<< Creative Works <<  

They Did Not Fade Away (Page 2 of 6)
By Hephaestus

Summary: Three years after Not Fade Away, things have changed so much, and yet not at all.
Author's Profile: @ fanfiction.net
Part of a Series: This is the prequel to What It Means To Be Alive.
Disclaimer: Joss owns all. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Comments: Please read and review!

. . .

Chapter 6

Another day at the office, he thought. Another day of nothingness. Swiveling in his chair, he flipped his wrist just right, and the throwing knife landed perfectly in the middle of the target. There was a cup of cold coffee on his desk and a half empty bottle of very expensive Irish whiskey in his desk drawer. The papers on his desk had to be read and signed, and there was a report he had to edit before it could be published for the company employees.

His financial advisor had called; he was making a ton of money in stocks and holdings. His shipping company, which he owned, but through another company owned by another company, had more contracts now that ever. Looking at the pen sitting next a piece of his personal stationary, he contemplated his habit of sending letters that were never responded to. It was about that time, but he couldn’t bring himself to write another letter that wouldn’t be answered. He briefly toyed with the idea of giving up, but he had waited centuries for love before, he could wait a little longer now.

His driver would be there soon, he realized, looking at the clock. Of course, the driver would wait as long as he had to for Angel to come down to the car. Angel never drove himself anymore, not since what happened to Fred’s parents. He never wanted to responsible for a thing like that. He would sometimes take one of the hotrods out, but he always made sure he was sober, which was getting to be less and less often.

He liked being legitimate. He liked walking in the sun, jogging on the beach before work, having lunch with his friends, watching old kungfu movies and doing laps in his pool on Saturday mornings. He knew he liked these things, he just couldn’t really figure out why they no longer made him happy. Well, he conceded in his head, he had never been happy, but maybe less depressed when he did these things. Now, he was lucky if he could get out bed in the morning.

When his friends started making a fuss over him he would start getting careful again. He would make sure they couldn’t smell alcohol on him, he would smile, make jokes, take everyone out to dinner, make merry and be a pleasure to be around. They weren’t making much of a fuss yet, so he figured he wouldn’t have to start putting a show on for another couple of weeks.

Glancing at the clock, Angel realized his driver had been waiting for exactly five minutes and twenty-three seconds; the hired man was prompt. Gathering his things into his brief case, he started towards his private elevator. He needed a good workout, and maybe something to eat, and a lot of booze. Will, often his companion when going out, generally didn’t bother him about his drinking; maybe because they had been lushes together a lifetime ago. Will knew how much Angel could handle before he got sloppy.

Getting into the back seat of the car, the partition already up, Angel knew his house would be clean when he got home. He employed a housekeeper and a gardener, from nine to five during the week, never on the weekend, and paid them a huge amount for their services. They were loyal, discreet, and good at what they did. Angel was sure that the housekeeper always left around three in the afternoon, but he didn’t begrudge her that. She had grandkids in elementary school she took care of, and besides that, the house was always spotless when he got home, the fridge, wine cellar and liquor cabinets were always stocked, the bed turned down, and his clothes laundered. If she could do that on a daily basis, he didn’t care early she left.

The house sat on a beautiful acre of land. The gardens were exquisite, and the parlor was situated just right for the perfect rays of sun to paint by. Not that he painted anymore. Mostly, he just slept there. He used the gym and the pool to keep in shape, the kitchen and study, because that was where the booze was, and the living room. For the most part, the house was empty. It was too large for one man to live in alone, but he didn’t really have a choice about that, he thought.

Stepping into the kitchen, he flipped through the mail on the counter. Invoices, which were always dealt with by his financial consultant, credit card offers that went into the garbage and some coupons for Best Buy were quickly sorted and organized.

Will answered his cell phone on the third ring. “What the bloody hell do you want? Didn’t I just see you a few hours ago?”

“Shut up. Come over, let’s go out.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Angel could hear the sounds of traffic in the background, Will was driving. “Have you ever eaten in your kitchen?”

“I avoid that as much as possible. Besides, I don’t know where Dorita puts the frying pans.”

“Look where they were when you first moved in. You haven’t touched them since.”

“I don’t want to cook.”

“You’re a good cook.”

“There’s nothing in the fridge,” he lied.

Will laughed on the other end of the line. “Bullshit. Dorita makes sure that fridge is always stocked even if most of it gets thrown away every week anyway. There’s a ton of stuff there.”

Walking to the fridge, he peered inside; it was stocked, as always. Damn it, maybe he should tell her to stop doing that, he thought. “What do you want me to make?”

Angel turned as he heard the front door open and phone disconnect. Will walked through the threshold, smiling like a Cheshire cat as he closed and locked the door behind him. Closing the cell phone, Angel motioned towards the fridge and told Will to choose something.

