Author's note: this takes place one day prior and the day leading up to events in the episode "City of". I really enjoy writing from Angel's POV, and this idea just hit me, and the resulting story was written very quickly.
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own a thing. All plot/dialog from "City of" is property of Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt. Thanks ever so, guys, for the best show on TV today.
Feedback does a body good.
Enjoy!
Blood streams from my nose as I swing my two headed axe around in a slow circle over my head. The two remaining vamps give me a he's freakin' crazy! look and turn and run, scattering the dust remnants of their dead brethren all over the sewer tunnel.
Dazed, I lower my weapon and stumble in the opposite direction. As I head toward my newly acquired apartment, I am suddenly overcome by a falling sensation, and put a hand out on the wall to rectify it. Too late, I realize I am about to faint, and do so with a meaty plop into the rank sewer water.
In what feels like a few moments later, I rouse myself, shaking my head to clear it, and then really wish I hadn't. Blood flecks fly from my nose and mouth, and I swipe a hand across my lips, staring at the red stains there.
Gotta get home, I whisper to myself, and stand again finally, shaking like the proverbial leaf.
I make it the few remaining blocks to my apartment, and crawl up the entrance into the bowels of the building. Dropping my axe on the floor, I head immediately for the kitchen and some sustenance. It's the only thing that will allow me to heal.
Gulping down a quart of cold pigs blood, cold, bleh! I stagger to the bed and flop down on it, closing my eyes, almost immediately dropping off into a catatonic state. As I pass into sleep, I am momentarily distracted by a strange drip, drip, drip sound that seems to be coming from right next to me. Shrugging inwardly, I let sleep claim me, to heal the wounds I had received in the recent fight.
I slowly return to consciousness almost a full twenty four hours later. Sitting up on the bed, I feel almost normal again. I wonder about the dripping sound I had heard earlier, and take a step toward the bathroom and a hot shower. I wonder no more as my still shoe clad feet slip on a large puddle of liquid right next to the bed, and I crash uncerimoniously to the floor, landing flat on my back.
I smell the blood before I see it. Wincing, I know it is my own, and look at my wrist, a rapidly healing slash very noticeable across the vein. And in the right direction too. Lucky I'm not human.
I laugh bitterly at this, and haul my carcass off the floor. Decide to take a shower before cleaning up the mess.
I enter the bathroom, shedding my coat and torn shirt in one easy movement. Toe off the shoes and throw my socks, pants, and boxers in a lump on the floor. Turn on the water, and unneccessarily breathe in the steam for a minute before I jump in.
Any normal man would have jumped out of his skin, but I can barely feel the almost all hot water pounding my chest and head. I look at the drain and notice with some detachment the amount of blood that is being rinsed off my body. I do a spot check, and all the slashes and burns seem to be healing nicely. Had I had human blood to feed on the night before, I would be healed completely. But that's not even an option right now.
Never an option again.
Not after feeding on her.
I finally emerge, towel wrapped around my waist, and procede to try and shave, which is not as easy as it would seem. I tend to cut myself way more often than someone who has been shaving blind for as many years as I have. Finishing this task, I quickly go through the rest of the motions of grooming, and exit the bathroom.
I halfheartedly throw on underwear and a tee shirt, then grab a pair of sweats from the closet. Time for a little me time. Not like there's any other kind right now, a mean tempered voice whispers to me.
Just the way it should be, I answer back, and the demon in me is quiet for the time being.
Taking on six vampires at once last night had been foolheardy. But lately I have really begun not to care. When I think back on my first few days here in Los Angeles, I have been ultra not careful, actually. The slashes that are healing the slowest are wood cuts from stakes that got almost too close. But as I doggedly go through the motions of my workout, my demonic other half tells me that it doesn't matter any more what I do with my time, or how many monsters I kill. I can never make it up to them. To her. And even though I shove him back down into the black box I keep him in inside my heart, I still doubt.
I left. Again. Each time you would think it would get easier. And for a while it had. Leaving Montana, leaving New York with Whistler, leaving Europe. Even burdened with my new soul, it had been easy. Hiding is a skill I have honed desperately in the past 100 years. And I'm damn good at it. But the three years I spent up the coast in Sunnydale had been very anachronistic for me. I can call them the best years. But they weren't. But if I call them the worst, that too would be a lie.
