Helene
tsumetai_umi@hotmail.com
www.randomnexus.com/ba - Forever Bound, B/A Shipper Site
Chapter 1: I Am...?
I've seen him. Angelus. He roams these streets just as the others do, a predator in the night, bloodlust a sweet melody to our tainted ears. He marches the cold concrete, senses open to all who would make their presence known. I know he hunts...I can feel the rippling tension beneath his skin, see the working of his muscles, the preparedness with which he makes each step. And yet, I have yet to see him feed.
I don't understand it. I used to know him, still do. The demon in me screams of memory, whispering secrets of the dark past we shared, showing insight into an infamous mind of a terrifying madman, and yet, I am suddenly unable to understand him. We have fought together, bled together, made others bleed together, even lain together, and yet he now eludes me. It leaves me with a feeling of vulnerability, vulnerability, of all the strange emotions I could be feeling right now. I feel as if I've been suddenly blinded, groping in the darkness.
Darkness. It was once a home to me, the mother's womb for her demon child, and I slipped amongst it's familiar crevices for generations, learning every twist and bend in the road that is humanity. Now the darkness is no mother, no teacher on the great intricacies of what I once considered pathetic human life...no, now it is a prison. A hellish prison of robbed sunlight and pale skin, milky in it's loss of the sun's kiss. I can barely remember my last sunrise. It seems so utterly long ago. And in all reality, it was...so long. To long in cold imprisonment. Anyone would crack, die. But I? I am immortal.
I am not allowed to bend to the winds of time, or walk towards that famous white light. I am not allowed to succumb to eternal slumber after a lifetime of happiness, humanity, family. I am not permitted the simple joys that so many humans take far to much for granted.
I walk, broken, but not dead, never dead through this sea of endless midnight. I walk alone, with only haunting memories as my companions. But now, now I have an unknowing companion. Angelus. So much of my humanity, and so much of my unlife. He shares the most painful of my memories, the most passionate of my moments. And I follow this pinnacle of my existence...follow him, until I am ready. Ready to face him. Ready to kill him.
***
"Angel?" My head snaps around at the feminine voice. A child, a girl, a woman...oh, age used to be a simple thing. But I've learned experience makes us who were are, not physicality. In so many ways I am an old woman, hollowed sockets seeing to much pain for one existence, and in so many ways, I am nothing more than a newborn babe, still waiting to taste life for the first sweet time. So for now she is merely that...she. I tense as I see her approach the killer. Angelus. I'm ready to go to blows. Perhaps tonight will be the night that I am ready to face him. My tormentor. My nightmares.
"Buffy?"
Buffy? It's not so much the unusualness of the name that startles me, but the way he says it. Surely such a sweet, awed whisper of a name, could never come from the demon I watch, the demon who came to be known as the Scourge of Europe. But then again, Angelus was always a master of trickery, of luring you in with false hope and promises of golden paradise. I had watched him do it, I had helped him do it. I had learned it with him. Such vile things we were. He still is.
"What are you doing here?" she asks. Run now Buffy, run while you still can. Run before the hungry predators takes, you, rips your blood from your veins with a feral growl. Escape the darkness to which I am eternally damned.
"I was just out for a walk...patrolling. You?"
Patrolling? It's hunting my brother, pure and simple. An animal's ritual.
"Patrolling," she responded, and I see the faint blush in her cheeks. She's attracted to him. I groan. Such naivety. She must be nothing more than a girl, like I previously thought. Speaking of girl, why is such a tiny thing "patrolling"? I just pray to a God who turned deaf ears to me long ago, that this isn't some demented twist on "fashion police".
"Are you okay?" he questions, and again I stiffen, at the pure confusion of it all. Human concern? What is Angelus up to now? Again, I feel that grating vulnerability, and suppress a terrified shudder. What if he does attack that girl. Will my soul be able to face him?
"Yeah. Not a single Vamp yet. I'm thinking of calling it a night."
