A/N: Okay, this is a big departure for me. A lot longer than I had originally anticipated. I wanted to do something with the idea that Angel had spent some time in Missoula, Montana during the depression (as he tells Tina in "City of"). It sort of took off from there. The timeline has been screwed with to suit my needs, especially Angel's, and I have never been to New York, so please forgive my lack of correct geography. My American history isn't that great either, so please forgive me if the things I mention aren't correct timewise.
I welcome constructive feedback, and as this is my first Angel stand alone story, please be gentle.
Thanks go to my friend Holly, who helped me with plot points.
Thanks always for the feedback. You're the best!
Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own 'em. Except for my created characters.
I welcome any emails with constructive suggestions.
sashab@ev1.net
Enjoy!
The steam engine speeds through the night, puffing large clouds of noxious white gas into the air. Angel adjusts his hat further over his eyes, trying to show some pretense of sleeping. All around him, families, single young men, and schoolgirls on their way to the big city chatter, play cards, sip coffee, and watch the night pass them by.
He will miss Missoula desperately. America is such a strange place. Having been there only a scant 30 odd years, which to him of course is pocket change in terms of time, he had come to love the little backwater town and wide open land of Montana.
Then the Depression hit. And things died around him. First the business in the town, then the ranching life. No one could afford to feed their cattle or care for their crops, so things fell into ruin. After watching the little town become a desolate wasteland, he finally made the plunge and grabbed a ticket for the first train out of town, not really caring where it was going. Turned out to be New York.
New York City, actually. Since Angel really was a boy from the country, Galway not having been that urban at the time of his departure, he has a country boy's fascination for the "big city" as several of the folk in his compartment called it. His brief experience of New York in 1900 was not one he cared to relive. But this time, he figured, it would be different. He was different.
Content for the moment just to pretend to sleep and listen to the people around him, he pulls the collar of his leather duster around his neck, and crosses his booted feet on the floor in front of him.
New York City. What he couldn't do there. He could make a name for himself. He could hide in plan site, mingle with the humans and they'd never be the wiser.
Or he could just disappear like he had been planning to do.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat as the guilty twinge hits his heart again, like it has wont to do whenever he's beginning to feel too complacent.
Damn Gypsies.
He's been running for over 30 years now. Had hoped that coming to a new soil, a new world would make it easier.
But how can you hide from your own soul?
Ellis Island, Spring, 1900.
Not a pretty place to be an immigrant. Somehow he had managed to escape the registration at the Island and passed through the docks like a ghost, ignoring the stares of disgust he was getting from the others that had just arrived.
Stumbling along in his tattered overcoat, he finally had looked up to behold a small poster tacked to the wall of a corner building.
"Men Wanted! Plenty of Open Land, chance to own your own! Previous experience caring for Animals helpful. See clerk inside!"
So he had. Had signed on to ride to Montana and the western states, ready to be rid of New York.
The company had put him in charge of his own train compartment full of cattle. Convenient. Food and a place to stay away from the sun.
When he had reached Montana, he had been determined to collect his pay, and disappear into the wilds of the free land. Had decided to stay one night in the small town of Missoula.
Well, one night was enough to make him fall in love all over again. Except this time it was with the land and the town.
So he hadn't vanished. He'd stayed, always on the outskirts, managing to eake a meager living caring for people's animals, never letting any one get too close, never letting himself feed from the same one at any given time.
No one seemed to notice the strange young man, how different he seemed, how he always seemed to stay so strong and healthy. He kept to the shadows enough that they never really noticed that he hadn't aged much in the twenty years or so he spent there.
And then the War had come. And then the Depression. And thus he had left his little town, and set out on the next phase of his life, such as it was.
He finally decides that there will be no sleep while on the train, and sits back up, pushing his hat to the back of his head.
Resting his chin in his hand, he gazes out the window at the quickly moving scenery and thinks ahead to his future and New York City.
