by Cynamin

DISCLAIMER: Okay, obviously anything you recognize, I don't own. Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, Angel, and all related characters, etc. don’t belong to me.

DISTRIBUTION: If you have any of my stories, fine. Otherwise, just ask, please. All of my stories can be found at http://www.ficgoddess.com/fanfic/cynamin

CONTENT: B/A, angst

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, I’m trying for something very different here. You’ll definitely have to tell me how it has turned out (especially considering the relative lack of dialogue as dictated by the plot). The setting is the very distant future – like I don’t know when now is compared to then future. Centuries from now, definitely. If anyone is wondering why it’s not very sci-fi-ish, remember that this story takes place in the bottom rungs of society. This idea came from compiling Buffy vampire information and remembering that the oldest vampires we’ve seen (The Master, Kakistos) no longer looked entirely human.

SPOILERS: Anything and everything is fair game, but nothing specific. As I’m writing this, I have not yet seen the season 5/2 finales.

FEEDBACK: As my elementary school P.E. teacher said, “Questions, comments, criticisms or snide remarks?”

Part One

In the depths of the shadows, in the tiny spaces between the buildings where only the lowest of humans walked, a battle had raged only moments before. It wasn’t a major battle; it was not the first such of the night nor would it be the last. Its like had been seen many times before, in nights stretching before the memory of all living things and of most of the undead. No great victory was accomplished. Just a couple more demons that preyed on those living on the permanent twilight streets would not be around to take another life.

This battle was over, though, and as he took a bare moment’s rest Angel took little notice of the fine sheen of vampire dust that coated him. He did not wipe it off of his misshapen brow, nor did he feel any sense of victory as he automatically cleaned his weapons of demon remains. He paused for just a moment, sitting in the shadows, uncertain as to what he was doing and where he was going next. Uncertain on a level even as to who and what he was.

Old. Nothing should be this old.

Angel paused for a second in wiping his axe’s blade. He shivered, though he didn’t feel cold. Never had, not since.... Never. This was something else. There was something in the air. Something that was almost familiar if he could just truly pause long enough to figure out what it was. One thing was certain: change was coming.

Whether the change was good or bad, he didn’t know. Change was more often bad than good anyway. Change was to be avoided. He turned his attention away from the feeling and back onto his task. With a hand more closely resembling a claw, he wiped at the blade until it was clean. He paused again, looking at that hand as if seeing it for the first time, even though it had been that way...for a long time.

No, change wasn’t good at all.

He bunched the rag up in his fist for a moment. When Angel frowned, he could feel the sharpness of his fangs against his inner lip. They never went away, now. That had been one of the first changes.

He threw the rag away violently as he stood. The axe back under his coat, he moved on, keeping to the shadows like the things he killed. He couldn’t go elsewhere anymore. The time for that was over. He’d seen enough fear reflected in the eyes of others to know that. He didn’t need to see himself in a mirror to know. The monster inside had left its mark.

Keeping to the shadows, he sought the demons once again. He couldn’t fight his own demon, but he could fight others. It didn’t matter anymore that he usually didn’t remember why he fought. It’s what he did. All that was left to do.

A sharp gnaw of hunger distracted him, further reminding him of just what he was, should he ever truly forget. He needed to feed. He needed to stop fighting for the night and get blood to fight back the hunger once again. For a little while.

There wasn’t redemption anymore for one such as him.

Monster.

Of all the mysteries in her life, this one was the biggest.

How the hell did she get here? And where was 'here' anyway?

In time she came to realize that it wasn’t ‘where’ that was the question. It was ‘when.’ Because either she’d stepped into a whole other world when she woke up that one morning, or this was still her home in the far, far future. She honestly still wasn’t sure which it was. All her attempts at finding out had been useless – she couldn’t even figure out how to compare the calendar. Maybe, in the levels above – the towering heights of the city, connected by bridges, places the sun still touched – there was someone who could tell her. But she’d woken up in the alley, in the places in between – the bottom – and no one up there would open their doors to a bottom dweller. She’d learned that the hard way.

Safe to say she didn’t have any further clue as to how she got there, either. She just knew it was where or when she was, and there was no going back that she could find. She had to make the most of it.

So that’s what she did. She was still the Slayer, no matter what time or place this was. She slayed.

In her own time and place, she was Buffy Anne Summers. Here, she was just Slayer. And there were plenty of demons to kill.

She made her way from one region of the city to the next, rarely staying in one place too long, rarely resting from her fighting. Her attire had changed. She no longer even knew what the fashions were, so how was she supposed to stay up to date? Instead, she wore all black – simple jumpsuit and jacket. It was functional, and it kept her hidden when she wanted to be. The demons even came out in the daytime, here. There were nearly always enough shadows to keep them safe and unnoticed. So Buffy used that to her advantage, too. They hid in the shadows; she hunted them on their own ground.