"Yeah..." I slide further into the shadows as I see Angelus' face turn towards me, dark eyes searching. The girl notices his sudden shift of attention. Good lass, run! Run!
"Angel, what is it?"
"There's someone there." His tone is guarded and questioning, eyes still probing the darkness. I knew he would feel me. I felt him the moment I set foot in this place, energy calling at my essence, the monster writhing in my blood.
The girl takes a step to his side, pulling her arms into quite the well learned posture of defense. Pretty girls like her are at danger in these darkened streets of night. She must have learned to be well prepared. Her green eyes are flinty in the moon-light, hard and determined. I suck in an unneeded breath. Such intensity in gaze. Such fiery will. Who is this child? What lies beneath this smooth skin, and fair hair. What power dwells?
"There." She points right at me. Angelus' head snaps around, and in the moment our eyes meet. Demon eyes, eyes that dare to mimic those of humanity, yet in the end, are windows to the demon. It's a violation really, for a demon to use human eyes to see the world. It's dirty and blasphemous and evil. Then again, that is the summary for a demon, is it not?
"Show yourself..." but I can tell by the catch in Angelus' throat that he knows. The whispers of memory that my presence has sent floating about him are suddenly coming together. Such a smart one he always was, that Angelus. Smart and cold. And deadly.
If my heart beat, it would race now. I am utterly terrified. Completely and undeniably terrified. I rage at myself to stop my internal screams of fear, and pain. I force one foot after the other to move forward, I force one after one emotion to drain from me leaving me an empty canister of what once was passion, and life, and fear, and emotion. I learned long ago to shut of the fear. The price is, shutting off the fear, shuts off feeling all together. I've been so cold for so long...again...to long.
"Angelus," I call into the night, my voice a whisper, smooth and even, unfeeling. Cold. So cold.
He gasps, and it were possible, his pale face pales all the more. He is more than white now. He is the tint of the washed out moon. "Jehane." And then the strangest sensation washes over me. The smell of his fear. He is afraid. Of me. And again, I don't understand.
***
"Who?" the girl, Buffy asks.
"Run while you still can," I warn her, again in that cold voice that I can't recognize as my own. Centuries, and I'll never acknowledge that this creature who feels nothing is me. My soul whimpers from bearing the weight of my unshed tears, and yet now, right now, I can't let it cry. I want to. I want to cry and rage, and run from this place, walk in the sunlight, and feel a heartbeat, and feel the burn for oxygen searing my lungs, but none of that is given to me. Wants are rarely met. Wishful thinking is all to true for my taste.
She must have assumed that I was threatening her, because her defensive pose shifts, becomes all the more menacing. Who is this girl?
Angelus swallows hard and speaks. "What are you doing here Jehane?"
"I could ask you the same thing Angelus." When did I become so cliché? Will everything fall away from me until I am nothing more than a hollowed shell, a robot programmed only to say the same things over and over, never to know life again. Sometimes I envy the robot. Sometimes I fear it.
"Leave while you still can, Jehane."
I am still concerned for the girl, who is standing dangerously close to the Vampire before me. Is she trying to protect him? Foolish little thing. "You know of Vampires lass?" I lost my Irish brogue long ago, and yet still, old words fly from my tongue. Lass, lad, aye...All words of another world, and yet they insist on appearing here.
"Well, Slayer's tend to know..." she replies cockily. And she has every right to be cocky. She and I both know, Slayer strikes fear into a Vampire's heart. It's instinctual, primal. I've always thought that to be the allure of Slayer blood. It's drinking raw emotion, the pure animal channeled into tiny drops of dusky crimson.
"Slayer? Angelus. You've certainly shifted interests. Before you wouldn't go near a Slayer, much less make one your plaything."
Again my mindless banter. Why do I egg on the demon. Simple. I despise him, and want to milk this encounter for all it's worth. With luck, that elusive little trick, this will be our last encounter. The girl opens her mouth to protest, but Angelus places a hand on her arm, and her jaw closes. The closeness makes me nervous. Yet suddenly I am not nearly as worried for the girl as I was. She is the Slayer. She can handle him. A selfish part of me feels relief. I no longer feel the weight of Angelus' demise solely in my bloodstained hands.