It was a rarity when they stayed at Angel’s house; they mostly always went out. Wes came with them before he had married Fred. Now, it was rare that anyone accompanied them. Gunn was dating a woman named Luciana, a beautiful and somewhat demanding half Spanish woman. Angel thought they were lucky that Wes and Gunn still made it to the beach five mornings a week.

Will made himself useful. He wanted chicken, but had basically let Angel tell him what to do after he had picked out the most basic of ingredients. William was an entirely different man than he had been before that night in the ally. He was still a loose cannon when he wanted to be, and still cursed like a sailor when it suited him, but he had stopped bleaching his hair and put the duster in the back of the closet.

Slacks and button downs were now the major part of his wardrobe; he flatly refused to wear a suit and tie the way Angel sometimes did. He slicked his hair back half the time, the other half of the time it was natural, short and wavy on top of his head. He could still wipe the floor with any demon put in front of him, but he decided the whole being human thing wasn’t so bad, and had taken care to become a respectable citizen.

The style change came complete with a personality make over. The mischievous light in his eyes hadn’t left, nor had his ability to push the buttons or get under the skin of any person he met. However, he was choosing less and less to push those buttons just for the sheer fun of it. He thought of himself like a kinder version of his previous self; a little less obnoxious. He held his tongue more often, but really made it count when he did want to verbally sting someone.

He used a pen more than a sword these days, using the talents for writing he had given up on so long ago to compose briefs and memos. He could start or stop a war with one letter. Angel had once told him that he was glad Will was using his powers for good instead of evil. Will knew that he was valuable within the company; no one really wanted to make him mad, and therefore the most troublesome clients were sent to him. He dealt with the temperamental ones very well.

“Come one, Peaches, hurry it up. I want my chicken.”

Angel gave him a look that had made many men and demons cower, but Will smiled. He hadn’t changed so much that Angel could make him be quiet.

Will found the dishes by memory, they had eaten there a few times in last three years, and set the small glass table on the veranda overlooking the rose garden. Will liked the house. It was big, beautiful, very well furnished, and maintained. Angel had good taste, Will had to admit that, even if his own tastes differed somewhat. Will preferred the more modern decorating styles, whereas Angel definitely liked his antiques. Will often complained that Angel lived in the past.

Angel managed to lighten up a bit throughout dinner; he even gave more than monosyllabic responses when Will prompted him. Sitting back, a beer in hand, Will looked at his companion. Angel was on third or fourth whiskey, Will had lost track. “Angel…ever think about getting into a program?”

He laughed, a real laugh, not even a faked chuckle. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Could have fooled me. Oh, wait, you did.”

“I drink because…it feels better than most other things. It’s a choice, not a compulsion. Really, you know that, you’ve seen how much I pound back. And I could stop if I wanted.”

“I hear that line’s a cliché.” Will had suddenly turned serious.

“Okay.” Angel stood and walked into the kitchen. He poured the reminder of his drink down the sink, opened the fridge, and started pulling the beer out of it. Angel preferred whiskey or scotch, sometimes brandy, put he kept beer around for Will and the guys.

Will watched, a little amused, a little disturbed. He knew Angel could quit, he’d seen him do it. He wasn’t an alcoholic in the true sense of the word, but he was definitely a drunk. After watching these proceedings, Will went over to Liquor cabinet and pulled out all the bottles, over a dozen very expensive bottles of booze started to line the counter top.

When the kitchen had been cleaned out and all the bottles had been put in boxes, Angel left a note for Dorita, asking her to stop stocking the house with liquor and to please dispose of all the booze. He emphasized the word ‘all’ by underlining it.

“Alright…what about the reason you’re drinking? I know you’re not compelled, so…why?”

Angel sat on the couch and stared blankly at the dark TV screen. Will had seen his friend despondent many times, but this was naked grief he had not seen in a long time, from anyone.

Angel refused to cry. He had been refusing himself that luxury for a long time. He wouldn’t grieve over things he had never had in the first place. Not her, not Connor. He wouldn’t let himself; he was adamant about that. Instead, he took a very shaky breath, steadied himself, opened his mouth to speak…and nothing came out. The words choked in his throat. He couldn’t make himself tell Will about her, or about Connor, or Cordy; in fact, he suddenly felt as if his throat had closed.

He closed his mouth and cleared his throat a few times. His eyes blurred, threatening to open a flow of tears. Clearing his throat again, his voice came to him in a whisper.

“I’m trying,” he whispered.

He tried to continue, but his throat closed up again and his eyes started to blur so much he couldn’t see. He stood quickly, walking to the bathroom that was hidden off of the living room hallway and shut and locked the door. He heard Will knocking on the door, he heard Will ask him to open the door. He heard the words of attempted comfort. As quiet as he could, he opened the cabinet and took out a razor blade. Rolling up his sleeve, he carefully and noiselessly cut across his forearm, below his elbow.

The pain focused him, his tears dried up before they could fall and his breathing slowed. The blood rolling down his arm settled him in a way that the booze never could. Carefully replacing the blade and quickly putting a bandage over the already healing cut, he pulled his sleeve down and buttoned the wrist.

