SLASH FIC: Going Nowhere Fast [Angel/Tuck Everlasting]
Hey, I need some help. Does anyone have a good idea of what should happen next?
Title: Going Nowhere Fast
Author: Feygan
Completion Date: WIP
Fandom: Angel/Tuck Everlasting movie
Pairings: Angel/Miles, Gunn/Wesley
Spoiler Warning: for the movie "Tuck Everlasting," and for the episodes before 57 of "Angel"
Disclaimer: I don't claim any ownership of the characters or movie/series-related aspects of the world I've placed them in.
Home: http://www.darkgesture.com/fanfiction.htm
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AU story. This story is set just after Angel episode 56-"Provider." Connor is still a baby and hasn't been taken by Holtz. Cordelia just got her bit of demon added to her in episode 55-"Birthday", and Gunn hasn't hooked up with Fred yet.
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Jesse called me about two months ago, trying to arrange our "annual" get together. He does it about every ten years, just picks up the phone and tells me to come to wherever he is, that or he at least tries to get me to meet him somewhere in between where he's at and I am. It's gotten to the point where I don't even complain anymore, I just pack up a bag and hop a bus.
He thinks it's funny that I don't have a car or a motorcycle like him, that I just putter across the countryside using public transport. But like I've told him before, it's hard enough trying to stay off the government's radar without putting my name into the system by getting a license. Besides, I'm pretty indestructible. It's not like a ride on the bus is gonna kill me. Though sometimes I wish it would.
I promised to meet him in L.A. on the twenty-second, but I didn't have anything holding me down where I was at, so here I am a week early. I figure the extra time will give me a chance to look around, poke out some kind of fun or something.
So of course the first place I go off the bus is a seedy bar. I needed a drink.
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Sitting right at the bar, I can't help but to notice that some of the patrons of this place are a little... weird. It was hard to catch even a little glimpse of the ones tucked away in the darkest corners, but the ones right out in the light just had something about them that was a bit off.
"What'll you have?"
I twitched and looked at the bartender. He was giving me the hairy eyeball and the creeps. "Whiskey sour."
He sniffed derisively and turned away.
The part of me that was always ready to pick a fight wanted to pound his head into a ball of mush, but I held myself back. There was no point in getting myself run out of town before I even got to see Jesse. He would be pissed if he showed up and I was already gone. There was no point in causing trouble--and that kid could really whine.
Thinking about my little brother, I couldn't help the slight prick of hurt I felt somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. He was off trying to meet his ladylove, his darling Winnie that he'd spent the last century talking about and pining over, imagining that young love was supposed to last forever.
I know it's kind of mean, but I don't have much hope that Winnie's gonna be there waiting for him. Call me pessimistic, but I saw the look on her face when she heard about our whole living forever thing, and I really doubt she's still there waiting for Jesse to come sweep her off her feet. I imagine the faint dew of youth is long since off her cheek and she's suffering from the withered crone effect. There's no way in hell she's bothered to wait eighty years for him to come back for her, though I almost wish she had.
I'll be the first to admit that I'm a little bitter over my own past experiences with love, none of which have ended anything even approaching well. Still, experience is burning its way through me and I'm not the same twenty year old boy I was when I first drank from the spring.
I'd really and truly loved about a handful of women, but after a couple of decades none of them had been able to handle the whole idea of me not getting any older. And sure, love is a powerful emotion, but I know for a fact that it doesn't ever really last. People just grow old and die before it all has a chance to fall apart.
Take my Ma and Tuck. They've been together damned dear forever, and sure, they've got a fondness for each other, but it's pretty obvious the sweaty-love has faded. They're close companions and sometimes friends, but even though they're open with the fact that they’re married, the love they've got left is barely enough to fill a thimble. It's just that they've been together so long that they don't know anything else and aren't brave enough to get out and find something better.
Not that I want my parents to break up or anything. It's just hard to watch as the feelings they once had for each other fade away a little more each year. I love them both so much and I want them to be happy, but they're not. They're maybe sometimes content with what they have, but that's pretty much it.
The bartender clunked my drink down in front of me, ignoring how some of it sloshed over the edge of the glass. I could practically smell the hiss and burn of the alcohol.
I reached into my pocket and passed over a ten dollar bill. "Thank you." It's always important to be polite.
Jesse may think I'm the next thing to the Grinch, but just because I don't buy a bunch of useless junk doesn't mean I don't have any money. I'm just really careful with it, except for when I'm in a bar or a restaurant. I figure a healthy tip pretty much guarantees a lack of spit in my drinks or food and it's money well spent.
I sipped my whiskey and hunched my shoulders a little to get into the good barstool slouch position. My elbows automatically propped themselves on the polished wood and my toes hooked on the rungs of my stool. I was completely comfortable sitting like this and in being in dank little holes like this one.
I'm not too proud to admit that I've spent quite a few years of my extremely long life in places sunlight had never reached. Dirty bars and no-tell motels were a pretty regular feature of my existence.
I think it's my proclivity for hanging out in dumps that finally had Jesse going off on his own. He'd been with me for a couple of years, but finally it all just got to be too much for him and he went off to have adventures of his own.
He's become a bit of a party boy over the years, bouncing from disco to pop to alternative music. He was as comfortable shuffling on a neon checkered dance floor as he was slamming into strangers in a mosh pit. And he'd done drugs I'd never even heard of, putting things up his nose and in his arm with a complete lack of fear because he knew it wasn't going to kill him.
The last time I'd seen him, Jesse had cut his hair short and worn it in black-tipped spikes. He'd been dressed in black leather pants, a black tee shirt with the sleeves torn off, and black engineers boots. His arms had rattled with the weight of enough metal that he'd never be able to get through a metal detector without a strip search. There was a studded dog collar around his neck and he'd been wearing black lipstick and eyeliner that made him look like a raccoon.
From what he'd said when he called me, he'd dropped the whole goth-punk look for a clean-cut image. He said he'd started growing his hair back out again for when he rehooked up with Winnie. He didn't want to scare her with how much he'd changed.
Personally, I think he's only fooling himself. Winnie's not waiting, and if she is, she's not going to be the same sweet girl he left behind so long ago. Eighty years will do a lot to a person, even if they never change.
If he was going to go back for her, he should have done it long ago. He gave her way too long to think, and I'm pretty sure he's going to be disappointed. Love never really lasts forever.
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CHAPTER ONE
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"Come on Cordy, where is it? Where is it?"
"Geez, have a little patience. You're going to make your face all wrinkly, which is so something you don't need, especially not in your all 'grr' face."
Angel clenched the phone a little tighter in his hand and felt his lips curl unhappily. He hadn't wanted to leave Connor, but Cordelia had had a vision and he had a job to do, never mind that he was still in the new-father camp and didn't want to leave his son for even a moment.
He'd been out on a diaper run when Cordelia had called. Now he was at a red-lighted intersection waiting impatiently for her to tell him who he was supposed to save.
"All right, here goes," she said. "Um, it's a demon bar called the Black Horse. I'm looking up the address right now. There's a young guy in there, about twenty-something, and he's going to be attacked by a bunch of vampires. I saw him sitting at the bar and them circling around him about to attack. You're gonna have to hurry."
"Don't bother looking up the address, I know where the Horse is. I'll be back soon." He hesitated for a second, biting his lip, then hurriedly said, "Make sure to sing Connor a song and don't forget Mr. Boo." Click, he hung up.
Being a parent was more fulfilling than he had ever thought it would be, but it was also a bit more embarrassing than he had been prepared for. He didn't mind seeming like an overprotective geek, but even he knew enough to feel a little uncomfortable. Still, Connor was the most important thing in his life and he wasn't going to relax his vigilance over his son, not even if it made him seem like an asshole.
The light changed and he sped out, glad of the lack of traffic. It meant he didn't have to think about how completely neurotic he was becoming. It was just that a little life depended on him for everything, and he didn't want to let Connor down.
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The Black Horse was a real dive, looking more like someone's filthy basement than anywhere a person would want to drink. Angel had to wonder why a normal human would want to come here, but he knew that people were always doing dumb things without a reason. Like here he was trying to save the life of yet one more person that probably didn't even want to be saved.