"Well, what can I say? I've changed," Angelus replies bitterly.
I slowly draw the sword from my sheath, fangs bared to the moon kissed sky, demon ridges rippling across my flesh. It's time. I can't take the uncertainty anymore. And with a Slayer at my side, I am suddenly less fearful. Terrified still, but frozen in place no longer. How strange to think I would depend on this girl. Quite the interesting choice for my savior.
"You'll regret the day the gypsies gave my back my conscience. It told me long ago I had to rid the world of it's worst monster."
I pause in the midst of raising my sword to strike at his neck, when I see the utter surprise wash over his face. The pure confusion. His turn to be confused.
"The gypsies cursed you too?"
Time froze then.
***
"Angel who is this?" Buffy asked. She was stifling under the tense silence that had claimed us, burning under the searing heat of suspense. I felt the blistering tingle as well, my long dead heart clenching under this forced quiet.
"Jehane..."
I could nearly see the click of realization in on her face, the proverbial light bulb blinding in it's glow.
"Your Childe?" she asks. So she knows of him, knows of the demon that lives within him. Why have her destined hands, hand born to hold the stake and thrust it through our demon hearts, not killed him? Why have they left him more than a pile of dust caught in merciless winds. Winds sent to wash us from this world. Why does she fight beside him. Angelus was never one for a thrall. He preferred raw emotion in his victims, not the drugged state of compliance that others chose as avenues of victory over human victims. He mocked Dracula.
"No Slayer," I respond, and realize I have hissed the word. Slayer. I harbor no ill will towards this creature, this center of fates interventions against evil. But the demon in me despises her, and in that moment, it seemed to have control of my speech. She once again assumes the offensive, assumes I harbor her ill will. "They have no word for what I am to him Slayer."
I turn my attentions back to Angelus. No, not Angelus. Angel. Apparently as ensouled as I. I never say him after Romania. I was to blinded by pain and heart wrenching misery, faces of my victims, the face of my own tortured soul, to ever think of him. To ever wonder, what had become of him. I must have always naturally assumed that he was still the demon. Still the monster. Perhaps now, he is more a brother in darkness than before. Two alone, in a world of good and evil. Two alone who have existed in both.
"You have your soul?" I curse myself for the child like hope I let honey my voice. If he still is the demon, he will play that advantage for all it is delectably worth.
"Yes. And you?"
I lower my sword, glinting in the street lights. When did moon light become second to man made glow?
"Aye." It's strange to hear the word 'aye' without the rolling Irish lilt.
"Angel?" the girl questions, seeking confirmation of such an enormous proposition. Two Vampires with souls? I am disbelieving myself. Yet so desperate to believe. I want nothing more than to wrap myself in the warmth of security that this is not Angelus before me. That he will never bring me harm again. That no more tears will be spilt, no more furtive glances over my shoulder, always wondering if he is behind me. Waiting. Knowing my soul is renewed, and eagerly awaiting the day when he may break it again.
He studies my eyes, shifted to the azure shade, human and feeling, and watching him back evenly.
"She's telling the truth." And I know he is as well. We could never lie to the other. We knew one another far to well. Bonded in our blood, our order, our practices.
Buffy's posture relaxed, and Angel lost his fighting pose, yet unlike the Slayer, he didn't relax. He looked stiff, and pained. I brought him pain? Oh yes, the memories...does he feel remorse? Does his soul haunt him as mine had?
"Buffy?" A new voice. I turn to see a middle aged woman standing on her front step. While her gaze bores into Buffy I toss my sword into a nearby bush. We don't need anymore questions tonight. There are plenty without hers.
"You're late!"
"Mom, I know.." I cringe. Mom. Mother. Ma. Painful words.
