Chapter 4 – Valediction of Forbidden Mourning
"Hiding?"
Angel glanced up and took in the figure that stood in the doorway of his room. Petite, blonde, grey eyes and immaculate dress sense, that was his Darla. Thing was, the girl at the door wasn't his Darla and Angel couldn't help but fear that she never would be again. It wasn't that she was human and now healthy, ready to live a "normal" life (whatever that was); it was that she seemed frail. To Angel, Darla had always been fire. She was passion, destruction, consuming and alive – so alive that she would swallow you whole. No she was more than that. She was… God. She had made him, shaped him, loved him and killed him. Angelus may have been the cock of their little family but Darla was no hen. If anything she was the fox – but she had been content to let Angelus play. When she had demanded, he had submitted, despite the fact that he could take her through sheer strength and size if he needed. Truth was he'd never wanted to.
Throughout his entire existence the creature now known as Angel had searched for approval and love. Funny thing, Darla's first lesson to her childe was one of his most defining moments; he could still picture his home – sister dead by the door, ma in the hall and his father up against the wall. Each body still cooling and not yet smelling of death – blood but not death. A simple tableau of destruction. The perfect setting to destroy the vampire who was Liam and create the monster that was Angelus. Darla had been so calm and assured and her words scared him more than the fires of Hell ever did.
"What we once were informs all that we have become. The same love will infect our hearts – even if they no longer beat. Simple death won't change that."
Love. The next 140 years had been about love – more accurately about denying it and all other emotions. Yet at the same time craving, with a blood lust so strong that the entirety of Europe, Asia and parts of Africa had felt, the need to be loved, to have that approval. Darla had given it to him but the threat that it could leave held him tighter than any manacles and chains could have. He looked for it from his victims – the fear when they saw what he was or the pain they felt when he ran the sharp metal down their previously unbroken skin. He craved it in the power he held over those that desired him and hated themselves for it. Rape had never been a torment that Angelus had inflicted on anyone. He preferred that they desire him, knowing what he was and what he had done and taking them willingly, so that later they would hate themselves for giving that part to the dark angel, who'd fed just enough that they knew what he was. The self-loathing that came from that act destroyed souls much more effectively than any rape could have. He'd sought it in his Childer making them love him, using ever method at his disposal – from blood, seduction and sex to simple praise and condemnation. Of course he hurt them – they were vampires pain was part of the deal – but the playing was much more rewarding.
Now he looked at his creator and found that she was flawed. The fire, the strength seemed lost and Angel feared that he would never see it again.
"Petrified."
It was true. He had to face some of the people he'd hurt the most and tell them that he'd been… what? Rewarded? Forgiven? Condemned? He'd hurt them all so much just because they had given the demon what he'd wanted – love – and then failed to keep it going when the soul had gone. They had loved the soul and the shell but not the crunchy demon centre. That he couldn't handle.
"Worried that your beloved Buffy won't leap into your arms?"
No matter how frail she looked, how hollow or scared she felt, Darla refused to allow that weakness in. She attacked before she was attacked and now it seemed to be destroying her.
"Scared that I don't want her to."
He could see the wheels turning and the questions forming before he finished speaking. Angel knew that the best way to help Darla now was honesty – not the mind games that she expected and thrived upon. Brutal honesty that would force past the defences and let her take them down. So he answered her before she asked, motioning for her to join him on the edge of the bed.
"I don't know who I am. In the past 52 hours my entire world has been … God; I'm so lost that I don't know what I am trying to say." He paused and then started again. "For 27 years I was Liam O'Donnell, only son and heir to Padraig O'Donnell; town rake, scoundrel, thief, whore… Then I was Angelus – the demon with the face of an angel. Childe of Darla, GrandChilde of the Master of the Order of Aurelius. For 145 years I was the most feared vampire walking the Earth, the Scourge of Europe. Nothing that was in anyway living or animated was safe. Then for 102 years I was the myth, 'The Vampire with a Soul', the cursed one, the abomination of his kind. Eventually, I was feared again, the Slayer's pet vampire or the Guardian of the City of Angels, Champion to the Powers That Be. Now… I'm a human who would give any self respecting schizophrenic a run for their money. Who the hell am I? Which of those three is the real me?"
At some point during his rant Darla had taken his hand. That in itself was nothing, what scared him was the soothing stroking that she was performing. That one act told him he wasn't alone. So grateful he squeezed her hand and looked at her face. The poker mask had slipped and the raw emotion on her face told him more than any soliloquy could have. He owed it to her to continue, hoping that his cathartic purge may help soothe her.
"Everyone seems convinced that Angel and Angelus are two different entities. I'm not convinced they are. Sure the morality of the two is as opposite as black and white but me – I think I'm the grey. You were right, for Angelus to be as deviant as he was, to revel as he did some part of Liam must have been so dark or else weak and open to the demon's suggestion. So open that suggestion became an art. Yet if that's true then the same must be said for the soul. Unless the gypsy's created an entirely new one just to punish me, some part of Liam must have been so good that it could smother the true nature of a vampire. But I'm not them and I can't be Liam. Its 247 years too late for that.
