no_going_home
I held the telephone receiver in my hand for a long time. Sunlight poured across the desk, and normally I would be feeling amazed yet again that I wasn't on flames, but not today. The phone made a low buzzing sound. Dead air. Glancing at the clock, I realised that I had been sitting like this for ten minutes. I replaced the receiver and got up, feeling my legs shaking.
Dawn was dead.
"Another one bites the dust," I said, laughing bitterly, shaking my head. 28 years old. 28 and just trying to live a normal life, and she was dead. How many people had I known who had died too young? And here I was, still living, at over 150 years old. It didn't seem right.
I needed a cigarette suddenly. I'd tried to give up - do you know how hard it is to quit when you've been smoking for a century? - but today it didn't seem like such a big deal. Lung cancer be damned. I headed out into the street and bought a packet from a newspaper vendor, and sucked hard on the cigarette. The familiar taste filled my mouth, and I sighed with relief. I finished it and smoked another, walking down the street.
I never thought I'd feel this cold about life. I've been unhappy, wretched even, but now... I just feel numb. Even the sun on my face doesn't cheer me up. I've just lost too much.
After the great battle, 10 years ago now, I became a human. It amazed me - for all my bluster, I thought it would be Angel who Shanshued. He always seemed to get what he wanted in the end. But it was me. I felt a fire burning through my body, my skin stretching, and I screamed in agony, thinking that at last hell had caught up with me. But it was the demon inside me burning up. I could feel the tingle as my nerves rewired, gasped in pain as blood pumped through my heart for the first time in over a century. Eventually I passed out from the agony, waking in a filthy street with the sun shining down on my face. I'll never forget that moment - first the familiar fear as I realised the sun was up, then the dawning realisation that I wasn't dead. The thump of my heart in my chest. It ached from lack of use, but it still worked. I had survived the great battle, and I was a man.
I gloated a bit to Angel, but my heart wasn't in it. He looked too sad, and as much as I dislike the man, I couldn't really get my jollies when all he did in response to my insults was look like a wounded puppy. I haven't seen him in a long time. Not really fussed, to be honest. But what I will say is that the bloke could fight, and he fought well, shoulder to shoulder with me.
I soon found out that fighting was something I wasn't so good at any more. I got mugged the first night I was a man, and although I could still do a mean drop kick I couldn't take on three at once. It was a weird realisation as I lay bleeding on the ground. I was so fragile now. I had to toughen up.
That was partly also because of Buffy. As soon as I realised what had happened, that I'd fulfilled the prophecy, not Angel, I wanted to go to her. My whole body craved her. But I was too weak. Buffy needed someone strong. Would she even want me if I was a man? So I trained and trained, making myself tough. Eventually I was as good as I was going to get. Not a patch on a Slayer, but strong enough. And then I went to her, finding her in a nightclub and swinging her out of the Immortal's arms with a "hello, pet".
She was shocked at first, astonished to find me alive, and then pissed off that I hadn't told her before. She kept her distance from me for a bit, and that hurt, I admit. Eventually I told her that if she didn't stop buggering about, I was going away into the sunset I could now bloody well admire, and she could sod off. The next day she turned up at my room, and that was that.
For three years we were happy. We had our ups and downs, yes, but we loved each other. She even managed to admit it now and then. We fought side by side and we shagged and we talked, and those three years were better than any of the previous 150. And then she died.
She went out fighting, of which I was glad, although it wasn't saving the world or anything. Just one good day for a demon, like I'd warned her about all those years ago. Her heart just wasn't in it anymore. I felt guilty about that. Had our relationship contributed to that side of her dying down? Or would it have happened anyway?
After that I was crazy for a while. Dawn helped me through it. Dawn who was now... gone. I'd found Illyria, still weird, still grieving for Wesley, still not fitting in, and we'd ended up trying to do Good. It seems a bit pointless now. Wesley dead, Faith dead, Buffy dead, now Dawn too... What was it all for? Helping the helpless, that's what Angel said. I wish I could say stuff the helpless, but I guess I've got too much of a conscience.