Will jumped back as Angel opened the door. He looked focused, he wasn’t on the verge of tears, he even looked calm to a certain extent. “Are you alright?”

“Just needed to compose myself. I’m okay, Will, really.”

Will wasn’t convinced, but he doubted there was a bottle hidden under the lid of the toilet. “Do you want to talk now?”

“Will…I’ll stop drinking. Really. No more coming drunk to work, I swear. I just…it’s been hard. Everything. Difficult adjustments and all that.”

“What aren’t you telling us? What don’t we know, Angel? Because, honestly, if this is over Buffy…”

Will never got to finish his sentence. He looked up, realizing that the ache in his jaw was from Angel’s fist and started to pick himself up off the floor. Angel was steaming.

“You don’t get to say her name. If I want to talk to you I will, if I don’t want to talk to you, I won’t. You know all you need to.” Turning on his heel, Angel stalked up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He was in his bedroom with the door locked before Will was half way up the steps.

. . .

Chapter 7

“He just stormed off?” Gunn was leaning against the window sill of his living room. The left side of Will’s face was rapidly swelling and the color would definitely not be back to normal by morning. Will and Angel healed rapidly, as rapidly as they had when they were vampires, but that didn’t mean that a super strength punch wouldn’t have them looking like an eggplant for a couple days.

“Huh…so not just Buffy.”

“Right. Not just Buffy. There’s something else up with him, something he won’t talk about.”

Gunn racked his brain. He couldn’t think what else would be causing Angel’s depression. It had been worsening over time, maybe because he had never expressed what was bothering him. Gunn knew that Buffy could be to blame for all this, but he doubted she was the only problem Angel was facing at the moment.

“We need to talk to Wes. He mentioned something, a long time ago. When we first came to Wolfram and Hart, when you were still in Sunnydale, Wes mentioned these files, the code name was Connor. Nobody had access to these files but Angel. When Wes asked him about it, he got much the same response you did tonight, but with less fists.”

“Connor…Angel’s last name. What’s the connection, there? A person, or a code name?” Will did not want to let on how much he already knew about that file. The knowledge he had was dangerous, and he didn’t think he needed to share it any time soon.

“Don’t know.” Gunn took the ice pack and refilled it with fresh ice in the kitchen. “We should ask Wesley. He might have done some more digging.”

“Yeah.” It was still early. Well, early for them. Will was still a night owl, although he tried to adjust to the day walker schedule. Old habits die hard, he thought. “What was he doing in that bathroom, do you think? I don’t think he counted to ten and took deep breaths.”

“Who knows?” Gunn caught the look in Will’s eye. He got that look when he was thinking of rather distasteful things. “What? What are you thinking?”

Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t want to go telling tales out of school, you know what I mean? No, can’t say till I’m sure.”

Nodding, but not sure where he was going with this, Gunn took a seat on the couch. There was coffee in front of them, but neither moved to touch it. Will was the first to speak. “We should call Wes.”

“We should leave him alone until tomorrow. You don’t think Angel’ll try anything tonight, do you?”

“You mean do I think he’ll kill himself? No, Gunn, I don’t think so. Angel loves torturing himself too much for that. Death would mean he could mentally flog himself anymore.” The two men sat in silence, trying to figure out what to do with their no longer pointy toothed boss.

Half a dozen blocks or so away, Wes and Fred were sitting in front of a fireplace with a lit fire in it. It was cozy, there was a chill in the air tonight. Of course, that could have been because they were both naked.

“I’m worried for him Wes.”

“This is wonderful pillow talk.”

She shoved him playfully. “I’m serious. He’s acting strange, stranger than normal. I mean, he hasn’t been alright for a long time, but it’s becoming more pronounced. How long are we going to let this go on for?”

“Fred, I care about him too, but we can’t force him to talk to us.”

“I think we should kidnap Buffy. Bring her to LA and lock them in a room together. They’d either kill each other or make babies. At this point, I like both those options.”

At the mention of babies, they both laid their hands on her stomach. No one knew yet. Mostly because the last time they had told everyone she had miscarried two weeks later. The doctors said it wasn’t her fault; her body had been through a lot, and she might not be able to have children. That had been her second miscarriage. Apparently, stealing a body back from a hell god can leave the body a little damaged.

She was almost through her first trimester, a good sign, they were told. If she made it to five months, they were going to tell everyone. Of course, at that point, they would be able to notice anyway. Fred had been trying to gain weight; she had been told that she was dangerously underweight for a pregnancy. She had managed to add five pounds to her slight frame, and that had seemed to help, since she was still pregnant three months later.

She wanted to tell them, but it had been too devastating the last time, having everyone comfort her. She could handle the pain on her own, but she couldn’t handle if everyone knew she was in such pain. Maybe that was what Angel was trying to do; deal with the pain by himself because knowing other people knew he was in pain would be too much to bear. She also knew that sometimes it had to be expressed; she wasn’t so sure Angel knew that.