"And now they're going to come here and expect me to tell them what's happening. And I don't know and I'm scared and so pissed at the Powers That Screw You that I don't know what to say. Do I smile and rejoice or mourn the loss of a Champion? How the fuck do I look at people I tried to destroy and tell them this? I feel cheated 'cos I am so lost and nothing's clear. Before I had a name or classification – demon, souled, champion, Scourge! I needed it and relied on it and now? Now that's gone, and I'm not sure that I'm still here."
So caught up in his rant and trying to find an explanation, Angel lost track of everything but his train of thought. He didn't notice the tears that slowly ran down his face, or the matching tracks on Darla's cheeks. Nor did he notice the small strangled sobs she occasionally gave or the fact that she was now gripping his hand in an effort to hang on to the world that was collapsing around her. Her Darling Boy was coming undone. If he failed to notice all that, then he was completely oblivious to the watcher in the doorway.
Wesley felt his heart break a thousand times over during Angel's frantic search for truth and identity. They had all failed to consider the mental effects being human would have on their vampire. They had thought that he would be elated and was distraught to discover that the ancient soul he had looked upon as an unwavering pillar of wisdom and strength was now a frightened boy a long way from home. Before he could move to offer comfort, Darla turned Angel's head towards her and brushed a feather light kiss on his lips, then eyes, forehead and lips again. Not removing her hands from his face she spoke and revealed a totally new creature to Wesley.
"I can't even remember my birth name, and there is no one left to tell me. But my boy, my darling boy, I can tell you one thing, I need you. Before you I was alone, no true companion and until I had you I didn't know that. Then I lost you. We've found each other this time and it's so different. You cared. For the first time in my life someone cared about me, someone truly loved me with the sincerity that can only come through friendship – not blood or passion. Whatever comes Angel, I won't betray that. I'll live the life you gave me and I'll learn to enjoy it."
For a while nothing was said. All that was heard was the occasional whimper of a soul in pain. More tears fell and arms wrapped round a small figure pulling it closure to a solid chest.
"I won't leave you. Whatever they say, I can't. We'll get each other through this Darla. I won't leave you; I need you now and you need me. We'll fight each others demons for awhile."
"My boy, I'm not going anywhere."
Wes left them to grieve, grieve for what they had lost, what they had gained and for the fact that they were more alone than ever before. As he approached the balcony he heard the cacophony of new arrivals. At that moment all he wanted to do was go back to Angel's room and lock the door, protecting his first true friend and hero from what he knew was going to be a cruel experience. One he feared would either make or break the boy, not a man, just a boy really. Instead he turned and walked to Angel's room. He tapped lightly on the doorjamb and coughed softly to alert the pair to his presence.
"They're here. I'll stall them for a while if you wish." With that simple statement Wes felt that he had offered Angel the world as the gratitude was so evident in his face. He could have died a happy man at that moment, offering a friend real and welcomed support.
Angel turned back to Darla. For a second they just looked at each other and then both gave a wry smile and small chuckle.
"Guess its Showtime?"
"Yes I think it is. I have to admit that I am looking forward to seeing little Buffy's face when she sees me… It might make me feel better about this whole situation."
Angel smiled at her bravado and said the words he knew she needed to hear. "I'm not going to leave you Darla. I'm not saying that we're going to be together but I am going to be here. I promise."
"You've promised lots of things over the years Angelus. I believe that you will do your best to honour this one. You have changed. Still my boy though, still so dark, yet so beautifully bright." Her soft tone disappeared and she took a deep breath. With a small smile she enquired, "I take it that you'll want me to behave myself?"
"Darla, I think we both know that there is more chance of me marrying Lorne than getting you to behave. I know that you'll need to play the bitch, but please keep in mind that I care about these people and don't make it too difficult for me. Also bear in mind I know you as well as you know me. You have a soul Darla; you can be nice and have friends if you want."
"I want you."
"Darla…"
"No, don't say anything. Please. Can I ask a favour though? After all you've done I know that I have no right to ask more but…"
"Go on Darla."
"Kiss me? Once more? Say good bye?"
Angel didn't answer. Instead he leaned in and kissed Darla gently. It was unlike any kiss either had had before. It was sweet and full of love and lacked the blood and passion of their previous couplings. It was pure and soulful and heartbreaking in its finality. Their time was gone. Was it wrong to mourn that?
They broke apart. Darla smirked up at him and raised a delicate eyebrow. He found himself delivering a matching smirk. "This'll be fun," she said and sashayed out of the door. He shook his head and buoyed by her attitude, followed her. 'Fun? It'll be something alright.'
A/N 'Valediction of Forbidden Mourning' is the title of a poem by John Donne. I know that it was a bit angsty but it did leave the promise of fun hanging.
