Apocalypse: Sunnydale - Part I Continued
The microwave alarm beeped, and Willow reached over to pop the hot blood bag out of it.
"Ouchouchouch..." she said, tossing it so that it plopped with a wet slap into a nearby bowl. She handed it to him. "Be careful, it's hot." she warned.
A little thermometer on the side of the polybag read 98.6ยบ Angel stared at it, and then her, curiously.
"It's more nourishing warm." She told him.
He continued staring at her dumbly.
"We had more than a few vampires in the army, Angel. We learned a lot about what you need to stay healthy, and to heal quickly. Now eat, before it gets cold." she said.
Angel's hunger got the better of him. He snatched the bag out of the bowl, immediately vamping out, and sunk his fangs into the thick plastic.
It was the first good meal he'd had in at least 10 years.
He made short work of the first pint, and then a second, and a third that Willow prepared for him, watching and waiting patiently as he fed. It was only when the bloodlust faded, and he wiped the gory remains of the meal off his chin, that he was suddenly struck by the shame of feeding in front of one who had once been his friend...
He looked up at her sheepishly.
"Better?" Willow asked, taking the empty bags and putting them through a disposal shoot. She took the bowl and deposited it in another, marked "Decontamination".
Angel nodded, watching her as she sat back down on the stool beside him.
"Good." She said, and smiled wearily.
Willow stared at him for a good, long moment. It absolutely blew her mind that this was Angel sitting here before her, real as day. He looked wretched -- gaunt, and frankly, ancient. But underneath the filth and pain and despair, she still recognized his handsome features and his kind, soulful eyes. She couldn't have been more shocked if the Easter Bunny had dropped by for a visit... or more pleased.
"I'm glad to see you." Angel said sincerely. They were the first words he had spoken since he'd arrived in her office.
Willow smiled at her old friend, "I'm glad to see you, too." she said longingly.
Her tone made him wonder how many of the others were dead...
A split second later, she seemed to break out of the little cloud that had descended over them, and brightened noticeably.
"Well," she said, "Now that you're here, we need to get you some quarters." She looked up and down at his tattered prison uniform, "And some clothes. You can take a bath and get some sleep, and then we can talk when you're feeling better."
She had an air of confidence and authority she'd never had before, Angel noticed. Probably born from years of battle on the front lines, by the side of the Slayer.
"Buffy..." he said, inadvertently, out loud.
Willow stopped and looked back at him. "All in good time..." she said. She waved her hand over the door panel, and it slid open in front of her. She didn't turn around, but her head drooped as she said, "I'm so glad you're not dead, Angel..." and left.
He was dead, of course, but he knew what she meant.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Angel couldn't remember the last time he was in a room by himself.
Two orderlies, older volunteers from the clinic, had lead Angel through yet more clean, crowded, colorful streets into an enormous biospheric structure that looked for all the world like any old neighborhood above ground, before the war. Clear blue holographic skies sparkled overhead, lit by a synthetic sun, whose light didn't burn him. The streets were filled with signs of life... children playing, men mowing their lawns, young housewives gossiping as they sunned themselves over Daiquiris in the back yard...
Heaven. This was what Heaven was like, in his imagination. Angel found himself overwhelmed over and over again, at the sights... and he couldn't seem to stop crying for the beauty of it all.
The apartment building they escorted him to was fabulous -- something of a hybrid of Spanish architecture and Star Trek. The facade was much like the outside of the building Cordelia had lived in in Los Angeles, a pleasantly haunted apartment with extraordinary views of the city and high, vaulted ceilings. But placed here and there were cleverly hidden control panels and vid screens.
Angel took everything in with an exhausted wonder. So much had changed, since he'd been gone.
One of the volunteers opened an apartment door. The inside was nearly identical to Cordelia's place, too, and immediately evoked stabbing pain within him at the memory of how he'd found her, raped and disemboweled, hanging from the ceiling by her entrails. The Scourge had come looking for Angel, but he had already disappeared deep into the Underground, fighting with the gang of highly trained terrorists. Cordy had refused to join him when he left, insisting that she had no intention of living in the stinky sewers with a bunch of bloodthirsty demons... even if they were good ones. So the Scourge had come for her, and she had died for him. Bought his life with her own... it was yet another deep, black stain on the already mottled tapestry of his existence...
"You won't be able to operate anything with bio-scan," one of the volunteers told him, "But everything is just as easily activated by voice. Just program in a password, and let the monitor scan your retinas."
He had done as they asked.
Now he shook himself back to the present, and stared into the steaming bathwater, which gathered foam and waited for him in the tub. The heat seared his big toe when he stuck it in, and he snatched his wounded digit back, as if the stuff were holy water.
//Don't be such a baby,// he chided himself, //You used to dream about scalding hot baths, every day.//
And he had... he'd dreamed about hot baths... fresh herbal tea... Buffy... Opera... Dark Shadows... Buffy... night-blooming jasmine, poetry... but mostly, he dreamed about Buffy. Angel had whiled away thousands of miserable days replaying moments they'd spent together in his mind... he repeated every word, re-examined every gesture, every touch...