“Wes…what were you talking about today, on the phone? A file, named Connor?”

“A theory.”

Wesley had been one of few words since Fred’s death, but he had been especially mum on this subject.

“Wes, I’m going to get it out of you in ways you may not like.”

He shifted and then rose, pulling on his boxers and pants, which had been discarded throughout the living room. “A file only Angel can access. I can’t get to it; I can’t even get a synopsis of it. It’s the only file that only Angel has access to. The only one. It’s been destroyed, but a source in filing said that Angel made copies of parts of it. Put it a book.”

“You mean those books you use, the blank ones that call up any information you tell it to?”

“Yes, only this book was specifically made for this file, and I suspect Angel put a password on it. It will only call up the file he specifically stored in its memory, and then only when he tells it to, and only him. It’s very frustrating, because whatever it is, it has him very up in arms, and he’s normally not this secretive with business files.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t like to speculate, but it has to be a mistake. Something he views as a mistake, anyway. I think it’s been weighing on him, that’s part of what’s making him so…well, not himself. A case, maybe? Resulting in a death. I’m not sure, but I want to know.”

“How are you going to do that?” She knew Wes already had a plan, if he hadn’t already had a plan since he first learned of this file and the subsequent book it was loaded into.

“Willow is still in town. She’ll be here for a while, I think. I’m going to sneak into Angel’s house with Willow, find the book, have her open it, and I’m going to read it.”

Fred’s stunned silence told him exactly what she thought of that idea. He had been fixing sandwiches for both of them as he talked. Wearing nothing but his button down shirt Fred sat at the kitchen table and mutely accepted the sandwich. “That’s dangerous. And stupid. If he catches you, he’s going to beat the living hell out of you. There’s a reason he’s hiding that file.”

“Not a good one, I’m sure.”

They locked eyes and proceeding to have a staring contest that could make the toughest of men blink. She sighed, resigned to the fact that she was not going to change his mind. He was diabolical when he wanted to be.

. . .

Chapter 8

She never liked winter in England, it rained too much. There was a little snow on the ground, but it was slushy and made her boots a dingy and disgusting brown color. She walked into the dorm, signed in, and made her way upstairs. Walking towards the plain door with only one name on it, she remembered all the fuss the school had gone through to accommodate Dawn’s request for a single occupant room. Dawn could have found an apartment, but she said she liked the idea of living with people her own age, if separated by a wall.

When she got to Dawn’s door, she raised her hand to knock only to have the door open and a young woman leap at her, hugging her fiercely.

“Buffy! I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Hi Dawnie.” Shrugging off her coat, she slipped out of her damp boots and set them near the radiator. Dawn quickly cleared a place off on the bed, setting her books on the floor so Buffy could sit.

“I’m almost done with finals. One more, tomorrow, and that’s it.”

“How’s it going?” Buffy made herself comfortable on the navy blue bedding.

“Great. I think I’ll make honors again, and this final tomorrow shouldn’t be too hard, I’ve been studying all week for it.” Dawn looked so proud of herself. She only had one semester to go and she was finished with her degrees in Ancient Mysticism and Mythical Literature. She had loved college, it was challenging and she took mostly classes she enjoyed. Her enthusiasm almost made Buffy regret not finishing and getting her degree.

“That’s really great. I can’t wait for you to graduate. Any plans for Christmas?”

“Spend it with you. What else?”

Sighing, Buffy stood and walked the small cinder block room. The white paint did little to hide the modest origins of this glamorized closet. “Well, do you want to stay here?”

Dawn looked at her as if she had three heads. “Didn’t Willow call you? She asked me to meet her at LAX when my finals were done. She wants to do something in Crater-dale and then she’s got something else planned for Christmas. And she promised shopping in LA, so I haven’t gotten any presents yet.”

Buffy’s mouth went dry at the mention of LA. She didn’t think she could handle going back there. Knowing what had happened there, who she had lost, it seemed like too much to confront.

Dawn saw the distress on her sister’s face and immediately apologized for her lack of thought. Time had made her careless. Her wounds had healed somewhat, so she had assumed her sister’s would have as well.

“Oh, I’m sorry, really, I am. I thought it would be, you know, closure. Buffy, it could be a good thing. You could…start healing.”

“I don’t want to heal, Dawn! I want to crawl into a hole and never come out.”

They sat down, side by side, on the bed. They held each others’ hands and let the silence fill the room.

Dawn finally broke the silence. “Buffy, we need to go there. You need to go there. You can’t let this city take on such mythical proportions that you never go there again. That will escalate into a fear of California, and then the Western US, and than the whole of America. Nope, can’t let that happen. Soon, you won’t even want to go near the Pacific Ocean.”

