Copper Sunrise
Author: Kairos
Summary: There's humans, and then there's Buffy.
Rating: General
Livejournal
**
Angelus
stepped in front of the glass doors. I’m not Angelus. I can’t be Angelus.
The doors opened, sliding into slots in the walls as if they were a pair of
servants obeying his mental cues. I’m not ready for this.
Nobody
was looking at him funny, though. He supposed the shower and the haircut and
the new clothes had done their job: he not only looked like a human, but like a
human with a home and a job and a life. None of which is true. Well, maybe
the job, but I seem to recall that jobs pay money.
He
heard an irritated clucking, and a stout middle-aged woman brushed past him. He
was still standing just inside the glass doors, he realized, and he hastily
stepped aside and began to walk as if he had a purpose. Another moment to
steady himself would have been a help. After facing any number of sewers,
subway tunnels, demon lairs, and the shadiest parts of neighborhoods so shady
that decent folks didn’t only avoid them but couldn’t get there if they tried,
he found he was woefully unprepared to face an average suburban grocery store.
There
was no turning back now, though. Whistler had arranged to make him “less
disgusting”, but stated clearly that after that, the cleaned-up vampire could
run his own errands. He had to learn to get by in human society, anyway. When he
finally met the girl, he wasn’t going to let her see him as a bumbling misfit,
but he needed some practice first.
He
fingered the two twenty-dollar bills in his pocket, which Whistler had provided
along with a few exasperated remarks about being forced to bankroll this whole
operation. It seemed like a lot of money to Angelus - I can’t call myself
Angelus - but he wasn’t really sure what money was worth these days. In any
case, he resolved, he’d pay it back once he was able. There had to be a way to
tap into his hereditary funds again.
Everything
around him was food for humans; the doors had opened into the produce section.
He picked up a tomato and pretended to be inspecting it, like other shoppers
were doing with various kinds of fruit and vegetables. He could smell it, sort
of, and he knew that if he bit into it, his teeth would break through the skin
and fresh juices would spill into his mouth. It wouldn’t feed him, though, and
he doubted the textures would yield much satisfaction without the taste. With
vague regrets he put the tomato back on the pile, then wondered if that was
allowed. Maybe it was frowned upon to hold a tomato without buying it. Maybe he
should keep it just so he wouldn’t look suspicious.
Of
course, that would require putting it in his basket, and he didn’t have one. He
cursed himself for a fool and set the tomato down to head back to the door. If
the girl saw him now, she’d probably just laugh at the weird pale guy who
didn’t know how to buy groceries.
When
he made it out of the produce section, he found that the aisles were labeled
with signs that told which items they stocked. He meant to skip the first one,
which said “International Foods”, but found himself curious and ended up
spending the next ten minutes reading labels in Spanish and Chinese. Most of
the ingredients seemed distantly familiar, but the closest he’d ever gotten to
consuming foreign food was consuming the people who lived on it. He sighed and
put a jar of chili sauce back on its shelf. Just who did he think he was going
to impress by knowing about ethnic cooking, anyway?
He
made himself skip the canned goods aisle, and the cereal one, and the baking
needs. The alcoholic beverage aisle made him pause for a moment, though. This,
at least, he could enjoy like a human would: nobody drank booze for nutrition,
or for the taste. Of course, that was also what made it dangerous for a human,
or pointless for him. He kept walking. The plan was to become someone, not to
toast the girl and get drunk together.
Finally
he made it to the household items, his basket still empty. There were too many
choices, though, so he had to stand there reading labels again until he found a
few substances that could keep his little apartment clean. He also took some
light bulbs, reasoning that he should get used to living without complete
darkness. Now he just needed to keep his own body clean and well-groomed.
There
were even more choices in the shampoo aisle. Overwhelmed, the vampire ran a
hand through his recently shortened hair and tried to remember what he had done
with it last time he was leading a moderately civilized life. No, that wouldn’t
do. Fashions had changed since then; having an out-of-date hairstyle would draw
attention, and worse, make him look stupid. He frowned and considered a bottle
of gel. If only he could just ask the girl what kind of hair she liked.
“Oh,
don’t use that one,” said a female voice right beside him, but it was the wrong
girl. This one was just a fellow shopper, one who had been a little too close
for comfort even before she spoke to him. “My ex used to gel his hair all the
time, he tried them all. That one’s best.” She pointed.
“Thanks,”
he said curtly, and dropped her suggestion into his basket, hoping that would
terminate her interest in him.
It
didn’t. Before he was able to turn away from her, she called him back with,
“Oh, sorry? Would you be an angel and get that dye from the top shelf for me?
The copper sunrise, not the wildfire.”
He
sized her up. She wasn’t petite, and in her excessively high heels, she
shouldn’t have any trouble reaching the item in question. What she wanted from
him was more than a few seconds of assistance, and knowing that ignited a seed
of rage within him. Such foolishness deserved only his contempt, but he wasn’t
here to teach anyone a lesson, and he had to learn to check his impulses,
sooner rather than later. He reached up and handed her the box of copper
sunrise hair dye.
“Thanks,
angel! You’re so tall. I wish they had one of you in every aisle. Ha ha ha!”
She sidled up to him as he searched for the bar soap as quickly as possible.
“Just doing some hygiene shopping, huh? Yeah, I don’t have much of a plan for
the weekend either. Well, that’s the best time to try out a new hair color,
right?”