With her change in attire had gone Buffy’s choice of weapon. It was too hard to get actual wood, and she often lost stakes as a vampire turned to dust. So, no wooden stakes. She wore a sword strapped to her back. A bit medieval even for her home time, it was oddly not looked at twice here. No one dared look twice at anything in the lower levels.

She made her way across the endless city, occasionally trading favors with the ones she saved for a bit of money, food, or a place to stay. She never stressed their hospitality too long, though. She felt better on the move.

Tonight, Buffy was looking to settle down for a bit again. She was tired; she needed food and a place to rest. Sometimes she could find a place that would pay her for a short while, somewhere that wanted protection for (or from) its customers. Easy work, short term. That’s what she wanted.

Knowing the impossibility of keeping a low profile as a small woman with a big sword, Buffy made no effort to keep her appearance quiet. She followed a boisterous group into what seemed to be an active, lively – if more than a bit seedy – bar. “The Underground” the sign over the door read. She strode in confidently, allowing her very walk to show she knew what she was doing with a sword, and sat herself down at the bar stool.

“Hey!” she cried, getting the bar tender’s attention.

He looked at her a bit patronizingly. “You old enough to drink?” he asked sharply.

Buffy glared at him. “You gonna tell me otherwise?”

The man held up his hands in surrender. “You’re feisty, kid. What’ll it be?” He was a short, round man – reminded her a bit of a fat version of Willy. Buffy winced at her own sense of nostalgia. She was really homesick if she was missing Willy!

Buffy did not let her glare diminish. “It’s Slayer, not kid,” she snapped back. “And information.”

“I’ve heard of you,” the bar tender said, grudgingly impressed. “Thought you’d be bigger, keeping all those demons on the run.”

“Everyone always says that,” she retorted.

“Still,” he added, only a touch regretfully, “no information unless you order something.”

“Fine,” Buffy gave in. She slid some money across the bar. “Whatever you’ve got.”

He gave her a glass of clear liquid that Buffy made no move to drink. “It’s good,” the bar tender promised.

“I’m sure, but I told you I’m not here for drinks.”

The bar tender took a second to collect money from another patron before looking back at her. “What do you want, Slayer?”

“I’m looking for a place to settle in for a while,” Buffy explained, loud enough for others in the bar to hear as well. “Thought this might be the sort of place where someone might know someone who could lend me a room in exchange for protection.”

To her surprise, the bar tender shook his head. She’d never had someone dismiss her so easily before, especially not someone who knew her reputation. No one else at the bar seemed to be showing any interest, either, and it wasn’t because they weren’t listening in. “What?” Buffy asked, and winced inwardly as her tone emerged more defensively than she would like. “You think I don’t have the muscle?”

“Hey, I’m not doubting your capabilities, kid,” the man said in return. “Already got protection here, though. And before you ask – yeah, from demons and all that.”

Buffy did not let her surprise show. After all, there should be a Slayer in this time and place. And Slayers weren’t the only ones that fought demons, anyway. She just gave the bar tender a contemplative look. “What if I wanted to meet your protection?” she asked.

The man scowled still further. “Then I’d say that’s not a good idea,” he retorted oddly.

Buffy was about to make a sharp comeback when something froze her. Something was suddenly different in the air. She felt it in the pit of her stomach and crawling up her spine. Familiar. Her breath caught.

She had to be imagining it. Not here...not now....

The bar tender’s eyes flicked past her abruptly, into the darkness of the bar. “Excuse me,” he said softly. He reached under the bar, grabbing a small cold box – modern variant of the cooler, but more like a portable, cheep fridge. He hurried out from behind the bar without another word.

Buffy watched him go. She watched him hurry to the darkest area of the bar and open the door to a back room. Buffy saw nothing of whom he spoke to, but when he returned to the bar moments later the box was gone.

And Buffy knew.

“He your protection?” she asked abruptly when the man returned to his duties behind the bar.

The man froze. “You saw him?” he said in a hushed voice. “No one ever sees him. He doesn’t let anyone.”

Buffy shook her head. “I didn’t see him.” But if I’m right, I know him. “Vampire?”

The bar tender looked very nervous. “Listen, I don’t ask questions,” he said. “Never spoke to him. Don’t even know his name. He comes here every few weeks, I give him...the box. In return he keeps violent demons off the doorstep. Been that way since before the current owner bought the place.” He pulled himself a bit straighter, his voice stronger. “It’s a good thing, too. A lot of the people here owe their lives to him and don’t even know it.”

Buffy pulled out a bit more money in thanks and left it on the counter as she stood. “I don’t doubt it,” she replied, slinging her single bag over her shoulder again.

“Hey!” the bar tender said abruptly, stopping her from leaving.

Buffy turned to look at him.

“Don’t you go slaying him,” he said angrily.

