*****
I want you now
Tomorrow won't do
There's a yearning inside
And it's showing through
Reach out your hands
And accept my love
We've waited for too long
Enough is enough
I want you now
-- "I Want You Now", Depeche Mode
There's no smoke in the bar where the man sits waiting for someone to rescue. The bars in the movies are always dark and smoky, seeming to hold mysteries in every corner. But then, the man watches old movies, products of a day when smoking was not only legal but sexy as well. Today in Los Angeles, however, it is neither, which is why this bar is merely dark.
Darkness holds mysteries of its own, however. This is a fact the man has learned well in his long life. Some of the mysteries are disinterested in the lives of the men and women around them. Some are malevolent, causing as much damage as possible when they finally leap out of the shadows at their unsuspecting victims. Few are helpful and protective, but there are some and the man knows many of them.
It's a product of the man's long life that he's fallen into each of these categories at various times over the years. Currently he is a protector, which is why he's once again sitting in a dark singles bar, sipping at a watered down, overpriced drink and waiting for someone to come along in need of rescuing.
Chuckling to himself, the man shakes his head and takes another sip of his drink. He's lived in this city for twenty years and few aspects of his life have changed. People have moved in and out of his life, but the underlying purpose to every day is the same. He wakes up, does his bit to save humanity, and sleeps knowing he's helped the helpless. It's a good feeling, but the unchanging quality of it all has begun to weigh on him, making him feel like a slowly sinking stone.
The man hears the stool next to him creak and he turns slowly, ready to ask his customary, "Are you in need of rescuing?" The words stop in his throat before he can make a sound. He stares at the profile of the man beside him until he's spotted out of the corner of an eye and the profile turns into a full view of the other man's face.
"Angel," the other says in a voice that's deeper and more tired than the man remembers. The voice matches the face; both are weary and somehow expressionless, masks to hide the turbulent emotions of their owner.
"Xander," Angel responds. He's usually not one for small talk or catching up on old times and he's astonished to find that his mind is creating topics of conversation. "I heard about Buffy," he says, a note of sadness in his voice. It's been ten years since his former girlfriend died, but he still misses her sometimes.
Xander stares into him and Angel's glad to see that at least the deep brown eyes are still how he remembers them, dark pools reflecting Xander's every emotion. The other man has spent his life trying to hide his feelings, but anyone who bothers to really look at him can read them in his eyes. As he looks into them now, Angel sees a bitter species of amusement in those pools and finally he's forced to break the gaze passing between them.
"I know. I'm the one who called you, remember? Nice of you to show up for her funeral." The words are an accusation and Xander's voice has all the qualities of an Inquisitor. "Where were you?" the tone asks. This is followed quickly by, "Why weren't you there?" And the coup de grace comes with, "Didn't you care about Buffy?"
Guilt is an emotion Angel is intimately familiar with; he's worn it as a shroud for so many years that he's lost count. In the past few years, the shroud has begun to unravel at the edges as he has redeemed himself through each person he's saved, but the center is still strong. And at Xander's unspoken questions, the shroud pulls itself around him, engulfing him until he's sure he'll be choked by it.
"I- I'm sorry," he stammers, as though the simple words can somehow make up for the ten year absence that followed learning of Buffy's death. Xander's right; he should have been there. And all the words in the world won't excuse him.
Xander shrugs, a slow, bored motion that serves better than a slap in Angel's face. "Don't apologize to me. I'm not the one who wanted you there. But you should have been, Angel. Apologies won't change that."
"I know that," Angel responds, taking a sip of his drink. The alcohol leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he pushes it aside before looking back at Xander. The other man's resemblance to an Inquisitor strikes Angel again as Xander's gaze bores into him. It's closer to a glare than a look and once again Angel's forced to turn away from that scrutiny.
As he does so, a flashy red suit flicks across the corner of his vision, sparking a torrent of sensory memories: searing pain, the slow dripdripdrip of water drops hitting the floor, a smell of blood and decaying flesh, the sweet yet terrible taste of fresh human blood sliding down his throat, and that red suit filling his vision.
He's on his feet in seconds, ignoring Xander's startled exclamation and pushing his way through the crowded bar. When he finally reaches the door he thinks the red suit went through, he flings it open and exits into a dim alley. Cool night air brushes past him, carrying with it the stench of rotting garbage. Just under this, though, Angel catches the scent of blood. And when he pauses to listen, he hears the sound of running footsteps in the distance.
