New Fic: If I Was
Word Count: 2291
Ten years after the events of Buffy Season 8, issue 40.
Angst (what, you were expecting different?)
Thanks go to my kick-ass beta, the amazing carlyinrome. Love ya bb. All remaining mistakes, mine.
Rated PG.
Angel, Buffy
FB and concrit always welcomed.
If I Was
Angel stood on the street corner, oblivious to the people walking by, the same scenario as a thousand other evenings, a thousand other towns.. He was perfectly still except for the flair of his nostrils as he scented the air. Deep in concentration, he ignored the everyday smells surrounding him - perfume and sweat, cooking odors from nearby homes, car exhaust, wild and domestic animals. He dug deeper, eyes closed until he finally caught it, faint but unmistakeable. Blood. Human blood, touched with fear and pain. It took him another few seconds to pinpoint the direction the scent was coming from, and then he was gone.
The other vampire was staked before he even realized there was a threat. The ashes drifted gently in the breeze as Angel stared at the woman laying at his feet, her eyes open and sightless, her throat torn out. It had been years since he had felt guilt over those deaths he was unable to prevent, but he hoisted her into his arms anyway, quietly saying a few words to commend her soul to the afterlife. She was still warm and if he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that she was alive. Instead, he kept them open as his fangs slipped into the still bleeding wound. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt full. The warm blood spread like bliss throughout his system and within minutes she was nothing but a cold husk in his arms. He gently laid her out and closed her eyes. Straightening back up, he scanned the area until he spotted her pocketbook. Rifling through it, he finally found her wallet. He removed the bills, and replaced the rest. He refused to look at anything that might give a clue to her identity or who might mourn her. The aftermath of her death didn't concern him.
Even without a superior sense of smell, it wouldn't have taken him long to track down a bar. He strode in, aware that his worn, dirty clothes were attracting the attention of the other patrons. Once upon a time his appearance had mattered to him, now the knowledge that it would only take him a few minutes to kill every person here was enough to give him an air of superiority. Seating himself on a stool, he pulled out the twenty he had just liberated and ordered a whiskey, neat. There was no way for him to get drunk here - his tolerance for liquor was a lot higher than his cash situation - but he found that a few shots quelled his hunger a bit. He had just had the best meal he'd had in a long time, but it didn't make up for his normal semi-starvation diet.
He briefly examined the various customers seated around the bar, and finally let his gaze linger on a young woman seated at the opposite end. She had a petite build, her blond hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She was in her early twenties but her expression revealed that she had lived through some difficult times. Her mouth was a bit too wide, emphasized by the dark red lipstick she wore. He allowed a charming grin to slide across his face and signaled the bartender to send her another drink on him. He had to get going, but if she was back here tomorrow, he had plans for her. Her mouth would look that much prettier if she was on her knees, swallowing him down.
When he left, it was close to midnight. He spent a few hours wandering through the less savory parts of town, but he appeared to be the only demon out and about. He had already decided to stay two more nights to ensure there were no more of his kind still lurking and then he'd move on. He spent the rest of the night wandering the streets, noting likely locations for vampire hangouts, as well as the addresses of the cemeteries and funeral parlors. His internal clock informed him that dawn wasn't too far off, so an actual visit to any possible haunts would have to wait until tomorrow. Angel backtracked until he found himself in a small industrial park. Easily eluding the night watchman making rounds, he discovered a small building with a realtor's notice posted in the front. Heading to the side, he forced open a window and climbed in. He quickly made his way to the basement. He was aware that there was a slight chance that someone might visit the space during the day, but judging by the layer of dust he was betting that it would do fine as a refuge during the daylight hours. He had certainly hidden in worse, although a hard filthy floor with rats as his companions tended to be par for the course.
The next night found him taking down three vampires at once. He toyed with them longer than normal, partly out of boredom, partly to ensure that he wasn't getting soft. During his game of keep-away with the remaining vampire, the odor of flowers surrounded him. Paying more attention to the unexpected smell than his unchallenging opponent, he identified peonies, roses, lilacs, violets; a complete spring bouquet. As he took a deeper breath, letting the scent fill him, his eyes widened in surprise. He also smelled power, magic, death. The scent of a slayer. With one well-placed thrust, he ended the game he had been playing. He needed to concentrate on the real threat. He doubted that Buffy had told her little army that he was a special vampire and should be left alone. It was why he stuck to forgotten towns and dying backwaters, but he had always known that eventually one of the remaining slayers was going to stumble upon him.
