality of Angel's true nature, by stating that it was a champion thing. He'd then gone on to explain to his skeptical co-worker that their employer was, for all intents and purposes, a guardian of the city, and therefore felt an instinctive responsibility to "watch over it."
At the time, when he'd been shamelessly eves-dropping in the next room, the vampire had been surprised to find that the ex-Watcher's words were truer than he liked to admit, even to himself. Surprised, and somewhat sheepish to realize just how seriously he had grown to feel about being the protector of his city.
His city. The idea was laughable now, despite that the idea of laughing felt so foreign. What had he ever really done for LA, other than almost desecrating it with Wolfram and Hart's army?
Pink was starting to give way to pale gold, announcing that, at any moment, the sun would soon breach the horizon. Still, Angel didn't move, too caught up in the slide-show of memories flashing by his eyes. Memories of a family long since broken, and thus, utterly painful to recall. He closed his eyes, helpless to the flood of faces which assaulted his mind and ravaged his fragile emotions; Lorne's breezy cheer, Gunn's good-natured rivalry, Wesley's quiet confidence, Fred's trust and hardiness, Cordy's fiery dedication. And, last to linger in his sight, an infant boy's guileless blue eyes, which even now filled him equally with both awe and agony.
For one brief moment, he had had friends. A family. Acceptance. Something to fight for that was tangible and meant more than just a random girl in some alley.
Lately, even those seemed to be in short supply.
Suddenly, a wave of crushing despair eclipsed the numbness to which he had become so accustomed. At the same time, searing warmth hit his skin, causing all the instinctive warning bells to start ringing in his head. He drowned them out and refused to flinch, engulfed completely by the aching sorrow that was breaking through the icy surface of his mind for the first time in months, but also by the knowledge that, in just a few moments, it could be gone completely.
What about Spike? A traitorous voice whispered, even as the heat increased. What about Illyria?
Spike will just be sorry to miss the show, he argued, immediately squashing on the twinge of uneasiness before it could manifest into doubt. And former God Kings are hardly dependant on depressed vampires.
The voice was undeterred. And Connor?
He balked a little at that, but quickly shook it off with another stab of sorrow. Connor doesn't need me. He has his own life. And the thing was, there was nothing that made those words any less true.
The sound of his own sizzling flesh alerted him to the sun's fatal approach, and a thrill of exhilaration hit him, something he hadn't felt in what seemed like eternity. How many times had he been in this position over the last century, waiting for the thing which would end his pain for good, but been too cowardly to follow through? Countless, was the answer, though he couldn't say what was different this time. He decided it didn't matter.
Will they be waiting for me The question wormed its way into his mind before he could stop it. The idea, of course, was ridiculous. They would likely be where Buffy had been prior to being torn out, where monsters weren't allowed entry. Like he had told Spike, so long ago, creatures like them were bound for Hell, regardless of how they tried to redeem themselves. It was just the way of things, and he had long since ceased to care. But maybe there's a chance . . .
No. He belonged down below, and that was that. But the fact was, Heaven or Hell notwithstanding, it would be over. Such was the attitude he had adopted before, with the added, but not foremost, intention of taking Wolfram and Hart down with him. That plan, for reasons he still could not fathom, had failed. That wasn't going to happen again.
Flames licked up his arms, signaling that he would soon be no more than dust on the wind. Vague misgivings aside, the relief was almost crippling. Just a minute longer . . .
Without warning, a growl of thunder echoed across the distance. Angel frowned in confusion.
The sun's searing pressure suddenly eased and he opened his eyes, incredulous. What had been clear skies just minutes ago, were now covered with dark clouds. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated his dumfounded features, which quickly gave way to anger as thunder once again rumbled at him.
"You have got to be kidding me!" he cried out loud, glaring up at the darkening skies.
In response, a heavy downpour of rain chose that moment to fall upon the city, effectively dousing the remaining flames on his partially destroyed jacked. He sighed as the rage subsided, replaced by resignation. Should have known it wasn't going to be that easy to leave behind the burden of living.
Muttering curses at the Powers That Be Painful, Angel stomped off, feeling inordinately grateful that Spike hadn't been there to witness his failed attempt at leaving. Thank God for small blessings; it's not like he's giving away anything else.
Wrapped up in his own irritation, Angel failed to notice the vague distortions in the air behind him. For a fraction of a second, they manifested into the slightly more solid, slightly glowing, and very pissed-off figure of a woman. She glared narrowly at the vampire's retreating back, and let out a melodramatic sigh that was carried away on the roaring wind.
"Stupid dumbass."
". . . Bloody, soddin', poncey, arse-faced . . ."
Each expletive was accompanied by a hard punch to the unfortunate vampire's face. The bloodsucker had long since given up the very notion of fighting back, and was barely hanging on to consciousness, but Spike took no notice.
". . . buggerin', idiot, porcupine-headed wanker!"
On that last vindictive note, he finally ripped the vamp's battered head off, and watched as the body he was straddling crumbled to dust before him - no doubt in relief.
