Disclaimers: Characters and concept of Angel are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB. Original characters and story are property of the author.
Spoilers: "Reunion". Setting: The next evening. Rating: PG-14 for language.
Author's Note: All together now. "Bad Angel! Bad!" Hopefully I can convince my Muse to allow me a series of stories that will cover the eps leading to Angel's 'epiphany'. Also: A small note re Angel's 'dream' -- this piece was written before the 2/20/01 episode in which Kate said that Dru and Darla had to break out of Holland's basement, so naturally there are a few inconsistencies, but I can't change it without drastically changing everything, so . . . deal. <g>
Paths Less Traveled
© 2001, Grace Macy
It was possible for vampires to dream. Angel knew that; he'd suffered from dreams and nightmares alike for well over a hundred years, albeit most of them had been during daylight hours. This time he'd gone to bed 'early', emotionally and physically exhausted, a few hours before dawn. He'd tried doing paperwork, had tried taking a long walk, but he was too used to spending the hours between dusk and dawn working. Working with Cordelia, and Wesley, and Gunn. All of whom he'd fired last night.
He wasn't used to being alone anymore, and part of him wanted to call them all back. He shut that part of him off, and settled in to sleep instead, determined to act the part of being relaxed, even if it was for his own benefit. Most times he could dismiss dreams, if he even remembered them clearly upon waking. He found, though, that dismissing a voice shouting in his ear when he had been sound asleep was considerably more difficult.
"Hey! Hey you!"
The voice was young, female, and completely unfamiliar.
"Come on! Wake up, you son-of-a-bitch!"
Angel growled in reflex as he came awake, sitting up with inhuman speed. He reached for the intruder with unerring precision, his hand wrapping around her throat. Or where her throat should have been. He was understandably surprised when inertia led him to fall straight through the figure leaning over his bed. He landed on the floor with a hard, undignified thud, blinked in confused surprise for a moment, and then stood with liquid grace. The intruder, definitely a woman, was still standing beside his bed -- and that was definitely a smirk at his discomfiture.
"Oh good," she said saccharinely. "You're up."
She was attractive, in a quiet way, especially since she wore artfully applied makeup and an understatedly elegant dress. The dress was black and shimmered slightly, a sharp contrast to her fair skin and hair. Of course, both shimmer and pallor might have had something to do with the fact that she was dead. Angel glared at her. He hated ghosts.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
The false sweetness of her voice extended to a tight, twisted smile. "Just call me the Ghost of Wine-Tastings Past."
Angel's glare grew. He didn't recognize her from Holland's party, but then, he hadn't really been paying attention past the first row of attendees. "If I was going to get haunted by someone from Wolfram-Hart," he growled, "I'd have expected Lindsey. Or maybe Lilah."
The woman tilted her head. "Yeah, well, tough shit. You're not getting off that easy."
Angel raised an eyebrow, then very purposefully crossed back through her and got back into his bed. "And why's that? You were an accountant?"
The woman's hands went to her hips as she stared down at him, her gaze icy. "No," she answered. "I was a date."
Angel blinked. "Huh?"
She snorted, not even attempting delicacy. "You heard me, vamp-boy. I was there as someone's date. I don't even work for Wolfram-Hart." She paused, a strange look crossing her face, and then corrected herself. "Didn't." Her gaze focused on Angel again, and the temperature of the room dropped considerably. "And now, thanks to you, Your Holier-Than-Thou- ness, I'm dead. And not even tragic-but-quick-dead, like a car accident or an earthquake. No, I got to go courtesy of two other vamps, who I can't haunt because they don't have souls. You, on the other hand . . ." She smiled at him bitterly.
Angel glared at her. "It's not my fault you were at the party. Every one of those lawyers deserved what they got. They destroy people's lives, they don't deserve saving. Live by the sword . . ."
She glared back at him. "Oh, and you knew them all personally, did you?"
"I knew enough."
"Right. This Lindsey and Lilah you mentioned."
"And their boss, Holland."
"Okay. So that's what? Three lawyers from Wolfram-Hart that you knew well enough to decide they warranted ugly deaths that you could have prevented?"
Angel lay back on his bed and arranged the pillows carefully before settling back on them. "Yes," he answered shortly, and closed his eyes.
"Wonderful. Lovely. And based on your spite for those three, you decided that a dozen other people should die too."
Angel didn't answer.
She went in for another point. "You decided I should die."
His eyes remained closed. "I didn't know you were there."
"Would it have mattered if you did?" she asked, eyes narrowed. "Would it have mattered if you'd known Holland's kids were in the house, too?"
Now he opened his eyes. "Holland didn't have kids."
But it wasn't actually a statement of fact, and he knew it. So did she. "You know that for certain?" she asked. "You scouted the place out, asked around, made sure?"
A shadow of doubt and worry crossed the vampire's eyes. "He didn't have kids," he repeated. This time it was a question. She let him stew for a long while, standing silent, her arms crossed now. Finally, Angel sat up and glared at her. "Tell me!"
The ghost's smile was small and bitter. "No, he didn't. Thank god." Angel let out a sigh of relief, and her expression hardened. "But, I ask again. Would it have mattered if he did?"
"Of course!"
"Really. Then why didn't you know? Why didn't you check?"
Angel glared at her, lay back down and closed his eyes. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and a muscle in his jaw jumped as he ground his teeth.
He heard her chuckle. "You didn't answer my question, vamp-boy."