Three nights and as many sleepless days spent in the baggage compartment later, a dusty and road weary vampire with a soul takes his first steps in almost 30 years onto the soil of New York.
The town hasn't changed that much, he thinks, and leaps back onto the sidewalk as a speeding car almost makes a memory of him.
Well, maybe a little.
He wanders the streets, not sure what to do next. Union Station happens to be situated in a prime area of real estate, so Angel has plenty of things to gawk at while walking aimlessly. A pair of smartly dressed men pass by him, turning their heads to follow his progress. He hears them whisper something about "country folk," amid much laughter. He looks down at himself, and realizes he doesn't really fit "the scene" of the city in his crumpled hat, floor length coat, and pointed boots. Decides he needs a change if he is to blend in here the way he needs to.
The bell on the door of the shop tinkles as he furtively leaves, now attired in a more New York like simple black suit and wool jacket. Sorry he can't fix the lock he has broken to get in, he hopes the money he left on the counter will still be there when the proprieter arrives in the morning.
The daggers he always carries stay silently attached in their sheaths wrapped tightly around his wrists. Good thing about black suits. You can hide almost anything underneath them.
He decides to check out the neighborhood, and tentatively begins a search for a new place to call home. A lot of the towns or larger cities he has visited in the past are just full of places for a wandering vampire to rest his bones, but since it's been so long since he's been to this particular city, he's not sure of any around where he is now.
Turning a corner, he spies a small wooden sign hanging underneath an even smaller electric lamp.
The scrolled printing on the sign reads: The Celtic Cross.
Can't go wrong with a name like that, he thinks, and pushes open the door to the pub.
Realizing his mistake the second the door swings shut behind him, Angel wonders if there's any way to leave without any one noticing him. They all notice him. Then they all turn back to their drinks.
Demons. The bar is chock full of demons of all sizes and colors and creeds. He stands with his back against the door for a brief moment, sure they can all see the words "VAMPIRE WITH A SOUL!" stamped on his forehead.
He finally decides he'd better take a seat, or risk some very strange reactions.
Sidling cautiously up to the bar, he sits on a stool and risks a glance around at the patrons. Some Brachen demons sit together in the corner, drinking and playing cards. A very large Fyarl demon plays billiards with a vampire with his game face on. A pair of willowy Shadrack females sit on the laps of two human males at a table, each one greedily sizing up the huge stack of poker chips the humans place in front of them on the tabletop.
The bartender approaches Angel, giving him the once over.
"What'll it be, mister? O positive or something a bit quirkier?"
Shocked at the man's instant recognition of his 'state,' Angel stammers back, "uh, anythings fine."
A few moments later the man returns with a tall beer glass full of blood, and sets it in front of Angel. "Twenty cents, buddy."
As Angel hands over the cash, he risks a question.
"What's the story here? How long have you been in business?"
The bartender squints his eyes warily as he regards the vampire in front of him, obviously new in town with his shiny new clothes.
"Why? You new in town? Lookin' for some action? Cause I can set you up with anything- women, men, you name it. Cards, drinks, and oh! A few 'willing' victims if you get my drift…"
Angel violently shakes his head. "No, no thanks. Just curious. I am new in town, and just interested in the local scene."
The bartender puts out his hand, and Angel notices the three glistening and crusty spikes that protrude from the man's wrists. Not so human after all.
"Names' Victor. I own this place. And you are?" Angel takes the demon's hand hesitantly, shaking it a few times before hurriedly releasing it, not wanting to get in too close contact with the spikes. "Angel," he tells the man, wary of giving away too much information. The name of Angelus is famous one in the demon community, and he doesn't want any connections to be made between himself and the so called 'scourge of Europe.'
"Interesting name for a vampire. Anyway, Angel, I'd be a little careful around these parts if I were you. Not too friendly for demons and the like. We have to be quiet to keep this establishment going."