He heads in the direction of the footsteps and is only mildly surprised when he senses Xander falling in behind him. The blood trail starts a few feet from the entrance to another alley. Angel follows it, darting his gaze around before entering the darker alley. Shadows from the looming buildings stretch across the narrow space, sapping the color from the blood, leaving blacker splotches of darkness on the ground.
A chain link fence separates the end of the alley from the street, but the blood trail turns and ends just before it. Angel stops next to the fence and waits for Xander to catch up to him. "There's a door here," he says quietly when the other man stops, leaning against the wall of a building to catch his breath. "The demon said something and a door appeared. After we went through, he said something else and it was just a brick wall again." As he speaks, he runs his fingers along the cold bricks. "I can't remember," he murmurs.
"You could always try the old standby," Xander says casually, moving away from the wall. Turning to face it, he waves his arms grandly and says, "Open sesame." He waits a few seconds and then shrugs when nothing happens. "Well, that didn't work."
"No," Angel responds thoughtfully, still searching his memory for the phrase. "It wasn't English. Oscail an doras," he murmurs. When no door appears, he tries again. "Abra la puerta." Nothing. "Ouvrez la porte. �ffnen Sie die T�r. Aprire il portello. Abra a porta." Still nothing. Growling in frustration, he shakes his head.
"Ummm... Angel? Did you just start speaking in tongues? Because that's pretty creepy," Xander says, once again leaning against the wall.
Feeling annoyance rise up to mingle with adrenaline and hunger, Angel shoots Xander a glare. "I'm trying every language I know. I was sure it was Irish. But when I heard it, I wasn't exactly coherent," he mutters, more to himself than anybody, as he turns back to regard the wall.
Xander pushes off from the wall and walks towards Angel. "Well, maybe you're trying to say the wrong thing," he says as he comes up to stand beside the vampire. "We need the door to appear so we can open it, right? Maybe it's just that simple."
Angel turns to look curiously at Xander for a moment, then turns back to the wall. Stepping forward, he presses his fingertips to it, letting them slide over the cold brick. "Bi doras ann!" he whispers firmly and smiles as the outline of a door appears in what was solid brick just a moment before. He pushes the door inward and steps inside, looking around carefully for any sign of ambush.
Satisfied that there is none apparent, he pushes the door closed behind Xander and then whispers, "Na bi doras ann!" The lines of the door disappear and he turns back to Xander, who is staring around with a look of sick fascination on his face.
The room is exactly the way Angel remembers it, right down to the decaying pile of rats in one corner. This is the demon's torture room, made all the more terrible for his victims by its location near the street. Angel remembers screaming himself hoarse, sure that at any minute someone would come along to rescue him. But days went by and nobody came, until Janice finally found Kate, who finally found Angel. He still isn't entirely sure how she managed that, but looking around the room now he's reminded of how grateful he is that she did.
He hears a gagging sound behind him and turns back to Xander quickly. The other man puts his handkerchief to his nose to stifle the stench of the room and looks at Angel with wide eyes. "What is this place?" Xander asks, his voice conveying his disgust. "And what are we doing here?"
"A demon lives here. This room is his torture chamber," Angel responds, keeping his voice carefully controlled as he meets Xander's gaze.
"Is he some close, personal friend of yours?"
"Not a friend, but I know him, yes. I was chained to that wall for three days last year." The memories threaten to resurface, but Angel pushes them down firmly. Now is not the time to allow himself to lose control.
"Oh god, Angel... I'm sorry," Xander answers, his eyes wide.
Angel shakes his head and turns away from the other man. "You're not sorry. Even if you'd been here at the time, you wouldn't have been sorry. You would have thought I deserved what I got. You don't need to lie to me anymore, Xander. Buffy's not here to be hurt by the truth."
For several moments, Xander doesn't respond and Angel can hear his ragged breathing behind him. Finally, he moves forward to stand beside the vampire. "I *am* sorry," he says firmly. "Now, why are we here? Did you see this demon or something?"
Turning to the other man, Angel nods. "He was in the club with a girl. I think that was her blood out there. Since they're not in here, he must have taken her up to his room. If we don't hurry, he'll..."
Raising a hand to stop him, Xander grimaces. "Got it. Okay, so we hurry. Which way to this guy's room?"
