Blind Date -- Revisited

by Saber ShadowKitten
Revisited 19

Angel was tired.

Tired of people. Tired of trying. Tired of life.

No matter what he did, or who he saved, nothing changed. He felt like he was the perfect example of one of the Laws of Physics. For every action that he took, there was an equal and opposite reaction.

Only, the opposite reaction wasn't equal when it came to people. Saving one person's life didn't make up for the one that he'd failed to save.

One step forward, ten steps back.

What was the use in trying if he never got anywhere?

Angel leaned back in his desk chair, rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, and began to absently rub his lower lip with his finger. He could hear Wesley's quiet voice in the outer office as his coworker spoke on the telephone. Earlier, they'd rescued the three blind children -- a holy triumvirate -- from an assassin sent to end their young lives.

Three lives saved. But how many were lost before he'd killed the assassin? How many were lost when the justice system in America failed in its duty, because law firms like Wolfram & Hart existed? How was he supposed to make a difference if no one else helped, or even cared?

Buffy would punch Angel if she could hear his thoughts. She was in the same position as he; fighting an uphill battle that never ended and no one ever really won. Then again, she'd managed to find a slice of happiness in the dark, dreary world of unending evil.

He wasn't allowed to be happy.


"The children are with their mentor," Wesley said as he entered Angel's office. "They're safe."

"Good," Angel said, although he didn't feel relieved. In fact, he felt nothing.

"They have an important role to play," Wesley said, as if sensing Angel's apathetic mood. "I believe this," the bespectacled man held up a rolled parchment, "is how Wolfram & Hart knew of their coming."

Wesley set the scroll on Angel's desk, then sat. Angel picked up the scroll and asked, "You know what it is?"

"If I'm right, the Prophecy of Aberjian," Wesley replied. He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. "For centuries thought lost. I translated some of the text. As I said, it mentions the children you saved today."

Angel ran his fingers along the seam of the rolled parchment. It felt familiar to his touch, even though he'd only held it once before, briefly.

"But that's not all," Wesley continued. "I... I also believe I know why you were drawn to it. There's an entire passage... about you."

Wesley leaned back in his chair and went on. "It doesn't call you by name, but it tells of a vampire with a soul...," he paused a moment, until Angel looked at him, "...It tells of a vampire with a soul who is loved by both the darkness and the light."

Angel set the scroll on his desk, saying nothing.

"That doesn't surprise you," Wesley said.

"No." It was the truth. Angel wasn't surprised by what Wesley has told him.

"But you said you didn't know what it was."

"I didn't, but..."

"Somehow you did," Wesley finished.

"Yeah." Angel stared at the rolled parchment, a profound sense of sadness filling him.

"There is a design, Angel," Wesley said encouragingly. "Hidden in the chaos it may be, but it's there. And you have your place in it."

I have a place, all right, Angel thought. My place is as a warrior, who's only job is to try and save those who need saving, and nothing else.

The dark-haired vampire stood. "I'll see you tomorrow, Wesley," he said as he headed for the lift.

"Goodnight, Angel."

Angel descended to his empty, cheerless apartment. He walked over to his favorite chair, sank down onto it, leaned his head back and shut his eyes.

"...It tells of a vampire with a soul who is loved by both the darkness and the light..."

Angel snorted in derision as Wesley's words replayed in his mind. Right, he was as loved as a cat with leprosy. At one time, he might have believed it, but now... now a wholesome, corn-fed little snot held the love from the light. He knew of no one from the darkness that had ever or could ever love him with his soul.

He was alone, and he knew that was how it would always be.

Angel could see his bleak future easily. He would get up, do his job as a warrior for the Powers That Be, go back to bed, and start the cycle over again the next day, and the next, and the next, until someone or something bigger, stronger, or faster dusted him. Then, his soul would return to hell where it belonged, because no matter what he did it would never be enough to receive atonement.

Because the man in him was just as bad as the demon.

Angel opened his dull eyes, stood and walked to his empty bedroom. He slipped out of his clothes, climbed into the bed and shut off the light. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Tomorrow was another pointless day.

And he was so tired.