Angel raises his eyebrow at this statement. "Why? Police busting you? This place seems to be pretty low key for a bar of any kind, let alone one that's demon friendly."
"Well," Victor leans in almost conspiratorily, "There's a really new rumor going around that the new Slayer is from these parts. None of my customers that remarked on this have yet to return to confirm the tale."
At the word 'slayer' Angel's face turns even paler than it's normal ivory shade. Not easy to disappear when a vampire slayer lives in your neck of the woods.
"And you believe the rumors? Especially since no one has confirmed them?" He hopes to God that they are rumors. His only encounter with a Slayer of any kind was the fleeting glimpse of the one Spike had killed. And after listening to his former compatriots' story of how hard it had been to kill her, he hadn't wanted to come within one hundred feet of a Slayer. Ever. Even Angelus had been afraid of that legend.
"Well, some say they have had some sightings of her, training with her watcher at night in the Central Park. You know how they are supposed to have a watcher with them, right? Nosy bastards, always ruining any good demon secrets with their damn diaries."
Angel drains the last of his blood in one gulp, then stands. "Thanks for the information, Victor."
"What, leaving already, Angel? Well, you're welcome to come by anytime. We like having the odd vamp in here at one time or another, having a guy around who can kick some ass is always a plus."
Angel throws a wave as he exits the pub, thinking how appropriate the "odd vampire" statement was. He's about as odd a vampire as there is.
Deciding to try and substantiate the slayer rumors, Angel heads toward Central Park. The streets are mostly clear now, and as he nears the edge of the park, his preternatural hearing picks up the sound of clashing metal and grunting humans.
Easily vaulting the locked fence, he enters the dark park. Stopping to get his bearings, he realizes the noise is coming from about a quarter mile to his left. So he heads silently that way, a shadow among shadows.
At the edge of the clearing he stops, and is greeted by a sight not many demons get to see and live.
A human man in his early forties holds a rapier, defending himself with all he's got. And the person attacking him is…very small, with long red hair flying about her, her own rapier a blur, a testament to how fast she's moving. Angel can only gape as the girl quickly knocks the man's sword out of his hand, and presses her own blade to his throat as she trips him to the ground in front of her.
"Enough, Cecily, enough! You've certainly proven your skill with a blade. Now let me up, and we shall continue with the crossbow."
Angel hides a smirk as the girl rolls her eyes at her watcher. "Please, Sir Anthony, I must insist upon a break. We've been practicing non stop for several hours, and I feel as though my throat is on fire. Please, may we stop for a moment? I promise I will work doubly hard on the crossbow."
"Very well, very well," grumbles the man, and they procede together to a large overturned tree stump very close to Angel's hiding place at the edge of the clearing. He warily backs up, but not far enough that he can't hear any conversation.
As the watcher clears up the weapons, the young Slayer sits upon the tree stump, moping her neck with a handkerchief and downing a thermos of what smells to Angel like tea.
He is fascinated just being this close to a living legend. A slayer. He knew of them, of course, and had listened to Spike brag of his kill many times, but had never been this close to one. Definitely by choice. Angelus had not wanted to risk his egotistical hide by giving any Slayer a chance to practice her staking skills on him.
She sits still for a moment, holding her long hair off her neck with a hand, fanning her face with the other. Suddenly she freezes, and whips her neck around right in his direction, although Angel knew he had not made a sound. He backs further into the dense foliage, yet her piercing eyes seem to find his.
She stands the moment he decides to run.
Slipping silently through the trees, he swiftly approaches the fence he had vaulted so easily earlier. Leaping said fence, he lands in a crouch, booted feet crunching on the gravel walkway. Hastening away, he realizes that his forehead is coated with sweat, and as he stops behind a squat, abandoned building across from the park entrance, he hears her approaching at a run.
"Cecily! What is it?" her watcher yells, as he attempts to keep pace with the Slayer. She stops at the other side of the gate, and scales it quickly despite her dress.
