Title: "I Can't Feel a Thing"
Rating/Classification: SAC, language, filler ficbit, L/A-ish, angsty
Disclaimer: Grrr. Aargh. *sob*.
Summary: Just a brief filler bit to help me reconcile the events of 5.22, "Not Fade Away."
There's pain...and, then, there's *pain*.
You planned your death a thousand ways. Usually while Eve planned
weddings. She babbled about night time versus daytime and dresses and
Satanic binding rituals and you thought knife...gun...teeth. In every one
of her scenarios, you were the star. In every one of yours... it was Angel. Angel with your blood on his hands, sinking into his skin, deep into the pores. Too deep to ever be completely scrubbed away.
So, when you're lying there, slumped against the wall, three or four
bullets in your chest--and, Man, they hurt like a son-of-a-bitch--you're
pissed off. No...worse than that... you're insulted. You're...disappointed.
"Angel kills me," you tell the Host of Caritas...you've never quite been able to call him 'Lorne.'...and, really, you should be able to call the green guy that murders you by the name his momma gave him, shouldn't you? "Angel..."
Dammit. In every single fucking personal snuff film, it's Angel. Hands
wrapped around your throat, teeth sinking in. He stops your heart. *He* stops your heart.for the last time.
This is not the way...
This is not the way you planned it.
This is Angel's plan.
And you were never a part of it.
Never a part at all.
And, then, there's pain.
May 20, 2004.