CHAPTER TWO
A handful of days had passed since Meerna and her compatriots had closed the rift, since his friends had died or dispersed to the four winds. In spite of his promise to not disgrace himself, Angel did it anyway. Oddly, he felt no remorse, and yet he was sure his soul was still anchored; he would never be perfectly happy again. Maybe it was the fact he wasn't drinking from the corpses of victims anymore that eased his guilt even though it should have worsened it. He drank from other predators, the rapists and killers taking advantage of the chaos.
There was something satisfying about killing the wicked. It wasn't the look of gratitude and utter relief in those he rescued and ran before they saw what he really was. No, that wouldn't be half as disturbing as the reality. He savored the fear in the predators' eyes when they realized something worse than them had them under his power. It sweetened the blood, and he drank more than enough to heal.
The surprising thing about it all was, the world didn't just grind to a halt. Life slowly started turning again, wobbly perhaps, but it was going. Not surprising, bars were quick to reopen and do a booming business. Wearing his game face, Angel went into a demon bar he had known and tolerated in the time before Black Thorn. He managed to get a seat at the bar.
All he wanted was to nurse a beer and brood over his losses because it was easier than taking action, any kind of action be it to track down the demons or to just go and greet the sun. He still didn't know which he wanted more. The one thing he was almost instantly denied was peace to enjoy his beer.
Something with horns and a costume that made the demon look like it had walked off a Star Wars set nudged him then nodded, horns slashing, at the TV. "Look at that. Now the world knows about the Slayers and us."
Angel turned his attention to the screen, Beamish stout poised at his lips. He almost snorted up beer seeing Lilah Morgan on the screen with the caption "Wolfram and Hart Representative – NYC Branch" across her body. She wore a sky blue scarf around her neck to hide the scar.
"And you're saying these…things, are the fault of an army of young girls, Ms. Morgan?" a skeptical news reporter asked. "It seems a little…fantastical."
"Were you there when a three headed beast ate Mayor Pataki?" Lilah shot back. "The Slayers are supposed to keep the demons at bay, and when they were called this time, they turned their back on their duty. This would never have happened if they had responded to the threat in Los Angeles."
"What is Lilah playing at?" Angel whispered.
"It's Wolfram and Hart, the less I know, the happier I am," the horned demon replied.
"If you're right, Ms. Morgan, why would this army of girls," the anchor gave a deprecating laugh at that, "ignore such a massive threat?"
"For that you'd have to ask their two generals, Buffy Summers and Faith Lehane. Wolfram and Hart has it on good authority that they, along with their commander-in-chief, Rupert Giles ignored a passionate plea for help from someone who knew well what would happen if they didn't dispatch some Slayers to the rescue. They even denied the assistance of their chief witch, Willow Rosenberg."
"It didn't happen like that," Angel muttered. He knew what Lilah was doing. Humans could no longer ignore the demons among them so Wolfram and Hart was handing them a scapegoat on a silver platter. It meant two things, Wolfram and Hart still had plans for this world, and the Slayers were a threat. Tough as they were, Slayers could still be taken out by a vigilante mob with guns. Planting the idea that the Slayers were an armed force, with a traditional military set up, would guarantee people would meet them with weapons of their own
Angel startled when willowy arms went around his shoulders and fangs nuzzled his neck. "Angelus!"
He turned in her arms, staring at a dark-skinned beauty, even with the forehead ridges. He tried to place her face and French accent. He couldn't remember her name but he thought she might be one of Dru's children from the time he, Darla and Dru had wintered in the north of Africa. "Got the wrong vampire," he said.
"Oh, Angelus, like I could ever forget you." She ran a hand over his chin. "Aren't you excited about our brave new world?"
His eyes flashed liquid amber. "I know if you don't leave me alone you'll never get to enjoy it. I'm not Angelus. He's dead."
Her full lips pushed into an ill-tempered pout. "I'd heard you'd gone soft. Sad to see it's true."