"Up those stairs, I think," Angel answers, motioning to a staircase in one corner of the large room. The stairs wind up and up into darkness.
"Then I guess we go up those stairs." Xander moves towards the stairs quickly, then pauses. "Angel?" he asks over his shoulder. "You're still good at this whole fighting evil thing, right?"
"I guess so," Angel responds with a shrug and a soft smile. "Why?"
"Well, I'm out of practice. And I really don't want to die tonight."
"I promise I'll try not to let you die tonight, Xander."
"You'll *try* not to let me die? That's reassuring." Xander begins moving once again towards the stairs. When he reaches them, he stops at the foot and waits for Angel. "Just do your evil fighting thing and I'll try to stay out of the way. I can't believe I'm doing this," he says, shaking his head as he begins climbing the stairs behind Angel. "I figured when Buffy died, I would be out of this whole demon killing business. But no, you had to drag me into a demon's basement. If I'd known you were coming here, I would've stayed behind at the bar."
"Xander?" Angel asks.
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
Xander's answering laugh spirals down the stairs behind him, filling the large room with the first real laugh it's held in years.
*****
Part 2:
He climbs as quickly as possible up the stairs, being sure to avoid the missing step at the top and warning Xander to do the same. Every nerve of his body crackles with the memory of the last time he was here. When Xander reaches the top of the stairs, they move into the hallway, where a blackness too complete to be merely dark embraces them. The hallway stretches on for fifty yards, contradicting Angel's knowledge of the size of the building. Magic is at play in every corner of this building, from the impossibly lighted torture room to the statues that come to life when needed.
There's a tiny sliver of light seeping under the last door on the right and Angel moves towards it. He remembers this part as well and he's not sure if the sounds washing over him are real or phantoms. Looking over at Xander, he sees no sign that the other man hears the low moans. But they're still too far away for Xander's hearing to register them. And the terror-filled pounding of the girl's heart will never reach Xander's ears. The sounds are echoing in Angel's head, though, and as he draws closer to the door, he catches the smell of sex and fear, sharp and much too real.
Nothing marks the exact spot where Xander begins to hear the sounds from the room. Angel doesn't even realize anything has changed until a tiny sound, something between a whimper and a sob, comes from beside him. His gaze darts immediately over to Xander, who is staring in horror at the end of the hallway. "This place is terrible," Xander says quietly, his voice shaking.
"Maybe you should go wait outside," Angel answers, stopping to regard the other man seriously. "It's going to get worse, a lot worse. This demon knows how to get inside your head and find anything that will horrify you. He does it because it's fun. People like you are a game for him."
Xander bristles, raising the old defenses as he glares at Angel in the darkness. "People like me? And what kind of people are those? Cowards who should just run away and hide while people like you rescue them?"
"I didn't mean it that way," Angel stammers, shaking his head.
Xander brushes past him as he begins moving down the hallway again. "It doesn't matter how you meant it," he says as Angel falls in beside him. "I'm not running away and I'm not hiding."
Angel walks silently beside Xander down the hallway, searching his mind for some response to the other man's insistence. He's grown accustomed to working with people content to stay out of the actual fighting in the past few years and Xander's stubborn bravery at once touches and confuses him. Finally he mutters, "Thank you." He's not sure if Xander hears him, but saying it relieves him somewhat.
The darkness of the hallway is split suddenly and fiercely as a blood-red gash rips through the very fabric of reality. One moment Angel is walking down the hallway with Xander at his side and the next he is back at the head of the stairs, one being of the many lurking in the swirling, red-tinged smoke. He can hear the others moving about the hallway, bodies scraping against the walls, feet scraping on the floor. And somewhere in the confusion is Xander. Angel can smell him, his scent now sharpened by fear.
He moves through the hallway slowly, avoiding the creatures in the smoke whenever possible, killing them whenever he runs into them. When he can, he uses the stake he usually carries in his pocket. The stake eventually lodges in the heart of a creature, however, and he's forced to use the only other weapon available to him.
His fangs sink into neck after neck, tearing jugulars with the instinct of a predator. He keeps his mind carefully concentrated on finding Xander, avoiding all feelings of guilt. There will be time for self-recrimination later. Now he has to find Xander and get out of this Hell. He's no longer thinking about the demon or the girl. He just wants out of this hallway that has become too full of roaming evil.
