Disclaimer : see prologue
Author's notes: see, told you it would be soon! It's not over yet. There will probably be regular, if shortish, updates until it is complete. Meanwhile, enjoy.
The Breton: chapter 9 - Reunion
Luc stood outside the Hyperion Hotel and examined it, noting the lights in the windows, the elegant façade and the fading paintwork, before straightening his tie and walking determinedly in.
The lobby was brightly lit with a chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, and there were piles of documents on the counter where the reception area presumably once was. Luc could hear voices arguing as he crossed the floor and hit the bell lying on the counter top.
A head popped out from around a door. "Hi. Welcome to Angel Investigations. How may we help you?"
Luc examined the girl with appreciation, noting her slim body and large, attractive eyes. "I heard you deal with supernatural phenomena."
"You heard right!" the girl said, enthusiastically, picking up a pad from a desk and coming out from behind the counter. "Take a seat. What's your problem?"
Luc began to spin her a tale of missing relatives and strange men with deformed faces, watching her carefully. The girl seemed to show no sign of consternation at his tale, writing down the details in a schoolgirl's hand.
"Our operatives will be right on to this," she said, finally. "Now, if you'll just wait a moment, I'll fetch our payment information."
She disappeared into the inner door again and Luc heard her saying in a loud whisper, "paying client!" before she reappeared, followed by a tall, well-built young black man who held out his hand.
"Charles Gunn, sir. Pleasure to help you."
"Pierre Dupont," Luc invented swiftly, shaking Charles Gunn's hand and measuring the strength in it. "I hope you can help."
"We have an excellent success record," the girl said brightly, passing Luc a sheet covered in numbers. "Our clients are always satisfied."
There was a bang, and the door of the lobby was flung open, and Luc, tucking the sheet into his jacket pocket, froze for a second as he recognised the distinctive scent of his sire.
"Here's Angel now," said the girl. "He'll deal with your case."
"The demon got away," an English voice said wearily. "Down Hollywood Boulevard."
"We could've caught it if we'd had the car," another voice cut in, and Luc closed his eyes briefly. Under the American accent the beloved Irish vowels still lingered. He remained seated and listened as two sets of footsteps crossed the lobby, breathing in that intoxicating smell.
"Angel," the girl said, evidently going to him, "client."
Luc stood up, and turned around, and caught his first glimpse of his sire for over a century whilst Angelus was still facing the other way. The same height, or almost; shoulders now slightly hunched instead of the old confident posture under a leather jacket; short, spiky hair to replace the shoulder-length locks.
Angel's shoulders sagged even more as the girl gave him the news, but then Luc could see him gathering himself together, and he turned to face the 'client'.
For a moment, there was silence, and Luc had a moment to take in the unchanged features, the sight bringing back a whirl of submerged memories, before Angelus spoke.
"Cordelia, Gunn, Wesley. Go into my office and stay there. Now." There was a note of command in his voice, but Luc thought it lacked some of the steel of old. The three humans glanced at each other and then back at Angelus.
"But ." the girl began.
"Cordy. Now."
With mutterings of confusion, they did as he said, and Luc and his sire were alone.
"Hello, Luc," Angelus said. Luc took a step towards him, but his sire held out a hand. "Stop right there."
Luc stopped moving. "Is that all you can say?" he asked, and then slipped into French. "Sire - it's over a hundred years. Are you not surprised? Pleased, even, to see me?"
"The last time one of the family came to see me," Angelus said in English, "he tried to kill me. And the last time I saw Spike, he tortured me. So no, I'm not pleased to see you. It'll be better for all of us if you leave, now, quickly."
"I didn't believe it," Luc said. "When they told me, that you had . a soul, of all things, I didn't believe it."
"Believe it." Angelus' face softened, slightly. "And although I know that it will mean nothing to you, I'm so sorry, for what I did."
"To me?" Luc said, with surprise. He moved forwards another metre. "Why? I was a boy without a future. You gave me one. I love this life. You know that. You should know that."