Whoever she was, she turned on heel and stalked off into the crowd. Angel shoved her from his mind and looked back at the debacle on the TV. Now Lilah was explaining something about demonic history while the inane reporter questioned her. Behind them scrolled pictures of Buffy, Faith, Willow, and Giles. Angel's stomach twisted. He had done this. He had made the call to Giles from a Wolfram and Hart office. He had given them the ammunition to do this. If a vigilante mob got it into their heads to kill one of them, it was on his shoulders.
He could have communicated better to Giles how much was at risk. He could have called Buffy or Faith himself but he didn't. He had let his pride stop him. Angel wondered why he hadn't been named along with them then realized Wolfram and Hart knew he, Spike and Illyria had been front and center for the battle. The firm hadn't expected them to survive. There were advantages to that, should he want to take them. Oddly, he really didn't.
A scream from the television caught his attention. Angel glanced up to see the reporter getting eaten on screen by a Gedisfri demon and Lilah was mugging for the camera as if to say, 'see? This is all their fault.' The screen went blank. Angel pushed the beer away, feeling it curdle in his stomach. He feared what had just been set in motion. Worse, he feared himself because he still didn't feel like he should run to Buffy and Faith to save them. They hadn't raced to his aid. Surely Giles would have told them he called. Angel suspected Buffy knew he and Spike had been in Rome. She didn't want anything to do with them, not even bothering to let Angel know she had survived Sunnydale nor to talk to Spike after he came back. She was done with them and afraid for her or not, he was done not only with her, but with the world in general.
"Don't tell me you're just going to sit there moping?"
"I told you, you had the wrong vamp…" Angel twisted, realizing he recognized this voice, even before he saw her. She was still beautiful, svelte body, smoldering eyes and her gorgeous hair grown out of that disastrous bleached bob. "So, this is how it ends. I'm as insane as Drusilla."
Angel slid off the bar stool and stalked passed Cordelia. First he dreamt of Darla and now Cordelia. Either the Powers were taunting him or he was insane. He slipped out into the night air but he knew he hadn't lost her. She moved with him like she was tethered to him. "I'm not going to have a conversation with a figment of my imagination. It's one thing to do it when you're dreaming but I'm not dreaming now. And you have no more sway over me than Darla did."
"I'm not even going to pretend I know what you're talking about, Angel." Cordelia swung out in front of him, putting a hand on his chest. She didn't feel ghost-like. "You talked to me plenty that time I helped you with Lindsey, and I'm here to help you now."
He jerked away from her. "I thought you were real then. I didn't know you had died."
"Did my passing into something different change the fact that Lindsey didn't kill you that day?" Cordelia asked, stabbing her fists into her hips as she swung her mane of hair over her shoulders. "It's not over yet, Angel. You've more work to do."
"Does it look like there's more to do, Cordelia?" Angel raged, waving a hand at the ravaged street. "It is over. The world you knew is gone, changed for good. Wolfram and Hart brought about their end of days."
Cordelia scowled at him. "An ending is merely the start of something new, Angel. You still have a role to play. You need to get Connor…oh, that's right you put him somewhere safe."
Angel laughed bitterly. "So safe, he's dead." He barely noted her stunned look. "This grindstone's wearing me, Cordelia. I'm done. Tell the Powers That Be or whoever sent you, that it's too much. I've lost too much. I lost you, Fred, Gunn, Wes and my son. The woman I loved wants to pretend I don't exist, and the woman I saved from herself couldn't spare the time to even come and see me. They thought I went evil, and they were content to just leave it at that. Either the Slayers went stupid and knowingly let Angelus free or they didn't really believe I went evil and didn't give a damn about me one way or the other. I couldn't even make Giles listen to me and now it's too late." Angel couldn't quell the quaking that took over him as his anger and remorse washed out of him.