He pushed the door open and sauntered into the place, putting out so many vampire "vibes" that none of the local demons would bother him. It was obvious that he was a Master, dominant to pretty much anything that wanted to come after him, and even if he couldn’t take the next monster that wanted him, he would go down fighting. No one wanted to mess with him, not smelling the way he did, of danger and soul. He would not back down, and a Master vampire that won't give in is a vampire that will kill any threat or die trying.
Angel flared his nostrils, scenting the vaguely putrid air, while at the same time scanning the place with his eyes. The sound of a human heartbeat pounded out its siren's song and his attention was drawn to a figure hunched at the bar. The only human in a place filled with demons and other things.
Angel shot the bartender a flat-eyed look, a silent warning the Qrual demon didn't even need to take out its third eye to recognize. The bartender nodded at him and grabbed up his filthy rag and came out from behind the bar to wipe down the tables, carefully not looking directly at the vampire.
There was always a grim sense of satisfaction in scaring the locals. A remnant of Angelus perhaps, delighting in being the meanest, toughest bastard around. The whole having a soul thing didn't exactly tamp down his delight in being a badass. It just made him better at hiding it.
He crossed the room to sit next to the man at the bar. Glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and found his attention caught despite himself, his throat going a little tight.
The man was young, though he had one of those faces that was hard to put an age to. When he was sixteen he probably looked to be in his twenties, and when he was forty, he would still look twenty. No matter how old he got, people were always going to be misreading his age, thinking him older or younger than he really was. But that didn't mean he would just disappear into a crowd, oh no.
He was attractive with dark brown hair and lightly tanned skin, every bit of his body screaming good health. He should have been just another brainless pretty boy, but the sullen quirk of his eyebrows and the vaguely sneering twist of his lips told another story, hinted at a temper barely held in check. Looking closer though, his eyes were filled with a silent pain that told of a past that wasn't exactly perfect joy. His life hadn't gone exactly the way he wanted it to, and maybe he was a bit bitter about it, but that only added spice to his beauty.
If he had still been Angelus, Angel knew that he would have wanted to possess this man. To either warp that beauty into his own toy, or crush it so no one else could ever have it. There was nothing like the delight of destroying something precious.
But he wasn't Angelus. He was here to save this man, to take him out of the darkness and knock him back into the light. There was something almost regretful about that.
* * *
"I'm Angel."
Miles glanced at the man that had sat down almost too close next to him. "What?"
The guy smiled a little, being friendly, though it was obvious he was bad at it. "My name is Angel."
"And I care why?" Miles' voice came out dry, a little raspy. He lifted his whiskey and swallowed the last of it, then glanced around for the bartender, but the guy had disappeared somewhere. He pushed his glass a little away from him, hinting for a refill.
"Why'd you come into a place like this?" Angel asked.
Miles rolled his eyes. "Thirsty. I came in here for a drink, not a date, so back off."
It was kind of funny how flustered the guy got. "What? No, no, I'm not trying to pick you up." He waved his hands around, almost hitting Miles on the arm. "I'm... I'm here to save you. That's what I do. Save people, you know. Hero stuff for hire."
"I don't need saving," Miles said, giving the guy a hard look. "If you're trying to convert me, I'm not interested, and if you're serious about the superhero thing, if you voluntarily sign in you won't have so much trouble in the psych-ward. Why don't you go get yourself some help, Superman?"
"You don't understand, really. My secretary--Cordelia--she has Visions, and she Saw you being attacked by v... a gang. I'm here to protect you."
"Man, you seriously need to have your brain examined. Go bother someone else, I don't need the trouble now. Once I finish my next drink, I'm out of here and you can try and save whoever comes in next." He purposely turned so his back was a little to the guy. He really didn't need this shit now. He was already in kind of a dark place in his head. There was no way he was going to let some crazy take a smack at fucking his head up even more.
There was already too much crap in his brain. He could tell that he was too close to the breaking point, when he would go on some rampage and people were going to get hurt. He didn't need to be bothered by some jerk with a hero-complex that couldn't take no for an answer.
Miles' attention was caught when the door opened and a crowd of raucous people tumbled in, talking loudly and hitting each other with smacks of leather and flesh. He didn't turn around, but he hunched his shoulders more. Years of fighting had taught him when trouble was coming at his back, and even if it couldn’t kill him, there were ways for him to feel the pain.
"Hey, what's the blood-bag doing in here? Did somebody order takeout?" Laugh, laugh.
"He's not paying any attention to us, just showin' off that tasty neck. Think he wants it?"
"Oh yeah, and I wanna give it to him." Laugh, laugh.
A hand fell on Miles' shoulder and spun him around to look into five leering faces. "Hey, blood-bag, thanks for coming onto our turf. We were feeling kind of hungry," the obvious leader said.
Miles held his hands palm out at about chest height. "Look, I don't want any trouble. Why don't you go bother somebody else?"
The man's face twisted a little in what was supposed to be thought, then he shook his head. "Nope, don't think so. Just smelling you has gotten me all hungry, and I want to eat." His face suddenly morphed into a hideous visage, all yellow eyes and ridged forehead, like a badly made up Klingon.
"Dammit, vampires?" Miles turned his head to look at Angel. "Why the hell didn't you tell me it was a bunch of vampires? I probably would have listened to you then."
Angel looked surprised. "You know about vampires?"
"Duh. If you get around as much as I have you pretty much see a bit of everything." He glared at the vampires in front of him. "You really don’t want to do this."
"Oh, but I think we do," the leader said, lunging forward with his teeth bared.
His face smoothing out into a mask of non-expression, Miles hooked his stool with his right foot and hopped to the floor with his left. He swung his right leg hard, snapping his foot into a point and flinging the metal barstool off it. The stool struck the vampire in the face, barely slowing him, but giving Miles time to make his next move.
He leapt up onto the bar and used it as a launching pad, springing into the air in a perfect flip over the vampires' heads. He landed behind them and quickly began to lash out with punches and kicks, a part of him liking the solid impact of his fists and feet against flesh. He might decry the idea of war, but he couldn't help it that his body liked to fight. He had killed people, always in the name of some just cause or other, but in the end it was all about the fact that a part of him enjoyed the violence. It was only while fighting that he ever felt truly alive. The rest of him had died a long time ago.
Fighting made his heart beat faster and the adrenaline flow through him. For a little while, it let him pretend that he was still the man he used to be, the person he had never really wanted to leave behind.
When you decide you love someone enough to grow old with them, staying young forever while their hair turns grey and their face gets wrinkled is like a betrayal of every promise made. He hadn't asked for this to happen to him, and he would give it back if he could. Humans just weren't meant to last forever as unchanging monuments. He had nothing to show for all the years he'd lived, because his face was still as wide and blank as it had always been.
He was tired of living when he was fifty, yet here he was still around, unable to lay his head down and rest. He just couldn't die, and he fucking hated it.
Sometimes he looked around at all the normal people going about their daily lives and was just so damn resentful he didn't even have the words to describe it. The bitterness just welled up in him and if he could have killed them all, in those moments he probably would have. They got to stop fucking living. They had the power to end their meaningless little lives. They weren't forced to last forever when all they wanted to do was sleep. It just wasn't fair.
About the only people he thought might feel the same as him were vampires, but they were all assholes. Controlled by their demons, their sole existence was bundled up in the feed and kill. They never got tired of living, not as long as they got to torture and maim and there were throats to rip out. They were constantly amused, and a part of him envied them that.
He didn't have anything to thrill at. He just had endless days of normalcy. All of the pains and aggravations of being normal, but without the fear of getting hurt or dying, there was nothing to really motivate him to try anything. It was just an endless expanse of same-kind-of days. And he hated it, always had.
He wasn't Jesse, to constantly be caught up in the moment, with the attention span of the average gnat. He didn't have some strange wide-eyed passion for the future and new technologies. He was basically just an eighteenth-century man plunged out of his depth and desperate for things to go back to the way they were supposed to be. Driving horse-drawn carriages instead of cars. Being poor and not caring about it because everyone around him was too. Farming with a single-blade plow while wearing clothes made from rough, homespun cloth. Standing in the middle of a field or forest and knowing that there was no other human for twenty miles around. Going to the store was a treat worth getting dressed up for, because there was no TV to bring entertainment right into his home. Dancing with his mother while his brother played a penny whistle and Tuck squeezed the accordion. Looking out at the world and knowing that everything was all new, untouched by him or anyone else.