"No. No excuses. Get inside!" And with that she stomps off, huffing. She's wound rather tight, isn't she? The Slayer turns back to us, her eyes apologetically shifting to Angel.
"Are you going to be okay?"
He nods. She's referring to me. I'm not danger. Broken things are never a danger to those who broke them. And again I must remind myself, he isn't the one who broke me. He is the man, not the demon.
"Well, good night then." She slips inside. I noticed Angelus' (Angel's) eyes linger on the door a moment, longingly, lovingly, and I find myself feeling the urge to smile. He cares for this child/girl/woman.
He turns back to me, and his eyes cloud with pain. "I'm sorry..." he whispers, and his voice breaks. I cringe at the raw pain in him, holding up a hand, deceptively smooth and clean for their age, and blood that should mar their skin. I tilt my, deceptively young, just like my hands, and face him.
"We are not our demons Angel. We owe no apologies for another's actions." Angelus always was obsessive. He could never let things go. I remember once being an object of that fierce determination. I shudder at the memory. I'm not surprised that the man in him is obsessive now, refusing to let go of memories, refusing to believe he is not responsible for every scream, every cry, every death at the demon's hands.
I too once bore that pain, the guilt, the shame. But my own memories of humanity, of when I was just a girl, before the demon tainted my body, and made me it's vessel...those memories of yesteryear demanded to be dealt with, to be acknowledged, forcing me to put my guilt on the proverbial back burner, forcing me to realize, I am not responsible for what the demon did.
He seems completely stunned at my words, and I chuckle dryly. I take a step closer to him, no longer so afraid. I am relieved. I am...almost happy. I no longer walk alone. He turns, and we walk together down these darkened streets, through this cold night air. And I join him in his hunt. Now it is not the hunt of a predator, a dance to the song of bloodlust. Now it is hunting the hunters, sparing others our eternal damnation. It is brother and sister, not of the night, nor of the day, the only two of our kind in the world...yes it is brother and sister come together. And the merciless winds leave us awash in newfound relief.
tsumetai_umi@hotmail.com
www.randomnexus.com/ba - Forever Bound, B/A Shipper Site
Chapter 1: I Am...?
I've seen him. Angelus. He roams these streets just as the others do, a predator in the night, bloodlust a sweet melody to our tainted ears. He marches the cold concrete, senses open to all who would make their presence known. I know he hunts...I can feel the rippling tension beneath his skin, see the working of his muscles, the preparedness with which he makes each step. And yet, I have yet to see him feed.
I don't understand it. I used to know him, still do. The demon in me screams of memory, whispering secrets of the dark past we shared, showing insight into an infamous mind of a terrifying madman, and yet, I am suddenly unable to understand him. We have fought together, bled together, made others bleed together, even lain together, and yet he now eludes me. It leaves me with a feeling of vulnerability, vulnerability, of all the strange emotions I could be feeling right now. I feel as if I've been suddenly blinded, groping in the darkness.
Darkness. It was once a home to me, the mother's womb for her demon child, and I slipped amongst it's familiar crevices for generations, learning every twist and bend in the road that is humanity. Now the darkness is no mother, no teacher on the great intricacies of what I once considered pathetic human life...no, now it is a prison. A hellish prison of robbed sunlight and pale skin, milky in it's loss of the sun's kiss. I can barely remember my last sunrise. It seems so utterly long ago. And in all reality, it was...so long. To long in cold imprisonment. Anyone would crack, die. But I? I am immortal.
I am not allowed to bend to the winds of time, or walk towards that famous white light. I am not allowed to succumb to eternal slumber after a lifetime of happiness, humanity, family. I am not permitted the simple joys that so many humans take far to much for granted.
I walk, broken, but not dead, never dead through this sea of endless midnight. I walk alone, with only haunting memories as my companions. But now, now I have an unknowing companion. Angelus. So much of my humanity, and so much of my unlife. He shares the most painful of my memories, the most passionate of my moments. And I follow this pinnacle of my existence...follow him, until I am ready. Ready to face him. Ready to kill him.
