Title: Taken Back
Author: Lady Shalott
Posted: 3-28-2005
Email: ladyshalott@neomail.com
Rating: PG-13 for now, later NC-17 (big jump, huh?)
Category: Post “Not Fade Away”, Romance/Drama
Content: C/A
Summary: Fifty years after the events of “Not Fade Away”, Angel realizes that the mission is not lost.
Spoilers: Umm…none really. References to events from NFA and through out the series.
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss
Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: You only need to ask.
Notes: Sometimes a story gets in your head and demands to get out. I wouldn’t say this one jumped from my skull like Athena, but pretty dang close. Oh and the lyrics are from "Let Go" by Frou Frou.
NotesII: Chapters two and three run parallel to each other, but then the story merges again in chapter four and stays that way. Make sense? Also, this story is set in the future, but I will be referencing brand names and companies that are around today. When you think about how long some brands have been around, that really doesn’t seem like a stretch, does it? I just wanted to get that out of they way, so I have an excuse when someone else calls me on it .
Notes III: The lyrics continue to be from “Let Go”, by Frou Frou, but I have twisted them around. Also, I apologize for the baby chapter, the next one will be longer, promise.
Notes IV: I am done with the author’s notes, now.
Feedback: Is loved more than Karl Urban.
Let go,
Let go
Jump in
Oh well, what you waiting for?
It's all right
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown
Prologue
A horrible, nasty beast. It always started with the beast. The monsters got uglier as her dream progressed, but the first one was always the same. Oddly, although she hated and feared the monsters in her dreams, she never felt as if she were in danger. Instead, she was always overcome with a sense of…urgency. It was as if the dreams were trying to guide her into a purpose.
She had been having the dreams for years. She didn’t know what they meant, or where they came from. She had seen dozens of specialists (some with degrees and licenses, others without), but none had ever been able to help her with the dreams. Oh, they often tried, but always knew they were wrong.
The dreams were getting worse. More vivid, with taste and smell. She woke up in the mornings with head pounding nausea sweeping over her. Sometimes the migraines would last into the early evening. She didn’t know what was causing them, but she did know one thing.
She was dying.
Chapter One
The lights of Las Vegas were always bright. Artificial day reigned supreme in a city where nightlife never ended. Angel loved it. He had come here after the Demon Wars, like so many other refugees. It was a city of sanctuary, and had always held a special place in his heart.
The Demon Wars were his fault, of course. After Angel had destroyed the Black Thorn, fighting had broken out all over the country. It was Good versus Evil. The Good had won, eventually, as it always must, but demon kind was nearly obliterated. Humans were largely untouched, barring those who had joined with one side or the other. Angel had done his part, and as payment watched his friends fall one by one.
For nothing.
The wars had taken a toll, yes. Eradicated evil? No. Only a year after the final battle was fought, Angel felt the pull on his soul, a quite demand from the Powers That Be telling him to go out and resume the good work. Of course, Angel had ignored it. Los Angeles was a wasteland, and it may never be whole again. He refused to give into the knowledge that without him, the Powers That Be would have a hard time keeping the scavengers away from what had once been a thriving metropolis.
To be frank, he didn’t care.
Angel had witnessed every one of his companions fall, either to their inevitable mortality or to the despair that washes over a battlefield when both sides realize the prize they are fighting for is no longer there to be won.
Wesley’s death had seemed surreal. Gunn’s was an all too clear reminder that Angel’s fight had consequences affecting more than just Angel. Illyria couldn’t shake her anger , and so had disappeared into the combat to wreak havoc. She had subsequently vanished. Spike had fought by Angel’s side the longest, no one more surprised than the two vampires themselves. After the war, Spike had left to see what could be made of the rest of his ensouled eternity. He had threatened to visit, but so far had not lived up to his words.
So Angel had come to Las Vegas. Here morals were loose and demons accepted. Fighting was not unheard of, but for the most part everyone maintained a modicum of peace. Angel had found it easy to take up the mantle of private security, for in Las Vegas, everyone needed security. He lived in modest comfort.
Alone.
Once, not long after his arrival, Angel had discovered Lorne doing what he loved best, performing in a night club only a mile off the strip. Angel had approached him, but Lorne had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with Angel and would not be resuming his role of friend and aural guide.