He missed the days when he was young, back when he was as fragile as any other human being. He missed knowing that he could be broken, because now that he was invulnerable... he couldn't really believe that he was human anymore.
* * *
Angel had never seen anything like it before. The guy was just so unassuming, then BAM! Stools were flying around and fists and feet were striking vampires with amazing speed, then there were "poofs" of disintegrating vampires turning to dust. It was pretty awesome.
For a vampire, dusting ten other vampires was a feat to work at. But for what smelled like a normal human... it should have been the impossible.
This is the guy I'm supposed to rescue? Angel thought disbelievingly.
The guy didn't need any help kicking ass. He was killing vampires with a serious aplomb. It was like something out of an action movie... or maybe a page out of Angel's autobiography.
He couldn't imagine why the Powers That Be had sent him here. There wasn't anything he could do. The man was taking care of everything for himself.
Fourteen vampires killed in as many minutes. A Slayer couldn’t have done much better.
With a last "poof," the guy panted to a stop and stood there breathing deeply, his chest pumping like billows. He turned to look at Angel. "Why the hell didn't you tell me there were fucking vampires after me? I really hate having to kill like that," he growled.
Angel stood there blank faced, wearing what might have been confused as his usual "brooding" expression. "Most normal people typically don't believe in the existence of vampires, and when you tell them that a horde of bloodsucking demons are coming to get them, they tend to assume that you're crazy. I didn't want you to discount everything I had to say because you thought I was insane, so instead I tried the old 'it's a rampaging gang hopped up on PCP' excuse." He shrugged.
"Well, I suppose I should thank you anyway just for trying, even though the warning was a little late and I didn't listen to you anyway. My name is Miles Tuck." He moved his erstwhile stake to his left hand and offered his right.
Angel looked at the hand. It was coated in dust, but there was no sign that he had been punching vampires just minutes before. Even Buffy, with her Slayer strength, got scraped knuckles after a night of vampire beating, but this guy's hand was completely unmarked.
Angel took the hand, noting that it was warm, so he wasn't dealing with some kind of living-dead creature. He cocked his head. "I already told you I'm Angel. Why don't you come back to the office with me, if you don't have anywhere else to be? There's some things we should probably talk about."
Miles smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes, which remained hard. "I think I will go back with you. I don't really have anywhere to be, not until next week."
They stood there for a long moment looking at each other. There was a lot they could have said, but they didn't. Angel could have revealed that he was a vampire with a soul and a mission from the Powers That Be, or Miles could have said that he was an unaging human that probably couldn't ever be killed. There really was a lot they could say, but neither even tried.
Angel started walking toward the door and Miles followed after him, unspeaking.
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CHAPTER TWO
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Riding in Angel's car, they quickly arrived at the Hyperion where Cordelia and Wesley were waiting for them.
Cordelia was sitting behind her desk trying to look busy, while Wesley was perusing some dusty tome. They both looked up when Angel walked in. Cordy's bored expression turned into a blinding bright smile when she saw Miles.
"Hello, and who are you?" she purred.
Angel glanced at Miles. The man remained completely unmoved by Cordelia's show. "Leave him alone, Cordy. I don't think he's interested."
Her lips twisted in a pout, but she relaxed back in her chair, pretending that it didn’t matter. "Who are you then?" she asked sharply, looking at Miles.
Miles shrugged. "My name is Miles Tuck."
"Never heard of you. Are you going to be a paying client?"
Angel shot her a sharp look, silently trying to tell her to shut up. "He's not a client. He doesn't really need us to handle his problems... he's pretty good at taking care of them all on his own."
"Which means what, exactly?" Wesley asked, arching an eyebrow.
Angel shifted a little uncomfortably. "He killed fourteen vampires on his own. The Vision was wrong. I didn't need to save him. He saved himself. Now we just have to figure out what the Powers-That-Be wanted us to do with him."
"I don't think I want anything to do with your gods. I'm not really religious anyway, but I don't think I want to believe in your 'Powers-That-Be,'" Miles said.
"Doesn't matter," Angel said, "they believe in you. And once you're marked by the PTB, that's pretty much it. You end up working for them whether you like it or not."
Miles' face scrunched up in discontent. "I don't think I really like your PTB's. They seem rather pushy. Why would they choose me anyway?"
Angel shrugged and looked at Wesley. "Can you think why?" he asked.
Wesley thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I would have to know more about you," he said to Miles. "The fact that you managed to kill fourteen vampires by yourself tells me that there's something special about you, though. Are you a normal human?"
For a second there was an almost shifty look on Miles' face, then he lifted one shoulder before letting it drop. "I used to be. I don't quite know if I am anymore, things are so different now."
"What do you mean?" Wesley asked.
Miles walked across the lobby to lean against a chair back. He gazed at nothing in particular with a pensive look on his face. Angel got the feeling the man didn't want to meet anyone's eyes, not even by accident. "I used to be normal," Miles said, "then everything changed. I don’t know how or why it happened, but I stopped aging. I'm just the same as I was since then."
"How do you mean you stopped aging?" Wesley asked. "How old are you? What happened?"
"I drank the water," Miles said. "I drank the water and time stood still. I don't quite remember how old I am now, since Ma was never really sure about when I was born anyway, but it's been at least a hundred and eighty years, and I look just the same as I did back then. I still don't know what happened to me, or why I was chosen, but I don't want it. I don't want to be this way forever."
"We all have our burdens to bear," Wesley said. Angel had the feeling of eyes brushing against him before carefully moving away.
"It's not fair!" Miles' hands twisted in the air in front of him. "I was happy before I knew. I had a wife and children and my life was exactly what I wanted it to be. Then we realized that I wasn't getting any older. I was staying the same while my wife's hair turned grey and wrinkles took over her face, and she couldn't take that. So she took the children and she disappeared. I eventually found out that she went mad, spent the last days of her life in a sanitarium. It kills me that it was my fault that she lost her mind. Because I always stayed the same, she had to be the one that became different. She just couldn’t deal with the fact that she got older while I stayed young."
Angel felt a pain deep inside. He understood that perfectly. It was the reason why he had had to leave Buffy, and why he could never really love Cordelia. Because even though he could turn them into vampires and keep them with him forever, they wouldn't be the people he loved anymore. And if he selfishly held them to him, locking them into his eternal night, as they grew old they would hate him because he wouldn't age with them. He was eternal; they were a moment. It hurt, and that was the way it would always be.
"Is there... Have you tried anything to turn yourself back the way you were?" Wesley asked, sounding hesitant. There was something about Miles that was reminiscent of a caged animal; he looked ready to lash out at anyone that got too close.
Miles' eyes flashed with anger and self-hate. "I tried everything. At first I just threw myself into danger in the hopes that I would somehow be killed. When that didn't work, I went to a voodoo priestess; she said there was nothing she could do for me. Since then, I've been to chaos sorcerers, wizards, vampire kings, high level demons, everything." He bowed his head under the weight of emotion, his hands clenching into hard fists at his sides. It seemed to take a monumental effort to keep from striking out at the world around him. He was just so angry. "I am still immortal, and I always will be. And I hate it. It's so lonely, and everything I do now, I've done a thousand times before. There's never anything new, and I can't escape from it. I just want it to be over."
Not really thinking about what he was doing, Angel walked forward. He laid a hand on Miles' shoulder. "I know what you mean. The world passes you by, but you stay the same."
Miles raised his head. His original expression of contempt--that anyone would dare to presume that they could understand him--melted away when he met Angel's eyes. "You really do understand, don't you? What are you?"
"Vampire with a soul." Angel braced himself for a violent response.
Instead, Miles just nodded his head. "Ah. I should have guessed. So you can actually relate to the way I feel, since you live forever too. Though you must be even more screwed up than the average vampire, seeing as you have a soul, and they get to wander around soulless and fancy free. They don't have to deal with guilt and morals. Lucky bastards."
A little smile quirked Angel's lips. "Yeah. Sometimes I envy them, then I remember all of the evil things I did when I didn't have my soul, and I'm glad to be the way I am. Even if some people," he carefully didn't look at Cordelia, "think I'm way too broody."
"Huh. You should meet my brother. He thinks I'm broody too, though he says I'm bitter about what I don't have. Though it's kind of stupid that he's still obsessing over a girl he left behind like eighty years ago. And he says I don't know how to let things go." Miles smiled at Angel when he said that last sentence, and Angel realized for the first time how attractive Miles Tuck really was.