Angelus shook his head. "I killed you. I used you. I remember, Luc, the first day you came, looking for work, and all I could think of was how it would feel to take your innocence, your enthusiasm, to corrupt them. And, God, I succeeded, didn't I?"
"Aren't you . weren't you proud?" Luc said, hating this figure that wore his sire's face, had his sire's inflections, but whose sentiments were so alien to the vampire he had worshipped.
Angelus looked down, fiddling with a ring on his finger. "Yes. You were such an apt pupil. So damn good at it. I expect you're still the same. You'd have to be, to have survived, all these long years."
Luc felt a sudden wave of revulsion rise up in him. "You're not my sire, not any longer. I'm not surprised that Darla cast you away. Mon Dieu, Angelus, je . I would have done anything for you. I searched the world for you, and this - this is what I find? Something . with regrets? Apologies? Why did I bother?"
He crossed the lobby and met his sire's eyes, and found that they had lost the old spark of command and of ruthlessness; and close to, Angelus smelt not just of sire, but of humanity, and of animal blood. Luc felt sick too now, and with out another word he hurried up the steps and away.
Across the street he paused to gather himself together, and noticed a limousine pulling up outside the back entrance, and a slim, petite blonde figure climbing out and hurriedly disappearing inside. He narrowed his eyes and tried to place the tug of recognition, before turning in the opposite direction and going in search of food.
He felt more composed after a prostitute he had come upon outside a bar, and went inside the bar for a cognac, cradling the drink between his hands and trying to pull up a picture of Angelus as he used to be, in silk and velvet with a mocking smile and a light in those dark eyes that had not been there this night. He failed. Instead, the image was replaced by an apologetic gaze and a soft American accent, hunched shoulders and overwhelming humanity.
He finished his drink and stood up, pushing a note on to the bar to pay for the cognac before going out, heading with a purpose back towards his rented apartment; the back of his mind mulling over the appearance of the blonde woman outside the Hyperion earlier that night, but most of his attention centred on what to do now. As he walked down the orange-lit streets, Luc thought to himself that it was going to be interesting.
Author's notes: see, told you it would be soon! It's not over yet. There will probably be regular, if shortish, updates until it is complete. Meanwhile, enjoy.
The Breton: chapter 9 - Reunion
Luc stood outside the Hyperion Hotel and examined it, noting the lights in the windows, the elegant façade and the fading paintwork, before straightening his tie and walking determinedly in.
The lobby was brightly lit with a chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, and there were piles of documents on the counter where the reception area presumably once was. Luc could hear voices arguing as he crossed the floor and hit the bell lying on the counter top.
A head popped out from around a door. "Hi. Welcome to Angel Investigations. How may we help you?"
Luc examined the girl with appreciation, noting her slim body and large, attractive eyes. "I heard you deal with supernatural phenomena."
"You heard right!" the girl said, enthusiastically, picking up a pad from a desk and coming out from behind the counter. "Take a seat. What's your problem?"
Luc began to spin her a tale of missing relatives and strange men with deformed faces, watching her carefully. The girl seemed to show no sign of consternation at his tale, writing down the details in a schoolgirl's hand.
"Our operatives will be right on to this," she said, finally. "Now, if you'll just wait a moment, I'll fetch our payment information."
She disappeared into the inner door again and Luc heard her saying in a loud whisper, "paying client!" before she reappeared, followed by a tall, well-built young black man who held out his hand.
"Charles Gunn, sir. Pleasure to help you."
"Pierre Dupont," Luc invented swiftly, shaking Charles Gunn's hand and measuring the strength in it. "I hope you can help."
"We have an excellent success record," the girl said brightly, passing Luc a sheet covered in numbers. "Our clients are always satisfied."
There was a bang, and the door of the lobby was flung open, and Luc, tucking the sheet into his jacket pocket, froze for a second as he recognised the distinctive scent of his sire.
"Here's Angel now," said the girl. "He'll deal with your case."
"The demon got away," an English voice said wearily. "Down Hollywood Boulevard."