***
"Angel?" My head snaps around at the feminine voice. A child, a girl, a woman...oh, age used to be a simple thing. But I've learned experience makes us who were are, not physicality. In so many ways I am an old woman, hollowed sockets seeing to much pain for one existence, and in so many ways, I am nothing more than a newborn babe, still waiting to taste life for the first sweet time. So for now she is merely that...she. I tense as I see her approach the killer. Angelus. I'm ready to go to blows. Perhaps tonight will be the night that I am ready to face him. My tormentor. My nightmares.
"Buffy?"
Buffy? It's not so much the unusualness of the name that startles me, but the way he says it. Surely such a sweet, awed whisper of a name, could never come from the demon I watch, the demon who came to be known as the Scourge of Europe. But then again, Angelus was always a master of trickery, of luring you in with false hope and promises of golden paradise. I had watched him do it, I had helped him do it. I had learned it with him. Such vile things we were. He still is.
"What are you doing here?" she asks. Run now Buffy, run while you still can. Run before the hungry predators takes, you, rips your blood from your veins with a feral growl. Escape the darkness to which I am eternally damned.
"I was just out for a walk...patrolling. You?"
Patrolling? It's hunting my brother, pure and simple. An animal's ritual.
"Patrolling," she responded, and I see the faint blush in her cheeks. She's attracted to him. I groan. Such naivety. She must be nothing more than a girl, like I previously thought. Speaking of girl, why is such a tiny thing "patrolling"? I just pray to a God who turned deaf ears to me long ago, that this isn't some demented twist on "fashion police".
"Are you okay?" he questions, and again I stiffen, at the pure confusion of it all. Human concern? What is Angelus up to now? Again, I feel that grating vulnerability, and suppress a terrified shudder. What if he does attack that girl. Will my soul be able to face him?
"Yeah. Not a single Vamp yet. I'm thinking of calling it a night."
"Yeah..." I slide further into the shadows as I see Angelus' face turn towards me, dark eyes searching. The girl notices his sudden shift of attention. Good lass, run! Run!
"Angel, what is it?"
"There's someone there." His tone is guarded and questioning, eyes still probing the darkness. I knew he would feel me. I felt him the moment I set foot in this place, energy calling at my essence, the monster writhing in my blood.
The girl takes a step to his side, pulling her arms into quite the well learned posture of defense. Pretty girls like her are at danger in these darkened streets of night. She must have learned to be well prepared. Her green eyes are flinty in the moon-light, hard and determined. I suck in an unneeded breath. Such intensity in gaze. Such fiery will. Who is this child? What lies beneath this smooth skin, and fair hair. What power dwells?
"There." She points right at me. Angelus' head snaps around, and in the moment our eyes meet. Demon eyes, eyes that dare to mimic those of humanity, yet in the end, are windows to the demon. It's a violation really, for a demon to use human eyes to see the world. It's dirty and blasphemous and evil. Then again, that is the summary for a demon, is it not?
"Show yourself..." but I can tell by the catch in Angelus' throat that he knows. The whispers of memory that my presence has sent floating about him are suddenly coming together. Such a smart one he always was, that Angelus. Smart and cold. And deadly.
If my heart beat, it would race now. I am utterly terrified. Completely and undeniably terrified. I rage at myself to stop my internal screams of fear, and pain. I force one foot after the other to move forward, I force one after one emotion to drain from me leaving me an empty canister of what once was passion, and life, and fear, and emotion. I learned long ago to shut of the fear. The price is, shutting off the fear, shuts off feeling all together. I've been so cold for so long...again...to long.
"Angelus," I call into the night, my voice a whisper, smooth and even, unfeeling. Cold. So cold.
He gasps, and it were possible, his pale face pales all the more. He is more than white now. He is the tint of the washed out moon. "Jehane." And then the strangest sensation washes over me. The smell of his fear. He is afraid. Of me. And again, I don't understand.