“I am through with that business.” Were Lorne’s exact words.
Angel had left, and he hadn’t gone back. In his new existence, friends were only a burden, anyway.
*****
Callista Brown had rarely lacked for male attention. She had known from a very young age that there was something special about her, and that confidence had served her well. In junior high, when other girls were fighting the awkwardness that came with new breasts and periods and braces, Callista was turning down dates to the senior prom. In high school, those awkward girls flocked to her, their desire to be near her almost palpable. She was Queen C, and she ruled with an iron fist.
She had been Homecoming Queen, Prom Queen, Miss Las Vegas. Her desire for stardom reached its peak when she was standing on that stage, at the Miss Nevada pageant, waiting with one other girl. Waiting to hear the name. It was hers that was called. Callista had lost out to a girl from Jackpot whose only other brush with fame had been that time she thought she saw Willie Nelson in the casino at Cactus Pete’s.
Well, never mind. Callista was strong, and determined to make her star known to the world. She had been a cheerleader, and her beauty and her body got her work as a showgirl.
She didn’t work topless. At first.
The money was better for the girls that bared it, so Callista gave in to the pressure. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good.
Good enough for now.
Her parents? Well, things had been great growing up. Rich family, everything she ever wanted. That first year, however, after she had lost the Miss Nevada title (First runner-up, what did that mean? Callista knew Miss Crackpot wasn’t going to relinquish the title, so she might as well not even have competed), Callista learned the truth. Her parents were gamblers, and they were losing everything to cover the severe debts.
It had been that night she had told her producer she wanted to go topless. He had looked at her with a leer and said, “It’s about time.”
It was better than stripping, better than being a whore. The other girls bemoaned their wrinkles and softening legs and swore up and down that when it was time for them to go, they would never revert to those cheap tricks. Callista didn’t care. She had no reason to worry about the future.
After all, it wasn’t like she had one.
Drink up baby doll
Are you in or are you out?
Leave your things behind
'Cause it's all going off without you
Chapter Two
There was a crack in the bathtub molding. That was the first thing she noticed that morning, besides the sweeping nausea and pain, of course. Callista moaned and twisted so her back was against the tub, hiding the offending crack. The morning ritual of wake up, vomit, try to die was so familiar Callista hadn’t even realized she was out of bed until she noticed the crack. When her legs had finally stopped shaking enough that she was able to stand, Callista leaned heavily on the bathroom counter. She stared into vacant eyes as she shook several Actrinol into her hand. This was the ultimate in migraine pain relief, not even FDA approved, but imported from Europe. Yet, here she was, popping them like candy. Callista wandered back to bed to wait until the medication kicked in. It was Tuesday, her dark day, and she didn’t even have one of the never-ending practices because her choreographer was ill.
“Thank God.” Callista mumbled, tucking the covers in around herself. As was her habit, she began speaking to the thin air, as if it could hear her.
“I am really fucking sick of this morning sickness crap. I pay good money, hard earned money, money better spent on freakin’ MANOLOS for these goddamned doctors to tell me what the hell is wrong with my head!” She took a deep breath. “No, it is always ‘night terrors, Callista’ or ‘epilepsy, Callista’, or ‘you need a fucking lobotomy, Callista’.” She rolled over. “I’m not crazy, I’m not sick and I am not suffering from ‘hysteria’! I just want to know why my ever-more vivid dreams are turning my brain to stew. Ya know?”
There was of course, no answer. Callista was finally able to make her way back into the bathroom, where she turned the shower on hot and stood under the pounding spray. She only noticed she was crying because her tears were cooler than the water around her.
*****
Later, after a successful shopping trip to the Home Depot and a very unsuccessful several hours trying to fix the cracked molding, Callista came to two conclusions.
One. She hated home repair. Oh, sure, it looked easy when a sexy contractor was explaining things to an excited young couple on TV, but hello? In real life you couldn’t tell where the scraper thingy ended and your incompetence began.