A creature brushes past him, a stench of muck and decay trailing behind it. The hallway is becoming more crowded by the second, filling with the sound of heavy, monstrous breathing and the scrape of the creatures moving through the crowd. As he moves through it all, Angel listens for any sound from Xander. He strains to catch the scent of something more alive than the horrors roaming the hall. But the din is too loud and that sickening odor hangs in the air, blocking anything more pleasant.
Before he realizes it, Angel has reached the end of the hallway. The small sliver of light has now become a full doorway full of it and Angel heads for it without thinking. He crosses into the bedroom and all sound from the hallway immediately dies down, leaving a terrible silence behind. The room is bright, almost blinding. The light seems to reflect off the too-white walls, illuminating every corner of the room, gleaming on the metal furnishings. It looks more like a morgue than a bedroom.
Completing the effect is the girl from the bar laid out on the raised bed. Her blonde hair is splayed out behind her head, matted with blood. Her eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling, and her mouth is arranged in a horrible grimace. She's terribly, painfully dead and the sight of her is like a kick in the gut. He's failed her; she needed rescuing and he was too busy killing creatures to help her. This knowledge is worse than anything out in the hallway and he stumbles out of the room blindly, wanting nothing more than to find Xander and put this place behind him.
The hallway is empty and bright as day when he enters it. Angel stares around for a moment, disoriented by the change. There are no tell-tale signs of the madness that existed in this hallway just a few minutes ago, no spots of blood, no scratches in the floor, not even so much as a hair. The hall is white and pristine, all the horror washed clean. Yet Angel remembers clearly the swirling eddies of red smoke, the blood flowing down his throat as he ripped the throats of the creatures, the scraping sound of their feet on the floor.
He can't wrap his mind around the contradiction between what he remembers and what he sees in front of him. Magic holds sway here, he knows. But it's difficult to fathom a magic that can transform reality so neatly. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees that the bedroom door is now closed. The same magic has been used there as well, he's sure. The girl is gone, yet another missing person case to be filed in the city's ever-growing unsolved section.
Xander's voice, pleading and desperate, drifts up from the torture chamber, jolting Angel back to the present. He's halfway down the stairs in seconds, but then he freezes when he sees Xander hunched in one corner, begging the air to leave him alone. Terror is etched into every feature of the other man's face. It shows in the lines of his body. It resonates in his voice, which is babbling almost nonsensically. Angel catches a few words: "no", "faith", "please". But finally it all ends in "no", repeating and repeating.
He's across the room and kneeling beside Xander in another few seconds. Taking hold of the other man's arms, he pulls them gently away from where Xander has brought them up to his face. "Xander," he says soothingly, "it's okay. You're safe now."
"Faith," Xander says hollowly, confusion in his eyes as he stares at Angel. "Where did she go? She was here. She was. She was here," he repeats.
"She's gone, Xander. It's okay. You're okay and she's gone. But she might come back, so we need to get out of here, okay?" His voice is soothing and calm, betraying none of the urgency he feels.
Xander nods slowly and attempts to stand, sagging against Angel when his right leg gives out. "One of those things bit my leg," he says quietly, staring down at his blood soaked pantleg. "I tried to scream but I could hardly even breathe." He looks at Angel again, his eyes asking what it hasn't occurred to him to voice. "Why did this have to happen? What did I do?"
Angel has no response. Wrapping an arm around Xander's waist, he supports the other man and carefully begins to move forward. Xander holds to him tightly, wincing every time he jars his injured leg. "Bi doras ann!" he says when they reach the door. The outline of the door appears and Angel pulls it open, then helps Xander through. Once in the alley, he pulls the door shut and whispers, "Na bi doras ann!"
Then they move through the alley, two men appearing out of nowhere, one supporting the other. The one with the hurt leg is nearing forty but seems years younger due to the vulnerable, shell-shocked expression on his face. The other is past two hundred sixty but feels thousands of years older. They walk as quickly as possible, not speaking, wanting nothing more than to rest and forget the night ever happened.
*****
Part 3:
Angel helps Xander into his living room and settles him on the couch, clenching his jaw at the whimper that escapes Xander when his injured leg presses into the seat cushion. Guilt and anger have been warring in him since they left the demon's lair, guilt about taking Xander into harm's way, anger at himself, at the demon, even at the girl who let herself be taken in by the demon. The weight of responsibility is heavy on him, becoming more unbearable with each reminder of Xander's injury.