***
"Who?" the girl, Buffy asks.
"Run while you still can," I warn her, again in that cold voice that I can't recognize as my own. Centuries, and I'll never acknowledge that this creature who feels nothing is me. My soul whimpers from bearing the weight of my unshed tears, and yet now, right now, I can't let it cry. I want to. I want to cry and rage, and run from this place, walk in the sunlight, and feel a heartbeat, and feel the burn for oxygen searing my lungs, but none of that is given to me. Wants are rarely met. Wishful thinking is all to true for my taste.
She must have assumed that I was threatening her, because her defensive pose shifts, becomes all the more menacing. Who is this girl?
Angelus swallows hard and speaks. "What are you doing here Jehane?"
"I could ask you the same thing Angelus." When did I become so cliché? Will everything fall away from me until I am nothing more than a hollowed shell, a robot programmed only to say the same things over and over, never to know life again. Sometimes I envy the robot. Sometimes I fear it.
"Leave while you still can, Jehane."
I am still concerned for the girl, who is standing dangerously close to the Vampire before me. Is she trying to protect him? Foolish little thing. "You know of Vampires lass?" I lost my Irish brogue long ago, and yet still, old words fly from my tongue. Lass, lad, aye...All words of another world, and yet they insist on appearing here.
"Well, Slayer's tend to know..." she replies cockily. And she has every right to be cocky. She and I both know, Slayer strikes fear into a Vampire's heart. It's instinctual, primal. I've always thought that to be the allure of Slayer blood. It's drinking raw emotion, the pure animal channeled into tiny drops of dusky crimson.
"Slayer? Angelus. You've certainly shifted interests. Before you wouldn't go near a Slayer, much less make one your plaything."
Again my mindless banter. Why do I egg on the demon. Simple. I despise him, and want to milk this encounter for all it's worth. With luck, that elusive little trick, this will be our last encounter. The girl opens her mouth to protest, but Angelus places a hand on her arm, and her jaw closes. The closeness makes me nervous. Yet suddenly I am not nearly as worried for the girl as I was. She is the Slayer. She can handle him. A selfish part of me feels relief. I no longer feel the weight of Angelus' demise solely in my bloodstained hands.
"Well, what can I say? I've changed," Angelus replies bitterly.
I slowly draw the sword from my sheath, fangs bared to the moon kissed sky, demon ridges rippling across my flesh. It's time. I can't take the uncertainty anymore. And with a Slayer at my side, I am suddenly less fearful. Terrified still, but frozen in place no longer. How strange to think I would depend on this girl. Quite the interesting choice for my savior.
"You'll regret the day the gypsies gave my back my conscience. It told me long ago I had to rid the world of it's worst monster."
I pause in the midst of raising my sword to strike at his neck, when I see the utter surprise wash over his face. The pure confusion. His turn to be confused.
"The gypsies cursed you too?"
Time froze then.
***
"Angel who is this?" Buffy asked. She was stifling under the tense silence that had claimed us, burning under the searing heat of suspense. I felt the blistering tingle as well, my long dead heart clenching under this forced quiet.
"Jehane..."
I could nearly see the click of realization in on her face, the proverbial light bulb blinding in it's glow.
"Your Childe?" she asks. So she knows of him, knows of the demon that lives within him. Why have her destined hands, hand born to hold the stake and thrust it through our demon hearts, not killed him? Why have they left him more than a pile of dust caught in merciless winds. Winds sent to wash us from this world. Why does she fight beside him. Angelus was never one for a thrall. He preferred raw emotion in his victims, not the drugged state of compliance that others chose as avenues of victory over human victims. He mocked Dracula.
"No Slayer," I respond, and realize I have hissed the word. Slayer. I harbor no ill will towards this creature, this center of fates interventions against evil. But the demon in me despises her, and in that moment, it seemed to have control of my speech. She once again assumes the offensive, assumes I harbor her ill will. "They have no word for what I am to him Slayer."
