Title: Taken Back
Author: Lady Shalott
Email: R for now, later NC-17
Category: Post "Not Fade Away", Romance/Drama
Content: A/C
Summary: Fifty years after the events of "Not Fade Away", Angel realizes that the mission is not lost.
Spoilers: Umm…none really. References to events from NFA and through out the series.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss
Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: You only need to ask.
Notes: Chapters two and three run parallel to each other, but then the story merges again in chapter four and stays that way. Make sense? Also, this story is set in the future, but I will be referencing brand names and companies that are around today. When you think about how long some brands have been around, that really doesn't seem like a stretch, does it? I just wanted to get that out of they way, so I have an excuse when someone else calls me on it ;)
Notes II: The lyrics continue to be from "Let Go", by Frou Frou, but I have twisted them around.
Notes III: I am done with the author's notes, now.
Feedback: Is loved more than Karl Urban.

Drink up baby doll
Are you in or are you out?
Leave your things behind
'Cause it's all going off without you

Chapter Two

There was a crack in the bathtub molding. That was the first thing she noticed that morning, besides the sweeping nausea and pain, of course. Callista moaned and twisted so her back was against the tub, hiding the offending crack. The morning ritual of wake up, vomit, try to die was so familiar Callista hadn't even realized she was out of bed until she noticed the crack. When her legs had finally stopped shaking enough that she was able to stand, Callista leaned heavily on the bathroom counter. She stared into vacant eyes as she shook several Actrinol into her hand. This was the ultimate in migraine pain relief, not even FDA approved, but imported from Europe. Yet, here she was, popping them like candy. Callista wandered back to bed to wait until the medication kicked in. It was Tuesday, her dark day, and she didn't even have one of the never-ending practices because her choreographer was ill.

"Thank God." Callista mumbled, tucking the covers in around herself. As was her habit, she began speaking to the thin air, as if it could hear her.

"I am really fucking sick of this morning sickness crap. I pay good money, hard earned money, money better spent on freakin' MANOLOS for these goddamned doctors to tell me what the hell is wrong with my head!" She took a deep breath. "No, it is always 'night terrors, Callista' or 'epilepsy, Callista', or 'you need a fucking lobotomy, Callista'." She rolled over. "I'm not crazy, I'm not sick and I am not suffering from 'hysteria'! I just want to know why my ever-more vivid dreams are turning my brain to stew. Ya know?"

There was of course, no answer. Callista was finally able to make her way back into the bathroom, where she turned the shower on hot and stood under the pounding spray. She only noticed she was crying because her tears were cooler than the water around her.

Later, after a successful shopping trip to the Home Depot and a very unsuccessful several hours trying to fix the cracked molding, Callista came to two conclusions.

One. She hated home repair. Oh, sure, it looked easy when a sexy contractor was explaining things to an excited young couple on TV, but hello? In real life you couldn't tell where the scraper thingy ended and your incompetence began.

Two. She wasn't going to dwell on the "if only's" anymore. Cause there was, like, a million of them and Callista realized that if she let herself brood about them any more, she was going to end up sitting in the dark like-what? The train of thought eluded her, and she shrugged. There was only one sure way to snap herself out of a funk. Luckily for her credit card, Callista had been saving. She was going shopping.

The mall inside the Olympus Hotel and Casino was her favorite. Not only was everyone super-friendly because she was in a show at the casino, the mall had the only Diamante shop in Vegas. Callista could always find SOMETHING in her favorite designer boutique. That night she was exiting happily, having just purchased a top from the new spring collection, when she was bumped on the side by a bleached-blonde princess with a cadre of followers. "Excuse…" Callista couldn't get the words out of her mouth before the heiress turned on her with a sneer.

"You better watch where you are going, skank."

Callista spun on her heel. "Excuse me?" God, she did NOT need to deal with richer-than-thou bitches.

"You heard me." the socialite, one London Langdon, glared back at her. "I called you a skank, but not that I've gotten a closer look, I'm gonna downgrade it to whore."

"You did not just say that." Callista's eyes narrowed dangerously.

London smirked. Her body guard had been dealing with a too-rowdy fan, but he was fast reapproaching. She looked the curvy brunette up and down. "I think you've come to the wrong place for working clothes."

Callista got it. The bitch was implying she was a hooker. Callista hesitated for only a second, then her famous mouth opened and her life changed. "Better to be working than living off the money someone else spread their legs for."

London screeched and launched herself at Callista. She got her hands on the brunette's shirt before a strong arm pulled her back. The socialite's bodyguard turned to Callista, and with London still howling in his grasp, he spoke to her.

"You better leave."

Callista heard the words but her mind didn't recognize them because at that moment she was lost in deep, dark and eerily familiar brown eyes.