Buffy laughed a little and regained her composure. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to move on. There was the Immortal. That lasted a little longer than five minutes. There was Jean, whom she had met in France while visiting Willow. He had lasted a little less than five minutes. Her last attempt with men had been Simon, a very nice American living in Spain. They had traveled together for a little while until she had been become bored with him and his normality. She had basically given up on men. She didn’t find women very appealing, either, so she had mentally declared herself asexual and turned away the affections of anyone who dared flirt with her.

She had tried to find peace. For three years, she had tried, but she could never really convince herself that he was gone. She had always thought that she would feel something if he died, that she would somehow know. She couldn’t explain it to anyone, but she had always known he was alive. She hadn’t believed Willow when she said Angel was dead. She still didn’t believe it. The painful part was, though, if he wasn’t dead, why hadn’t he contacted her, she asked herself. If he still worked for Wolfram and Hart, and even if he didn’t, he could have found a way to find her. She had been careful to stay in places long enough so that he could track her if he wanted.

Buffy knew that was silly. He may not have Willow’s power, but he could yield a spell book and a map. He could have found her. He never called, he never wrote. Every time her doorbell rang, her heart jumped into her throat, and for the briefest of moments, the hope she felt was so acute it was almost painful. The person on the other side of the door was never him, nor was it a messenger he had sent, or a long forgotten letter that had somehow made its way to her door.

He didn’t want her, she decided. She had once tried to write to him, to tell him that she was cookies, but the absurdity of it stopped her. She couldn’t possibly commit that to paper, let alone send it to him. He would think she had gone totally off her nut, she told herself.

“Dawn, I really don’t…” She stopped at the pleading and concerned look in Dawn’s eyes. Her little sister had grown into such a beautiful and intelligent young woman. It had always been hard to deny her sister anything, and denying this request was impossible. Buffy recognized the pleading look, but she also saw the thinly veiled determination there as well.

Buffy left that evening, heading back to her hotel to repack the few things that she taken out of her suitcase. They were leaving for LAX tomorrow, right after Dawn’s final. Buffy had tried to protest, saying that Dawn should rest and relax for a day to recuperate from school, but Dawn was having none of it. As far as she was concerned, Buffy was fishing for excuses to delay their trip.

She didn’t sleep that night, even though she knew she should. The jet lag was going to be awful. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get his face to stop haunting her dreams. It was easier not to sleep.

. . .

Chapter 9

There wasn’t anything wrong with throwing a client across a conference room, per se, he thought. Angel just couldn’t see what all the fuss about, or why Will was holding him back. This guy was jerk and Angel wanted to hit something, the equation seemed simple, he told himself. Apparently, the other people present weren’t following his math.

Will and Wes guided him out of the conference room. Actually, they more or less dragged him from the conference room. If Angel hadn’t been exhausted, he might have put up more of a fight. As it was though, he couldn’t do much more than protest and try to get out of their grip.

Gunn played clean up, but wonder of wonders, wasn’t able to convince the client to stay with the firm. Gunn wasn’t sorry about that, the guy was a jerk, but he didn’t think Angel should have thrown him across the room. That wasn’t kosher, Gunn thought. It didn’t take him long to catch up to the others. He could hear the yelling match down the hall.

Angel was pacing the room, yelling with great animation. Gunn was actually a little relieved, this was the most animated he had seen Angel in a very long time. Wes was trying to calm him down, Will was leaning against Angel’s desk with a look of great concern on his face, and Gunn quietly positioned himself next the wet bar. He was hoping Angel wasn’t going to go for a drink.

“Angel, it doesn’t matter how big of an ass that man is, you can’t…”

Angel didn’t let him finish his sentence, “he beats his wife! He should be in prison, or better yet, beaten within an inch of his life and left to dangle by his ankles from the top of building. We’re supposed to stop people like that, not defend them!”

Gunn jumped in, trying to save Wes from what was looking like an argument about to turn physical. “We weren’t going to defend him. The evidence is too great. I wanted to talk him into a plea bargain so we could avoid a trial, because there is no way he could win.”

“You don’t get it! He just blamed his wife for him beating her! She’s in the hospital! And this is our client! I…” He stopped, suddenly feeling a little short of breath and very dizzy. He felt hands grabbing at him, and suddenly he was pushed into a chair and his head was being shoved towards his knees. Nausea swept up into his throat, but deep breaths and keeping his head down forced the bile in his throat back down.

Will’s voice sounded far away, but it was starting to come into focus. He slowly picked his head up, straightening in the chair, and put his hand up to indicate to Will to stop yelling. The world stopped spinning, but he knew any sudden movements would start the roller coaster from hell feeling again.

“When was the last time you ate?” Wes was staring very intently at him.

He shook his head, trying to force the words out, as feelings he couldn’t give name too seemed to wash over him like a wave and drag him into a dark abyss of an ocean he didn’t understand. Something was pushed in his hand and his hand was raised to his lips. He drank whatever was in the cup because he thought maybe that would get everyone around him to be quiet and leave him alone. It didn’t work.

They were asking him questions he couldn’t answer because he couldn’t focus long enough to hear the entire question. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the back of the chair and took deep breaths. By the time the feeling of motion, as if on a very unsteady boat, had passed, he could focus.

