Inattention
This is my entry for this week's episode Teacher's Pet for
fantas_magoria .
I hope you like.
Feedback, yes please.
A thank you to Jo for her excellent beta work. Hugs.
Inattention
Summary: Remember when Angel tells Buffy he wasn’t paying attention?
Angel is lurking. He is good at it. It isn’t the only thing he is good at, but the other, well, he can’t bear to think about. And yet, his thoughts are continually dragged kicking and screaming back to his grim, blood-soaked past. Except, now, he has other things on his mind. He has found a purpose. He has found Buffy. Angel knows he shouldn’t throw all his hopes onto one person. She is the means to his salvation. He wishes it to be so. But deep down he knows he is kidding himself. Salvation? For the likes of him? Never.
He is here because he has nothing better to do, nowhere else to go, and redemption aside, the slayer has captured a piece of him. His heart? Maybe. His soul? He doesn’t wish his damnation on her or anyone.
Shaking away his introspection, Angel surveys the occupants of the bar from the doorway. Familiar faces are absent, so he makes his way inside and orders a drink. Willie knows what he is, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The faint aroma of the man’s fear belies the faint smile Willie gives him, and he moves away to find a seat in an unobtrusive corner. Before long, Angel has finished his drink, and as the conversation around him is dull and of no import, he moves on.
The displays in the stores’ windows entices. He prowls along the street examining each one, imagining what it would be like to enter during the day, to be human and with Buffy. He knows she likes to shop. He knows she misses the stores of Los Angeles. Lurking has its rewards, and Buffy’s bright chatter brings a little sunshine to his dark, gloomy existence. The dress shop gives him pause. A strapless gown, a delicious shell-pink, is draped over a manikin, and Angel pictures Buffy wearing it. Angel sighs and moves on. What is he thinking? The slayer is never going to be interested in the un-dead. Even if he pretends to be human, she will discover what he is - her slayer instincts attuned, he hopes, to the vibes vampires give off - and his ashes will join the others she has slain.
He stares into the window of the shoe shop, his gaze not on the heels inside but at the empty glass itself. He wonders what he looks like to her. It’s been so long since he’s seen himself. He knows that he isn’t unattractive, his conquests as Angelus tells him so. However, he wonders if his skin is too pale, if his movements are too fluid for a human. Does his hair look a fright, or is it of an acceptable, fashionable look? Vampires who have no imagination appear stuck in the decade they were made, dressing to that by-gone era, a come-stake-me invitation if he ever saw one. He glances down at his clothing. Dark jeans, a shirt, and a jacket aren’t dated, are they?
Suddenly, he is knocked aside, and he stumbles along the sidewalk. He senses a large shape, movement, and his arm comes up to block the blow he knows is coming. Pain slices into his arm, and he sees his attacker for the first time. It is a vampire, its fangs are bared and it’s swinging at him again. Angel goes vamp, giving the other vampire pause.
It growls, “Outta my way, cretin!” before it hares off down the street.
Angel stares after the retreating figure in astonishment. One of its hands had been replaced with a three-bladed weapon. Looking at the arm that is injured and ignoring the blood that is oozing, Angel is dismayed to see his jacket is ruined. What is he going to do now? And he has to let Buffy know there is a new threat in town. Angel recalls the menswear store he passed by earlier. A leather jacket had caught his eye. Leather can stand a lot more abuse than cloth, he knows. Stealing a quick look around, Angel goes back to the store. The lock is child’s play. He takes the jacket off the hanger and tries it on, after using his tattered shirt to clean up his bloody arm. It fits, and he thinks he looks kind of cool. He wonders if Buffy will like it.
The End
July 2008
fantas_magoria .
I hope you like.
Feedback, yes please.
A thank you to Jo for her excellent beta work. Hugs.
Inattention
Summary: Remember when Angel tells Buffy he wasn’t paying attention?
Angel is lurking. He is good at it. It isn’t the only thing he is good at, but the other, well, he can’t bear to think about. And yet, his thoughts are continually dragged kicking and screaming back to his grim, blood-soaked past. Except, now, he has other things on his mind. He has found a purpose. He has found Buffy. Angel knows he shouldn’t throw all his hopes onto one person. She is the means to his salvation. He wishes it to be so. But deep down he knows he is kidding himself. Salvation? For the likes of him? Never.
He is here because he has nothing better to do, nowhere else to go, and redemption aside, the slayer has captured a piece of him. His heart? Maybe. His soul? He doesn’t wish his damnation on her or anyone.
Shaking away his introspection, Angel surveys the occupants of the bar from the doorway. Familiar faces are absent, so he makes his way inside and orders a drink. Willie knows what he is, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The faint aroma of the man’s fear belies the faint smile Willie gives him, and he moves away to find a seat in an unobtrusive corner. Before long, Angel has finished his drink, and as the conversation around him is dull and of no import, he moves on.
The displays in the stores’ windows entices. He prowls along the street examining each one, imagining what it would be like to enter during the day, to be human and with Buffy. He knows she likes to shop. He knows she misses the stores of Los Angeles. Lurking has its rewards, and Buffy’s bright chatter brings a little sunshine to his dark, gloomy existence. The dress shop gives him pause. A strapless gown, a delicious shell-pink, is draped over a manikin, and Angel pictures Buffy wearing it. Angel sighs and moves on. What is he thinking? The slayer is never going to be interested in the un-dead. Even if he pretends to be human, she will discover what he is - her slayer instincts attuned, he hopes, to the vibes vampires give off - and his ashes will join the others she has slain.
He stares into the window of the shoe shop, his gaze not on the heels inside but at the empty glass itself. He wonders what he looks like to her. It’s been so long since he’s seen himself. He knows that he isn’t unattractive, his conquests as Angelus tells him so. However, he wonders if his skin is too pale, if his movements are too fluid for a human. Does his hair look a fright, or is it of an acceptable, fashionable look? Vampires who have no imagination appear stuck in the decade they were made, dressing to that by-gone era, a come-stake-me invitation if he ever saw one. He glances down at his clothing. Dark jeans, a shirt, and a jacket aren’t dated, are they?
Suddenly, he is knocked aside, and he stumbles along the sidewalk. He senses a large shape, movement, and his arm comes up to block the blow he knows is coming. Pain slices into his arm, and he sees his attacker for the first time. It is a vampire, its fangs are bared and it’s swinging at him again. Angel goes vamp, giving the other vampire pause.
It growls, “Outta my way, cretin!” before it hares off down the street.
Angel stares after the retreating figure in astonishment. One of its hands had been replaced with a three-bladed weapon. Looking at the arm that is injured and ignoring the blood that is oozing, Angel is dismayed to see his jacket is ruined. What is he going to do now? And he has to let Buffy know there is a new threat in town. Angel recalls the menswear store he passed by earlier. A leather jacket had caught his eye. Leather can stand a lot more abuse than cloth, he knows. Stealing a quick look around, Angel goes back to the store. The lock is child’s play. He takes the jacket off the hanger and tries it on, after using his tattered shirt to clean up his bloody arm. It fits, and he thinks he looks kind of cool. He wonders if Buffy will like it.
The End
July 2008