Angel clutched the stake in his fist as he turned. He had no desire to kill one of Buffy's girls, but he wasn't going to lay down and dust either.
It was only two hundred and fifty years of honed reflexes that prevented the stake from clattering to the ground. She was no longer the women-child he had fallen in love with when she had been fifteen and just beginning to explore her power. The rounded edges of childhood innocence were all gone. Although, if he was honest, that had been lost by the last time he had seen her in Sunnydale. But at that point, she had still been willing to be soft for him, to fall into his arms and briefly let the world slip away. He should have left things there, a permanent ache of things they might never have, but at least they would have still had the past and idle daydreams.
Instead he had come back, convinced that they could banish all the nightmares from the world, while finding paradise for themselves. More fool him.
Now she was fully the slayer, a woman who knew how to wield power. She was officially older than he had been when he had lost his mortal life. He had never expected her to live this long and she had lost so much along the way; almost all of that loss could be laid squarely at his feet.
"Hello Buffy," he said flatly.
Her stake was pointed downward, held loosely between thumb and forefinger, her weight shifted onto her leading foot, her left arm swinging loosely at her side. To an observer she appeared unconcerned, her posture casual but Angel knew better. He could see the subtle tension in her shoulders. In actuality, she was ready to attack if she needed to.
"Why are you here?" He was careful to keep any hostility out of his tone but neither did he allow even a hint of warmth.
If she was bothered by his obvious lack of happiness upon seeing her, she kept it to herself. "A group of slayers and I were taking down a nasty demon. I thought it would be fun to do some vampire slaying the way I used to do. Once in a while I get an old school urge. I didn't exactly expect to run into you."
He nodded and turned to go.
"Wait," she called. "You should come back with me. Your family misses you."
He was tempted to ask who exactly she meant, but his curiosity extinguished as quickly as it had ignited.
"Have they forgiven me?" he asked blandly. "Have you forgiven me?"
He couldn't help thinking about Faith. One more person sacrificed because she thought his life was worth more than hers. His regrets regarding her didn't cause his expression to change. He had always been good at guarding his innermost feelings and now there was no one he felt like sharing his private pain with.
"I-" Even in the dark he could see the color that rose on her cheeks. "I still care about you."
"Not what I asked, sweetheart." He crossed his arms over his chest. "If you expect me to be flattered when almost a decade has gone by, you're going to have to try a lot harder."
He could see a brief flash of impatience in her eyes as she tapped her stake against her leg. "I know things haven't been easy for you. I'm sorry."
He wanted to laugh at the total inadequacy of her apology. Instead he ignored her and looked out into the distance. An owl flew low against the horizon, a mouse gripped in it's talons. He watched as it landed, tearing into its prey. This was what everything came down to in the end.
"I've changed."
"Not that much." Buffy tilted her head, her gaze intense. "I just watched you take down a group of vampires. You're still fighting the good fight."
A sardonic grin briefly illuminated his face. "I'm a killer. I enjoy it and I'm good at it."
Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her head and stared into his eyes. "I don't believe you."
Buffy always had been stubborn. Or maybe it was just that she always wanted to believe the best of everyone. There had been a time when he had wanted to protect her from the darker truths out there. The darker truths about himself. But that had been a long time ago.
"After I murdered Giles, I did the typical me thing. Drowned in guilt for a while, redoubled my efforts to atone, you know the drill." He saw her flinch, although she covered up her reaction faster than he expected.
"I woke up." He left out that his epiphany occurred while Faith died in his arms. "A soul doesn't make me a man. I told you that once, but over the years I forgot it.
Rainbows are just water droplets shimmering in the sun, unicorns are a myth and redemption isn't possible for me." He held up his hand to forestall her speaking. "You don't need to worry. Nihilist doesn't necessarily mean no conscience. I confine my fun to vampires, other demons. If I get real lucky, I stumble on a human doing something naughty like murder or rape and then, hey, it's dinner in addition."