Two. She wasn’t going to dwell on the “if only’s” anymore. Cause there was, like, a million of them and Callista realized that if she let herself brood about them any more, she was going to end up sitting in the dark like-what? The train of thought eluded her, and she shrugged. There was only one sure way to snap herself out of a funk. Luckily for her credit card, Callista had been saving. She was going shopping.
The mall inside the Olympus Hotel and Casino was her favorite. Not only was everyone super-friendly because she was in a show at the casino, the mall had the only Diamante shop in Vegas. Callista could always find SOMETHING in her favorite designer boutique. That night she was exiting happily, having just purchased a top from the new spring collection, when she was bumped on the side by a bleached-blonde princess with a cadre of followers. “Excuse…” Callista couldn’t get the words out of her mouth before the heiress turned on her with a sneer.
“You better watch where you are going, skank.”
Callista spun on her heel. “Excuse me?” God, she did NOT need to deal with richer-than-thou bitches.
“You heard me.” the socialite, one London Langdon, glared back at her. “I called you a skank, but not that I’ve gotten a closer look, I’m gonna downgrade it to whore.”
“You did not just say that.” Callista’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
London smirked. Her body guard had been dealing with a too-rowdy fan, but he was fast reapproaching. She looked the curvy brunette up and down. “I think you’ve come to the wrong place for working clothes.”
Callista got it. The bitch was implying she was a hooker. Callista hesitated for only a second, then her famous mouth opened and her life changed. “Better to be working than living off the money someone else spread their legs for.”
London screeched and launched herself at Callista. She got her hands on the brunette’s shirt before a strong arm pulled her back. The socialite’s bodyguard turned to Callista, and with London still howling in his grasp, he spoke to her.
“You better leave.”
Callista heard the words but her mind didn’t recognize them because at that moment she was lost in deep, dark and eerily familiar brown eyes.
Chapter Three
Angel hated his job. As an independent contractor currently employed by the Olympus Hotel and Casino, he provided security for many of the high-rollers and celebrities that passed through the hotel doors. It didn’t matter if the person had private security, Angel was always right there as well. The hotel had been plagued by lawsuits in the past, and it was his job to make sure celebrity bodyguards didn’t cause any unnecessary problems. His skills had gotten him many job offers in the past.
Not this time. The girl was a spoiled, pampered socialite who also had a reputation for being hostile and unpredictable. Olympus management had demanded she sign a release allowing Hotel security to accompany her own staff. She had agreed because no other hot casino would give her the time of day. Angel had agreed because work was work. If he had known about her, things would have been much different.
“Excuse me”. London Langdon called in his direction.
“Yes”. Angel nearly growled at the annoying bi…witch. She only smiled. “ I want to go shopping. Has the hotel made preparations to close the mall concourse for my privacy?”
Angel seriously contemplated biting her. “No, they are not going to close the mall”.
The socialite shrugged and sighed. “Whatever. Are you the only security I am going to have?”
“Is that a problem?” Angel stood , arms crossed, staring at her with unfathomable eyes. What ever the girl was going to say died in her throat as she meekly replied “Okay”.
*****
The sun wasn’t down yet, but that didn’t matter since the group wasn’t leaving the Resort building. Angel trailed a few feet behind London. What was the reason he had chosen this profession? Oh yeah, his misplaced need to thumb his nose at the Powers That Be while still earning a living. There just weren’t that many openings for a former evil vampire-turned champion-turned nearly evil corporate CEO. He sighed. Someone should start a network. He saw a Vellen demon wearing its human skin, and let his eyes flash gold in warning. Fortunately the demon was busy reading a shop directory and only gave them a second glance. London went into Hermes and Jimmy Choo, coming out laden with packages. She gave Angel a sideways glance, as if wondering whether or not to have him carry her purchases. He didn’t say anything but she must have seen something in his face, because she handed them off to an assistant instead.
It was in Gucci that the trouble started. London was-to put it nicely-a huge bitch. She had been complaining to her minions about the lack of any good styles this season when she spotted a dress she liked.
Unfortunately, it was on another girl.
That didn’t stop the heiress. She got up, marched over to the girl and demanded that the dress be handed over. The other young woman declined loudly. What London and Angel both missed was her large boyfriend coming out of the changing rooms behind her. In a moment he had grabbed London’s arm. “Leave my girlfriend alone”. The guy snarled.