He busies himself with tending to Xander's leg, admonishing himself for not getting out sooner so he would have time to get him to a doctor. The scent of Xander's blood assaults him as he cleanses the skin around the angry red bite marks. The temptation to lean forward and lick the last drops seeping out of the holes is strong, but Angel fights it, just as he's fought it more times than he can count. His shroud of guilt is stronger now, the edges good as new, as he finally gets the leg bandaged and steps back to look at Xander.
The other man's eyes are closed and his breathing is shallow and ragged. A grimace of pain is stamped into his features, a terrible expression that forces Angel to look away. He ends up staring at a clump of dirt on the floor, a bit of dried mud that clung to his shoes when he was chasing an amphibious demon a week ago. He tries to concentrate on the details of how that clump of dirt arrived in his apartment, the colors, sounds, and smells that go along with the memory of the event. But all concentration and thought is erased by the thundering of Xander's heartbeat through every fiber of Angel's being. It's too large and encompassing to be merely a sound and a whispering presence from within it beckons to Angel's demon, offering the chance to take just a little taste of the blood that heartbeat is pumping through the other man's body.
He feels his face change, the ridges rising on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are now the gold of the demon. He does nothing to stop the transformation, although he knows he should. Hunger and temptation are making him careless. He knows he should bring himself under control, go into the kitchen, and feed. But he's transfixed by the slight changes in his perception of Xander that occurs when he slips into his vampiric form. The sound of the other man's breathing seems louder and the whispering presence inside his heartbeat is now a shouting one. It clamors for the demon's attention, overwhelming the thinking portion of Angel's brain with its purely primitive message.
It's getting harder to resist that shout and Angel finds himself trapped in a moment of indecision. Seconds stretch into minutes as he stands rooted to the spot, then Xander opens his eyes. It's a slow process, a fluttering of the lids before they close and then finally open fully. Xander looks at him, an unreadable expression in his deep brown eyes. It isn't the terror or hatred Angel expects to see in them, though, and for a moment he stays where he is, uncertainty freezing him.
He forces his face back into its human form and then walks forward slowly. The hunger is now a living thing, gnashing its teeth at his insides, but he's only dimly aware of it as he comes to a stop a foot away from the couch. The gaze passing between Xander and him is electrified, sparking and sizzling as they remain motionless and stare at each other.
Long moments drift by as they regard each other, searching out bits of truth. Speaking doesn't do justice to the things they need to know; there are always too many layers of lies and distrust to get through. But Xander's eyes hold secrets, more than Angel ever realized, and he discovers that he *can* read the other man's expression if he looks deeply enough. There are a dozen emotions reflected in the dark pools, some readily named and some too complicated and swiftly disappearing to recognize.
Secrets shared, decisions made, Angel feels the atmosphere change slightly. The crackling intensity of a few moments ago has been replaced by a silent expectancy, as though the world is holding its breath for some predetermined event. He closes the remaining distance to the couch in one stride and stares down into Xander's upturned face. The moment he leans forward is the same moment reason returns and he freezes, his face inches from Xander's.
"Are you sure?" he asks softly. It's the first either has spoken since they left the demon's lair and the sound rips through the silence of the room.
Xander nods slowly, his eyes never leaving Angel's. There is permission in that nod, agreement to the questions Angel can't bring himself to ask. Once he's given this permission, Xander looks expectantly at Angel. The message is clear; Angel must initiate whatever comes next, but Xander is firmly in control of the situation.
Hunger gnaws at Angel, growing more insistent as the seconds tick by. The sound of Xander's breathing is a dull roar in Angel's ears. The other man's heartbeat is a pounding, almost tangible presence in the room. The smell of blood washes over Angel, reaching into him and tugging out the demon. He finds his decision unmade and reconsidered under the onslaught.
The first taste of Xander's blood is sweet and tangy, a flavor of desire and confidence that Angel never expected it to have. He swallows hungrily, guilt washing over him in torrents as Xander's blood suffuses his body with warmth. He knows that it's wrong, recalls all the reasons he swore to never again drink human blood. But the feeling of strength and arousal thundering through him is the most powerful drug he can imagine; he feels like a junkie who will do *anything* for that one great high.
He pulls his fangs out of Xander's neck a few too-short moments later and closes his eyes as he laps at the blood around the twin holes. He wants to apologize, for the draining, for the erection now pressing into Xander's hip, for nearly getting the other man killed, for every wrong he's ever committed. But he can't form the words and, even if he could, they could never be enough to account for what he's done.