He could hear her heart pounding. "You're lying. Angel, you would never kill humans."
Still so naive, even after everything he had just said. After everything he had done to her.
"They're not exactly innocents."
"They're human. That means they have souls. That means they can change. If you murder them, you've taken that possibility away."
"I don't deal in vague possibilities. I see the world for what it is." He turned and started walking away, having nothing left to say.
"Spike's human," she blurted to his retreating back.
He turned around, eyebrows raised in spite of himself. Now he knew why she smelled like flowers instead of Buffy. Had they thought he would refuse to listen if he smelled Spike on her? They really didn't know him at all.
"He said it happened because he had atoned. That could be you, also."
He threw his head back and laughed, enjoying Buffy's look of confusion more than he should have. He kept laughing, long past the time when he should have quit and only stopped when his laughter turned into something that sounded harsher and uglier. "I'm not redeemable. I think we both know that. Why exactly are you here, Buffy?"
"I told you---"
"Right. You found me because you need something. My guess it's either because I have information on something you're about to face or some world ending crisis is upon us and you need all hands on deck."
Buffy stared at the ground, chewing on her bottom lip. "Both, " she finally admitted.
"Now that wasn't that difficult, was it? Have Harris met me here tomorrow and he can tell me what's up."
"Xander? But-"
"He hates me? That's the point. This is business."
Angel's face was arranged in an impenetrable mask. He watched as Buffy slowly walked away, keeping his gaze on her far longer than a human could have. He thought about disappearing, they wouldn't come after him if he did. He knew he wouldn't though. The world had never been kind to him, but he wouldn't let Buffy down.
He tortured himself with a litany of what-ifs and might-have-beens. With an effort of will, he shut down all the feelings that seeing Buffy had stirred. There had been some small, stupid part of him that had still hoped, but not any more. He would help and then he would leave, the only possible choice.
If I was scared, I would
And if I was pure, you know I would
And if I was yours, but I'm not
Ready to Start - Arcade Fire
Ten years after the events of Buffy Season 8, issue 40.
Angst (what, you were expecting different?)
Thanks go to my kick-ass beta, the amazing carlyinrome. Love ya bb. All remaining mistakes, mine.
Rated PG.
Angel, Buffy
FB and concrit always welcomed.
If I Was
Angel stood on the street corner, oblivious to the people walking by, the same scenario as a thousand other evenings, a thousand other towns.. He was perfectly still except for the flair of his nostrils as he scented the air. Deep in concentration, he ignored the everyday smells surrounding him - perfume and sweat, cooking odors from nearby homes, car exhaust, wild and domestic animals. He dug deeper, eyes closed until he finally caught it, faint but unmistakeable. Blood. Human blood, touched with fear and pain. It took him another few seconds to pinpoint the direction the scent was coming from, and then he was gone.
The other vampire was staked before he even realized there was a threat. The ashes drifted gently in the breeze as Angel stared at the woman laying at his feet, her eyes open and sightless, her throat torn out. It had been years since he had felt guilt over those deaths he was unable to prevent, but he hoisted her into his arms anyway, quietly saying a few words to commend her soul to the afterlife. She was still warm and if he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that she was alive. Instead, he kept them open as his fangs slipped into the still bleeding wound. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt full. The warm blood spread like bliss throughout his system and within minutes she was nothing but a cold husk in his arms. He gently laid her out and closed her eyes. Straightening back up, he scanned the area until he spotted her pocketbook. Rifling through it, he finally found her wallet. He removed the bills, and replaced the rest. He refused to look at anything that might give a clue to her identity or who might mourn her. The aftermath of her death didn't concern him.
Even without a superior sense of smell, it wouldn't have taken him long to track down a bar. He strode in, aware that his worn, dirty clothes were attracting the attention of the other patrons. Once upon a time his appearance had mattered to him, now the knowledge that it would only take him a few minutes to kill every person here was enough to give him an air of superiority. Seating himself on a stool, he pulled out the twenty he had just liberated and ordered a whiskey, neat. There was no way for him to get drunk here - his tolerance for liquor was a lot higher than his cash situation - but he found that a few shots quelled his hunger a bit. He had just had the best meal he'd had in a long time, but it didn't make up for his normal semi-starvation diet.