In the blink of an eye, Angel was there. “Get your hands off her”. Angel saw the guy’s snarl and raised him a menacing glare.
Big Boyfriend let go of London. “Who are you, her bodyguard?”
“Actually, yeah”. Angel saw the shop assistant pick up the phone. His vampire hearing caught the word ‘security’, and he knew he had to end this. “London, go shop somewhere else”.
“It is Miss Langdon, and no. I want that dress.”
“I got it at Diamante”. The other girl offered. “It’s just across the hall”. She was getting upset, and just wanted to leave.
London shrugged then flounced off, tossing over her shoulder “You look like a cow in it!” He minions trailed after.
“Come on, Joey, let’s just go”. The girl begged her boyfriend. The guy looked at Angel. “That bitch needs some manners.”
Angel shrugged. He didn’t have a problem with this guy, her was only doing his job. “Yeah, I know”. Angel turned away from the couple and headed out of the store. It was at the entrance that he noticed London talking to a girl in front of Diamante. “Please be a friend”. He muttered.
It wasn’t.
*****
As Angel got closer, he could hear the women talking. The lilt and cadence of the brunette’s voice was familiar but when he heard he say, “I’d rather be *working* than living off the money someone else spread their legs for!”, it was forgotten. With a burst of vampiric speed, he managed to reach London before she did any damage to the other woman.
Snagging London by the shoulders, he turned to the brunette. “You’d better leave”. She rounded on him, and he almost fell. It was her. It was Cordelia. Cordelia Chase, who had died over fifty years ago on the monumental day that had set the rest of his existence in motion.
Before he could say anything, she shot both him and London a scathing glare. “You’re all crazy.”, she muttered as she turned into the crowd.
Angel let go of London so fast that she dropped to the ground. He ignored her indignant scream and took of after Cordelia. Damn, she moved fast. He stopped, sending out his senses in search of her. She was still here, her musky fragrance still in the air. He noticed a sweep of brown hair going into L’Occitane, and followed it.
She was standing with her back to him, examining a shelf of products. He approached her slowly, and she turned before Angel reached her.
“Oh, God.” he heard her mutter. Then louder, “Listen, I didn’t do anything to that blonde bimbo. I didn’t even touch her, she ran into me”.
He stopped and stared. He had been so certain that the girl was Cordelia. Now that he got a better look, however, he could see that there were minute differences. Although their appearances were scarily similar, this girl had blue eyes, not hazel. There was a slightly different set to her facial feature. She was also missing Cordelia’s beauty mark. Although they could have been twins, it was not the same girl. Yet, she even smelled like Cordelia…
The girl’s almond eyes were wide, staring at him, as if he were a lunatic. Which he was, obviously. Angel gulped. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.
She gave him a look. “Like someone who wasn’t just attacked by your girlfriend? Whatever”. Before he could correct her, she turned from him. Angel had only taken a step when he heard her grumble, “Someone should tell the princess that her guardian angel is insane.” Angel turned back, thinking maybe Cordelia was only playing a cruel trick on him, but the girl had already walked away.
Angel slowly made his way back to where London was screaming at a Hotel security guard. When she saw him, London turned on Angel. “You dropped me! You bastard! No one treats me like that!”
Angel growled at her. “You’re lucky that girl isn’t going to sue you for assault!”
“That bitch! This is her fault! Get your hands off me!” The last was screamed at the security officer, who was trying to usher London back to her suite. “I will only go if he”, pointing at Angel, “stays the HELL away from me!”
“Fine by me”. Angel ground out. He didn’t care if he broke contract with the hotel. He just wanted to go home and have a nice, long brood.
*****
Angel’s townhouse was in North Las Vegas. He kept his car windows tinted black, and existed for the shaded walkway between carport and front door. He knew many people believed he lived in the hotel, but he would rather stake himself than spend more time on the Strip than he already had to.
Entering his dimly lit home, Angel glanced around. It was mostly bare, except for the bedroom and some antique furniture salvaged from Wolfram and Hart. Angel sat down into a comfortable, worn leather chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. Letting his mind drift, he thought about events both past and present.
TBC