Angel begins to move from the couch but instead finds himself being pushed down into the couch by Xander. Xander is staring down at him, his dark eyes nearly black. Angel opens his mouth to apologize, to stammer out anything that will make all of this even slightly better. Words fail him once again, but it doesn't matter because suddenly Xander is kissing him with almost bruising force as his hands roam up and down Angel's body.
Clothes are removed quickly and forcefully, buttons skittering across the floor as they're torn from Angel's shirt. Soon they're both naked and pressing against each other once again, hot flesh to cool flesh, two extremes that have no business working together yet somehow manage to.
Xander's lips return to Angel's mouth, crushing against it as his hand trails downdowndown until it curls around the vampire's shaft. Angel lets out a moan, low and throaty and full of helpless arousal. The demon is once again nagging at him, this time urging him to flip Xander over and fuck him into the ground. But the edge has been taken off his hunger now and he's in control of himself. So Xander sets the pace and Angel does nothing but moan and buck and alternately pray that this will last forever and that it will end this very moment.
Arching into Xander's touch, Angel clenches his hands into fists, so tightly he can feel the nails biting into the flesh. He's close, so very close. Every nerve ending tingles, every sound thunders in his ears, every smell wafts into him to take up residence deep inside. He feels each of Xander's exhaled breaths against his temple like it's a gust of wind.
And then it's all gone as the warm presence surrounding his cock disappears. A moan of protest begins forming at the back of his throat as he opens his eyes, although he can't remember closing them, to look up at Xander. He's just in time to see Xander's face above him before the other man's lips are against his, kissing with ferocious intensity. A moment later Xander thrusts into him, sending bright pain lancing through him.
As Xander's lips leave his, the moan escapes Angel, a sound of pain and arousal mingling into something not quite definable. It's a sound Angel has heard many times from many people and the memories it conjures should horrify him. But he's too lost in the sensations, the exquisite *goodness* of this, to care that they don't. All he can see is Xander's face above his and all he can hear is the rhythm set by their bodies moving against each other. And all he can feel is those lightning bolts of pain-pleasure that are too quickly dissolving into simple jolts of electricity.
Xander's neck is bared for him before he understands why but he tilts his head up instinctively and takes first one drink, then another. The feeling of Xander's flesh under his mouth, the taste of his blood, the sound of his pounding heart, and the feeling of his thrusts all mingle, becoming clearer and sharper until they cut through Angel like a knife. Angel cries out as he comes, feeling Xander give one final thrust inside of him.
Settling onto the sofa, one arm draped across Xander's back, he feels exhaustion seep into him. He fights the urge to sink into slumber, knowing there are still too many things waiting to be discussed between him and Xander. But sleep is an insistent force that refuses to be ignored and soon Angel's eyes are closing of their own accord. The last thing he sees before sleep takes him is Xander resting his chin on his hand, watching him with those deep brown eyes.
*****
Part 4:
When he opens his eyes, Xander is gone. Looking around wearily, he tries to find some sign of the other man's presence, a stray sock or shoe in the middle of the room perhaps, but there's nothing. "Xander?" Angel asks quietly, feeling something dark and forbidding press in on him. Receiving no answer, he stands and picks his clothes up off the floor, slipping into them before moving into the kitchen.
That sense of foreboding nags at him, whispering in the back of his mind as he steps into the kitchen and then freezes, body tense and mind intently aware. The kitchen table is covered with books, some open, some closed with bits of paper sticking out to mark important passages, and some piled in a sloppy discard pile. A half-full glass of chocolate milk sits in the middle of it all, along with a plate full of cookie crumbs.
Angel swears softly, knowing before he moves to the table what he'll find in the pile of open books. A familiar face and a familiar red suit greet him from each of the open books. Scanning the text beside the pictures quickly, Angel shakes his head. "Le Mangeur de la Mort," one book, given to him by his former assistant Marie, calls the demon. Other books in other languages have different names for it, but they all translate to the same thing. "The Eater of Death," they call the demon.
"The Eater of Death eats only creatures that feed on humans," Marie's book explains. "For the most part it is a cannibal, eating other demons and creatures of evil in order to collect deaths in the most efficient manner." The book goes on to explain about the history of study centered on the demon. Angel skims it quickly then turns to another book. This one confirms what the first said, pointing out that the Eater prefers killing vampires due to the erotic nature of the deaths they have caused.
