Passing Through
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Author: Dark Star Summary: What happened to Angel after Graduation? Written for the RIP challenge at the Angel Elders
Mansion Pairing: Angel/Other. Rating: Adult. Thanks to Jo for the beta. * The remains of Sunnydale High seeths with people.
Students, teachers, parents, and the rescue services, all busily going about
their business. But for Angel, there is only her. She is surrounded by
people, but they just melt away when she senses him and turns round. Her eyes
are dry, and they fix on his and stay there. She is motionless, afraid to
break the spell, knowing he will soon be gone, and she will be alone again. Time freezes. Angel forces his legs to move, makes himself
turn away, takes heavy steps away from the only woman he has ever loved.
Somewhere he finds the strength, and those first few steps are the hardest he
has ever taken. He prays that she doesn't come after him, or call him back,
and he doubts that he will have the strength to go at all if she begs him to
stay. He manages those first steps and she hasn't stopped him.
She must believe it's the right thing to do, and he feels strangely hurt. But
he squares his shoulders and takes bigger steps. It will be for the best. * He sits against the hard wall of the freight train,
feeling the sway of the carriage as it travels through the Californian
countryside. He has no real destination in mind; no real plan to adhere to.
His only intention is to put distance between them. He'd told her that after
graduation he would go without saying goodbye. He hoped she thought it was
for some noble or dramatic gesture, but the truth was, he'd known that he
would weaken if he had gotten too close. But that was him all over, wasn't
it? Weak. The First had said it; his human father had said it. How had he
possibly thought that he could ever be good enough for her? * The carriage rumbles to a stop, and Angel waits. There is
noise and bustle outside, and it sounds like many of the workers outside are
going home, but he sits quietly behind the boxes of cargo, waiting for
darkness to fall. It quietens down as the light fades. Some of the workers
are unloading the carriages further down the platform, but he doesn't think
they will come down as far as he is. He considers staying where is for the
night, but he wants to find somewhere safer for the daylight hours. He waits
until the next round of unloading starts, and he pulls open the carriage door
during the commotion and slips out. He crosses over the platform and weaves
among the stationary trains awaiting tomorrow's fate. He considers hopping on
one of those and trying to lose himself, but his muscles ache and he has been
confined for so long he needs to stretch his legs. Outside the depot, he looks around. He has no idea where
he is. Some nondescript town in some dead-end place; its just what he is
looking for. What better place for the dead to end up? The town, for want of a better word, appears to consist of
a diner, a shop, and a batch of small wooden shacks. He crosses to the diner
and goes inside. The pretty blonde girl behind the counter gives him a
flirtatious smile. But all he can see is her blonde hair, and he almost turns
and walks out again. "Hi there, stranger," she calls, her voice friendly,
and he goes forward. "What do you want?" He knows she is offering
more than the unappetising food that is on display. "Coffee," he manages. He needs something to wash
the dust out of his mouth, and he doubts she will have blood on offer. She
has lots of blood. He pushes the thought ruthlessly aside and sits down. There are only two other customers in the diner, transport
workers from the look of it, and the blonde girl hovers near her most
interesting customer. "Is there any place to stay around here?" he
asks, taking a sip of the bitter liquid, and manages not to spit it out
again. The girl shrugs, bending forward so that he can have a
good look down the front of her very low shirt. "There's only Ma
Winslow. She takes in the workers." The girl eyes him. "You ain't a
worker, are you?" Angel shakes his head. "Just passing through. Where
will I find Ma Winslow?" The girl gives him directions to one of the wooden houses
and reluctantly goes off to serve another customer. He has nothing else to
do, and Angel watches her cook the greasy food on the ancient griddle. She
looks sad; maybe she is just bored doing the same thing every day in this
dismal place. The light catches the band of gold on her finger, and he
wonders where her partner is. A
thick-set man comes out of the stockroom at the back and says something to
her about clearing off the tables properly before she goes home, and she
responds by calling him a jerk. The man slaps her on the rear and goes to
wash up some of the dirty dishes. Angel finishes his bitter coffee, realising
he had better arrange his accommodation soon. It's getting late, and
shouldn't be wasting time by speculating on the married life of the
waitress. He gathers his bag and
goes outside. He has taken only a few paces when he hears a movement behind
him. He knows, before he turns round that it is the girl from the diner. Her
tacky perfume is making his nose itch. "I have room," she tells him, getting closer.