He briefly examined the various customers seated around the bar, and finally let his gaze linger on a young woman seated at the opposite end. She had a petite build, her blond hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She was in her early twenties but her expression revealed that she had lived through some difficult times. Her mouth was a bit too wide, emphasized by the dark red lipstick she wore. He allowed a charming grin to slide across his face and signaled the bartender to send her another drink on him. He had to get going, but if she was back here tomorrow, he had plans for her. Her mouth would look that much prettier if she was on her knees, swallowing him down.
When he left, it was close to midnight. He spent a few hours wandering through the less savory parts of town, but he appeared to be the only demon out and about. He had already decided to stay two more nights to ensure there were no more of his kind still lurking and then he'd move on. He spent the rest of the night wandering the streets, noting likely locations for vampire hangouts, as well as the addresses of the cemeteries and funeral parlors. His internal clock informed him that dawn wasn't too far off, so an actual visit to any possible haunts would have to wait until tomorrow. Angel backtracked until he found himself in a small industrial park. Easily eluding the night watchman making rounds, he discovered a small building with a realtor's notice posted in the front. Heading to the side, he forced open a window and climbed in. He quickly made his way to the basement. He was aware that there was a slight chance that someone might visit the space during the day, but judging by the layer of dust he was betting that it would do fine as a refuge during the daylight hours. He had certainly hidden in worse, although a hard filthy floor with rats as his companions tended to be par for the course.
The next night found him taking down three vampires at once. He toyed with them longer than normal, partly out of boredom, partly to ensure that he wasn't getting soft. During his game of keep-away with the remaining vampire, the odor of flowers surrounded him. Paying more attention to the unexpected smell than his unchallenging opponent, he identified peonies, roses, lilacs, violets; a complete spring bouquet. As he took a deeper breath, letting the scent fill him, his eyes widened in surprise. He also smelled power, magic, death. The scent of a slayer. With one well-placed thrust, he ended the game he had been playing. He needed to concentrate on the real threat. He doubted that Buffy had told her little army that he was a special vampire and should be left alone. It was why he stuck to forgotten towns and dying backwaters, but he had always known that eventually one of the remaining slayers was going to stumble upon him.
Angel clutched the stake in his fist as he turned. He had no desire to kill one of Buffy's girls, but he wasn't going to lay down and dust either.
It was only two hundred and fifty years of honed reflexes that prevented the stake from clattering to the ground. She was no longer the women-child he had fallen in love with when she had been fifteen and just beginning to explore her power. The rounded edges of childhood innocence were all gone. Although, if he was honest, that had been lost by the last time he had seen her in Sunnydale. But at that point, she had still been willing to be soft for him, to fall into his arms and briefly let the world slip away. He should have left things there, a permanent ache of things they might never have, but at least they would have still had the past and idle daydreams.
Instead he had come back, convinced that they could banish all the nightmares from the world, while finding paradise for themselves. More fool him.
Now she was fully the slayer, a woman who knew how to wield power. She was officially older than he had been when he had lost his mortal life. He had never expected her to live this long and she had lost so much along the way; almost all of that loss could be laid squarely at his feet.
"Hello Buffy," he said flatly.
Her stake was pointed downward, held loosely between thumb and forefinger, her weight shifted onto her leading foot, her left arm swinging loosely at her side. To an observer she appeared unconcerned, her posture casual but Angel knew better. He could see the subtle tension in her shoulders. In actuality, she was ready to attack if she needed to.
"Why are you here?" He was careful to keep any hostility out of his tone but neither did he allow even a hint of warmth.
If she was bothered by his obvious lack of happiness upon seeing her, she kept it to herself. "A group of slayers and I were taking down a nasty demon. I thought it would be fun to do some vampire slaying the way I used to do. Once in a while I get an old school urge. I didn't exactly expect to run into you."
He nodded and turned to go.
"Wait," she called. "You should come back with me. Your family misses you."
