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tamingthemuse2006-10-11 01:37 am
lilithbint.livejournal.com) wrote in tamingthemuse2006-10-11 01:37 am
Entry tags:
Prompt #14 - riptide
Currents
Author: Lilithangel
Email: abchainey@xtra.co.nz
Website: www.livejournal.com/users/lilithbint
Fandom: AtS
Genre: Angst
Characters: Angel
Rating: PG
Warnings: contains references to blood and vampire feeding.
Summary: a while back I wrote a short piece entitled Through Glass http://lilithbint.livejournal.com/43077.html about Spike returning from Africa. I always intended to write something from Angel’s POV, and the prompt for Tamingthemuse sparked the idea.
Angel is still trapped in the ocean, what went through his mind while he was down there?
Most of the time the water was dark and turbulent leaving him nothing to look at but the memories. He would see their faces one by one and remember their voices and their scent. They would berate him for accepting his fate for letting his son do this to him. He would try to explain that it was only right that he be there he had failed them all and deserved his son’s vengeance. They would not listen and slowly he stopped hearing them.
He had told his son he loved him even as he was sunk into this cold dark hell but sometimes he hated the boy. For not loving him, for choosing to believe another over blood, for the pain caused to those left behind. The boy thought this was the worst hell he could make Angel suffer but Angel knew about hell. He knew about pain and grief, of losing your child everything that mattered. This was nothing compared to the loss of his son in the first place.
He talked to himself reciting books to keep himself sane until he realised he was not sane, had never been sane. Then he laughed until his throat was raw. Meditation worked for a while as he let the wash of water over his tomb hypnotise him and block the voices for a while.
When the water was truly dark he would see Him watching, anger sparking and would wonder if that was what he really looked like. He could not talk though trapped by Angel’s submission to this fate. It was the quietest it had ever been inside his head and Angel wondered if it would be right to thank Connor for the peace and quiet.
Sometimes others would come. Covered in blood and smiling their demon smiles they would remind him of other things. Of glorious abandon the hunt and the kill. Buffy’s fear when she tended him on his return from hell, Cordelia’s sweet blood after she was injured. Wesley’s badly concealed lust whenever Angel was angry.
And he would remember the taste of his sire and his childe. Darla’s rich anger and Dru’s sweet madness like fine wine on his tongue. Then and only then would he scream into the hollow steel coffin as demon and man longed for home.
Sometimes the water would go completely still and he could feel the suck of the current trying to shift his coffin deeper into the ocean. He would feel another pull then and he knew that Connor was standing on the shore looking out into the darkness. He could feel the hatred and fear in his blood because it was Connor’s blood too.
Sometimes the current would drape things over his coffin briefly obscuring his view of the darkness. Seaweed and strange creatures that would crawl over the steel looking for a way inside and he would think of one other, the one who only invaded his thoughts when he was weak, who was always waiting for that weakness. Then he would cry for the loss he would never admit to, for the one he hated for his wanting.
The current would rip them away and the water would grow turbulent again. The tears would dry and he would let the memories of the others wash over him until the water went still and dark again.
In the darkness the current swept a pale body over his coffin and his mind told him it was the one come to share his prison. Blue eyes seemed to stare right through him dirty blond hair caressing white skin stretched tight over sharp angles and pouting lips.
But the expression was one of sorrow and love so he knew it couldn’t be the one who only ever looked at him with anger and challenge since the night he walked away. A pale hand pressed against the glass of his prison as if surprised that it was there. As if it expected to be able to touch him. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity and for that time he was not alone. The head tilted to one side in an achingly familiar way before the current ripped the body away and he was left with the tug of loss.
When his coffin was pulled up and Wesley poured guilt and regret into his mouth he chose to forget all but sad blue eyes and the hand pressed against the glass. Even if he never spoke of it to anyone, banishing the son from his side so as not to see the hate that reminded him so much of another.
END
Author: Lilithangel
Email: abchainey@xtra.co.nz
Website: www.livejournal.com/users/lilithbint
Fandom: AtS
Genre: Angst
Characters: Angel
Rating: PG
Warnings: contains references to blood and vampire feeding.
Summary: a while back I wrote a short piece entitled Through Glass http://lilithbint.livejournal.com/43077.html about Spike returning from Africa. I always intended to write something from Angel’s POV, and the prompt for Tamingthemuse sparked the idea.
Angel is still trapped in the ocean, what went through his mind while he was down there?
Most of the time the water was dark and turbulent leaving him nothing to look at but the memories. He would see their faces one by one and remember their voices and their scent. They would berate him for accepting his fate for letting his son do this to him. He would try to explain that it was only right that he be there he had failed them all and deserved his son’s vengeance. They would not listen and slowly he stopped hearing them.
He had told his son he loved him even as he was sunk into this cold dark hell but sometimes he hated the boy. For not loving him, for choosing to believe another over blood, for the pain caused to those left behind. The boy thought this was the worst hell he could make Angel suffer but Angel knew about hell. He knew about pain and grief, of losing your child everything that mattered. This was nothing compared to the loss of his son in the first place.
He talked to himself reciting books to keep himself sane until he realised he was not sane, had never been sane. Then he laughed until his throat was raw. Meditation worked for a while as he let the wash of water over his tomb hypnotise him and block the voices for a while.
When the water was truly dark he would see Him watching, anger sparking and would wonder if that was what he really looked like. He could not talk though trapped by Angel’s submission to this fate. It was the quietest it had ever been inside his head and Angel wondered if it would be right to thank Connor for the peace and quiet.
Sometimes others would come. Covered in blood and smiling their demon smiles they would remind him of other things. Of glorious abandon the hunt and the kill. Buffy’s fear when she tended him on his return from hell, Cordelia’s sweet blood after she was injured. Wesley’s badly concealed lust whenever Angel was angry.
And he would remember the taste of his sire and his childe. Darla’s rich anger and Dru’s sweet madness like fine wine on his tongue. Then and only then would he scream into the hollow steel coffin as demon and man longed for home.
Sometimes the water would go completely still and he could feel the suck of the current trying to shift his coffin deeper into the ocean. He would feel another pull then and he knew that Connor was standing on the shore looking out into the darkness. He could feel the hatred and fear in his blood because it was Connor’s blood too.
Sometimes the current would drape things over his coffin briefly obscuring his view of the darkness. Seaweed and strange creatures that would crawl over the steel looking for a way inside and he would think of one other, the one who only invaded his thoughts when he was weak, who was always waiting for that weakness. Then he would cry for the loss he would never admit to, for the one he hated for his wanting.
The current would rip them away and the water would grow turbulent again. The tears would dry and he would let the memories of the others wash over him until the water went still and dark again.
In the darkness the current swept a pale body over his coffin and his mind told him it was the one come to share his prison. Blue eyes seemed to stare right through him dirty blond hair caressing white skin stretched tight over sharp angles and pouting lips.
But the expression was one of sorrow and love so he knew it couldn’t be the one who only ever looked at him with anger and challenge since the night he walked away. A pale hand pressed against the glass of his prison as if surprised that it was there. As if it expected to be able to touch him. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity and for that time he was not alone. The head tilted to one side in an achingly familiar way before the current ripped the body away and he was left with the tug of loss.
When his coffin was pulled up and Wesley poured guilt and regret into his mouth he chose to forget all but sad blue eyes and the hand pressed against the glass. Even if he never spoke of it to anyone, banishing the son from his side so as not to see the hate that reminded him so much of another.
END