A/N: After watching NFA, I always thought, what happened to Lorne? So I decided to write a fic about it:) Next chapter should be up soonish.
The lights were everywhere, flashing, blinding. They advertised eminent casinos and seedy bars alike. Eve considered the lights of Las Vegas. They didn't judge or belittle, they were simply there. "I wish people were like that," she thought. Of course, for most of her life, Eve had never been judged or belittled. She had grown up in a good family, in a good house, in a respectable neighbourhood. Then, in a twist of fate, she had taken a job at a law firm. They offered to make her immortal, powerful. How could she say no? No one could refuse that kind of proposition. But during her time at Wolfram and Hart, she had been reviled and distrusted by everybody, even the gentle-hearted Fred. Everyone except Lindsay. But Lindsay was dead, she'd seen his body with her own eyes. He'd been shot twice in the chest. "If I ever find out who killed him," she thought, "they're dead."
After Angel had left her alone in that Wolfram and Hart boardroom, Eve had resigned herself to death. She hadn't counted on being rescued by Angel's son, of all people. Connor had spirited her out of building, and told her to run, as far away as possible. So she came to Las Vegas.
Eve sighed, and looked out the window of her taxi. The traffic had slowed to a crawl, so she was able to get a better look around than she may normally have. Her eyes were drawn to a large billboard, plastered with a picture of a face she knew well from her nightmares. She stared at it for a moment, before the information penetrated her brain.
"Lorne?" Eve choked.
"Did ya say somethin' missy?" the stout cabbie drawled.
"No," Eve replied softly. "I just…I saw someone I knew."
Lorne retreated behind the red velvet curtains, wiping sweat off his face with a sleeve. "That was a tough crowd," he thought. He glanced in a nearby mirror, and noticed that there was a small, yet ugly looking bruise gracing his temple. "Nothing to compare to what I'd be looking like if I'd stuck around," he thought as he examined it. The mere thought caused a wave of guilt to assail him. As much as Lorne was glad he had left before the slaughter began, remorse still beat down on him like a wooden cudgel.
"Are you OK, Mr Lorne?" asked a fawning attendant.
"Yeah, I've just gotta be a little more careful with this magical green mug," Lorne replied with his customary grin. The mask he wore. Ever since he had abandoned Angel on the eve of the apocalyptic battle, he had changed. He was no longer the cheerful, happy Wolfram and Hart Head of Entertainment. The green demon stopped outside his dressing room door.
"Is there anything I can get you? Water, coffee…human blood? We have a lovely A positive," the assistant enquired. Lorne simply sighed, and retreated inside his dressing-room sanctuary. He knew someone was there the instant the door clicked.
"Angel, sugar, I told you not to try and find me." Lorne turned, expecting to see the dark, brooding vampire with a soul. Instead, he saw the one person in the world he least expected to see.