There had been something so grim about the man. Looking at him, it was obvious that he was an attractive person, but it was something that got left to the wayside when you met his eyes. They were dark and angry, resentful of the happiness around him. He was holding onto his rage, and it took something away from him. But when he smiled for real... it was like the light had come on.
Angel flushed a little when he remembered where his hand was. He was still touching Miles' shoulder, his forefinger and thumb somehow having edged their way close to Miles' neck. He could feel the warm brush of skin against the end of his thumb where Miles' shirt ended. It was nice.
"I guess neither one of us was made to just get over the things that happen to us," Angel said, nonchalantly pulling his hand away, or at least he hoped it looked nonchalant. Inside, he felt nervous for some reason, and there was a fluttery feeling somewhere in his stomach. He was just glad that his vampiric condition didn't let him get too blushy and flustered.
If he played it right, no one had to know he had somehow lost his cool.
"Geez Angel, way to get deep into the talking with strangers," Cordelia said, providing a welcome distraction. Angel turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow questioningly. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Duh, you haven't even asked about Connor. I would have thought you would have had ten gazillion things to say by now."
"Oh yeah," Angel said dumbly, then threw off the strange emotions overtaking him. He started walking toward Cordelia's desk. "How was he for you? Did he get to sleep all right? Did you make sure he had his Mr. Boo when you tucked him in? He wasn't fussy was he? You did sing to him, right? What about..."
Cordelia held up her hand, stopping him. "I did everything you said to do, and Connor's fine. He's in his crib right now, sleeping his little heart out. Why don't you go check on him so you can relax, and since with the way you wander around like a chicken with its head cut off when you think about him, the rest of us can deal with something a little more important. Go on now, we’ll wait here for you. Just don't be too long."
Angel was confused. Everything seemed to be moving too fast. One minute he was talking to Miles, then he was switching into overprotective mode over Connor, and now he was being dismissed by Cordelia.
When he'd been Angelus and something had confused him, he used to let his anger loose on the world. After a long session of torture and murder, he'd been able to pretend that he was calm again. Sometimes he almost missed those days, though he could never admit that to the humans he worked with.
"I think I'm going to check on Connor," he said, already hurrying out of the room. He didn't want any of them to look in his face and guess what he was thinking.
* * *
"Now that he's gone," Cordelia said briskly, turning toward Miles. "Why don't you give us a little more information about you. Like what do you have in mind for Angel? Why are you really here? And give me a good reason why I shouldn't be hitting you with my big sword right about now?"
Miles looked confused. Wesley could sympathize. "What are you doing, Cordelia?" he asked.
She looked at him. "Wes, we don't know this guy. He comes in here and Angel's all talking about the PTB. But I don't know about your gaydar, but when they were talking, mine was picking up some definite subtextual signals. Something is going on between Angel and this guy, or it's going to be going on soon. So I kind of want to know what kind of person he is, before he turns Angel all evil again. I've almost gotten out of the habit of carrying a mace can full of holy water, and the cross I usually wear is at the jewelers because the chain was chafing me. So I want some answers, that's all. Nothing really big."
Wesley gave Miles a "sorry" face. He didn't quite know what to say to the man, but he knew Cordelia was being incredibly rude, which was pretty much normal. "I do apologize, but maybe you should tell us a little more about yourself, just so we can be sure you're safe."
A smile quirked Miles' lips. "It’s all right, don't be sorry. You're perfectly right to be worried. You don't know me. I could be a mass murderer for all you know. It's better to be careful."
"That's so right," Cordelia said. "So why don't you give us a little information before you go get all groiny with Angel, huh?"
Miles shrugged, folding his arms and cupping his elbows with the palms of his hands. "I wouldn't really put it like that, since I don't really think that's going to happen with me and your boss, but... I'm just basically what I appear to be--a guy. I may not age, but I don't have any magical powers or anything either. I am just a man that happens to have lived for a long time, and who can't really be hurt. I don't have any deep motives--like an insane drive to buy myself a white cat, gain a hundred and sixty pounds and try to take over the world. I'm just basically a man that's living from day to day, and wishing that I wasn't.
"I'm tired of never getting any older. No matter what I do, my life never changes and everything just goes on the way it always has, and that's pretty miserable. I'm a Scorpio, I don't like yogurt, and the only reason I came to LA is to meet my brother, who should be arriving in about a week."
"You have a brother?" Cordelia said. "What's he like? Is he evil?"
Miles shook his head, a tiny smile quirking his lips. "Jesse is about as near to an innocent as a person can be after living over a century. Right now, he's trying to win back the 'love of his life,' a girl he hasn't seen in eighty years. The fact that he still has hope that she's waiting for him is pretty much proof-positive of his innate naivete and relative innocence about the way the world changes. Like she's really going to be sitting there waiting for him to ride in on his white horse to take her away to a new life... of wandering around like a vagabond, never putting down roots, never doing anything that really matters, and watching everyone you ever meet die. What a life he wants to give her." He snorted derisively. "I really doubt she's waiting, but if she is, then she's as stupid as he is, because this really is no way to live, and a girl that was that sugary sweet deserves something better."
"Wow, bitter much?" Cordelia said.
"Yes, um, that was a tad emotional, wasn't it?" Wesley said, studiously rearranging the books on his desk. For a second there, passion had burned in Miles' voice, and Wesley couldn't help the way his body had responded to it. There was just something so hot about a man raging at heaven and earth over the fate of life.
"I just can't stand the thought of that girl throwing away everything her life could have been to follow after my brother. Jesse's a sweet boy, but that's all he's ever going to be. Since his body is stuck at seventeen, he has never seen a reason to expand his mind. He really is going to be seventeen forever, and he doesn't even know enough to realize that his immortality is a curse, not a blessing, and that no amount of drugs, alcohol or sex are going to ever make him as happy as he was when he truly was seventeen."
Wesley opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of what he was supposed to say. He was saved from having to make a response when the doors to the hotel swung open. The voice began even before the man himself appeared. "I'm here. Is there anything ax-worthy going on?" Gunn sauntered into the hotel.
Wesley seemed to perk up a little. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it. "There isn't really anything happening, but we have a guest. This is Miles Tuck," he gestured at Miles. "It seems there's a reason the Powers that Be want him to be here; we just have to figure it out."
Gunn looked at Miles for a long moment, then walked toward him, extending a hand. "Charles Gunn."
Miles glanced the hand over quickly before taking it. "My name is Miles Tuck. Nice to meet you."
"Yeah. So what's so special about you that the PTB would want your ass for service?" Gunn asked.
Miles shrugged. "I have no idea. I am just a simple man."
* * *
Holding Connor to his chest, Angel felt the warmth of contentment spilling through him. With his son in his life, it was sometimes a struggle to retain his soul. Just watching the baby sleep could make him so happy...
"Who's daddy's best boy?" he whispered.
Connor sucked hard on his tiny fist, nuzzling against Angel's shoulder. He was a small warm weight, snuggly in his one-piece sleeper.
Angel bowed his head to press a kiss against the wispy brown hair. Connor was so beautiful, so alive. Angel had never thought that his life would ever end up like this, with friends and family of his own. A child to carry on his name and the chance at redemption. Everything seemed to be going right for once.
Which partly filled him with dread. It was when things were going a little too good that the worst kinds of things happened.
Case in point: His relationship with Buffy was going along perfect, things had just about gotten to the point where he could forget all the people he'd murdered and imagine that he was a real person. Then BAM! He had sex with Buffy, lost his soul, and started killing people again.
There was no way that he could trust good fortune; it never lasted. And now it wasn't just him that was going to be shat on by life. He had a baby that was depending on him for comfort, love, and the resolution to overcome any horrible situation that came up while providing the necessary protection.
Being someone's father was a scary prospect. A tiny life was depending on him, and he couldn't be sure that he would do a good job. All he could do was try his best and hope that Connor got the chance to grow to adulthood as a happy, well-adjusted individual, ready to provide a positive influence on the world.
He was so afraid of messing up. There was so much chance that he was going to ruin Connor for the rest of the world, and he didn't want his son to be just another mistake he had made in his life.