Buffy looked at him innocently. “And why shouldn’t I?”

“Honestly, I don’t think you can,” the man replied.

“Oh really? Think that poorly of me?”

“Think that highly of him,” he retorted. “He’s a good man, Slayer, even if he’s not human. I won’t be responsible for his death.”

“And neither will I,” Buffy replied honestly. With those parting words she left the bar, in search of an old dream.

‘He’s a good man, Slayer. That better be you, Angel, ‘cause insanity’s not something I need in my life.’

If the lower levels of the city were consistently dark, behind The Underground was darker still. Buffy could barely see a few feet in front of her, and she’d always thought she had pretty good night vision. Still, she knew she was going the right way. She could feel that feeling once again, could feel him. Every second that passed with that old tingling further convinced her that she was right.

Angel. How long had it been since she’d seen him? In her mind it was nearly a year now, and even that had only been a relatively brief meeting after her mother’s funeral. A brief comfort. But how long had it really been? How long?

The shadows moved around her, undefined shapes slumped against the foundations of buildings. Refuse and debris. It was hard to make anything out. Abruptly, one of the shapes moved separately, and she followed. She was certain now. Somehow, she was certain.

“Angel!”

The shape froze. After a second of seeming indecision it straightened up to its full height and turned towards her. She could barely make him out in the darkness. He was like a creature made of shadow, completely dark, and he radiated strength and age like no other vampire she’d ever been around. If she had not been so certain as to his identity, she would have been frightened.

“Angel,” she said again, gentler. Something was wrong and she hadn’t the faintest clue what it was.

Even with her eyes adjusted to the near total darkness she couldn’t make out any details, but she could see him cock his head to the side ever so slightly, regarding her. She felt her breath quicken and smiled as calmly as she could. He took a hesitant step forward. A tiny bit of light from something passing overhead illuminated him for a moment.

Buffy gasped.

Angel froze.

It was Angel - Buffy knew that now - but changed. So changed.

How long?

In her life in Sunnydale, Buffy had encountered all of two vampires that she would consider ancients. Both were so old they could never again pretend to be human. The Master had been bald and had worn an extreme version of the demon’s countenance forever upon his features. Kakistos had hands and feet that had become cloven...well, before Buffy and Faith had killed him, of course.

Angel looked like neither of them, but his age was stamped upon his features nonetheless. Ancient. His hair was longer than she remembered and slightly unkempt, but that wasn’t what startled her so. Rather, it was his eyes, which were golden instead of the old familiar brown. His face was almost like a vampire’s game face, but not quite. Harsher, if that was possible. The hand that held the cold box to his chest was twisted into something resembling a claw.

Yet past that, in the moment where she could see the emotions beyond the changes in Angel’s features, there he was. Angel. Yet not Angel. Lost.

Dear God, how long had it been?

Then the moment was broken, the glimmer of recognition faded, and wordlessly he turned away. Moving off into the darkness.

Buffy had no choice but to follow.

She needed him, the one last familiar thing in the world. Some part of her told her that right now, he needed her, too, even if he didn’t know it.

He needed her, before he was lost for good.

Her smell filled the confined space between the buildings, seeming to overwhelm even the ever-present stench of refuse. Her heartbeat was like thunder in his ears. Hell, he could even feel her along his skin. So familiar. So her.

He frowned to himself. He knew nothing was ever meant to be as old as he was, and this just proved it.

The centuries had finally destroyed his sanity. That was the only explanation.

It was a pleasant vision, but a vision nonetheless. If he acknowledged it, it would disappear. Or maybe it wouldn’t; maybe it would change, and become something out of Angel’s nightmares instead of out of his dreams. So, no comfort to be had here. No relief. Just the sad reminder of times long past, things long lost, and a curse that was the bane of his existence in all its forms.

Just a hallucination.

That, of course, did not explain why her scent and her heartbeat followed him all the way home.

Despite trying her hardest to stay calm, Buffy’s thoughts were racing. Just when she thought she had her new existence figured out, just when she was making her place in the world, this had to happen.

Angel.

Sure, no matter how much time had passed, there was always the possibility that he could be alive. Undead. Whatever. But once it became clear to her just how much time had passed, how different this world was from the one where she had grown up...she hadn’t even entertained the possibility. One night in this world, over two months ago, Buffy had come to a final realization: she had no way home. Her friends would have to get her if they could, but that hadn’t happened yet. She realized she had to stop hoping for a way home and start living a life here. That revelation had left her both broken and renewed. On that night she had mourned everyone she once knew. That had included Angel.

But he wasn’t dead. Out of everyone, he was the one still walking the earth. Even if she’d imagined he was alive, though, she would not have imagined him like this. Changed in body and mind, he was an ancient vampire who would no doubt be incredibly powerful – and terrifying – was it not for the existence of his soul. Still fighting, still existing...but that was it. Whatever he’d once hoped for was long gone. Except for that one brief moment where she thought he’d recognized her, Buffy couldn’t even find a spark of the Angel she once knew.

