Virtually Clean
Chapter 1: It Shouldn't Matter (But It Does)
Angel stood up and stretched, letting out a small squeal of pain. His back was sore again. He rubbed the back of his neck, and looked down at the flat spring mattress he had just been sleeping on. If only he had that nice king size, feather top, silk covered bed he had had at Wolfram and Heart Sure they were evil, but hey, evil makes one hell of a comfy bed. At least the Berkles could have given him a frame for his bed. Just because he's dead doesn't mean he can't appreciate the finer side of select mattressing.
Angel grabbed his favorite...err...make that only black tee-shirt, and tugged it with a grunt. The Berkles were either shrinking his clothing, or feeding him too much...he couldn't tell. At last Angel went to the bedroom door, hesitating to turn that handle, just like he had done every night for the last twelve years since the "Awakening".
Angel jumped back as the door swung open and nearly hit him in the face.
"Oh, I'm sorry dear." Mrs. Berkle said in her usual pleasant southern accent, as she entered the room carrying a glass filled with a certain red liquid.
Angel remained silent. Mrs. Berkle smiled.
"I thought you'd be up and dressed by now." She patted him on the shoulder. "We were just heading to bed, and I thought I'd bring you your breakfast before we went." She set the glass down on a telephone table next to the door.
"Thank-you." Angel said meekly.
Mrs. Berkle smiled her warmest smile, and it made Angel feel a little less foreign.
"You need to relax, Angel. You've been living with us for twelve years and you still act as though you're just a guest." She crossed to room towards him, and placed a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "You're family." She paused. "You became family the moment you became friends with our Fred."
A faint glimpse of sadness passed over her eyes at the thought of her lost daughter; Angel looked away, ashamed. Mrs. Berkle smiled again as the sadness passed, she gave Angel one last pat on the shoulder and left the room with out closing the door.
Angel stood a moment, thinking.
'Has it really been twelve years?' His mind could barely comprehend it. Sure he has been a live for almost...well, heh, for a long time; longer then he'd like to think. But these last few years had seemed to have gone by so quickly.
Angel thought back as he grabbed his glass of bodily fluid. He thought back all the way to the day they had all faced Wolfram and Heart.
Behind the alley. That...that was thirteen years ago. His memories of the battle had been distorted, only fragments remained. But then again, everyone who was there had a Swiss-cheesed memory. It was the magic...the magic that had won them the battle. The only coast was their memory.
Angel leaned against the telephone table as he thought, arms crossed, taking periodic sips of his breakfast. He remembered the alley. He met Spike first, then Gunn...Illeria, sans Wesley. No he was gone. No Lorne either, though he never really blamed Lorne; it just wasn't his line of work...and after what he had Lorne do? No Angel expected as much. He remembered seeing the army of baddies advancing upon them, but from there all that remained was bits and pieces. Like single photographs in no specific order, with out any realization of why things happed. He felt like an on looker, almost like he was not even in the battle. He did remember a dragon...and he remembers getting an unusually high sense of satisfaction out of slaying it...but that's about it.
There were feelings. Feelings of determination, fear, helplessness, and...even...jealousy? Yes it was true. Angel was a tad jealous...and perhaps a little annoyed. And now he remembered why. He hadn't forgotten because of the magic, no he forgot this because he tried not to think about it. He remembered after the battle, he remembered the world being saved, and he remembered that he hadn't done it. Spike did.
Spike had saved the day, a job Angel usually took great care to insure he got, and if he may say so, did a damn good job of it. Yes, yes, Angel was glad that good had triumphed, and he knew it shouldn't matter who did the saving...but God Dammit, did it have to be Spike?
So Spike had fulfilled the prophesy, Spike had a soul, Spike was the hero, and worst of all, Spike was human. That meant that his heart was beating, all his sins of the past were gone from his soul, he had a chance to escape hell, and he could have offspring. Ugg, great! Just what the world needs, more William the Bloodies running around.
That last thought had disturbed him a bit, so much in fact, that Angel decided to go for a walk.
Anywhere else in the world, and Angel would not feel safe walking alone at night, at least not since the Awakening. And how long had it been since that? Ten...eleven...twelve years? Twelve, that was it. Twelve years since Angel had left L.A., since he had left...since he had left a certain blonde person whose name he wishes to keep out of his thoughts at the moment.
