Rating: PG-13, a little violence, a little blood.

Disclaimer: Angel and all related characters belong to Joss Whedon,
Mutant Enemy, Fox, etc., ad nauseum. All other characters, places,
incidents, etc. belong to me, and are copyright...well, me.

Distribution: As long as it isn't altered, and proper credit is
given, please feel free...I just ask that you let me know if it's to
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I'm just another guy talking to himself.

Notes: The first installment of the "Anima Di
Vagabondaggio" (Wandering Soul) series.




I. Eternity

"You never said forever
Could ever hurt like this…"
--Marilyn Manson

Los Angeles, Somewhere in Time

Normally the air in Los Angeles, though quite often murky with smog, was relatively dry. Tonight, however, moisture hung thick. The city collective had a thin film of water covering it, giving everything an eerie, translucent quality and making it all slick, almost slimy, to the touch. Mother Nature's tribute to her City of Angels. The outward appearance of the city, tonight, truly reflected its character.

It was one of those nights when breathing became a chore, and every labored drag of air felt like it was being pulled through a dirty, wet sponge…One of those nights that made him glad he didn't have to breathe. Long black duster pulled taut behind him, his hands stuffed deep into its pockets, the figure moved slowly, his eyes sweeping back and forth. He was searching. For what, he didn't know, not exactly. Maybe it was life. Maybe death. Maybe salvation. Not his own, on any count. He'd long ago stopped hoping to find such things. That was his curse: an eternity. An eternity without release. He gave others life…salvation…release. He was an Angel. Once, however, he had also given them death. There were so many…for so long…So many lives in so many lifetimes…and he'd loved every minute of it then…before he…

He felt the girl scream before he heard it, really. His head snapped up. A few blocks ahead, he guessed and, judging by the muffled echo following it, coming from an alley. So predictable, he thought. No imagination. The scream died away as he ran. He stopped and spun on his heels, unsure of where to go. Then he smelled the blood…and he knew.

In an alley, just as he'd predicted, there lay in a heap, the broken and bloodied form of a young woman. The lingering scent of something not quite human mingling with the intoxicating aroma of the girl's blood revealed her fate. Vampire, he thought, a young one. Only a newly born vampire would be so careless with a kill. Muscles tensed as he prepared to give chase. He took his first step just as the girl gasped, pulling in air violently, clinging to life. A look of genuine surprise, something quite rare after all this time, crept onto his face. He knelt down next to her and heard her choke a single word through the rivulets of blood that flowed from her mouth down to the pavement where it mingled with the gravel and ran under his shoes: "Please."

*********

Roscommon, Ireland 1803

A scant few candles lighted the grimy tavern, and even they were sputtering out. But the liquor was plentiful, and to most, that's all that mattered. The dozen or so patrons weren't there for the atmosphere. They were there for drunken bliss…perfect happiness…release.

Bar fights were not an uncommon thing at this particular tavern, or any other for that matter. When the moon rose and the amber ale started to flow, things got rowdy. She understood that, even accepted it. After all, the drunkest fools were always the most likely to slip a few extra coins into her apron pockets. She was beautiful, they told her… She was a goddess…Her eyes were penetrating, they told her, and would she bring them just one more measure of whiskey? She'd grown used to it the long while she'd been working there, since her husband, Willem, disappeared.

Goin' out for a bit've of fun wi' the boys, he'd said. Be back before dawn, he'd said. I love you, he'd said. That was three years ago. She stopped crying two years ago, a week after she'd started work at Billy's, when she'd realized that men, especially husbands, weren't worth crying over anymore. Most of them spent every night there or at one of a dozen places just like it within five miles, drinking their pay and trying desperately to convince her or one of a dozen bar maids to take them home for a bit've fun. Before long, she learned to ignore them. She never even looked them in the eyes anymore…with the exception of him. He was different. With him, she couldn't look away. He was at Billy's tonight; sitting at the same table in the corner he'd been at every night for a week, the stub of a candle casting dancing shadows across his face, it's flame gleaming in his dark eyes. Eyes the same color of the pint of thick, black stout that stood proudly on the table in front of him. As usual, it remained relatively untouched. As usual, she couldn't look away.