He was tempted to ask who exactly she meant, but his curiosity extinguished as quickly as it had ignited.
"Have they forgiven me?" he asked blandly. "Have you forgiven me?"
He couldn't help thinking about Faith. One more person sacrificed because she thought his life was worth more than hers. His regrets regarding her didn't cause his expression to change. He had always been good at guarding his innermost feelings and now there was no one he felt like sharing his private pain with.
"I-" Even in the dark he could see the color that rose on her cheeks. "I still care about you."
"Not what I asked, sweetheart." He crossed his arms over his chest. "If you expect me to be flattered when almost a decade has gone by, you're going to have to try a lot harder."
He could see a brief flash of impatience in her eyes as she tapped her stake against her leg. "I know things haven't been easy for you. I'm sorry."
He wanted to laugh at the total inadequacy of her apology. Instead he ignored her and looked out into the distance. An owl flew low against the horizon, a mouse gripped in it's talons. He watched as it landed, tearing into its prey. This was what everything came down to in the end.
"I've changed."
"Not that much." Buffy tilted her head, her gaze intense. "I just watched you take down a group of vampires. You're still fighting the good fight."
A sardonic grin briefly illuminated his face. "I'm a killer. I enjoy it and I'm good at it."
Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her head and stared into his eyes. "I don't believe you."
Buffy always had been stubborn. Or maybe it was just that she always wanted to believe the best of everyone. There had been a time when he had wanted to protect her from the darker truths out there. The darker truths about himself. But that had been a long time ago.
"After I murdered Giles, I did the typical me thing. Drowned in guilt for a while, redoubled my efforts to atone, you know the drill." He saw her flinch, although she covered up her reaction faster than he expected.
"I woke up." He left out that his epiphany occurred while Faith died in his arms. "A soul doesn't make me a man. I told you that once, but over the years I forgot it.
Rainbows are just water droplets shimmering in the sun, unicorns are a myth and redemption isn't possible for me." He held up his hand to forestall her speaking. "You don't need to worry. Nihilist doesn't necessarily mean no conscience. I confine my fun to vampires, other demons. If I get real lucky, I stumble on a human doing something naughty like murder or rape and then, hey, it's dinner in addition."
He could hear her heart pounding. "You're lying. Angel, you would never kill humans."
Still so naive, even after everything he had just said. After everything he had done to her.
"They're not exactly innocents."
"They're human. That means they have souls. That means they can change. If you murder them, you've taken that possibility away."
"I don't deal in vague possibilities. I see the world for what it is." He turned and started walking away, having nothing left to say.
"Spike's human," she blurted to his retreating back.
He turned around, eyebrows raised in spite of himself. Now he knew why she smelled like flowers instead of Buffy. Had they thought he would refuse to listen if he smelled Spike on her? They really didn't know him at all.
"He said it happened because he had atoned. That could be you, also."
He threw his head back and laughed, enjoying Buffy's look of confusion more than he should have. He kept laughing, long past the time when he should have quit and only stopped when his laughter turned into something that sounded harsher and uglier. "I'm not redeemable. I think we both know that. Why exactly are you here, Buffy?"
"I told you---"
"Right. You found me because you need something. My guess it's either because I have information on something you're about to face or some world ending crisis is upon us and you need all hands on deck."
Buffy stared at the ground, chewing on her bottom lip. "Both, " she finally admitted.
"Now that wasn't that difficult, was it? Have Harris met me here tomorrow and he can tell me what's up."
"Xander? But-"
"He hates me? That's the point. This is business."
Angel's face was arranged in an impenetrable mask. He watched as Buffy slowly walked away, keeping his gaze on her far longer than a human could have. He thought about disappearing, they wouldn't come after him if he did. He knew he wouldn't though. The world had never been kind to him, but he wouldn't let Buffy down.
He tortured himself with a litany of what-ifs and might-have-beens. With an effort of will, he shut down all the feelings that seeing Buffy had stirred. There had been some small, stupid part of him that had still hoped, but not any more. He would help and then he would leave, the only possible choice.
If I was scared, I would
And if I was pure, you know I would
And if I was yours, but I'm not
Ready to Start - Arcade Fire