Down to the last
I will prophesy all in turn
Such things as were before
As are and as will come
Upon the world through the impiety of men
05:00 30 May 2002
The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles
I've never seen him injured so badly. He arrived back several hours ago, just a bloody mess on the lobby carpet. At first I thought something had gone badly wrong with the portal and he'd been turned inside out.
Even with several hours of vampire healing under his belt, he still looks a mess.
We've cleaned the wounds (not that antisepsis means a lot where vampires are concerned) and bandaged him up as best we can. There's going to be scarring. Fred and I debated taking him to hospital to get them to do a better job, but we decided we couldn't risk it; not with all that blood.
I suppose it gave us something to do. Now we're at a loss. Angel's in his bed. He doesn't seem to be unconscious, but he just stares straight ahead and won't speak to us, like he's had some sort of debilitating shock. Fred's up there with him.
Poor girl. I've never seen anyone so distraught. I don't think she's stopped crying yet.
Of course, we still don't know what happened. But, I've been thinking about it. If Angel was able to stop the Order being founded, why would he still exist? Should he even be here?
And if Angel doesn't exist, why should Fred be here? She should be trapped in Pylea, still.
If it comes to that, why would I be here? If it hadn't been for the Angel situation, I don't believe Giles would have been relieved of his command. Besides, he's saved my life more times than I can count.
All things considered, I find I'm glad he's back. Order or no Order.
14:00 30 May 2002
The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles
"Fred?"
"Angel? Are you awake? Thank God. Let me go and fetch Wes..."
"No, don't do that yet. Come here."
I step smartly over to the bed and sit down carefully on the edge. A heavily bandaged hand gropes for mine, and I take it in both my own.
"Does it... does it hurt?"
"No. Not any more. Fred, will you take the bandage off?"
"I don't think I should..."
"Please."
So I unpin the edge of the bandage and slowly begin to unwind it from his hand. I glance occasionally at his face, for any sign of pain, but there seems to be none. As his skin comes gradually into view, I can see that it is already knitted. A livid red scar shows where the injury was, but his hand is whole again.
I scoot the bandages away, and come back. He's sitting up.
"And these."
The wound to his abdomen is in a similar condition. I lay a hand gently on the skin, and follow the scar from top to bottom.
"I don't believe it."
He doesn't answer, but pulls me down onto the bed and begins to kiss me, gently. I'm so relieved I think I laugh, and then the feel of his lips and sure touch of his hands takes over. The kiss becomes deeper, and more urgent, and he strokes me from shoulder to thigh, pressing my body into him, lifting my leg to rest on his hip.
He caresses me until I'm breathless and mute with longing for him, then he pulls away and rolls over "Fred..."
"Angel, please, don't stop."
"I can't. I don't deserve... I need to tell you what happened."
"No you don't. You needn't. Was it... bad?"
"It was unforgivable."
"Nothing is unforgivable."
He gives me a wild, lost look. I turn him onto his side and creep around to lie behind him; passing one arm around his chest and using the other to support my head. "Go to sleep..."
"I don't think I can."
"You can. I'll be here."
I watch over him as he slumbers, disturbed, frequently wakeful, and dreaming some kind of awful dream, into the afternoon and evening. Then, exhausted, I curl up beside him and rest.
04:30 31 May 2002
The Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles
She's asleep. I stand on the balcony and I can see her through a gap in the drapes.
She fell asleep, at last, and I went back to the lobby, to try the portal again. But I knew before I started the incantation that it was hopeless. Darla is nothing if not thorough.
I can't bear it. I don't know if I can carry the blame for her crimes, and The Master's, as well as Spike's and Drusilla's, and all the rest, as well as my own. I close my eyes and the family tree seems to stretch out in front of me, like a roll call of all mankind.
Fred and Wes tried to talk to me but their words are meaningless.
"Nothing is unforgivable."
"If you could just tell us about it, everything would seem better."
"We don't care what happened, Angel. Just that you're all right."
Be with us, share, and heal. How very twenty-first century.
But, I know I'll never be able to tell them.
I want to believe that nothing I've done in the past matters to them. They tell me so, not in words, but in the way the act around me, their trust in me. The way he'll turn away from me, without the hair standing up on the back of his neck. The way she'll touch me and not flinch when my skin feels cold. They constantly invite me in, and take the risk in their stride.
But, deep down, I know it's not trust, not really the absence of fear. I know how they think, how they rationalise. He sees me as a victim. An unfortunate lad that chased a bit of skirt and got more than he bargained for, and now deserves an even break. "He made a mistake," I can almost hear Wesley say it, "And now he's trying to make up for it." To make amends. As if murder and worse things can be wiped away by enough Hail Mary's and Acts of Contrition.
I think Fred sees it differently, and I'm almost tempted to confide in her. She sees me as simply a hero. Her saviour. Well, maybe I am, but saving one soul can't make up for all those I've condemned. She doesn't know that what happened then can happen again. Past performance is not necessarily a guide to the future. The value of your shares may go down as well as up.
How can I tell them? That my latest victim turns out to be my most significant? That my most ancient ancestor is also my progeny? That everything the Order of Aurelius ever did can be laid at my door? That I am the single and singular cause of my own downfall?
I'm afraid to see the look in their eyes.
Strong is fighting, someone told me once. It's hard, and it's painful, and it's every day. It's what we have to do. Then the choices got too hard for her as well, the pain got too much and the thought of day-to-day living was suddenly impossible. I understand how she felt.
The Romans had an honourable way of dealing with abject failure.
I'm waiting for the sun to rise.
THE END