She looks around, eyes narrowed and chest heaving with breath.
"I'm not sure, Sir Anthony. I could have sworn I felt…something. There was a vampire watching us, I'm sure of it,"
she reports as the man following her pulls up short on the other side of the fence.
His breathing much more labored than the girl's, the watcher bends over, his hands on his knees, panting out, "Well, do you still feel him?"
Cecily hesitates, cocks her head, listening for something. Anything.
What she gets is nothing. Angel is good at disappearing when he needs to.
"No, he's gone. Damn."
"Your tone, miss. I'm sure he'll have run as far as he could if he knew who you are. Let's return to the clearing; it's getting ungodly late and I need to retreive the weapons."
"Yes…I'll join you." She re-vaults the fence, and as they both turn to leave, Cecily the Vampire Slayer spares one more glance behind her.
Angel watches with trepidation as she finally gives up, and follows her watcher back into the park.
Wiping his forehead with annoyance, Angel is surprised and disgusted with himself, and his reaction. Would the infamous Angelus have run from a simple girl? Even though she was a vampire slayer?
Probably, Angel thinks wrily. He would have recognized his betters when he met them.
Shrugging off the encounter, he heads back toward the center of town and the pub he had drank in earlier. Perhaps a bit of rest, and he would be ready to move on from this accursed town.
He tosses and turns during the day, suffering an agony of repeated dreams and nightmares, featuring his vicious alter ego and his power mad sire, Darla. Each vision, each memory tears at his new soul, forcing whimpers of protest from his clenched lips.
The moment the sun sets, he is wide awake, and coated in a fine sheen of sweat.
Will they ever end? Am I doomed to constant repeat viewings of my past deeds? Am I condemed to walk the earth, forever reliving every minute?
He winces with guilt the minute the thoughts pop into his head. He deserves it. Every minute, every memory, every torture he can visit upon himself. A century of killing, and he can see every drop of blood spilt in violence for Angelus' momentary pleasure.
He wipes the fresh tears that spill unbidden from his eyes away with a brutal swipe of his hand, and yelps in pain as he cuts his cheek with his beringed hand.
He stares transfixed at the blood on his hand, and shudders uncontrollably at the sensation just the scent of it brings up in him.
He looks around the room, as afraid someone might be watching him, then licks his own blood off his hand, closing his eyes at the taste.
No matter how long he goes without tasting human blood ((forever!)) , he'll never forget the warmth, the aroma, the tangy saltiness of it. Even if it comes from one's own body.
Self loathing and revulsion sweeps through him once more, and he groans as he leaps off the small bed, and plunges his hand into the basin of water on the small, dingy dresser set into the wall of the tiny room.
Quicky rinsing the remaining blood off, he glances at the clock on the table. 7pm. Time to get out of Dodge. He dresses in world record time, having slept in his pants, and grabbing his small traveling bag, heads upstairs to the pub proper.
Victor the bartender stands watch over the patrons again this night, and smiles as Angel approaches, money in hand, ready to pay his bill and get the hell out.
"So, you leaving us, vampire? Too bad. Have a new selection of drinks coming in tonight. Sure you don't want to stay?"
"Yes. Here's the money I owe you. Thanks for the room."
As Angel walks toward the door and his escape, Victor says after him, "Oh, by the way- remember that Slayer rumor that was floating around? Well, there's a new one. Seems she encountered a vamp last night near Central Park, or so the story goes. Almost caught him, too, but for some reason, he didn't want to chat with our resident Slayer. Can you imagine why?" Victor stops as Angel slowly turns toward him, a look of unbridled suspicion on his face. A dangerous look, for anyone who knows anything about Angel. Unfortunately for Victor, he plows on, not noticing the increasing state of agitation rolling off the vampire in front of him.