“Angel, when was the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know.” It was the truth, he really didn’t know. He might have had toast this morning, but it could have been yesterday.

“Drink this.” Wesley’s voice was hardened and Angel didn’t think he’d win a fight if he protested, so he did as he was told.

Gunn looked to Will, who was standing there with a guarded look. Will knew something that the others didn’t, Gunn realized. He wasn’t as stricken as Wes or Gunn.

“You’re going to lie down for a little while, and then we are all going to lunch together.”

Angel barely managed to nod. He felt an overwhelming exhaustion and was asleep not long after his head hit the padded arm of the couch.

Gunn grabbed Wes and Will by the arm and dragged them into the hall none too gently. “What’s going on?” He looked Will in the eye, almost daring him to lie.

“Low blood sugar, probably hasn’t slept well in…oh, I don’t know, half a decade, or so. And that struck a little to close to home.”

“What does that mean?”

“Normally, he would have handled it. Maybe not well, but he could have handled it. In his state, lately, this knocked him on his ass.”

Gunn knew when Will was trying to get around answering a question, but he was normally very good at it.

Sighing heavily, he motioned for Wes and Gunn to follow him down the hall to his office. Once inside and the door closed, Will sat down heavily.

“When Angel was a human, when he really was Liam O’Connor, he lived in Galway; he was a ne’er-do-well son of a textiles merchant. His old man was a drunk, and not a pleasant one. He knocked around Liam’s mum in front of him. Liam didn’t fair much better. Didn’t you ever wonder why he was so hard nosed about the domestic cases? Why he won’t compromise on those? Well, there’s why.”

The other two sat in stunned silence. Wesley had an idea of this life, but Gunn had never heard anything of it before.

Turning to face Will fully, Gunn finally found his tongue. “How do you know this?”

“Known him a lot lounger than the two of you put together. We used to drink until we couldn’t see, carouse until we were too tired to walk, and kill until streets were paved in dried blood. I know a lot about him no one else knows. His tongue loosens a bit when he’s under the sail.”

“The straw on the proverbial camel’s back.” Wesley stood just as Fred burst into the room and slammed the door behind her.

“What the hell is going on? Was he drunk? And why didn’t anyone call me? I have to find out from secretaries in the ladies bathroom?” She was fuming again, and Wes was not going to deal with this crisis now. He had too much to think about at the moment. Fortunately, Will took over explaining the situation.

After hearing the entire story, Fred stood at the window, contemplating the darkening city before her. Clouds were rolling in, threatening a heavy noon rain. “He needs help.”

“What do you propose, love, an exorcism? Let him work it out. He stopped drinking; now he just has to fill that void. Hopefully some of that void will get filled with food and sleep.”

“In the meantime, Will, I think he needs to take time off. He needs to go home, rest. Some recoup time would do the man some good,” Gunn said.

Wesley had listened patiently until now. The last thing he wanted was Angel stuck in his house for an indefinite period of time. “Actually, I think maybe some time in the mountains could do him good. He should get away from the city. Distance from his responsibilities may be the best thing for him right now.” He caught Fred’s knowing stare, but she didn’t reveal anything to the others. He loved her for good reason.

The door opened again, and the topic of their conversation was standing in the doorway. He looked at them, a mixture of shame and reproach on his features. “You can’t send me away. I’m a person, you know. I think I have some say in if I leave or not.” His voice was quiet, a calmer voice than they had heard in a long time, but the tinge of sadness was more pronounced now.

Fred was the first to fill the space before herself and Angel. She wrapped her arms around him. The surprise was obvious on his face, and he seemed to put his arms around her because he felt he had to. She didn’t let go, though, and eventually obligation turned to something else. His eyes closed and his hold on her tightened.

He released a shaky breath from his chest, and Fred turned her head just a fraction of an inch so that her lips were right next to his ear. No one else in the room could hear what she said, because she said it low enough that only a being with super hearing who was inches away could hear her. “You’re still my hero, Angel.”

His shoulders slumped and his hold tightened on her. The pain in his chest expanded and exploded outwards, threatening to take him under the waves again. Breathing deep, he felt Fred start to pull away.

“You’re too thin. You look like a skeleton. You’ve got to eat, and then you are going home and going to bed.”

“I can eat at home. You guys can finish up here…”

“No. Are you anorexic? Please don’t add that to the list of problems we’ve already got. Sit down, I’ll order Chinese.”

The smile she got from him was slight, but it was there all the same. She pointedly directed a shame-on-you look in Wesley’s direction as she walked to the phone. Angel felt ashamed of showing such weakness in front of them. He looked at his shoes, trying to make his sluggish brain think of something to say. Will saved him the trouble.

“Sit the hell down, already. You make a depressing statue.”

Gunn immediately started a conversation that had nothing to do with Angel or his personal life. Angel didn’t contribute much, but he was able to be more than a depressing statue, at least, he thought. By the time the food was delivered, he felt almost like a real person again.