He sunk his legs slowly into the water, and felt a shiver run through him as the steam rose, and twenty years of grime and pain loosened up and began to fall away from his skin.
He bent over and sat down, and felt a back spasm from a poorly healed spinal injury he had learned to ignore years ago finally ease, then stop.
He sighed deeply as the water came up around his waist. He relaxed, and one by one, the faces of the beloved dead floated up to his mind's eye, and he began to remember, once again, everyone he missed.
As Angel sunk in up to his chest, he remembered his heroes -- the ones who died in the first days of the war: Doyle, Wesley, Jhiera... They had given their lives, one by one, smiling, with eyes open, to the cause.
Goodness. They all fought and died for the right... for the nice things about the world, and the not so nice... for sweetness... for light. Was it worth it?
He let his head go under and sank to the bottom of the seemingly fathomless tub. The creepy sensation of his lungs filling with water overtook him.
//This is what it feels like to die. Funny, that I can't really remember...//
Had it been so long since he himself had died?
//Which time?// He snorted bitterly, forcing a pack of bubbles out of his mouth, and he watched as they chased one another to the surface.
Was it worth it? He thought of the taste of chocolate... the warm, honeysuckle and vanilla scent of Buffy's skin... the feeling of sunlight on his face... the thrill of her little hand in his, and the soft touch of her lips...
//Yes. It was worth it. I would do it all again... I'd die a million deaths gladly, without a second thought, if it guaranteed her a long and happy life...//
He lay there, a drowned man, crying useless tears into the endless ocean of the hot bathwater.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The doorbell woke him from a sound, dreamless sleep, and he turned automatically to look at the clock on the nightstand. It was barely 4 p.m. But what day was it? He couldn't remember how long he'd been asleep. Or really, even, for a moment, where he was or how he had gotten here.
Willow had said -- yes, he remembered now -- that she'd be by today at tea. Had she really said tea?
Angel stumbled to the door and waved his hand in front of the panel. Nothing happened.
"Damn it.... uh..." he lowered his face over the monitor, "Retinal scan override." he ordered it weakly. He felt the faint tickle of the laser scan, and the mechanical voice replied,
"Password?"
Angel didn't have to think. "Anne," he said.
"Accepted." The door slid open.
"Bloody things, these doors, aren't they? Worse than a lack of invitation for keeping a bloke out." his visitor said, wearing a sly grin.
Angel scowled. "Spike."
The vampire grinned at his Sire, "Never thought to see you again, mate." he said, as he moved past Angel and sauntered into the room.
"Likewise." Angel hissed, tugging his robe tighter around him.
Spike picked up a book of Zen koans from the table and fingered it absently as he looked around the room. "Hm. Spartan. So, how are you enjoying post-apocalyptic Sunnydale?"
Angel glared at him silently. Of all the creatures he had ever known that he wished he could see again, Spike didn't even make the top 100. He watched the blonde wander over to where he stood, and then leered up at him.
"Did you hear? I helped save the world." he laughed, "I helped build this fancy little hole. And where, exactly, have you been, hm? Where's our intrepid good guy been, through all the tough stuff, eh?" he gave Angel a mock-Macho punch in the arm.
"And I imagine you stuck around out of the goodness of your heart." Angel snarled, unwilling to waste his energy justifying himself to his impertinent childe.
"Hell no!" he exclaimed, "That's what makes this such a grand new society! If you work hard, you get what you need, and the good folks that lead don't judge a creature's... tastes. I get livestock. And lots of it. Of course, I don't get it fresh, but, it's close enough... Long, lazy afternoons glutting at the slaughterhouse..." he said wistfully, and came closer, almost breathing in Angel's ear, "And did I mention that the war hero bit gets even more sympathy than the Ann Rice routine ever did? Certainly throws a sympathy into a lonely girl or two..."
Angel snarled, feeling the demon within him lurch, easily waking and immediately battling for control of his still-weak body. He could barely hold it back anymore, after letting it run free to defend him for so many years.
"Now, now... temper..." Spike said, moving away to pace the room, "I can't eat the lasses, mind you," he babbled on, "But a demon can do with a warm piece every now and again, if you know what I mean..." He slowly wandered back to the door, and leaned his face in to the control panel, his eyes never leaving Angel. "I just wanted to stop by to see if the rumors were really true, then..."
He started to speak to the panel, but paused and turned back to Angel once more, "She's not here, you know. The Slayer? They took her two years ago. No one's heard from her since." he turned back to the door, "Spike 1 override!" he said, boldly.
"Password?"
Spike turned once again to sneer at his sire, "Nancyboy." he said snidely.
"Accepted." the door said, and whooshed open. Spike stepped through and disappeared into the hall, leaving Angel to glare angrily after him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~