Angel sighed as he thought about the Awakening. It wouldn't have been a bad thing if people were understanding creatures, but the truth was that they weren't. Demons and vamps had kept themselves from the public eye for a good reason...but now...that was all over. Sure the government and certain individuals of power knew about the things that go bump in the night, but the general public didn't. And that's where all the trouble came in. Humans demanded protection from the government, and some radicals formed militias, and began hunting demons and vamps....only they didn't fight just the evil ones, but the harmless ones too. Now everything was separate, meaning segregation. Clubs, restaurants, and businesses had posted signs that read "human's only." Demons have separate bathrooms, drinking fountains...it's like the pre-Martin Luther King years all over again.
There are Demon rights groups scattered all over the globe, the strongest being D.A.P.T. [Demons Are People Too]. Angel sent in a bit of money to them every now and then, mostly with demons like Lorne in mind. God knows what the Awakening did to him.
Of course for every good, there is an evil. That evil just so happens to be located in L.A., right where the old Wolfram and Heart building was. Evil's name? H.A.D.E. Humans Against the Demonic Evils. The organization is headed by some radical who doesn't care about who's good or evil, but instead wants to "Smoke 'em All" as their slogan so patriotically reads.
That's why Angel came to live with the Berkles. Their place is in a rural under populated area...and the Berkles are friends. He came to them twelve years ago, upon the suggestion of he-who-will-not-be-mentioned. Angel needed to see them anyway. He couldn't let them go on thinking that Fred was alive. So he told them. They cried, Angel cried...it was all very emotional. Still, the Berkles welcomed Angel into their home, and here he still remains.
Angel turned his thought from the nasty memories of the resent past, and to the happier ones of the first few months he had gained control of Wolfram and Heart. Everyone was ecstatic. A chance to do some full-throttle damage...in a good way, of course. Angel wanted to save the world...and thought he would.
Of course the world was saved...just not by him....Wolfram and Heart had been vanquished...just not by him....there was a hero....it just wasn't him....it was, quite painfully, Spike.
Angel grew angered with him self.
"It shouldn't matter." He said, scolding his own non-beating heart.
He walked on quietly. Then, to himself in a more meek voice, he mumbled "...but it does."
Chapter 1: It Shouldn't Matter (But It Does)
Angel stood up and stretched, letting out a small squeal of pain. His back was sore again. He rubbed the back of his neck, and looked down at the flat spring mattress he had just been sleeping on. If only he had that nice king size, feather top, silk covered bed he had had at Wolfram and Heart Sure they were evil, but hey, evil makes one hell of a comfy bed. At least the Berkles could have given him a frame for his bed. Just because he's dead doesn't mean he can't appreciate the finer side of select mattressing.
Angel grabbed his favorite...err...make that only black tee-shirt, and tugged it with a grunt. The Berkles were either shrinking his clothing, or feeding him too much...he couldn't tell. At last Angel went to the bedroom door, hesitating to turn that handle, just like he had done every night for the last twelve years since the "Awakening".
Angel jumped back as the door swung open and nearly hit him in the face.
"Oh, I'm sorry dear." Mrs. Berkle said in her usual pleasant southern accent, as she entered the room carrying a glass filled with a certain red liquid.
Angel remained silent. Mrs. Berkle smiled.
"I thought you'd be up and dressed by now." She patted him on the shoulder. "We were just heading to bed, and I thought I'd bring you your breakfast before we went." She set the glass down on a telephone table next to the door.
"Thank-you." Angel said meekly.
Mrs. Berkle smiled her warmest smile, and it made Angel feel a little less foreign.
"You need to relax, Angel. You've been living with us for twelve years and you still act as though you're just a guest." She crossed to room towards him, and placed a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "You're family." She paused. "You became family the moment you became friends with our Fred."
A faint glimpse of sadness passed over her eyes at the thought of her lost daughter; Angel looked away, ashamed. Mrs. Berkle smiled again as the sadness passed, she gave Angel one last pat on the shoulder and left the room with out closing the door.
Angel stood a moment, thinking.
'Has it really been twelve years?' His mind could barely comprehend it. Sure he has been a live for almost...well, heh, for a long time; longer then he'd like to think. But these last few years had seemed to have gone by so quickly.
Angel thought back as he grabbed his glass of bodily fluid. He thought back all the way to the day they had all faced Wolfram and Heart.