Angel shakes his head as he reads, filled with unfamiliar confusion. "But the girl," he murmurs as his gaze flicks over the table, pausing when he catches sight of a slip of paper being held in place by the glass of chocolate milk. Lifting the glass, he grabs the paper and reads it quickly.
"The girl is not dead," it reads, as if answering him. "I went to make sure that stays true. Stay here." The handwriting is sloppy and a hastily slashed "X" is the only signature. "Stay here" is underlined and Angel can hear the insistence in Xander's voice as the words echo through his mind.
Folding the slip of paper, Angel stuffs it in his pocket and returns to the living room to grab his coat. He's heading out of his apartment in less than a minute, hurrying through the office with only a quick "I'll be back" to Janice. He slips into the sewer entrance with the ease of twenty years of experience and makes his way surely through the twists and turns of the underground system.
He emerges into the shadows of the alley behind the bar, startling a homeless cat. The cat scrambles away quickly, its claws scraping on the blacktop of the alley as it abandons its breakfast. The sound reminds Angel of the creatures in the hallway and he freezes for a moment, blocking out the memory of the events of last night.
Shaking off the distraction quickly, he makes his way through the alley, letting the cool shade of the tall building embrace him and protect him from the glaring sun. Soon he's in front of the door again, hesitating as his protection and survival instincts war with each other. Finally his decision is made for him when he hears the barely audible sound of Xander's voice coming from the other side of the heavy door.
"Bi doras ann," Angel whispers and the lines of the door immediately appear.
Pushing the door open, he enters the demon's lair and looks around blindly, trying to make out something in the inky blackness of the room. The stench of rotting flesh immediately assails him and for a brief, insane moment he's certain that it comes from Xander's corpse. The man's voice continues its murmuring, however, bringing Angel back to his senses. And then Angel smells him, the distinct scent of Xander's blood edged with fear and anger.
He moves through the unnatural darkness slowly, knowing too well the danger of carelessness. Finally he reaches the corner where Xander is tied, hands behind his back, to a simple wooden chair. The bonds are loose, hardly more than a token restraint, and Angel is sure the other man could break them if he tried. But still Xander sits, rocking slightly and muttering to himself, until Angel kneels beside him.
"Xander," Angel says gently, pulling the ropes from the man's wrists.
Turning his gaze towards Angel, Xander stares for a minute, his deep brown eyes unblinking. "Angel?" he asks finally, his voice hopeful.
"Yeah, it's me. What the hell are you doing here?" Angel feels rage burning through him and fights to keep it out of his voice, out of the touches he's using to make sure Xander is unharmed. "Where is he?" he asks after a few minutes, satisfied that Xander's injuries will heal without medical attention.
"He went up the stairs," Xander whispers back. "The girl is up there. She' s alive, Angel; I was right. He plans to use us both as bait. You're the one he wants. The great Angelus, the one who killed all those people... What better meal for him can there be?" There's an edge to his voice, a note of accusation that bites into Angel with all the effectiveness of a whip.
He stares at Xander for a moment and then tenses, realizing that he shouldn't be able to see the other man at all. Looking around, he sees that there is a small circle of dim light around the chair where Xander sits. He glances up quickly, catching a brief flash of red across his vision, and curses himself for not noticing sooner.
The need for the darkness gone, the room suddenly brightens. The rotten stench disappears with the blackness, replaced by the sweeter scent of fresh blood. Whirling, Angel tries to catch sight of the red-suited demon. But the scent distracts him, pulling his gaze back to Xander again and again.
Finally he's unable to look away again and he stares transfixed at the bright spot of blood on Xander's lower lip. Xander shifts uncomfortably under the gaze and for a moment Angel meets the other man's eye. His fear is obvious, but instead of feeling discouraged, Angel finds himself more entranced than ever.
"Go on," a familiar voice says from behind him. Turning, Angel sees Faith walking toward him seductively, a smirk playing over her lips. "You want that blood. Taste it. You've already taken some of it. Don't you want the rest? Don't you want to feel his heart slowing under your power?"