I stubbed out my cigarette. I couldn't bring Dawn back, but I could bloody well punish the thing that killed her. Make it scream and bleed the way the monster that had got Buffy had cried out when I murdered it.
The bastard was gonna pay.
Dawn was dead.
"Another one bites the dust," I said, laughing bitterly, shaking my head. 28 years old. 28 and just trying to live a normal life, and she was dead. How many people had I known who had died too young? And here I was, still living, at over 150 years old. It didn't seem right.
I needed a cigarette suddenly. I'd tried to give up - do you know how hard it is to quit when you've been smoking for a century? - but today it didn't seem like such a big deal. Lung cancer be damned. I headed out into the street and bought a packet from a newspaper vendor, and sucked hard on the cigarette. The familiar taste filled my mouth, and I sighed with relief. I finished it and smoked another, walking down the street.
I never thought I'd feel this cold about life. I've been unhappy, wretched even, but now... I just feel numb. Even the sun on my face doesn't cheer me up. I've just lost too much.
After the great battle, 10 years ago now, I became a human. It amazed me - for all my bluster, I thought it would be Angel who Shanshued. He always seemed to get what he wanted in the end. But it was me. I felt a fire burning through my body, my skin stretching, and I screamed in agony, thinking that at last hell had caught up with me. But it was the demon inside me burning up. I could feel the tingle as my nerves rewired, gasped in pain as blood pumped through my heart for the first time in over a century. Eventually I passed out from the agony, waking in a filthy street with the sun shining down on my face. I'll never forget that moment - first the familiar fear as I realised the sun was up, then the dawning realisation that I wasn't dead. The thump of my heart in my chest. It ached from lack of use, but it still worked. I had survived the great battle, and I was a man.
I gloated a bit to Angel, but my heart wasn't in it. He looked too sad, and as much as I dislike the man, I couldn't really get my jollies when all he did in response to my insults was look like a wounded puppy. I haven't seen him in a long time. Not really fussed, to be honest. But what I will say is that the bloke could fight, and he fought well, shoulder to shoulder with me.
I soon found out that fighting was something I wasn't so good at any more. I got mugged the first night I was a man, and although I could still do a mean drop kick I couldn't take on three at once. It was a weird realisation as I lay bleeding on the ground. I was so fragile now. I had to toughen up.
That was partly also because of Buffy. As soon as I realised what had happened, that I'd fulfilled the prophecy, not Angel, I wanted to go to her. My whole body craved her. But I was too weak. Buffy needed someone strong. Would she even want me if I was a man? So I trained and trained, making myself tough. Eventually I was as good as I was going to get. Not a patch on a Slayer, but strong enough. And then I went to her, finding her in a nightclub and swinging her out of the Immortal's arms with a "hello, pet".
She was shocked at first, astonished to find me alive, and then pissed off that I hadn't told her before. She kept her distance from me for a bit, and that hurt, I admit. Eventually I told her that if she didn't stop buggering about, I was going away into the sunset I could now bloody well admire, and she could sod off. The next day she turned up at my room, and that was that.
For three years we were happy. We had our ups and downs, yes, but we loved each other. She even managed to admit it now and then. We fought side by side and we shagged and we talked, and those three years were better than any of the previous 150. And then she died.
She went out fighting, of which I was glad, although it wasn't saving the world or anything. Just one good day for a demon, like I'd warned her about all those years ago. Her heart just wasn't in it anymore. I felt guilty about that. Had our relationship contributed to that side of her dying down? Or would it have happened anyway?
After that I was crazy for a while. Dawn helped me through it. Dawn who was now... gone. I'd found Illyria, still weird, still grieving for Wesley, still not fitting in, and we'd ended up trying to do Good. It seems a bit pointless now. Wesley dead, Faith dead, Buffy dead, now Dawn too... What was it all for? Helping the helpless, that's what Angel said. I wish I could say stuff the helpless, but I guess I've got too much of a conscience.
I stubbed out my cigarette. I couldn't bring Dawn back, but I could bloody well punish the thing that killed her. Make it scream and bleed the way the monster that had got Buffy had cried out when I murdered it.
The bastard was gonna pay.