Behind the alley. That...that was thirteen years ago. His memories of the battle had been distorted, only fragments remained. But then again, everyone who was there had a Swiss-cheesed memory. It was the magic...the magic that had won them the battle. The only coast was their memory.
Angel leaned against the telephone table as he thought, arms crossed, taking periodic sips of his breakfast. He remembered the alley. He met Spike first, then Gunn...Illeria, sans Wesley. No he was gone. No Lorne either, though he never really blamed Lorne; it just wasn't his line of work...and after what he had Lorne do? No Angel expected as much. He remembered seeing the army of baddies advancing upon them, but from there all that remained was bits and pieces. Like single photographs in no specific order, with out any realization of why things happed. He felt like an on looker, almost like he was not even in the battle. He did remember a dragon...and he remembers getting an unusually high sense of satisfaction out of slaying it...but that's about it.
There were feelings. Feelings of determination, fear, helplessness, and...even...jealousy? Yes it was true. Angel was a tad jealous...and perhaps a little annoyed. And now he remembered why. He hadn't forgotten because of the magic, no he forgot this because he tried not to think about it. He remembered after the battle, he remembered the world being saved, and he remembered that he hadn't done it. Spike did.
Spike had saved the day, a job Angel usually took great care to insure he got, and if he may say so, did a damn good job of it. Yes, yes, Angel was glad that good had triumphed, and he knew it shouldn't matter who did the saving...but God Dammit, did it have to be Spike?
So Spike had fulfilled the prophesy, Spike had a soul, Spike was the hero, and worst of all, Spike was human. That meant that his heart was beating, all his sins of the past were gone from his soul, he had a chance to escape hell, and he could have offspring. Ugg, great! Just what the world needs, more William the Bloodies running around.
That last thought had disturbed him a bit, so much in fact, that Angel decided to go for a walk.
Anywhere else in the world, and Angel would not feel safe walking alone at night, at least not since the Awakening. And how long had it been since that? Ten...eleven...twelve years? Twelve, that was it. Twelve years since Angel had left L.A., since he had left...since he had left a certain blonde person whose name he wishes to keep out of his thoughts at the moment.
Angel sighed as he thought about the Awakening. It wouldn't have been a bad thing if people were understanding creatures, but the truth was that they weren't. Demons and vamps had kept themselves from the public eye for a good reason...but now...that was all over. Sure the government and certain individuals of power knew about the things that go bump in the night, but the general public didn't. And that's where all the trouble came in. Humans demanded protection from the government, and some radicals formed militias, and began hunting demons and vamps....only they didn't fight just the evil ones, but the harmless ones too. Now everything was separate, meaning segregation. Clubs, restaurants, and businesses had posted signs that read "human's only." Demons have separate bathrooms, drinking fountains...it's like the pre-Martin Luther King years all over again.
There are Demon rights groups scattered all over the globe, the strongest being D.A.P.T. [Demons Are People Too]. Angel sent in a bit of money to them every now and then, mostly with demons like Lorne in mind. God knows what the Awakening did to him.
Of course for every good, there is an evil. That evil just so happens to be located in L.A., right where the old Wolfram and Heart building was. Evil's name? H.A.D.E. Humans Against the Demonic Evils. The organization is headed by some radical who doesn't care about who's good or evil, but instead wants to "Smoke 'em All" as their slogan so patriotically reads.
That's why Angel came to live with the Berkles. Their place is in a rural under populated area...and the Berkles are friends. He came to them twelve years ago, upon the suggestion of he-who-will-not-be-mentioned. Angel needed to see them anyway. He couldn't let them go on thinking that Fred was alive. So he told them. They cried, Angel cried...it was all very emotional. Still, the Berkles welcomed Angel into their home, and here he still remains.
Angel turned his thought from the nasty memories of the resent past, and to the happier ones of the first few months he had gained control of Wolfram and Heart. Everyone was ecstatic. A chance to do some full-throttle damage...in a good way, of course. Angel wanted to save the world...and thought he would.
Of course the world was saved...just not by him....Wolfram and Heart had been vanquished...just not by him....there was a hero....it just wasn't him....it was, quite painfully, Spike.
Angel grew angered with him self.
"It shouldn't matter." He said, scolding his own non-beating heart.
He walked on quietly. Then, to himself in a more meek voice, he mumbled "...but it does."