"It isn't far." "I don't have any money," he lies, and expects
her to slap his face. He is almost disappointed when she doesn't. "No charge," she laughs, and for the moment, her
sad look drops away. "I just want a little fun." Angel nods towards the diner. "I don't think you've
cleared the tables." Her grin is cheeky, and he can't resist a small smile in
response as she says," Max is a jerk. If it's not that, it's something
else." She steps toward him quickly, too close for comfort, and
her hand rests on his arm. He can hear her heart, and her blood, and Angel's
hands go to her arms to push her away, but she chooses that moment to reach
up and press her lips against his. And suddenly, he doesn't have the
strength. She is warm and welcoming, she needs him, and he is fucking lonely.
He pulls her tight against his chest, his lips crushing her, and kisses her hard.
She whimpers, wrapping her arms round his neck and lets her tongue tangle
with his. She is panting, wanting him, but she stops, holding him back.
"Not here," she says, and he lets her take his hand and lead him
over to a tiny shack at the end of the row. "This is home," she says a little apologetically
at the sparse furnishings. "You can see why I need comfort, can't
you?" She frowns when he waits outside the door, and jokes, "are
you coming in, or aren't you?" Angel enters the small shack and puts his bag down on the
floor. Before he has chance to stand up again, her hands are peeling off his
jacket, and her lips are fighting with his. Her fingernails rake on his skin,
and its good to feel something, anything real. She is urgently pulling
off her shirt and his hands move of their own volition to yank up her bra and
mould round her breasts to squeeze them hard. She moans, yanking at his zip
to free what she needs, and when she succeeds, that is hard too. "Want head?" she grunts, as his fingers slip
inside her, the barrier of her panties somewhere on the floor. "No." Her blood is pounding in his ears, and he
knows he should leave her, but at this moment, she is all he has. Instead, he
turns her round, bends her over the table and pulls her arms up above her
head, holding them flat against the table with one hand. At the same time, he
is hauling her skirt out of the way, and pushing her legs apart with his
knee. She moans as he finds her cunt with his hard cock and pushes deep.
"More," she begs. "I want more." He slips his hand under her stomach and pulls her up,
angling her so that he gets much deeper, and still she begs him for more. He
doesn't want to think, just feel, and it's good to lose himself inside of
her, feel something better than the terrible ache in his gut. Her begging is
turning him on, and he reaches over, tangles a hand in her blonde hair and
forces her face against the table. She screams, "Yes!" enjoying the
controlled violence, and she comes hard, twice, when the desperate clutching
of her muscles pulls him over the precipice with her. Neither has the strength to move straight away, and Angel
eventually asks, "When does your husband get back?" She squirms, turning round on the table to face him, and
wraps her legs round his waist. She doesn't ask how he knows. "Tomorrow
night. We have all day…" It's tempting to dampen his misery with this lonely girl,
but suddenly, he doesn't like the idea of being cooped up all day in a small
town like this. He wants to lose himself somewhere anonymous, somewhere where
he can get around during the day. He reaches forward to caress her cheek and says as gently
as he can, "I don't think so. I'm going to leave before dawn." She nods, her eyes sad but she says nothing, and something
about her expression reminds him of Buffy and his throat closes up. A little
of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because she pulls him closer for
a kiss. "We have until dawn, then." By first light Angel is ensconced inside the only freight
train going somewhere with a decent population. He settles down to wait; if
he's lucky, he'll be able to sleep part of the way there. His thoughts
inevitably go to Buffy; at least where he is going, he will be close to her,
and if she needs him, it won't take long to get to her. He isn't proud of
what happened this evening; two lonely people just trying to get by in this
world, and she - the girl - he suddenly realises that he never actually found
out her name - and he frowns. She proved to him that he could still feel,
except now, he feels… traitorous. He feels as though he ought to somehow make
it up to Buffy, even though she will never know about this, and he will
probably never see her again. He wonders what she would want him to do with
his life. The answer is obvious. She would want him to continue the
fight and to help people, the way she does. She has no choice - the least he
can do is help her out. Another place, another city, but the mission is the
same. He doubts that he can make any difference, but at least now he has
something to do, somewhere to go. The world outside the train starts to wake up. The city of
Angels is beckoning. End.
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