Disclaimer:
All things Angel belong to Joss Whedon. The title of this was taken from a picture by Annah Hutchings on elfwood by the same name.
Author's Notes:
This is my first Angel fanfic. I adore Lindsey's character; however, I do not feel that his relationship with Eve was true, and that is the interpretation seen in this ficlet.
Crimson RibbonsAt least it didn't begin with a handshake.
Don't get me wrong. I can enjoy the hypocrisy of such a moment as much as the next guy. And there is a certain art to it, I suppose you could say. Much like everything, it all depends on how it's perceived. Are you in it for the touch, or to size the other person up?
If you said the former… that's an art I'd not waste my time with. Not again. At least not for awhile.
But the latter, now that's a different story.
There's something truly intoxicating about knowing another person's mind. Isn't there? In a way, it's more intimate than many physical relationships ever are. The outer skin might show the impressions others make upon it more evidently, but inside… what's hidden is often where the prizes are. Or where the demons lay. It's really the same thing, isn't it?
It all depends on how it's perceived.
An Angel hiding Angelus. Though I think we both know that he wouldn't be the angel he is without the demon part. I doubt he'd give it up. The demon in him is twisted by a consciousness, manipulated in order to appease his guilt. Doesn't sound too fortunate for the demon. But of course, who cares when it's the angel that serves them best?
Not that I care, either, for much the same reason. I just admit it. I'd rather have Angel facing opposite me at this moment making a proposition then his Hyde taking out mine. I couldn't give a damn whether he was saved or not, and even if I did, I'd still wonder where it would leave me. Everyone thinks in relation to themselves. Some just don't see the incredible amount of ego and selfishness in self-sacrifice, in which case their either deluded, or simpletons. In other words, heroes.
Admit it. What makes a hero? Either you personally think you're one, or you personally think someone else is.
Again, it all relies on individual thought, something that is beyond most people's capacities to be trusted in executing with any competency. Or better yet, it evolves from group opinion. This is the same group that calls current society civilized. I'd say more on that subject, but there's an unavoidably violent apocalypse approaching where less than two handfuls of people in the world will be showing any sense of righteous revolt. Since I just agreed to be part of that revolt, I'd not the time to say how far our culinary arts and poetry skills as a society had come, not to mention our political justice and international harmony.
As he leaves, I can't help but turn to stare out the window. Funny, it doesn't really enter my mind that this could be my 'last night.' It isn't that Angel showed an incredible amount of confidence in our being victorious; and even if he had, I'm not one who would believe it. But somehow, success and death don't equal the same thing. Maybe that comes from having worked with people for whom death is just another way of living, or at least existing.
They're all alike – success, living, existing – but not the same. It's more a spectrum, with success at one end, and existence at the other. And death? I honestly don't know where to put it. It was an afterthought, or maybe a consequence, but not a way. As a child, I'd had nightmares of growing feeble and incompetent, but not of actual death. Of hospitals and poverty, not a pile of forgotten bones under a rock or cross. Of failing to survive, but not the actual, inevitable outcome of that happening.
Funny. Some might say not fearing death was a sign of a hero. Or the mentally disturbed. Pretty much the same thing.
Nor am I an optimist. I don't appreciate a half-full glass. I want to know how I can fill the damned thing. And another. And another… to some end. Not a righteous one. Not a villainous one. Nor humorous, sad, or any such thing.
It couldn't even just be a complacent one. I didn't work this hard to end up complacent. Screw that.
I would say an enlightened one, but I actually think that might be the problem. I already am enlightened. I have seen the worst of people, and found that it is always the core to an enemy. Goodness to me, and you, is forever subjective, and therefore selfish.
Why should I want to be good? Because it is right, they say. They being whatever authority figure lords over you. Fair enough. Why should I want to be right? For a god? For society? For a self that is inherently formed from this society? I see these words forming little circular patterns, running into each other to create an illogical jumble I'd not waste my time sorting out. It never ends up in a point.
The rhetoric sounds like some of the speeches I'd heard while employed at Wolfram and Hart. I have to laugh at this. Sadly, they couldn't always be off the mark. They always did say I was bright. And that I had the knack for their life.
The truth – a truth - is that nothing solely innate amounts to anything. Brains can be splattered by a gun, a healthy body ruined by disease. Even one's will is not solely its own maker or keeper. There's nobody watching out for everyone with the control to make everything right. Or the desire to. Not even us for ourselves. We have created a thin veneer of righteous ideology that is glowing in theory, but no more real in practice than sunlight being helpful to Angel or Angelus.
And tonight, that veneer will be gone. We're all out for what we think is good… an end we want for ourselves. I think he's one of the few people who sees that. Who knows it's all a big façade, but is one he finds beneficial to play into.
It is sort of heroic, isn't it? Gets you right there.