He refused to answer. Refused to acknowledge her presence.
"Don't you even want to know my name?" she asked. Her voice was quiet now. When he remained silent, she continued, the accusation in her tone softened by incredulity. "Don't you even care?"
Angel's eyes remained closed, but he forced out an answer through his teeth. "You're dead. There's nothing I can do about it now. Just get over it and move on."
A long silence followed, but Angel could still sense her presence. That silence boded ill; he could feel it. Deciding that it would be better to see her, just in case she figured out how to throw a stake at him, he opened his eyes. She stared at him, fury in her eyes.
"Get over it and move on?!" She repeated the words slowly, her voice laden with disbelief and bitterness. "You don't get it, do you, you vampiric, soulless piece of crap? I died before I was supposed to, and died badly at that, and you could have stopped it! Until and unless you see that, I can't move on!"
Angel glared at her. He had been guilt-tripped too many times of late, he wasn't going to succumb to it again. "Well, then, I guess you're set. I know what I did, and I know the consequences. So have a nice afterlife."
She glared at him. Her voice a soft growl as he settled back into the pillows, she informed him, "If I had a body right now, I would smack you."
Angel kept his eyes closed. "We all have our goals," he muttered in return.
He didn't have to see her to know her eyes were narrowed. However, if he had seen her, he might have been able to guess just how much trouble that boded. As it was, he heard her murmur, "Yes, we do . . ."
When he opened his eyes briefly, she was gone. Angel sighed, knowing it couldn't possibly be that easy, and settled back to rest.
He dreamed of Darla and Dru's massacre at Holland Manners' house instead. He had a feeling during the nightmare that it was the ghost's doing, this Technicolor, surround-sound replay of something he hadn't seen. He had left the house just as the screaming started. From what the dream showed him, however, that was precisely when the girl had come running.
She was in the powder-room, seriously questioning if the party was worth keeping Andrew company for another couple of hours. He had come into the boutique a week ago, looking for a present for his sister, and they'd flirted. He'd invited her to a party at his boss' house, a fancy wine-tasting, and she had said yes. What the hell, it would at least be interesting.
She looked in the mirror and sneered at herself. "Yeah, right," she muttered. That's why Holland Manners, as the boss had been introduced, had suggested she get a tour of the house from his wife while he 'chatted' with Andrew. She had a feeling the chat had been somewhat along the lines of what was proper company for a junior partner at Wolfram & Hart. She didn't think blondes who worked at a Melrose boutique, however fancy, were on the list.
When she'd come back from the tour, Holland and Andrew had glanced in her direction and exchanged very testosterone-based laughs. Holland had actually gone so far as to punch the younger lawyer lightly on the arm. She'd swallowed the surge of anger, guessing exactly what Andrew had said to assuage Holland's misgivings, and very pointedly ignored her date for a while to 'mingle'. She'd made damn sure not to come off as anything but a bimbo, however. Let Andrew make the impression he wanted, maybe even use it to embarrass him a little: that way she could walk away scot-free.
After a while, however, it started to get to her. So she'd given up on that and gone up to the powder-room to 'freshen up' . . . and to keep herself from either screaming or crying in frustration at the expressions on the lawyers' faces that said they expected nothing more from her than what she had shown. Finally, she calmed down enough to ensure at least another hour before she assaulted her date. She was putting on a new layer of lipstick when she heard the first screams.
"What the hell . . .?"
She paused for a moment, heart in her throat, then opened the powder-room door. More screams, definitely filled with terror, and they were all coming from downstairs. She grabbed her purse, searching for her cell-phone and pepper-spray as she started down the stairs to the den. The doors were barred; a small lock, but enough to keep people inside.
More screams, the word "Please!" clear this time from at least one throat. The instinct and need to help took over. She unbarred the doors and slid one open, one hand firmly gripping the canister of pepper-spray. The sight that greeted her, straight out of a horror movie, froze her in place. Blood, screams, two unknown women who turned to look at her with faces that were impossibly twisted, yellow eyes gleaming, and blood staining their mouths . . .
She swallowed hard, her mind reeling, and took a half-step backwards. It was only instinct that brought her arm up with the pepper-spray as the smaller of the women approached. The blonde's yellow eyes seemed filled with amusement. "Well, well," the woman sang lightly. "Look, Dru. We've got eat-in and delivery!"
An impossibly strong hand knocked aside the pepper-spray as she tried to trigger it, then the woman reached forward with her other hand and grabbed her by the upper arm. "Come on in, honey. The party's just getting started."
That was the last thing she heard or saw clearly, as the blonde jerked her forward, the force of the pull hurling her off her feet and halfway across the room. She crashed into a table and felt something in her arm and shoulder snap. Then the dark-haired woman was advancing on her, and . . . .
Angel woke with a growl and a shudder. "No!" He sat up in his bed and glared around the small hotel apartment. "What, you're trying to shock me? Sorry, babe. Been there, done that. Literally. I told you before: get over it and move on."
There was no answer. The room was empty except for him, and thin daylight struggled to make it past the thick curtains. Angel glared around him, but the ghost was nowhere to be seen. That didn't mean she wasn't there, naturally. Angel had had experience with ghosts a few times before: they had more power at night, especially to materialize, and especially when they were 'young'. But that didn't mean they couldn't annoy you in other ways, when they figured out how.
He had a feeling this ghost would make it her business to figure out how.
end
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