"There's been this other story going around, too. Seems there was this really powerful vampire, the scourge of Europe they called him, who ran into some Gypsy trouble a while back. So he's running around cursed with a soul, damned to walk the earth cowering from his true prey. And this vamp, the scourge of Europe, he's supposedly the one the Slayer encountered. And he ran. Weird, huh? I guess that soul rumor is true as well. Say, you just arrived in town, didn't you? Have you heard any-"
Victor gags as 175 pounds of angry ensouled vampire, game face on, is suddenly pressed up against his neck, one hand around his throat, the other pinioning his hands together.
"That's a rumor. Not substantiated. Got it??"
"Yeah, yeah, what's your problem, let me up!" the bartender squeaks out, and as Angel growls at the stupid demon, he realizes that a cadre of several of the pubs customers have surrounded him. He gently eases off, and his face changes quickly back with a small shake of his head.
"No problem. Just, I don't want to hear any more talk about that particular vampire. You got it? He's no where near here. And won't be any time in the near future. Alright?" Angel responds, trying a little too late to sound resonable.
"Yeah, whatever, okay. Just get out of my bar," Victor tells him, and the patrons surrounding him back off, mumbling various threats under their collective breaths.
"Fine." He grabs his bag off the ground, and stalks out, rearranging his jacket, shaking the dust off it as he angrily hits the street, the sound of the door slamming behind him resounding like a gunshot through the quiet neighborhood.
Now he's really angry. Mostly at himself. The one connection he had to the goings on in the city, and he blew it, letting emotion get in the way once again. Damn Gypsies!
The scourge of Europe, they had called him. Cut a swath through almost every country, made a name for himself, actually for Angelus, and in the process made several powerful enemies, who were jealous of the power the vampire managed to gain just by being himself.
He unconciously walks on toward the park, berating himself all the way. By the time he realizes where he is, its too late to turn around and go another direction.
He had been sure this afternoon, after waking from the terrible dreams, that he was going to get on the next boat out of the U.S. Aside from the information gleaned about the new slayer, he was having terrible luck in this country. And knowing her location was about all Angel wanted to know about her.
The only sure way, the safe way, to exist at all in his current state, was to disappear, to live like a ghost in his own skin. He had tried briefly to return to Darla and his previous ways right after he had been cursed; the resulting pandemonium was so intolerable he had left as soon as possible. Had spent the following short years alone. Trying to figure out exactly what it was he was supposed to do.
How does one exist as a demon with a man's burden?
What was the reason he hadn't greeted the sun already?
Deciding with a sigh there was no reason not to check if the Slayer was around, just to make sure I can avoid her this time, he scales the fence again, and heads in the direction of the clearing he had seen the night before.
His acute hearing picks up two human voices, arguing.
"I know I felt one! I swear it! And if it was bold enough to spy on me once, it will be bold enough to come back!"
"Cecily, I understand your concerns, but there is no reason to assume an ungodly creature such as a vampire will seek you out again. If it was smart enough to run, it will be aware of who you are. And I guarantee it won't come back."
The edge of Angel's mouth curls upward in a wry grin, as he watches the Slayer and her companion discuss him. He doesn't know himself why he decided to come back, but puts it off as having nothing else to do.
The redheaded Slayer paces the width of the clearing, animatedly gesturing with her hands as she talks to her watcher. Angel follows her movements with her eyes, morbidly facinated. Here is his possible death, walking and talking, not even aware of his prescence or his eyes on her. Vampire Slayer. And him, a vampire. Watching a slayer. Staying close to one. Odd, he thinks, and continues to listen to their argument.
"Sir Anthony, you have heard the stories? The ones the Council want us to ignore? The ones about the ensouled vampire, the so called scourge of Europe? 'the one with the Angelic face?' Supposedly he was spotted walking the streets close to morning, near that bar that the miscreants supposedly inhabit."
Angel draws in an unneeded breath at this comment. She knows about me. Guess the scourge stories travel fast.