Connor depended on him for everything, and Angel vowed, looking down at that tiny face, that he would do everything in his power to ensure that Connor grew up safe and loved.
Title: Going Nowhere Fast
Author: Feygan
Completion Date: WIP
Fandom: Angel/Tuck Everlasting movie
Pairings: Angel/Miles, Gunn/Wesley
Spoiler Warning: for the movie "Tuck Everlasting," and for the episodes before 57 of "Angel"
Disclaimer: I don't claim any ownership of the characters or movie/series-related aspects of the world I've placed them in.
Home: http://www.darkgesture.com/fanfiction.htm
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AU story. This story is set just after Angel episode 56-"Provider." Connor is still a baby and hasn't been taken by Holtz. Cordelia just got her bit of demon added to her in episode 55-"Birthday", and Gunn hasn't hooked up with Fred yet.
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Jesse called me about two months ago, trying to arrange our "annual" get together. He does it about every ten years, just picks up the phone and tells me to come to wherever he is, that or he at least tries to get me to meet him somewhere in between where he's at and I am. It's gotten to the point where I don't even complain anymore, I just pack up a bag and hop a bus.
He thinks it's funny that I don't have a car or a motorcycle like him, that I just putter across the countryside using public transport. But like I've told him before, it's hard enough trying to stay off the government's radar without putting my name into the system by getting a license. Besides, I'm pretty indestructible. It's not like a ride on the bus is gonna kill me. Though sometimes I wish it would.
I promised to meet him in L.A. on the twenty-second, but I didn't have anything holding me down where I was at, so here I am a week early. I figure the extra time will give me a chance to look around, poke out some kind of fun or something.
So of course the first place I go off the bus is a seedy bar. I needed a drink.
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Sitting right at the bar, I can't help but to notice that some of the patrons of this place are a little... weird. It was hard to catch even a little glimpse of the ones tucked away in the darkest corners, but the ones right out in the light just had something about them that was a bit off.
"What'll you have?"
I twitched and looked at the bartender. He was giving me the hairy eyeball and the creeps. "Whiskey sour."
He sniffed derisively and turned away.
The part of me that was always ready to pick a fight wanted to pound his head into a ball of mush, but I held myself back. There was no point in getting myself run out of town before I even got to see Jesse. He would be pissed if he showed up and I was already gone. There was no point in causing trouble--and that kid could really whine.
Thinking about my little brother, I couldn't help the slight prick of hurt I felt somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. He was off trying to meet his ladylove, his darling Winnie that he'd spent the last century talking about and pining over, imagining that young love was supposed to last forever.
I know it's kind of mean, but I don't have much hope that Winnie's gonna be there waiting for him. Call me pessimistic, but I saw the look on her face when she heard about our whole living forever thing, and I really doubt she's still there waiting for Jesse to come sweep her off her feet. I imagine the faint dew of youth is long since off her cheek and she's suffering from the withered crone effect. There's no way in hell she's bothered to wait eighty years for him to come back for her, though I almost wish she had.
I'll be the first to admit that I'm a little bitter over my own past experiences with love, none of which have ended anything even approaching well. Still, experience is burning its way through me and I'm not the same twenty year old boy I was when I first drank from the spring.
I'd really and truly loved about a handful of women, but after a couple of decades none of them had been able to handle the whole idea of me not getting any older. And sure, love is a powerful emotion, but I know for a fact that it doesn't ever really last. People just grow old and die before it all has a chance to fall apart.
Take my Ma and Tuck. They've been together damned dear forever, and sure, they've got a fondness for each other, but it's pretty obvious the sweaty-love has faded. They're close companions and sometimes friends, but even though they're open with the fact that they’re married, the love they've got left is barely enough to fill a thimble. It's just that they've been together so long that they don't know anything else and aren't brave enough to get out and find something better.
Not that I want my parents to break up or anything. It's just hard to watch as the feelings they once had for each other fade away a little more each year. I love them both so much and I want them to be happy, but they're not. They're maybe sometimes content with what they have, but that's pretty much it.
The bartender clunked my drink down in front of me, ignoring how some of it sloshed over the edge of the glass. I could practically smell the hiss and burn of the alcohol.
I reached into my pocket and passed over a ten dollar bill. "Thank you." It's always important to be polite.
Jesse may think I'm the next thing to the Grinch, but just because I don't buy a bunch of useless junk doesn't mean I don't have any money. I'm just really careful with it, except for when I'm in a bar or a restaurant. I figure a healthy tip pretty much guarantees a lack of spit in my drinks or food and it's money well spent.
I sipped my whiskey and hunched my shoulders a little to get into the good barstool slouch position. My elbows automatically propped themselves on the polished wood and my toes hooked on the rungs of my stool. I was completely comfortable sitting like this and in being in dank little holes like this one.
I'm not too proud to admit that I've spent quite a few years of my extremely long life in places sunlight had never reached. Dirty bars and no-tell motels were a pretty regular feature of my existence.
I think it's my proclivity for hanging out in dumps that finally had Jesse going off on his own. He'd been with me for a couple of years, but finally it all just got to be too much for him and he went off to have adventures of his own.
He's become a bit of a party boy over the years, bouncing from disco to pop to alternative music. He was as comfortable shuffling on a neon checkered dance floor as he was slamming into strangers in a mosh pit. And he'd done drugs I'd never even heard of, putting things up his nose and in his arm with a complete lack of fear because he knew it wasn't going to kill him.
The last time I'd seen him, Jesse had cut his hair short and worn it in black-tipped spikes. He'd been dressed in black leather pants, a black tee shirt with the sleeves torn off, and black engineers boots. His arms had rattled with the weight of enough metal that he'd never be able to get through a metal detector without a strip search. There was a studded dog collar around his neck and he'd been wearing black lipstick and eyeliner that made him look like a raccoon.
From what he'd said when he called me, he'd dropped the whole goth-punk look for a clean-cut image. He said he'd started growing his hair back out again for when he rehooked up with Winnie. He didn't want to scare her with how much he'd changed.
Personally, I think he's only fooling himself. Winnie's not waiting, and if she is, she's not going to be the same sweet girl he left behind so long ago. Eighty years will do a lot to a person, even if they never change.
If he was going to go back for her, he should have done it long ago. He gave her way too long to think, and I'm pretty sure he's going to be disappointed. Love never really lasts forever.
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CHAPTER ONE
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"Come on Cordy, where is it? Where is it?"
"Geez, have a little patience. You're going to make your face all wrinkly, which is so something you don't need, especially not in your all 'grr' face."
Angel clenched the phone a little tighter in his hand and felt his lips curl unhappily. He hadn't wanted to leave Connor, but Cordelia had had a vision and he had a job to do, never mind that he was still in the new-father camp and didn't want to leave his son for even a moment.
He'd been out on a diaper run when Cordelia had called. Now he was at a red-lighted intersection waiting impatiently for her to tell him who he was supposed to save.
"All right, here goes," she said. "Um, it's a demon bar called the Black Horse. I'm looking up the address right now. There's a young guy in there, about twenty-something, and he's going to be attacked by a bunch of vampires. I saw him sitting at the bar and them circling around him about to attack. You're gonna have to hurry."
"Don't bother looking up the address, I know where the Horse is. I'll be back soon." He hesitated for a second, biting his lip, then hurriedly said, "Make sure to sing Connor a song and don't forget Mr. Boo." Click, he hung up.
Being a parent was more fulfilling than he had ever thought it would be, but it was also a bit more embarrassing than he had been prepared for. He didn't mind seeming like an overprotective geek, but even he knew enough to feel a little uncomfortable. Still, Connor was the most important thing in his life and he wasn't going to relax his vigilance over his son, not even if it made him seem like an asshole.
The light changed and he sped out, glad of the lack of traffic. It meant he didn't have to think about how completely neurotic he was becoming. It was just that a little life depended on him for everything, and he didn't want to let Connor down.
.
The Black Horse was a real dive, looking more like someone's filthy basement than anywhere a person would want to drink. Angel had to wonder why a normal human would want to come here, but he knew that people were always doing dumb things without a reason. Like here he was trying to save the life of yet one more person that probably didn't even want to be saved.
He pushed the door open and sauntered into the place, putting out so many vampire "vibes" that none of the local demons would bother him. It was obvious that he was a Master, dominant to pretty much anything that wanted to come after him, and even if he couldn’t take the next monster that wanted him, he would go down fighting. No one wanted to mess with him, not smelling the way he did, of danger and soul. He would not back down, and a Master vampire that won't give in is a vampire that will kill any threat or die trying.