"We could've caught it if we'd had the car," another voice cut in, and Luc closed his eyes briefly. Under the American accent the beloved Irish vowels still lingered. He remained seated and listened as two sets of footsteps crossed the lobby, breathing in that intoxicating smell.
"Angel," the girl said, evidently going to him, "client."
Luc stood up, and turned around, and caught his first glimpse of his sire for over a century whilst Angelus was still facing the other way. The same height, or almost; shoulders now slightly hunched instead of the old confident posture under a leather jacket; short, spiky hair to replace the shoulder-length locks.
Angel's shoulders sagged even more as the girl gave him the news, but then Luc could see him gathering himself together, and he turned to face the 'client'.
For a moment, there was silence, and Luc had a moment to take in the unchanged features, the sight bringing back a whirl of submerged memories, before Angelus spoke.
"Cordelia, Gunn, Wesley. Go into my office and stay there. Now." There was a note of command in his voice, but Luc thought it lacked some of the steel of old. The three humans glanced at each other and then back at Angelus.
"But ." the girl began.
"Cordy. Now."
With mutterings of confusion, they did as he said, and Luc and his sire were alone.
"Hello, Luc," Angelus said. Luc took a step towards him, but his sire held out a hand. "Stop right there."
Luc stopped moving. "Is that all you can say?" he asked, and then slipped into French. "Sire - it's over a hundred years. Are you not surprised? Pleased, even, to see me?"
"The last time one of the family came to see me," Angelus said in English, "he tried to kill me. And the last time I saw Spike, he tortured me. So no, I'm not pleased to see you. It'll be better for all of us if you leave, now, quickly."
"I didn't believe it," Luc said. "When they told me, that you had . a soul, of all things, I didn't believe it."
"Believe it." Angelus' face softened, slightly. "And although I know that it will mean nothing to you, I'm so sorry, for what I did."
"To me?" Luc said, with surprise. He moved forwards another metre. "Why? I was a boy without a future. You gave me one. I love this life. You know that. You should know that."
Angelus shook his head. "I killed you. I used you. I remember, Luc, the first day you came, looking for work, and all I could think of was how it would feel to take your innocence, your enthusiasm, to corrupt them. And, God, I succeeded, didn't I?"
"Aren't you . weren't you proud?" Luc said, hating this figure that wore his sire's face, had his sire's inflections, but whose sentiments were so alien to the vampire he had worshipped.
Angelus looked down, fiddling with a ring on his finger. "Yes. You were such an apt pupil. So damn good at it. I expect you're still the same. You'd have to be, to have survived, all these long years."
Luc felt a sudden wave of revulsion rise up in him. "You're not my sire, not any longer. I'm not surprised that Darla cast you away. Mon Dieu, Angelus, je . I would have done anything for you. I searched the world for you, and this - this is what I find? Something . with regrets? Apologies? Why did I bother?"
He crossed the lobby and met his sire's eyes, and found that they had lost the old spark of command and of ruthlessness; and close to, Angelus smelt not just of sire, but of humanity, and of animal blood. Luc felt sick too now, and with out another word he hurried up the steps and away.
Across the street he paused to gather himself together, and noticed a limousine pulling up outside the back entrance, and a slim, petite blonde figure climbing out and hurriedly disappearing inside. He narrowed his eyes and tried to place the tug of recognition, before turning in the opposite direction and going in search of food.
He felt more composed after a prostitute he had come upon outside a bar, and went inside the bar for a cognac, cradling the drink between his hands and trying to pull up a picture of Angelus as he used to be, in silk and velvet with a mocking smile and a light in those dark eyes that had not been there this night. He failed. Instead, the image was replaced by an apologetic gaze and a soft American accent, hunched shoulders and overwhelming humanity.
He finished his drink and stood up, pushing a note on to the bar to pay for the cognac before going out, heading with a purpose back towards his rented apartment; the back of his mind mulling over the appearance of the blonde woman outside the Hyperion earlier that night, but most of his attention centred on what to do now. As he walked down the orange-lit streets, Luc thought to himself that it was going to be interesting.