The words wash over him, turning him back towards Xander to stare at that spot of blood once again. And now Faith is standing directly behind him, her breath stirring the hair over Angel's ear with each muttered suggestion. Angel knows the difference in their heights makes that impossible, that there are dozens of impossibilities in this situation, but he can't seem to hold onto that thought long enough to pull himself out of his trance.
"Take it," she says again, her voice becoming deeper, angrier. Her breath at his ear warms until it scorches his skin with each word. "You want it." And she's not Faith anymore, he knows. He can feel the demon at his back, eager for the kill.
He turns slowly, feeling anger simmer within him. Facing the demon, he glares, his jaw clenched and his hands in fists at his side. "I don't," Angel bites out, using every bit of his will to put conviction into his words. He *does* want it, to feel Xander's blood pouring down his throat again. He can feel the demon inside him clamoring to take control and turn him back to the other man, but he stands firm, fighting with everything he has.
The demon smirks back at him. "Then what about the girl?" he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. His grin broadens as he glances up towards the second floor. "Can you hear her up there? Her heartbeat calling to you like a beacon? Go on, you know you want it. Fresh blood just for you. All you have to do is go get it." The demon takes one-step closer, his face an inch away from Angel's. "Take her, Angelus," he whispers, his breath burning against Angel's cheek.
Then he's gone, disappearing before Angel can respond. Angel glances up quickly and once again catches a flash of red across his vision. The demon is toying with him, he knows, but he also knows that he has no choice but to respond. The girl is alive and there is still one chance to save her.
Turning back to kneel beside Xander, he unties the man's feet and looks up into the man's eyes. "Xander, you need to get out of here," he says calmly. "I'm going up there to rescue the girl. Listen to me," he says, putting a hand on Xander's arm as he starts to protest. "I know he's just trying to capture me again. He won't this time. I know more this time than I did last year. Promise me that you'll leave? Go back to the office. Janice will make you some coffee. Hers isn't as bad as Cordelia's," he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I'll meet you back there."
Xander glares at him stubbornly for a moment and then sighs, nodding. "Kill that bastard, Angel," he says, his eyes glinting fiercely. "That's one death nobody will blame you for."
Nodding, Angel pulls Xander to his feet and turns him towards the door. "I'll do my best. Now go."
Xander moves towards the door reluctantly, glancing back over his shoulder when he reaches the spot where the door will appear. "I, I'm sorry, Angel," he stammers. "For what I said earlier. I know you're not really him." A tiny smile appears on his face and he continues, "Save the girl and then come find me. I never did get to tell you what I wanted to say in the bar last night."
Angel glances up at the second floor and then back at Xander. "Maybe you should tell me now," he says carefully.
"No," Xander interrupts. "I'll tell you when you get out of here. Be careful, okay?"
Nodding, Angel watches as the other man reveals the door and then exits the building, the door shutting behind him. The lines disappear from the wall again and he draws in an unnecessary breath to steady himself. He wishes he could feel half the trust in his strength that Xander obviously does. He doesn't feel like a hero, but he knows that everyone expects him to be.
Perhaps that's all that matters. People have put their trust in him and he doesn't want to let them down. It's routine and sometimes it's dull and sometimes it feels pointless. But he has strength and abilities others don't and he's made it his job to use them to help people. In the midst of all his self-pity he had forgotten *why* he started his quest in the first place.
He remembers now, though. He can feel the battle excitement rising in him, the old familiar urge to kill channeled into something useful. Angel uses his bloodlust in his fights and it usually works, helping him win against foes he could not normally defeat. Preparing himself now, he scents the air, letting the sweet tang of the girl's blood waft into him, allowing her distant heartbeat to become his beacon. The demon was right; he wants the blood, wants it to fill his mouth and pour down his throat.
More than that, however, he wants to snap the demon's neck, to see the terror in his eyes in that last second of life. Killing the killer, striking fear into a creature who enjoys other people's fear so much... It seems such fitting justice to him. Moving to the stairs, he feels his face change, the vampiric ridges rising in his forehead. He will kill tonight and he will enjoy it.
He climbs the stairs quickly, step after step carrying him inexorably towards whatever The Powers That Be has in store for him. Death, perhaps. He's not naive enough to discount that possibility. But there's also the possibility that he *will* win, that the demon will fall and he will live. He holds that thought firmly in mind as he advances. Either way, he will do his best, not because he must or because it is his routine, but because he *wants* to. Reaching the top of the stairs, he makes his way to the end of the hallway and the struggle that awaits him.
The End