When the majority of the clientele was inebriated enough not to notice her absence, she quietly snuck away to his table. She didn't know why. She didn't care why. Wait, she thought, I know exactly why. It was those eyes. She wanted to lose herself in them…maybe she had already. Even now, she felt herself wandering among the rhythmic flames that skipped and jumped about in those two glorious pools of forever. She poured herself into the seat opposite from him, never lifting her gaze from his. He laughed softly, and his face lit up…the face of an angel.

"Good e'en, fair Alice," he took her hand and kissed it gently, "So very kind of you to join me." It didn't even occur to her to inquire as to how he knew her name.

She blushed. "You flatter me, good sir. Fair? Perhaps once. But this…place…has changed that...changed me." She looked around her as she said this, and all but spat the word 'place' from between clenched teeth. It had never occurred to her before just how much she really hated Billy's…and how much the dim lighting hurt her eyes, which welled up with tears not of sadness, but of anger because it was then she realized how much she really hated herself.

"There's still quite a fire in you, lass. Surely it hasn't changed you so much for the worse." He reached out to touch her face gently. She pulled back a moment, then relaxed, pressing his hand to her face with her own. She closed her eyes and Billy's grimy, musky, stinking tavern melted away, replaced by visions of the warm sun on her face as she stretched out on the bank of some river or another…it didn't matter which…the water flowing crystal clear and glimmering on its way to nowhere. The gossamer dress she wore swam in the light, warm breeze, tickling her body with every ripple. She sighed. Eternity.

And Billy's, with all its dank and noise, came rushing back as his hand withdrew. It settled on the table and she looked at it. Delicate, almost translucent, and yet it seemed stronger than any she'd ever felt before. The ring on his finger captivated her, though it was a relatively simple, traditional Celtic design: several intertwining bands forming a criss-cross pattern, never seeming to end. She was determined to lose herself in it, in the glow of the flame, in his face, anything to escape reality. She couldn't bear it anymore. Her eyes welled up, and she let go. Tears streamed down her face and struck the table, running down through the old, worn patterns in the wood. They struck his hands, but he didn't seem to care. He rose from his chair and quickly threw his cloak around her shoulders…too quickly, she thought, but dismissed it as a trick of her now blurred vision.

"Come now, Alice, let us get you out into the open air. 'Tis a beautiful night, sure to clear your mind. You'll forget your troubles in a moment, no doubt," he smiled, "Perhaps sooner." He led her, one arm around her waist, out the door of the tavern. No one noticed them leave.

As she felt her life slipping away, Alice sang quietly to herself. She sang a tune she thought she'd forgotten years before, one her mother taught her after tucking her into bed. It was about a woman whose husband had been lost at sea, feared dead, and who returned to her. In the song, the woman thought she was seeing a ghost, but her husband embraced her, proof that he was flesh and blood. And they lived happily ever after. Rubbish, she thought, laughing a little. She ran her fingers through his hair as he nipped gently, almost lovingly at her neck, drinking deeply from the series of long gashes he'd made there with his teeth, moments after they'd left Billy's. The blood he hadn't been able to catch ran in rivulets down her neck, staining her dress, slipping down to the road where it mingled with the gravel and ran under his shoes. Her head swam. She felt herself begin to float away on the breeze. Freedom. Release. Eternity. She smiled weakly and whispered to him, "Please."

*********
Los Angeles, Somewhere in Time

As the girl breathed her last, a heavy, painful sigh that seemed to reflect the way he felt, his mind traveled to Alice, so long ago, and back to the girl, nameless, here and now. They looked very much alike, he thought. Words he'd spoken more than a century before suddenly rang in his ears: "Not everyone screams," he felt his eyes welling up, "Not everyone screams…when you kill them." Tears streamed down his face and struck the ground, running through the grooves in the packed earth. They struck her hands, but she didn't seem to care.