"The council want us to ignore those stories for a very good reason. Angelus is dangerous, Cecily. So dangerous that the council has put up a do not approach order if any of our operatives chance to run into him. And they don't do this lightly. Before the so rumored cursing, this vampire was a vicious, bloody killing machine. The slayer at the time of his emergence in Europe never even tried to find him. I don't understand your fascination with the stories," the watcher stops finally, having to draw a deep breath after his long winded comments.
Angel turns to go at this, not overly eager to hear stories from his past. Especially ones he's been trying to forget for 30 years. So it surprises him to hear Cecily reply, "I pay attention to the stories because I am intrigued, Sir Anthony. All I have been taught, all I have always believed about vampires and their nature is destroyed by this story. Imagine it. A vampire with a soul. Can you understand how important it would be if we could just speak with him? What we could learn about the vampire nature and all it entails?"
The watcher cuts her off with a psshh noise. "Vampires are vampires, Cecily. Just because one is burdened with a soul, doesn't mean it isn't still a monster. It doesn't mean it wouldn't kill you just as soon as converse with you."
"But Sir Anthony, every thing we as humans believe about a soul discourages this type of thinking. A man's worth is weighed by the caliber of his soul. We place a high value on how pure, how good a man can be, how righteous. Yet how is he righteous without a soul? He can't be. Thus, I have to believe that a vampire with a soul has the same chance as being good or bad as a man with a soul does. Therefore, I am determined to find out if the stories are true," she finishes passionately.
Angel is stunned by her words. And extremely frightened. He slips away silently through the trees, disturbed and shaken by what he has just witnessed. He leaves the park as quickly as possible, heading aimlessly toward Union Station once again, vaguely remembering a plan about leaving town.
He sits in the now quiet train station, one of a few beings sitting in the main lobby, awating the dawn and their connecting trains.
Deep in thought, he tries to wrap his brain around the comments made by the Slayer.
His soul is his punishment. He is damned to remember every single kill, and to care intimately about each one. And yet this slip of a girl is convinced he has the chance to be good, because of the one thing the others of his kind don't have.
A soul. A choice. A conscience.
What would man be without free will? And the remorse, the sense of value, the understanding of right and wrong? A savage demon, pure and simple, following its basest of instincts to save its hide and live as long as possible.
Angel chokes out a laugh, which sounds more like a sob of despiration. He had been so sure of his purpose, the reasoning behind his curse. He was meant to atone. Forever, if it took that long, til he could find forgiveness from those he had wronged.
Yet was there a chance, no matter how slight, for him to try and exist in humanity again? By being a…a champion for the hapless? Was this the way to atone? Make use of his curse, and try to set things right again for the ones who had no chance but him?
Just maybe, there was a way for him.
To make it up to all of them. And perhaps save himself as well.
A small smile cracks the corner of his lips, and he stands slowly off the bench he had been collapsed on, a tiny spark of hope lit inside his dead chest.
As he heads back in the direction of the pub, hoping to find out exactly what that bar was about, and to perhaps sort out the wrongness of the place, he once again hears human yelling and grunting. Speeding up, he rounds the corner the Celtic Cross resides on, and the sight that greets his eyes is not a happy one.
The redheaded Slayer is surrounded by several vampires, and is rapidly losing her ground. She holds off a few with a large wooden cross, and holds her stake in her other hand, crouched in a defensive position. Her skirts torn and stained, she limps slightly as she circles, holding them off.
Angel runs toward the group, and is suddenly sprawled on the ground, having tripped over something heavy. He rights himself, and gasps to see the body of the Watcher Anthony lying at a strange angle on the sidewak behind him. The man's neck has obviously been broken, but not fed upon, the ultimate insult from a vampire. Not even good enough to drink from, watcher.