Angel flared his nostrils, scenting the vaguely putrid air, while at the same time scanning the place with his eyes. The sound of a human heartbeat pounded out its siren's song and his attention was drawn to a figure hunched at the bar. The only human in a place filled with demons and other things.
Angel shot the bartender a flat-eyed look, a silent warning the Qrual demon didn't even need to take out its third eye to recognize. The bartender nodded at him and grabbed up his filthy rag and came out from behind the bar to wipe down the tables, carefully not looking directly at the vampire.
There was always a grim sense of satisfaction in scaring the locals. A remnant of Angelus perhaps, delighting in being the meanest, toughest bastard around. The whole having a soul thing didn't exactly tamp down his delight in being a badass. It just made him better at hiding it.
He crossed the room to sit next to the man at the bar. Glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and found his attention caught despite himself, his throat going a little tight.
The man was young, though he had one of those faces that was hard to put an age to. When he was sixteen he probably looked to be in his twenties, and when he was forty, he would still look twenty. No matter how old he got, people were always going to be misreading his age, thinking him older or younger than he really was. But that didn't mean he would just disappear into a crowd, oh no.
He was attractive with dark brown hair and lightly tanned skin, every bit of his body screaming good health. He should have been just another brainless pretty boy, but the sullen quirk of his eyebrows and the vaguely sneering twist of his lips told another story, hinted at a temper barely held in check. Looking closer though, his eyes were filled with a silent pain that told of a past that wasn't exactly perfect joy. His life hadn't gone exactly the way he wanted it to, and maybe he was a bit bitter about it, but that only added spice to his beauty.
If he had still been Angelus, Angel knew that he would have wanted to possess this man. To either warp that beauty into his own toy, or crush it so no one else could ever have it. There was nothing like the delight of destroying something precious.
But he wasn't Angelus. He was here to save this man, to take him out of the darkness and knock him back into the light. There was something almost regretful about that.
* * *
"I'm Angel."
Miles glanced at the man that had sat down almost too close next to him. "What?"
The guy smiled a little, being friendly, though it was obvious he was bad at it. "My name is Angel."
"And I care why?" Miles' voice came out dry, a little raspy. He lifted his whiskey and swallowed the last of it, then glanced around for the bartender, but the guy had disappeared somewhere. He pushed his glass a little away from him, hinting for a refill.
"Why'd you come into a place like this?" Angel asked.
Miles rolled his eyes. "Thirsty. I came in here for a drink, not a date, so back off."
It was kind of funny how flustered the guy got. "What? No, no, I'm not trying to pick you up." He waved his hands around, almost hitting Miles on the arm. "I'm... I'm here to save you. That's what I do. Save people, you know. Hero stuff for hire."
"I don't need saving," Miles said, giving the guy a hard look. "If you're trying to convert me, I'm not interested, and if you're serious about the superhero thing, if you voluntarily sign in you won't have so much trouble in the psych-ward. Why don't you go get yourself some help, Superman?"
"You don't understand, really. My secretary--Cordelia--she has Visions, and she Saw you being attacked by v... a gang. I'm here to protect you."
"Man, you seriously need to have your brain examined. Go bother someone else, I don't need the trouble now. Once I finish my next drink, I'm out of here and you can try and save whoever comes in next." He purposely turned so his back was a little to the guy. He really didn't need this shit now. He was already in kind of a dark place in his head. There was no way he was going to let some crazy take a smack at fucking his head up even more.
There was already too much crap in his brain. He could tell that he was too close to the breaking point, when he would go on some rampage and people were going to get hurt. He didn't need to be bothered by some jerk with a hero-complex that couldn't take no for an answer.
Miles' attention was caught when the door opened and a crowd of raucous people tumbled in, talking loudly and hitting each other with smacks of leather and flesh. He didn't turn around, but he hunched his shoulders more. Years of fighting had taught him when trouble was coming at his back, and even if it couldn’t kill him, there were ways for him to feel the pain.
"Hey, what's the blood-bag doing in here? Did somebody order takeout?" Laugh, laugh.
"He's not paying any attention to us, just showin' off that tasty neck. Think he wants it?"
"Oh yeah, and I wanna give it to him." Laugh, laugh.
A hand fell on Miles' shoulder and spun him around to look into five leering faces. "Hey, blood-bag, thanks for coming onto our turf. We were feeling kind of hungry," the obvious leader said.
Miles held his hands palm out at about chest height. "Look, I don't want any trouble. Why don't you go bother somebody else?"
The man's face twisted a little in what was supposed to be thought, then he shook his head. "Nope, don't think so. Just smelling you has gotten me all hungry, and I want to eat." His face suddenly morphed into a hideous visage, all yellow eyes and ridged forehead, like a badly made up Klingon.
"Dammit, vampires?" Miles turned his head to look at Angel. "Why the hell didn't you tell me it was a bunch of vampires? I probably would have listened to you then."
Angel looked surprised. "You know about vampires?"
"Duh. If you get around as much as I have you pretty much see a bit of everything." He glared at the vampires in front of him. "You really don’t want to do this."
"Oh, but I think we do," the leader said, lunging forward with his teeth bared.
His face smoothing out into a mask of non-expression, Miles hooked his stool with his right foot and hopped to the floor with his left. He swung his right leg hard, snapping his foot into a point and flinging the metal barstool off it. The stool struck the vampire in the face, barely slowing him, but giving Miles time to make his next move.
He leapt up onto the bar and used it as a launching pad, springing into the air in a perfect flip over the vampires' heads. He landed behind them and quickly began to lash out with punches and kicks, a part of him liking the solid impact of his fists and feet against flesh. He might decry the idea of war, but he couldn't help it that his body liked to fight. He had killed people, always in the name of some just cause or other, but in the end it was all about the fact that a part of him enjoyed the violence. It was only while fighting that he ever felt truly alive. The rest of him had died a long time ago.
Fighting made his heart beat faster and the adrenaline flow through him. For a little while, it let him pretend that he was still the man he used to be, the person he had never really wanted to leave behind.
When you decide you love someone enough to grow old with them, staying young forever while their hair turns grey and their face gets wrinkled is like a betrayal of every promise made. He hadn't asked for this to happen to him, and he would give it back if he could. Humans just weren't meant to last forever as unchanging monuments. He had nothing to show for all the years he'd lived, because his face was still as wide and blank as it had always been.
He was tired of living when he was fifty, yet here he was still around, unable to lay his head down and rest. He just couldn't die, and he fucking hated it.
Sometimes he looked around at all the normal people going about their daily lives and was just so damn resentful he didn't even have the words to describe it. The bitterness just welled up in him and if he could have killed them all, in those moments he probably would have. They got to stop fucking living. They had the power to end their meaningless little lives. They weren't forced to last forever when all they wanted to do was sleep. It just wasn't fair.
About the only people he thought might feel the same as him were vampires, but they were all assholes. Controlled by their demons, their sole existence was bundled up in the feed and kill. They never got tired of living, not as long as they got to torture and maim and there were throats to rip out. They were constantly amused, and a part of him envied them that.
He didn't have anything to thrill at. He just had endless days of normalcy. All of the pains and aggravations of being normal, but without the fear of getting hurt or dying, there was nothing to really motivate him to try anything. It was just an endless expanse of same-kind-of days. And he hated it, always had.
He wasn't Jesse, to constantly be caught up in the moment, with the attention span of the average gnat. He didn't have some strange wide-eyed passion for the future and new technologies. He was basically just an eighteenth-century man plunged out of his depth and desperate for things to go back to the way they were supposed to be. Driving horse-drawn carriages instead of cars. Being poor and not caring about it because everyone around him was too. Farming with a single-blade plow while wearing clothes made from rough, homespun cloth. Standing in the middle of a field or forest and knowing that there was no other human for twenty miles around. Going to the store was a treat worth getting dressed up for, because there was no TV to bring entertainment right into his home. Dancing with his mother while his brother played a penny whistle and Tuck squeezed the accordion. Looking out at the world and knowing that everything was all new, untouched by him or anyone else.