She
kept it up without seeming to need any response or reaction from him until he
escaped into a checkout line, hoping that he wasn’t forgetting anything. The
cashier gave him change and a receipt to puzzle over later and put all of his
purchases into a brown paper bag, and he congratulated himself on successfully
completing his first act of reintegration into human life.
As
the sliding doors released him into the night, he found to his dismay that his
admirer in high heels had somehow made it out of the store before him. She even
appeared to be waiting for him, unless she was just leaning against the column
of shopping carts because she liked it there. “Hey,” she said when she saw him,
dashing his hopes. “I was just gonna say, you looked kind of peeved in there,
so I just wanted to say, sorry if I said something, you know. I was just trying
to be friendly. You look really sad.”
What
am I supposed to do here? He nodded in her
direction. “That’s alright.”
He
tried to step into the parking lot, but suddenly her hand was on his arm. “Hey,
you don’t have to be so -”
The
line was crossed. He whirled on her so quickly that she gasped and stumbled
backward into the carts. “I am not an angel,” he growled into her face. “I’m
not interested in you, and you better thank your God for that. I used to pick
up women like you all the time. Not as lovers. As victims. Go home and dye your
hair and think twice next time you meet a strange man at night.”
He
didn’t turn around as he stalked away from the store, but he thought he heard
her stifling a sob. So much for my successful trip. But really, what
could he have done? The woman was playing with fire. He didn’t like flirtation
at the best of times, and this time he needed more than a polite rebuttal to
shake her off. Besides, he had at least concealed the worst of his real self.
She had been far too close to him, and beneath her perfume, she smelled of
ambrosia. Shutting her up for good was doubly difficult to resist.
If
she had been the girl, though...
The
demands of his soul were so hard to navigate. Wouldn’t the girl smell even
better? Was he not prepared for that? He’d better be, if he ever wanted to
speak to her or fight beside her. It would be okay if she wanted to
flirt with me, though. It would be different. And that wasn’t a solution at
all; it was a problem of its own.
He
confessed everything to Whistler the next time he saw him. After the requisite
lamenting about his lot in life, the demon listened closely and then shook his
head with something resembling sympathy. “Y’know what they say, never go
grocery shopping when you’re hungry.”
“But
then I realized,” the vampire plowed on, “if it had been the girl, I wouldn’t
have even cared.”
“Buffy.”
Whistler put down the open bottle he had been sniffing and waited. When he got
no response, he continued, “You’re still callin’ her ‘the girl’, and honestly
it’s startin’ to creep me out. Jesus, buddy, I told you what her name was weeks
ago. A’right, so it’s not quite the regal title you’d expect of her nubile
Slayerness -”
“There’s
nothing wrong with her name,” he cut in, feeling absurdly indignant. “It just
doesn’t feel right to use it. I don’t know her yet.”
“You
know her enough to decide she’d be worth a little bit a’ decency if you caught
her ogling your pretty face, I’d say that’s something. Get over your immortal
unholier-than-thou disdain for the living and you might just realize there’s no
‘the girl’. There’s billions of ‘em. That’s why they got names. You’re in the
game now, that’s good for everyone, but you gotta wake up and notice it’s not
all about you anymore.”
“It
was never about me. It was about -”
“Her?”
Whistler snorted. “Don’t make me laugh. You know what a Slayer does? She risks
her life and usually kisses it goodbye, all for the sake of some
average-at-best humans who don’t even know she’s there. Are you gonna help her
save them or are you gonna work the angle of they’re not worth it? ‘Cause
there’s some things you can’t fake, pal, and for her it’s gonna matter.”
The
vampire cast him a baleful look. He still hadn’t quite figured Whistler out. He
was clearly right about some things, like bringing the vampire and the Slayer
together, but just as clearly wrong about others, like what kind of hat to
wear. Was his advice now part of his divine guidance, or was it a personal
preference, like the hat? “Even if they are worth it,” he said, “the girl -
Buffy - she won’t thank me for accidentally killing them if they get too close
and I can’t control myself.”
“Not
one bit,” agreed Whistler. “So don’t do it.” He pointed his half-empty bottle
at the vampire. “You got the power to snuff out the life of any human that
crosses your path of damnation - except for Buffy - without a second thought.
You snagged a soul, you finally figured out that power doesn’t make you better
than them, so now you don’t do it anymore. Well, feed on this: that doesn’t
make you better than them either. It just makes you one of ‘em. One of
billions, just like your cute little ancestral enemy.”
The
vampire, who was not Angelus, considered this. “But I don’t have a name.”
“You
want one?”
“You said I could become someone.”
Whistler
smacked himself in the forehead. “Gods monsters and strip dancers, the vamp
actually listened to something I said. Never thought that would happen.
A’right, you wanna be someone? How about bein’ that guy in the hair gel aisle?”
Not
at all an appealing prospect. “What’s so great
about that guy?”
“He
helped a woman get something off a shelf.”
The
vampire took a moment to make sure Whistler was being serious, and concluded that
he was. If this was a matter of his personal preferences, it wasn’t such a bad
one. Not as bad as the hat, anyway. “So you’re saying I should call myself
Angel? That’s not exactly new.”
“Make
it new.” The demon finally poured a pair of shots out of the bottle, pushed one
across the table, and lifted the other one high. “To the girl,” he said. “Buffy
the Slayer.”
“To
her people,” said Angel, wondering all over again what he had gotten himself
into. “The whole world.”