A growl rumbled up from Angel’s throat, “Why won’t you die,
already?” Low and guttural, frustrated and slightly embarrassed over how much
he still enjoyed this. He launched his body into his opponent, claws digging
out shanks of flesh from the demon’s hide, then pounded his opponent
relentlessly to the ground. A light, green ichor poured from its wounds as the
creature died, twitching.
Crouched in fear by a filthy brick wall near the club, a dark haired
couple clung to each other. Just a mugging, that’s all, just a mugging gone
awry…a big mugger, with scales and, and a tail and, my Lord, are those pincers?
Nope, nope, just a mugging, a mugging.
In its last death throe the demon pulled itself upright and launched
towards the traumatized meat sacks in the corner. Just as the dark haired
couples’ eyes began to glaze over, a dumpster slammed into the body of the
demon, splattering its blood and funk out of every new opening on its body.
Angel blanched as the ichor seeped into his designer shoes – a sober reminder
why this job wasn’t always a pleasure.
He glanced up, wiping some of the ooze that had splashed across his
face from his lips. A subtle tang breached his taste buds, where his tongue had
darted out to lick the remnants away; Strange, kind of peppermint-y…
He turned to the frightened observers, preparing to explain what they
had just seen in a single-serving, easily digestible way. He always thought
this was the really hard part - taking in the appreciative ‘thank you good sir’
modestly while dodging truthful answers to questions about what they had just
seen.
He sighed as they pre-empted his lame attempt and skittered off like
rats into the night. “Your welcome,” he said to the backs of the figures fading
softly into the night.
Angel shook his head – a predator cleaning his mange – flinging slime
across the wall before he took out his cell phone. He stared down at his now
ruined shoes as he waited for someone to answer the line. Champion of the
people and I can’t even save my favorite leather loafers…
“Need a clean up crew behind Jaber’s nightclub…Yes, I know he’s a
client of ours…Well, I don’t think that’s important right now do you?...He was
trying to eat a couple…No, I don’t know if they provoked him! Just get someone
here and soon.”
He picked at some of the dried slime on his overcoat, “I have a feeling
this stuff stains.”
With a heavy heart, he glanced down the alleyway once more, wondering
how much more he’d be able to take of this life before it finally got the
better of him, and he gave into the base urges always pressing on the edge of
his consciousness. He buried the doubts under a stack of concerns, now done
with practiced ease, before heading back home for a long shower.
~----\/----~
The stale air of the hospital room did little to make Angel feel at home. All he could smell when he came here was death covertly disguised in bleach and antiseptics. It took a Herculean amount of effort to keep from dry heaving every time he came. Sometimes, the stench of death and blood was so strong he had trouble keeping his demon at bay; those were the days he usually had to cut his visits short. Wouldn’t do for her first sight of him when she woke up to be of him snacking on some nurse’s aid that happened by during a moment of weakness.
Angel brushed a strand of shoulder length brown hair away from her peaceful face. Watching her as she slept, noting once again that her eyes were motionless behind her closed lids. He found that detail to be the most unnerving during his visits. She’d been so alive before. Now he had a hard time believing this could really be his Cordy. Quick witted, brutally honest, iron barbed banter at the ready, and now…now the only evidence of life still in her body was the subtle rise and fall of her chest in time to the ‘beep, beep, beep’ of the machines attached to her thinning limbs.
“Killed, something, last night.” His eyebrows bunched while he thought as his left hand idly stroked the skin of her cheek. “Not really sure what it was,” He shrugged, “well other than a client. It was…slimy and had really bad teeth. Saved this guy and his wife. Nice looking couple, don’t know what they were doing out behind a demon bar at 3 am on a Wednesday…”
He sighed heavily and paused in his story. Why do I do this to? - force her, as well as me, to listen to these ridiculous and useless tales. He knew this was a flawed habit. Knew that he could not stand between rage and hopeless sobbing forever. A fragile hope was all that kept him tied to this ruin. He knew that if he let the damn break, he would become as lost as she was.
“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing here. Got this new ‘Zero Tolerance’ policy in effect. It’s a good plan, mostly, but the carpet cleaning bills are starting to add up.”
He lowered his head for a moment, and then slid his hand down her side to take hold of hers. The warmth from her convalescent flesh offered a slight bit of comfort, but failed to dispel the wrenching in him that longed for the day that she squeezed his hand in return. The silence became pervasive and deafening.
“Miss you, Cordy.” He brushed a light kiss to her forehead before placing her hand softly back by her side and leaving the room, knowing he couldn’t handle much more.
“See you tomorrow.”
Angel carefully shut the heavy door behind him. His brain told him it was a ridiculous gesture, a childish response – pretending she was merely sleeping and not in a coma..
“Angel! Just the tragic hero I was looking for.” Eve’s face lit up as she approached him, wearing her notoriously familiar ‘I want something’ face. He grimaced; vivid memories of that same look only a few sweaty inches away before he threw her onto the couch during Lorne’s mind-control fiasco.
“What do you want, Eve.” There was no effort made to mask his irritability or lack of concern for her interests. But, to her credit, she didn’t rise to the bait.
“Oh, poor baby. No change in her condition I’m assuming?” She pursed her lips before shrugging. “Although that’s probably a good thing, seeing as how a change in her status would probably mean she was dea-“
Angel’s hand snapped forward, to snag Eve by the wrist and yank her roughly toward him. With a growl in his throat, and closer to his own demon than he would care to admit, he warned; “You don’t talk about her. You don’t look at her, you don’t even think about her! Do you understand?” He tightened his grip, leaving a series of fingered shaped bruises on her arm as a reminder. “Do. You. Understand?”
“Sure thing, Angel.” The tenor of her voice never wavered, but the iridescent glow of the overhead lights betrayed her composure, her skin had taken on a deathly pallor in the wake of his sudden ferocity. That, and she was rank with fear.
Disgustedly he hurled her away from him, causing her to stumble a bit before she spoke again. She avoided rubbing her wrist where the bruise was beginning to form and tried to ignore the tell tale twitch of his nose as he caught the scent of her blood rushing to the surface. Not wise to let an enemy in on your weaknesses, after all. Eve might have been many things, but stupid was not one of them.
“The senior partners want you to do something for them.”