I turn my attentions back to Angelus. No, not Angelus. Angel. Apparently as ensouled as I. I never say him after Romania. I was to blinded by pain and heart wrenching misery, faces of my victims, the face of my own tortured soul, to ever think of him. To ever wonder, what had become of him. I must have always naturally assumed that he was still the demon. Still the monster. Perhaps now, he is more a brother in darkness than before. Two alone, in a world of good and evil. Two alone who have existed in both.
"You have your soul?" I curse myself for the child like hope I let honey my voice. If he still is the demon, he will play that advantage for all it is delectably worth.
"Yes. And you?"
I lower my sword, glinting in the street lights. When did moon light become second to man made glow?
"Aye." It's strange to hear the word 'aye' without the rolling Irish lilt.
"Angel?" the girl questions, seeking confirmation of such an enormous proposition. Two Vampires with souls? I am disbelieving myself. Yet so desperate to believe. I want nothing more than to wrap myself in the warmth of security that this is not Angelus before me. That he will never bring me harm again. That no more tears will be spilt, no more furtive glances over my shoulder, always wondering if he is behind me. Waiting. Knowing my soul is renewed, and eagerly awaiting the day when he may break it again.
He studies my eyes, shifted to the azure shade, human and feeling, and watching him back evenly.
"She's telling the truth." And I know he is as well. We could never lie to the other. We knew one another far to well. Bonded in our blood, our order, our practices.
Buffy's posture relaxed, and Angel lost his fighting pose, yet unlike the Slayer, he didn't relax. He looked stiff, and pained. I brought him pain? Oh yes, the memories...does he feel remorse? Does his soul haunt him as mine had?
"Buffy?" A new voice. I turn to see a middle aged woman standing on her front step. While her gaze bores into Buffy I toss my sword into a nearby bush. We don't need anymore questions tonight. There are plenty without hers.
"You're late!"
"Mom, I know.." I cringe. Mom. Mother. Ma. Painful words.
"No. No excuses. Get inside!" And with that she stomps off, huffing. She's wound rather tight, isn't she? The Slayer turns back to us, her eyes apologetically shifting to Angel.
"Are you going to be okay?"
He nods. She's referring to me. I'm not danger. Broken things are never a danger to those who broke them. And again I must remind myself, he isn't the one who broke me. He is the man, not the demon.
"Well, good night then." She slips inside. I noticed Angelus' (Angel's) eyes linger on the door a moment, longingly, lovingly, and I find myself feeling the urge to smile. He cares for this child/girl/woman.
He turns back to me, and his eyes cloud with pain. "I'm sorry..." he whispers, and his voice breaks. I cringe at the raw pain in him, holding up a hand, deceptively smooth and clean for their age, and blood that should mar their skin. I tilt my, deceptively young, just like my hands, and face him.
"We are not our demons Angel. We owe no apologies for another's actions." Angelus always was obsessive. He could never let things go. I remember once being an object of that fierce determination. I shudder at the memory. I'm not surprised that the man in him is obsessive now, refusing to let go of memories, refusing to believe he is not responsible for every scream, every cry, every death at the demon's hands.
I too once bore that pain, the guilt, the shame. But my own memories of humanity, of when I was just a girl, before the demon tainted my body, and made me it's vessel...those memories of yesteryear demanded to be dealt with, to be acknowledged, forcing me to put my guilt on the proverbial back burner, forcing me to realize, I am not responsible for what the demon did.
He seems completely stunned at my words, and I chuckle dryly. I take a step closer to him, no longer so afraid. I am relieved. I am...almost happy. I no longer walk alone. He turns, and we walk together down these darkened streets, through this cold night air. And I join him in his hunt. Now it is not the hunt of a predator, a dance to the song of bloodlust. Now it is hunting the hunters, sparing others our eternal damnation. It is brother and sister, not of the night, nor of the day, the only two of our kind in the world...yes it is brother and sister come together. And the merciless winds leave us awash in newfound relief.