"We told you to skeedaddle, girl. Can't win all the fights," one leers at her, licking his bloodstained lips. Angel realizes that Cecily's arm has been bitten by some of the vamps surrounding her, and is surprised at the surge of anger this brings up in him. He lifts himself up off the ground, and in the second he takes approaching the group, the vamp behind Cecily makes a leap like lightening, and yanks her head toward him, sinking his fangs in.
Angel hears a roaring in his ears, and his knees buckle, sorrow overwhelming him.
The vampires surrounding the girl descend upon her in a feeding frenzy, and he can only watch in horror as her small body disappears from his view as the backs of the demons form a barrier around her.
His eyes blind, pain and remorse rocketing through his skull, he cowers on the road as the demons walk around him, laughing and wiping their lips. They completely ignore him, and joke with each other about the Slayer they took down.
The sound of their cackling finally fades away, and he chances a look up, fearful of the sight that awaits him.
The girl's body lies broken in the dust, and as he approaches slowly, he is horrified to see her chest still rising and falling, ragged breath escaping her torn lips.
He drops in a crouch at her side, and lifts her head gently with his hand. Her eyes flutter open at the touch, and she tries to punch him, though her strength is gone. He gently catches her flailing hand, and lays it across her chest.
"What…what's happening? I can't see you. Who's there?" she chokes out, and Angel's eyes tear at the sound of her voice.
"Just a friend," her whispers. "Lay still, I'll get you some help," he tells her, and starts to get up, to find someone, anyone, to get this girl to the hospital.
"Wait!" she cries out, and he turns back to her. "Please sir, stay with me. I know I have not much hope left, and I would like a friend at my side now," she says with difficulty, and he knows she's right. So he hunkers down again, and takes her hand in his, dismayed to feel her blood cooling already. Their temperatures feel almost the same, he thinks, and shakes his head at this morbid thought.
"Did you mean it? What you said about the vampire with a soul?" he asks her, shocked at the question that comes out of his mouth unbidden.
She starts at this, frowning slightly. "How did you…did you hear that?" A wracking cough comes out of her, and blood dribbles down her chin.
"Rumors travel fast in this town," he murmurs, and that brings a smile to her crimson stained lips.
"Sir, I don't know who you are, but if you have any dealings with that particular vampire, could you pass on a message for me?"
He nods his head, then remembers she can't see him. "I can."
"Don't regret your curse. Make the choice to live as a righteous man. You have been given a great gift. Use it well- urk!" she spits out, and a great shudder wracks her tiny frame. Angel can only stare as the all too human glow slowly fades from her eyes.
He stands, bent as an old man. Walks progressively more quickly away from her body, and the lifeless form of her watcher, both starting to attrack attention from people just now responding to the noise from earlier.
Two Days Later.
Angel listens to the sounds issuing from the large steamer ship in the dock in front of him. His simple leather coat and black pants help him blend with the shadows as he watches, waiting to slip onto the ship unnoticed.
He understands now that he had been deluding himself into thinking there was any kind of way he could live as part of the human race. The death of the Slayer had shown him that. He knows she had been at the pub looking for him. And because he hadn't gotten there in time, she had died. Another death on his hands.
The final whistle blows, and Angel slips silently onto the deck of the ship, crouching down behind a tied down lifeboat as the crew scurry around him, readying the ship for departure.
He's heading back to England, to disappear like he had planned to all along.
Deep in the recesses of his mind, he knows that there are things in England, people, that he is interested in searching out.
The Watcher's Council, for one.
This time he will be sure to stay hidden. No more eavesdropping. He has no care for any future Slayers, no care to get involved. Only leads to death and more pain. He has to make sure the Watchers understand this, and impart it to future generations. He'll find a way to make them understand.
As the ship sails with the tide, he watches as the lights of New York City fade in the distance.
A part of him stays behind, still tied irrevocably to the one person who had believed there was a chance for him.
As Angelus rails against his fate inside him, Angel can only watch numbly as his tiny spark of hope withers and dies, fading slowly, as do the lights of the harbor in the distance.