Panting heavily, Spike glared down at what used to be his opponent then gave the surrounding alley a quick scan. When no more potential outlets for his frustration popped into view, he sighed and rose to hit feet before searching through his pockets for a fag. The intense bloodlust was starting to seep away, but the feeling of restless, all-round twitchiness remained; it was a sensation he had become somewhat accustomed to, but still had yet to grow fond of.
Out of the corner of Spike's eye, the shadows shifted. "You are an odd specimen, half-breed."
The vampire snorted. "Love you too, Lyri."
Ignoring his comment, Illyria went on to further explain his oddities. "You reek of frustration and rage, yet direct it at one who is not the cause of it. Such an exercise is fruitless at alleviating anger."
He raised an eyebrow. "This, coming from she who decorates her bedroom with entrails? Not saying the Pouf's face wasn't a sight to behold when he saw it . . ." He smiled wistfully for a moment, then gave her a curious look. "But why the sudden change of tune?"
Blue eyes flashed dangerously in the dim glow of his cigarette. "Your entrails would join those on my wall, were they not dead and therefore unpleasant."
"Thank God King for small blessings then," he muttered.
She eyed him disdainfully. "Your passion for blood play holds no interest for me. I merely wished to know why you express your anger at one who is not the cause of it."
"Well, the cause of my anger ran off, dinn'e? Right in the middle of a three versus thirty fight too, the stupid, bloody, ponce . . ." Spike exhaled in irritation. "I killed the closest thing on hand. Made me feel better. Alright?"
Illyria sniffed. "In my day, were one to cause me the slightest irritation, I would have slowly shredded the skin from his body, cut off his hands and feet, torn out his eyes, and hung him in a neck deep vat of salty water. The ensuing days of endless screaming would have made me feel better."
Spike blinked, momentarily caught up with the image of his grandsire in such a situation. It was rather an appealing thought . . . shaking his head, Spike began his way up the alley, alerted by the nearing dawn. "Not saying torture and maiming isn't a bad idea, pet," he said, "But I find it a bit of a bore, to be honest, and I hear enough of the Great Pouf's voice without having to endure endless days of his screaming."
She followed, a formidable shadow on the edge of his vision. "You are a fool to disregard my advice, vampire. In my day . . ."
"In your day, the world was your lapdog, and the mountains bowed down to kiss your pretty blue tootsies," he interrupted, weariness and irritation at the world in general eclipsing common sense. "Yeah love. I get it."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You mock me. You hold no respect for one who once held power incomprehensible to your fragile mind."
"Nonsense. I happen to have great respect for someone who can pull out a person's vertebrae through their throat." He glanced up at the lightening sky and frowned. "We might have to go back through the sewers."
Unbidden, an image of Angel's blank face flashed through his mind, followed by the memory of how his shoulders had slumped as he'd walked away from the battle without so much as an explanation. Reluctant concern frayed at Spike's anger, and he couldn't help but wonder what the ponce would do in such a despairing state of mind.
A sudden rumble of thunder cut off his train of through, and he glanced up, surprised. The bruised clouds had, it seemed, filled the sky with uncanny speed. "What the bloody . . ?"
Sheets of water chose that moment to bucket down, causing Spike to scowl and move closer to the relative shelter of the nearest building.
"This weather is unprecedented," Illyria said, also frowning up at the sky. "Unnatural forces are at work."
He sighed. "Nothin' natural about this city. S'pose its time we just accepted that." After a moment more of eying the heavens in suspicion, he shook his head and continued striding down the alley with his signature confidence. "Come on Bluebird. Let's go home."
Across town, amongst the pile of rubble which used to be Los Angeles' most influential law firm, a dark shadow flickered in and out of distinction, eventually solidifying into the vague figure of a man. Lightning flashed over a sneering face as he glanced up at the sky.
"You don't belong here."
The figure bared a wolfish grin at the newcomer, who was standing nearby, looking pretty and pissed. Like a little girl who didn't get what she wanted, silvery glow notwishstanding. "Actually, I think I do. I must say though, I'm surprised at the Powers' choice of an advocate."
She cocked an eyebrow. "You'll find I can be surprising. You'll also soon find that coming here was a really big mistake."
He chuckled menacingly. "You don't want to threaten me, little girl."
"Call it a friendly warning then. All I'm saying is, if the Senior Partners believe that you are qualified to take down Angel, then they're a hell of a lot stupider than I gave them credit for."
"Of course, I forgot. Angel is you Champion, no?" He gave her a mocking sneer. "Tell me, just how has your champion been going, hmm? Still fighting the good fight?"
Her eyes narrowed, but he caught the flicker of doubt that ran through them. He pounced. "Angel is weak. Without his little lapdogs to shower him with encouragement, he is nothing but a self-doubting coward."
"Oh, you did not just call me a lapdog." Fiery red sparks crackled around her aura. "And you don't know Angel. Trust me, you're about to get your ass kicked."
"Another friendly warning?"
She gave him a cocky grin. "No, definitely a threat."
"Then I suppose I can safely declare this war."
"Bring it on, brimstone ass."
Another bone-chilling chuckle. "I'll see you around, little girl."
Before the end of his sentence, he had faded away into the rainy morning. Only then did Cordelia Chase let her confident smirk drop. She sighed. "Oh, crap."