. . .

Chapter 10

LA was sunny. She remembered California as being sunny, but this was a little ridiculous, she thought. Slipping her enlarged shades down her head to cover her eyes, she turned to her sister. Dawn had sworn up and down Willow would be there to meet them. She turned in time to see her red haired friend get out a car, grinning ear to ear.

“Buffy!” It had been a long time since Willow had seen her best friend. “Oh my gosh, your hair!” It was long and dark, hanging past her shoulders in a relaxed wave. She had ditched her blonde locks almost a year ago, but her and Willow had only spoken on the phone since then.

The skinny jeans and high heals accentuated her slim figure and the v-cut flowing white peasant blouse enhanced her curves in all the right ways. The dark hair only served to make her green eyes brighter, and Willow decided she liked her friend’s new look.

The trio of women exchanged pleasantries and hugs, and loaded the rental car with luggage. Buffy had learned to travel light; she only had one suitcase for an indefinitely long trip. She had survived on less, though, so she wasn’t concerned she would run out of clothes anytime soon.

They played catch up during the drive to the hotel; Willow wanted to know everything about Buffy’s world sojourn. Buffy regaled them with tales of lost train tickets, flirtatious bellboys and beautiful scenery. Both Buffy and Willow wanted Dawn to tell them everything about the people she had met at college, partly because they were interested and partly because they wanted to make sure she wasn’t hanging around with a bad crowd.

The hotel was nice, Buffy decided. Not too shabby, she thought; of course, she reasoned, the council can afford to put all of us up in a nice place for a while. A bellman took their bags and lead to a small but cozy room on the third floor which Dawn and Buffy would be staying in.

A scream came from Dawn’s lips as she answered the knock that came at the door only a few minutes after they had set their suitcases down. Xander enveloped her in a hug, squeezing her for all he was worth and was squeezed in return. Giles came in behind Xander, giving the younger people present a small grin and fiercely hugging Buffy.

Buffy tried to pay attention to what everyone was saying. She listened to everyone sharing stories of their lives, talking about what they did the last Christmas. She was trying very hard to participate in the conversation, do her part to carry it along. She was having trouble concentrating. She had felt strange the minute the plane had touched down, as if something or someone was calling her, pulling her into the city.

The force was stronger now. She felt its continued persistence with every passing minute. Adding to her distraction were the looks Giles, Willow and Xander kept giving each other; as if they had a secret they knew they had to tell but couldn’t. She found it hard to pay attention to the conversation with the guilt emanating from Willow. What did Willow have to feel guilty about, she wondered. She would have to wait to ask her, now was not the time, Buffy told herself.

The group stayed up into the early hours of the morning talking and reminiscing. They were all jet lagged, especially the new arrivals, and Buffy knew that Dawn was desperate to go shopping in the morning. She politely asked everyone to leave when she felt that the conversation had died down they were starting to look for an excuse to leave and go to bed.

Laying in bed a few hours later, the first rays of the morning sun peaking through the cracks in the curtains, she allowed a few silent tears to fall down her cheeks. Dawn’s steady breathing told her that she was asleep and probably had been for hours. Buffy knew she probably wouldn’t sleep at all. That was nothing new to her. She had lived on the minimum amount of sleep necessary to survive since she had become a slayer. More recently, dreams had plagued her sleep, and she had tried to avoid it at all costs.

Coffee kept her conscious during the day. She was willing to live with exhaustion as long as she could avoid his face in her dreams. Even her good memories were tainted with visions of death and accusing taunts. The most secret part inside of her that kept certain memories sacred refused to allow her to remember some things. She reasoned to herself that if she remembered them, they could be tainted. It was better to keep those things to herself, locked away securely where inner demons couldn’t desecrate them.

Rolling on her side to stare at the wall, she tried not to think about what had happened in an alley somewhere in the middle of LA. She tried not to think of where he was now. She didn’t believe he was dead, but if he was she was sure he was in heaven. No one who sacrificed so much could be turned away by the Powers. He was probably in a small hole in the wall in New York, trying to live an anonymous and quiet existence. Probably trying to lead a life without her, she thought. She told herself he was probably succeeding since he hadn’t even tried to contact her.

She tried to fight the pain from exploding in her chest. Forcing her shoulders to be still, she refused to let a few stray tears turn into a full fledged bout of sobbing. One thought kept running unbidden through her head no matter what she did to make it go away. He didn’t want her. He had moved on. She briefly wondered what the secret was to that, and then banished that thought as quickly as it had appeared. She didn’t want to forget him. She didn’t want to live without him.

Taking a deep breath and looking at the clock, she thought she could probably get up now without raising too many suspicions. Stripping her lounge pants and t-shirt off and throwing them on the bathroom floor, she stepped into the hot spray of the shower. Her shoulders ached from the constant tension she carried there; there had been a constant ache at the top and back of her neck for a very long time. A man she once met, and had ended up spilling her guts too on a train, had told her she was depressed.