Granted, I'm not in any hurry to go to Hell again. Or to be shot by poisoned arrows, or to deal with Spike or Dru. But there are things that stand out about that town, that time, that made me the way I am right this minute. And when you look at me now versus the young mortal man I was, Jesus. I don't even remember that boy. And it's probably a good thing.
Why is it, every time I try to concentrate on my physical shape, the mental crap pops up?
We all know where these thoughts are leading. I don't want to think of her right now, or about her friends, or her watcher, her mother, or her teacher that I so sadistically killed. I know that Giles had shown a pretense of trusting me in front of the others, but I recognized that look in his eyes when we happened to be alone. And it kills me even now to remember it.
The worst of it is, not only do I not get to be with the love of my long life, but I had to lose my home as well. Not the mansion. I didn't care where I was physically; it was just a place to rest my body. My home was wherever she was. And to be torn away from her and from my peace of mind is devestating. Even if it was my idea.
I stop finally, lying in the corpse pose I had learned while traveling through India a few lifetimes ago. Yoga is supposedly good for the soul, but it's not helping mine right now.
She doesn't know this, but the day after the graduation debacle, I had lurked around her house, hoping to get a glance of her before I was to leave. And I was rewarded around 4 am, when she tiredly rolled into her room, slamming the door behind her. I knew her mother was gone; having been sent away by Buffy herself a few days prior.
Skulking in the trees outside her window, I knew as well as she did that we can feel it when the other one is near. So I stayed out of sight, and watched as she sat in silence on her bed, not bothering to turn on the lights.
I saw her tremble; I saw her sigh and hold her head between her hands. The light glinted on her finger, and realized with a shock she was wearing the ring again. Damn. Abandoning someone is so much easier when they don't love you.
Then came the sound I hadn't wanted to hear. Softly at first, then keening like some banshee from the old country. As I watched her weep into her hands, my own tears came, and I had to stuff my hand in my mouth to keep her from hearing me.
As I leapt to the ground from my perch, I heard her sob out one word as her grief overcame her.
"Angel."
So now a few weeks later, I try to create a new life for myself in the city of angels, and every night wreak havoc on the forces of darkness that dwell here. It's my right, and my gift to them. They're too stupid or too power hungry to really know what matters in the world. Evil will always be a part of it, true, but I can cut a swath through it, and retain the balance in favor of the light. It's the only thing I can do right now to stop from dying myself.
I decide I've had enough corpse pose, and disengagedly clean up the bloody mess from the night before.
I stand in the kitchen, holding the crimson stained towels in one hand, and can't help but close my eyes, as the futility of my so called mission sinks into me. What can one person, or one ensouled vampire do in a city this big? Why am I bothering?
And I know the answer to this one. Easy as pie.
Because if I don't, no one else will. And if doing battle every night with the denizens of hell gets me one step closer to redemption, then you can bet the farm I'm gonna bother. I'll do it forever. For me. And for her.
I dress quickly, strapping the new leather and spring laden holsters for my stakes around my forearms, pulling one of my many long black coats on to hide them. I've heard of a bar near Santa Monica, that caters to vampires looking for fresh meat. Or girls to pick up. Whatever.
I head upstairs to my car, a newly acquired huge Plymoth GTX that I loved the minute I saw it. Great trunk space, too.
I pull away from the curb, heading toward the freeway and the beach.
Maybe things would have been okay had I stayed in Sunnydale. But in my heart of hearts I know that's improbable at best. I've only been in L.A. a few days, and already I know that this town needs my help.
Sunnydale has it's own slayer. And regardless of where my heart lies, up the coast about 100 miles, I know that I will stay here, and try to figure out my role. I've had to change myself so many times in the past; one more time won't kill me.
A few hours later, as I dust one of the two remaining vamps that had been ready to feed on the two unsuspecting girls they had lured out into the alley, one of them approaches me, shaking and bleeding from the forehead. I hide my true face from her, and try to turn away.
"They were…oh, god…thank you," she says, pulling at my arm. I turn my own demonic visage on her, and she shrinks back against the wall.
"Get away from me," I tell her desperately. The blood scent fills the air, and try as I might, I can't get the demon in me to go away just yet.
I walk quickly past the groaning vampire I had thrown into a nearby car, and dust him just as he raises his head.
Almost running now, I make for the street and my car.
Maybe this won't be so easy.
But I'm willing to try.