A small part of her dreaded that any trace of her friend – her love – was gone for good. A small part, one that she squashed ruthlessly as soon as she was aware of the thought.

Her Angel was still there somewhere, and she was going to bring him back. She needed him, after all. She needed something. She needed...she needed home.

So she followed him. She followed him even as her ignored her presence and maneuvered through and in between buildings with feats no human could duplicate. If she ever fell so far behind that she could not see him anymore, she could feel him. As long as she could feel his presence, she could follow it, and if she could follow it she could find him.

She’d lost him again, briefly, just when she thought she had the knack of keeping up with him. He only had one free hand, anyway, so his mobility was restricted slightly. Not that it made much difference, but it helped. Still, for a moment she stood there, hesitating in the darker shadows. Confused, she couldn’t put a direction to the sense of him. Unless...

Down?

There was still further down in this city? Peering into the shadows, Buffy searched, finding at last something like an old, metal grate set right into the pavement. She lifted it with minimal difficulty and dropped into the total blackness below.

Yes, that was better. He was ahead of her now. Smells were different here, older. Not the modern refuse and futuristic stink, but more familiar – old sewage, perhaps? Eww....

She made her way along by feel. The wall of the tunnel was cold to the touch. Not the sewer at all, she was relived to realize, but some sort of access tunnel. It was lighter up ahead and she could see a square opening where this tunnel ended. Please, let that be the destination – it had been a long, emotionally draining night, and Buffy needed to stop to figure out just what she was going to do next.

The sense of him was strong again. Close once more, Buffy fumbled her way to that lessening of darkness – not light at all, just slightly less of its absence. She wasn’t afraid, not as long as she knew Angel was nearby. Okay, so he was ignoring her presence, but still....

She reached the end of the tunnel and dropped into the open space.

There was a brief jolt as she landed. She rolled, coming back to her feet unharmed and searching for her next step.

Angel was there, just in front of her. For a moment, as she stood there, she could feel his gaze upon her as clearly as if he’d touched her. Was he startled that she’d followed him all the way to his home - his lair? Then the moment slipped away and his gaze went elsewhere, ignoring her once again.

Buffy sighed. Too much to hope for, she supposed.

She crouched down where she was, reaching into her bag. Angel might see fine in this near-total darkness, but human eyes weren’t meant for this. If she was planning to stay – and some part of her had already made that decision – she was going to need to look at where she was living.

After a couple of seconds of rummaging she came out with a portable lamp. In deference to Angel (this was his home, after all) she switched it on its lowest setting. It took a second for her eyes to get adjusted after the total darkness of the tunnel, and when they did....

“Oh my,” she gasped.

This place must have been beautiful once, but it was now forgotten and buried by the city above. An arched ceiling was gracefully undamaged above her, decorated with mosaic tile, colors dulled with dust and time.

“What was this place?” Buffy asked. She might as well have been asking herself instead of her silent companion. One of those fancy train stations, perhaps. Buffy had never seen one herself.

It bore little semblance to whatever it had once been. What space weapons or Angel’s scant furniture – a chair, a bed, and an old (yet sophisticated compared to what Buffy had been used to) fridge – did not take up was covered with...papers. Books, scrolls, loose pages, even sketches were piled on every available surface. There might have been tables and shelves under them, but Buffy wasn’t sure. They were all covered in a thick layer of dust.

The Angel she’d known had never been that careless about his texts.

It looked like nothing in that segment of the room had been touched in ages, anyway. As Buffy watched, Angel stood in front of the fridge and began to take packets of blood out of the cold box and pile them in to stay fresh. The last one in his hands moments later, he closed the fridge, sat heavily in the chair, and neatly punctured it with his fangs. Buffy watched with something like morbid curiosity.

“You never used to feed in front of me before,” she said, if just to break the silence.

He continued to drink as if she wasn’t even there.

“I hope you don’t mind a house guest,” she continued.

He finished the bag and threw it into the discarded box.

“Well, I’ll take silence for consent,” Buffy said lightly. “I warn you, I’m going to be one of those annoying guests. For one, this place is not fit for human habitation as it is. I’m going to put food for me next to your blood, I’m going to organize your bookshelves, shuffle through your belongings...and I’m not going to leave until you speak to me.”

Nothing. His meal done, he stood and proceeded to strip as if he was completely alone. Buffy blushed and turned her head quickly. Seconds later she looked back to find him completely burrowed into the old blankets covering his bed. His eyes were closed and he was frowning slightly.

Buffy sighed. “Goodnight, Angel,” she whispered.

She turned off her light and watched him from the haven of total darkness.

On to Part Two

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