He missed the days when he was young, back when he was as fragile as any other human being. He missed knowing that he could be broken, because now that he was invulnerable... he couldn't really believe that he was human anymore.
* * *
Angel had never seen anything like it before. The guy was just so unassuming, then BAM! Stools were flying around and fists and feet were striking vampires with amazing speed, then there were "poofs" of disintegrating vampires turning to dust. It was pretty awesome.
For a vampire, dusting ten other vampires was a feat to work at. But for what smelled like a normal human... it should have been the impossible.
This is the guy I'm supposed to rescue? Angel thought disbelievingly.
The guy didn't need any help kicking ass. He was killing vampires with a serious aplomb. It was like something out of an action movie... or maybe a page out of Angel's autobiography.
He couldn't imagine why the Powers That Be had sent him here. There wasn't anything he could do. The man was taking care of everything for himself.
Fourteen vampires killed in as many minutes. A Slayer couldn’t have done much better.
With a last "poof," the guy panted to a stop and stood there breathing deeply, his chest pumping like billows. He turned to look at Angel. "Why the hell didn't you tell me there were fucking vampires after me? I really hate having to kill like that," he growled.
Angel stood there blank faced, wearing what might have been confused as his usual "brooding" expression. "Most normal people typically don't believe in the existence of vampires, and when you tell them that a horde of bloodsucking demons are coming to get them, they tend to assume that you're crazy. I didn't want you to discount everything I had to say because you thought I was insane, so instead I tried the old 'it's a rampaging gang hopped up on PCP' excuse." He shrugged.
"Well, I suppose I should thank you anyway just for trying, even though the warning was a little late and I didn't listen to you anyway. My name is Miles Tuck." He moved his erstwhile stake to his left hand and offered his right.
Angel looked at the hand. It was coated in dust, but there was no sign that he had been punching vampires just minutes before. Even Buffy, with her Slayer strength, got scraped knuckles after a night of vampire beating, but this guy's hand was completely unmarked.
Angel took the hand, noting that it was warm, so he wasn't dealing with some kind of living-dead creature. He cocked his head. "I already told you I'm Angel. Why don't you come back to the office with me, if you don't have anywhere else to be? There's some things we should probably talk about."
Miles smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes, which remained hard. "I think I will go back with you. I don't really have anywhere to be, not until next week."
They stood there for a long moment looking at each other. There was a lot they could have said, but they didn't. Angel could have revealed that he was a vampire with a soul and a mission from the Powers That Be, or Miles could have said that he was an unaging human that probably couldn't ever be killed. There really was a lot they could say, but neither even tried.
Angel started walking toward the door and Miles followed after him, unspeaking.
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CHAPTER TWO
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Riding in Angel's car, they quickly arrived at the Hyperion where Cordelia and Wesley were waiting for them.
Cordelia was sitting behind her desk trying to look busy, while Wesley was perusing some dusty tome. They both looked up when Angel walked in. Cordy's bored expression turned into a blinding bright smile when she saw Miles.
"Hello, and who are you?" she purred.
Angel glanced at Miles. The man remained completely unmoved by Cordelia's show. "Leave him alone, Cordy. I don't think he's interested."
Her lips twisted in a pout, but she relaxed back in her chair, pretending that it didn’t matter. "Who are you then?" she asked sharply, looking at Miles.
Miles shrugged. "My name is Miles Tuck."
"Never heard of you. Are you going to be a paying client?"
Angel shot her a sharp look, silently trying to tell her to shut up. "He's not a client. He doesn't really need us to handle his problems... he's pretty good at taking care of them all on his own."
"Which means what, exactly?" Wesley asked, arching an eyebrow.
Angel shifted a little uncomfortably. "He killed fourteen vampires on his own. The Vision was wrong. I didn't need to save him. He saved himself. Now we just have to figure out what the Powers-That-Be wanted us to do with him."
"I don't think I want anything to do with your gods. I'm not really religious anyway, but I don't think I want to believe in your 'Powers-That-Be,'" Miles said.
"Doesn't matter," Angel said, "they believe in you. And once you're marked by the PTB, that's pretty much it. You end up working for them whether you like it or not."
Miles' face scrunched up in discontent. "I don't think I really like your PTB's. They seem rather pushy. Why would they choose me anyway?"
Angel shrugged and looked at Wesley. "Can you think why?" he asked.
Wesley thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I would have to know more about you," he said to Miles. "The fact that you managed to kill fourteen vampires by yourself tells me that there's something special about you, though. Are you a normal human?"
For a second there was an almost shifty look on Miles' face, then he lifted one shoulder before letting it drop. "I used to be. I don't quite know if I am anymore, things are so different now."
"What do you mean?" Wesley asked.
Miles walked across the lobby to lean against a chair back. He gazed at nothing in particular with a pensive look on his face. Angel got the feeling the man didn't want to meet anyone's eyes, not even by accident. "I used to be normal," Miles said, "then everything changed. I don’t know how or why it happened, but I stopped aging. I'm just the same as I was since then."
"How do you mean you stopped aging?" Wesley asked. "How old are you? What happened?"
"I drank the water," Miles said. "I drank the water and time stood still. I don't quite remember how old I am now, since Ma was never really sure about when I was born anyway, but it's been at least a hundred and eighty years, and I look just the same as I did back then. I still don't know what happened to me, or why I was chosen, but I don't want it. I don't want to be this way forever."
"We all have our burdens to bear," Wesley said. Angel had the feeling of eyes brushing against him before carefully moving away.
"It's not fair!" Miles' hands twisted in the air in front of him. "I was happy before I knew. I had a wife and children and my life was exactly what I wanted it to be. Then we realized that I wasn't getting any older. I was staying the same while my wife's hair turned grey and wrinkles took over her face, and she couldn't take that. So she took the children and she disappeared. I eventually found out that she went mad, spent the last days of her life in a sanitarium. It kills me that it was my fault that she lost her mind. Because I always stayed the same, she had to be the one that became different. She just couldn’t deal with the fact that she got older while I stayed young."
Angel felt a pain deep inside. He understood that perfectly. It was the reason why he had had to leave Buffy, and why he could never really love Cordelia. Because even though he could turn them into vampires and keep them with him forever, they wouldn't be the people he loved anymore. And if he selfishly held them to him, locking them into his eternal night, as they grew old they would hate him because he wouldn't age with them. He was eternal; they were a moment. It hurt, and that was the way it would always be.
"Is there... Have you tried anything to turn yourself back the way you were?" Wesley asked, sounding hesitant. There was something about Miles that was reminiscent of a caged animal; he looked ready to lash out at anyone that got too close.
Miles' eyes flashed with anger and self-hate. "I tried everything. At first I just threw myself into danger in the hopes that I would somehow be killed. When that didn't work, I went to a voodoo priestess; she said there was nothing she could do for me. Since then, I've been to chaos sorcerers, wizards, vampire kings, high level demons, everything." He bowed his head under the weight of emotion, his hands clenching into hard fists at his sides. It seemed to take a monumental effort to keep from striking out at the world around him. He was just so angry. "I am still immortal, and I always will be. And I hate it. It's so lonely, and everything I do now, I've done a thousand times before. There's never anything new, and I can't escape from it. I just want it to be over."
Not really thinking about what he was doing, Angel walked forward. He laid a hand on Miles' shoulder. "I know what you mean. The world passes you by, but you stay the same."
Miles raised his head. His original expression of contempt--that anyone would dare to presume that they could understand him--melted away when he met Angel's eyes. "You really do understand, don't you? What are you?"
"Vampire with a soul." Angel braced himself for a violent response.
Instead, Miles just nodded his head. "Ah. I should have guessed. So you can actually relate to the way I feel, since you live forever too. Though you must be even more screwed up than the average vampire, seeing as you have a soul, and they get to wander around soulless and fancy free. They don't have to deal with guilt and morals. Lucky bastards."
A little smile quirked Angel's lips. "Yeah. Sometimes I envy them, then I remember all of the evil things I did when I didn't have my soul, and I'm glad to be the way I am. Even if some people," he carefully didn't look at Cordelia, "think I'm way too broody."
"Huh. You should meet my brother. He thinks I'm broody too, though he says I'm bitter about what I don't have. Though it's kind of stupid that he's still obsessing over a girl he left behind like eighty years ago. And he says I don't know how to let things go." Miles smiled at Angel when he said that last sentence, and Angel realized for the first time how attractive Miles Tuck really was.
