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Whisper
Author: Jo
Disclaimer: Not mine, alas.
Wordcount: 500
Setting: He’s found the shanshu prophecy – any time after that
Notes: Written for ba_rosebuds.
Prompt ‘Whisper’.
**
Whisper
“She never writes, she never calls. You think she’s trying to tell you
something?”
On waking, his mouth is still filled with the taste of Buffy, of Buffy’s
blood. Perfect recall. The dream was a good one, full of remembered...
horrors. He needs a cup of strong black coffee. It’s the only thing that
washes the taste away.
“I said...”
“Yes,” he mutters, “I know what you said.”
No, she doesn’t write, or call. But then, neither does he.
“Look where you are. Hollywood is every man’s dream. You could be
having... fun. Everyone here parties all night anyway. No one need
suspect.”
He knows. That’s one of the reasons why he doesn’t. He could make sure that
no one ever suspected, or told tales.
“I’m not going to do that.”
“I’m just saying...”
“Shut up.”
Maybe, at the end of this night, he’ll sleep alone.
*
There was a fight outside this bar. The blood on the ground isn’t even dry
yet.
“It’s blood. Someone close by must be hurt. Are you going to... help
them?”
“No.” It wouldn’t be help tonight, when the thirst is so strong.
“Getting too much for you? You aren’t wobbling on me, are you?”
“Shut up.”
There’s a faint scent of demon. If he follows that, he’ll be able to lose
himself in the heat of battle, drown out the scent of human blood with the
stench of demons dying.
But tomorrow, perhaps he’ll patrol alone.
*
He’s grateful for the microwave. It makes the pig’s blood slightly less...
piggy. He takes his first sip. Just a sip. Not the long, deep draught that
he would have if...
“You want to go and see her, don’t you?”
He doesn’t reply. Of course he wants to go and see her. He’s been halfway
to his car more times than he cares to remember.
“You want to sink your teeth into her... well, sink something in to her.
One’s pretty much as good as the other, isn’t it?”
“Shut up.”
He can’t seem to find anything more original, more effective, to say. But
next time he eats, perhaps he’ll eat alone.
*
He settles down to sleep, his eyes closed against even the dim daylight
that is all his room allows, but he can’t stop thinking. The words of the
shanshu prophecy are pasted up against his eyelids in lines of fire.
Perhaps, one day...
He longs to be human, so that he can go back to Buffy, and offer her his
hand and his heart in the old-fashioned way. He wants that more than he can
ever express.
He wants to be human, so that he can stop being an abomination, a thing;
as a sign that he’s forgiven.
But somewhere, in the deepest, darkest corner of his soul, Angel thinks
that, most of all, he wants to be human so that he will never again have to
listen to the silent whispers of the demon, every second of every day.
So that he can be alone.
The End
August 2010
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