Cordelia's hand grabbed his wrist hard. It was curious that there was no other sensation, no warmth, no coolness, nothing, it was as if she wasn't really there. And of course, she really wasn't, a ghost to haunt him. That was better than being totally insane. "It's never too late. The world needs its champion now more than ever."
Yanking free, Angel snarled at the honorific. His fist smashed into the wall, leaving a trail of broken brick and blood. "Never call me that again. I'm done with being a champion. There's too many spells to break, too many steps to take. Don't use me endlessly, Cordelia. Your bosses want a champion, go find Spike. He's into grand gestures, not me. Hell, he's died once for this world. Go see if you can talk him into it." Angel started to walk away.
"And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" Cordelia's voice was laced with sadness.
Angel whipped back around. "Sure, you can give me back my son or my friends. You could give me back the real you. Well, come on now, you all want something from me, it's time to give a little back. This world's taken everything from me, and I've had enough. Maybe I won't walk into the sun tomorrow morning or maybe I will. It won't matter either way. It's time to undo what Whistler did by bringing me back into the world of the living."
"I can't believe you're just going to quit. This isn't the Angel I knew and loved," Cordelia said, shoving him.
He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. "The Angel you knew didn't send his friends to their deaths. He didn't get splattered by his son's blood as a dragon carried him away and enjoyed every hot salty drop of it, wishing he had gotten a better taste. The Angel you knew died with his friends in that alley. This is me, not Angel, not Angelus, not even Liam. I have an idea, why don't you name me while I walk away from it all. Maybe you can think of a synonym for 'I've lost everything'." Angel shoved her back against the wall.
"Are you so sure of that?" Cordelia snapped. "Have you even looked for your friends? Have you seen Connor's body?"
"Hard to see it when it's inside a dragon. I saw Gunn die. Spike and Illyria…they're better off without me. Spike and I….we were never friends. We're family and that's different. Trust me, Spike doesn't need me. This world would have been better off if I had never graced it." Angel started walking away. When Cordelia had no retort, he looked back to comment on her uncharacteristic silence but she was gone. She probably was never really there in the first place. Angel walked on.
"Oh good, I caught up to you. You know Angelus, I shouldn't give you another chance but you used to be so much fun it's worth the risk."
Angel looked back at the female vampire whose name he couldn't recall. He beckoned her forward and when she curled around his body, he plucked a stake from his pocket and dusted her before she knew what was happening. "Told you, Angelus is gone. Angel died in an alleyway. The more people who believe it the better."
He pocketed the stake and walked on. Darla and Cordelia, he had been visited by two ghosts. Would Wesley be the ghost of Christmas Future? Maybe it would be Connor taunting him with all the things he'd never be able to do now, like graduate college, find a lover, have more kids of his own. Angel tormented himself with dreams of lost grandchildren for a while then made a vow, no matter which ghost came to visit him next, the answer would be the same. He was done with fighting. The world had used him up. It would have to look elsewhere to find a savior.
Walking on a Wire by Richard Thompson
I hand you my ball and chain
You just hand me that same old refrain
I'm walking on a wire,
I'm walking on a wire
And I'm falling
I wish I could please you tonight
But my medicine just won't come right
I'm walking on a wire,
I'm walking on a wire
And I'm falling
Too many steps to take
Too many spells to break
Too many nights awake
And no one else
This grindstone's wearing me
Your claws are tearing me
Don't use me endlessly
It's too long, too long to myself
Where's the justice and where's the sense?
When all the pain is on my side of the fence
I'm walking on a wire,
I'm walking on a wire
And I'm falling
Too many steps to take
Too many spells to break Too many nights awake
And no one else
This grindstone's wearing me
Your claws are tearing me
Don't use me endlessly
It's too long, it's too long to myself
It scares you when you don't know
Whichever way the wind might blow
I'm walking on a wire,
I'm walking on a wire
And I'm falling
I'm walking on a wire,
I'm walking on a wire
And I'm falling