Great, she had thought. She would just go to a psychiatrist and say that her ex-boyfriend, whom she had once killed and sent to hell for a hundred years, came back and years later fought in a huge battle to save Earth and basically faked his death so she would leave him alone. If that wouldn’t get her locked up in nice, quiet white room, nothing would. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, she thought. Fed, bathed, sedated. Her life could be worse than that.

She heard Dawn rustling around in the bedroom and finished washing her hair, which seemed to take a lot of effort. She wrapped a towel around her hair and around her chest and walked out of the bathroom, listening to Dawn talk a mile a minute about what shops she wanted to go to and how good it would be for Buffy to get out and try to have a little fun.

Buffy had to stop her lips from making a rather rude sound. She couldn’t really remember a time when everyone wasn’t trying to tell her what would be good for her. She had been mostly independent since leaving Sunnydale, but every time she tried to talk to her friends, they tried to give her some kind of sage advice. Buffy was fairly confident she could control her own life, but she didn’t want to step on the toes of the people already doing it for her.

Buffy dressed as Dawn showered and then blow dried her hair as Dawn dressed. She dressed casually, in flat shoes for comfort, but she knew that winter in LA could be chilly. Remembering one winter when it snowed and caught herself before the strangling sound could fully escape her throat. Dawn looked at her funny, and Buffy cleared her throat, saying she could use a drink.

Down the hall, Giles was sitting at the desk that the hotel room came equipped with. Xander and Willow were sitting on the bed across from him. The two men were paying rapt attention as Willow spoke.

“We have to go there. We have to take Buffy there. If they won’t talk to us, if they won’t tell us how he is, then we have to take her there. She’ll get it out of them. He’ll probably show up if she goes there.”

“Willow…Buffy has been…well, she hasn’t been herself. You know, she’s been shaken by this whole Angel died thing, which turns out to be one big oops. If we take her there and just spring Angel on her, well, that could turn out bad. As in she kills Giles bad. And then Wolfram and Hart will bring him back so Angel can take a turn. He’s not gonna be to happy knowing the real reason why the woman of his dreams hasn’t responded to him.”

“I agree, Xander, it could turn out very bad for all people involved, but…it’s not right to keep them separated. They both want to know what happened to the other so badly. It wouldn’t be right for us to bring her here and then chicken out.”

Giles stood and starting pacing. If Angel wasn’t evil, if his cautiousness had been unfounded, Buffy would never forgive him. Even if Angel was evil, she might not forgive him for his interference. And Angel wouldn’t react very well either. It had to be done, though. They had to meet. Willow wouldn’t stop until they did. At least maybe he would have a chance to beg Buffy’s forgiveness, explain why he acted as he did. She probably wouldn’t give him that chance, but if he ran away back to England now she would certainly take that as a sign of guilt and cowardice that would not be easily forgotten.

“This has to be done carefully. Either one of them could have extremely violent reactions. Perhaps we could go to one of the associates, other than Fred, and explain the situation. Ask that someone be there to act almost as a mediator, someone Angel is close to so he doesn’t feel ganged up on.”

“Giles, everyone Angel is close to there, we know.”

“What about the Benson guy, Will? You showed me a breakdown of the company, remember? Wes, Fred, some guy named Gunn you said you’ve met before, and Benson. Why don’t we go talk to him, he doesn’t know us and therefore probably doesn’t hate us as much as the others.”

She nodded ascent. He seemed like a nice guy on paper. Vice President of Wolfram and Hart; only Angel was higher ranking than him. He was born in England and immigrated to the United States a little more than ten years ago, to go to Stanford. He had earned a business degree and started working internships at law firms while earning a law degree. He had been working at Wolfram and Hart since after the almost apocalypse. Being that most people had been killed at the company because they were evil, he had risen through the ranks very quickly and had become a popular and well liked Vice President. At least that was what the Wolfram and Hart website said, she thought. She had of course had all this corroborated by an inside source, who described the second in command as tall, dark, handsome and well built.

“He could be good. I like that idea. I’ll call, make an appointment with him.”

“Don’t they know us now at security? Can we get in there without being shot on site? I’m sure Fred told them not to let us in there again.”

“I can do a small cloaking spell. They won’t recognize us.”

Shaking his head, Giles interrupted her, “Willow, Wolfram and Hart employs people that detect magic. If you so much as make a pencil fly, they’ll know about it.”

“So I’ll tell them I’m a witch, a potential client, and I’m bringing my advisors with me. That will explain the magic they’ll sense. And I can cloak the magic for a time, too. They won’t feel me until I want them to.”

Xander had to suppress a shudder at the power his friend had and was willing to use. At least she’s on our side, he thought. They decided that tomorrow would be the day. Buffy should have some time to try and enjoy herself before they tore open old and not well healed wounds.

. . .

[ Read the Next Page ]

. . .

<< Fanfiction Index <<