There had been something so grim about the man. Looking at him, it was obvious that he was an attractive person, but it was something that got left to the wayside when you met his eyes. They were dark and angry, resentful of the happiness around him. He was holding onto his rage, and it took something away from him. But when he smiled for real... it was like the light had come on.
Angel flushed a little when he remembered where his hand was. He was still touching Miles' shoulder, his forefinger and thumb somehow having edged their way close to Miles' neck. He could feel the warm brush of skin against the end of his thumb where Miles' shirt ended. It was nice.
"I guess neither one of us was made to just get over the things that happen to us," Angel said, nonchalantly pulling his hand away, or at least he hoped it looked nonchalant. Inside, he felt nervous for some reason, and there was a fluttery feeling somewhere in his stomach. He was just glad that his vampiric condition didn't let him get too blushy and flustered.
If he played it right, no one had to know he had somehow lost his cool.
"Geez Angel, way to get deep into the talking with strangers," Cordelia said, providing a welcome distraction. Angel turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow questioningly. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Duh, you haven't even asked about Connor. I would have thought you would have had ten gazillion things to say by now."
"Oh yeah," Angel said dumbly, then threw off the strange emotions overtaking him. He started walking toward Cordelia's desk. "How was he for you? Did he get to sleep all right? Did you make sure he had his Mr. Boo when you tucked him in? He wasn't fussy was he? You did sing to him, right? What about..."
Cordelia held up her hand, stopping him. "I did everything you said to do, and Connor's fine. He's in his crib right now, sleeping his little heart out. Why don't you go check on him so you can relax, and since with the way you wander around like a chicken with its head cut off when you think about him, the rest of us can deal with something a little more important. Go on now, we’ll wait here for you. Just don't be too long."
Angel was confused. Everything seemed to be moving too fast. One minute he was talking to Miles, then he was switching into overprotective mode over Connor, and now he was being dismissed by Cordelia.
When he'd been Angelus and something had confused him, he used to let his anger loose on the world. After a long session of torture and murder, he'd been able to pretend that he was calm again. Sometimes he almost missed those days, though he could never admit that to the humans he worked with.
"I think I'm going to check on Connor," he said, already hurrying out of the room. He didn't want any of them to look in his face and guess what he was thinking.
* * *
"Now that he's gone," Cordelia said briskly, turning toward Miles. "Why don't you give us a little more information about you. Like what do you have in mind for Angel? Why are you really here? And give me a good reason why I shouldn't be hitting you with my big sword right about now?"
Miles looked confused. Wesley could sympathize. "What are you doing, Cordelia?" he asked.
She looked at him. "Wes, we don't know this guy. He comes in here and Angel's all talking about the PTB. But I don't know about your gaydar, but when they were talking, mine was picking up some definite subtextual signals. Something is going on between Angel and this guy, or it's going to be going on soon. So I kind of want to know what kind of person he is, before he turns Angel all evil again. I've almost gotten out of the habit of carrying a mace can full of holy water, and the cross I usually wear is at the jewelers because the chain was chafing me. So I want some answers, that's all. Nothing really big."
Wesley gave Miles a "sorry" face. He didn't quite know what to say to the man, but he knew Cordelia was being incredibly rude, which was pretty much normal. "I do apologize, but maybe you should tell us a little more about yourself, just so we can be sure you're safe."
A smile quirked Miles' lips. "It’s all right, don't be sorry. You're perfectly right to be worried. You don't know me. I could be a mass murderer for all you know. It's better to be careful."
"That's so right," Cordelia said. "So why don't you give us a little information before you go get all groiny with Angel, huh?"
Miles shrugged, folding his arms and cupping his elbows with the palms of his hands. "I wouldn't really put it like that, since I don't really think that's going to happen with me and your boss, but... I'm just basically what I appear to be--a guy. I may not age, but I don't have any magical powers or anything either. I am just a man that happens to have lived for a long time, and who can't really be hurt. I don't have any deep motives--like an insane drive to buy myself a white cat, gain a hundred and sixty pounds and try to take over the world. I'm just basically a man that's living from day to day, and wishing that I wasn't.
"I'm tired of never getting any older. No matter what I do, my life never changes and everything just goes on the way it always has, and that's pretty miserable. I'm a Scorpio, I don't like yogurt, and the only reason I came to LA is to meet my brother, who should be arriving in about a week."
"You have a brother?" Cordelia said. "What's he like? Is he evil?"
Miles shook his head, a tiny smile quirking his lips. "Jesse is about as near to an innocent as a person can be after living over a century. Right now, he's trying to win back the 'love of his life,' a girl he hasn't seen in eighty years. The fact that he still has hope that she's waiting for him is pretty much proof-positive of his innate naivete and relative innocence about the way the world changes. Like she's really going to be sitting there waiting for him to ride in on his white horse to take her away to a new life... of wandering around like a vagabond, never putting down roots, never doing anything that really matters, and watching everyone you ever meet die. What a life he wants to give her." He snorted derisively. "I really doubt she's waiting, but if she is, then she's as stupid as he is, because this really is no way to live, and a girl that was that sugary sweet deserves something better."
"Wow, bitter much?" Cordelia said.
"Yes, um, that was a tad emotional, wasn't it?" Wesley said, studiously rearranging the books on his desk. For a second there, passion had burned in Miles' voice, and Wesley couldn't help the way his body had responded to it. There was just something so hot about a man raging at heaven and earth over the fate of life.
"I just can't stand the thought of that girl throwing away everything her life could have been to follow after my brother. Jesse's a sweet boy, but that's all he's ever going to be. Since his body is stuck at seventeen, he has never seen a reason to expand his mind. He really is going to be seventeen forever, and he doesn't even know enough to realize that his immortality is a curse, not a blessing, and that no amount of drugs, alcohol or sex are going to ever make him as happy as he was when he truly was seventeen."
Wesley opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of what he was supposed to say. He was saved from having to make a response when the doors to the hotel swung open. The voice began even before the man himself appeared. "I'm here. Is there anything ax-worthy going on?" Gunn sauntered into the hotel.
Wesley seemed to perk up a little. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it. "There isn't really anything happening, but we have a guest. This is Miles Tuck," he gestured at Miles. "It seems there's a reason the Powers that Be want him to be here; we just have to figure it out."
Gunn looked at Miles for a long moment, then walked toward him, extending a hand. "Charles Gunn."
Miles glanced the hand over quickly before taking it. "My name is Miles Tuck. Nice to meet you."
"Yeah. So what's so special about you that the PTB would want your ass for service?" Gunn asked.
Miles shrugged. "I have no idea. I am just a simple man."
* * *
Holding Connor to his chest, Angel felt the warmth of contentment spilling through him. With his son in his life, it was sometimes a struggle to retain his soul. Just watching the baby sleep could make him so happy...
"Who's daddy's best boy?" he whispered.
Connor sucked hard on his tiny fist, nuzzling against Angel's shoulder. He was a small warm weight, snuggly in his one-piece sleeper.
Angel bowed his head to press a kiss against the wispy brown hair. Connor was so beautiful, so alive. Angel had never thought that his life would ever end up like this, with friends and family of his own. A child to carry on his name and the chance at redemption. Everything seemed to be going right for once.
Which partly filled him with dread. It was when things were going a little too good that the worst kinds of things happened.
Case in point: His relationship with Buffy was going along perfect, things had just about gotten to the point where he could forget all the people he'd murdered and imagine that he was a real person. Then BAM! He had sex with Buffy, lost his soul, and started killing people again.
There was no way that he could trust good fortune; it never lasted. And now it wasn't just him that was going to be shat on by life. He had a baby that was depending on him for comfort, love, and the resolution to overcome any horrible situation that came up while providing the necessary protection.
Being someone's father was a scary prospect. A tiny life was depending on him, and he couldn't be sure that he would do a good job. All he could do was try his best and hope that Connor got the chance to grow to adulthood as a happy, well-adjusted individual, ready to provide a positive influence on the world.
He was so afraid of messing up. There was so much chance that he was going to ruin Connor for the rest of the world, and he didn't want his son to be just another mistake he had made in his life.
Connor depended on him for everything, and Angel vowed, looking down at that tiny face, that he would do everything in his power to ensure that Connor grew up safe and loved.