We’d just celebrated our wooden anniversary. Lindsey’d presented me with a wooden cross, his version of a joke. We’d both laughed, tossing it into the fire he’d insisted on building. I wasn’t that girl anymore; I had no need to be afraid of two perpendicular sticks symbolizing an event that I hadn’t even been alive to witness.
And I’d seen a lot of events in over four hundred years of death and destruction, indescribable pain and unbelievable beauty and wonder. And four hundred years was still so short. I’d said that before and it still held true. I had a reflection now and every time I happened to glance into the mirror, I’d find a new, minute line etched into my skin.
I didn’t mind it, really. I minded it even less on Lindsey. Age looked distinguished on him, he wore years as well as designer suits or cowboy boots. I just couldn’t help thinking that it was easier to live for lifetimes without growing older. But I never dwelled on such thoughts. They were all superficial and not at all befitting the wife of a - of Lindsey.
When he’d first brought me back, I’d been unable to ignore the blind rage seething inside of me. My life, at this rate, would never be over. It wasn’t that being alive bothered me so much, it was the concept of dying that I couldn’t face. When he’d calmed me down, I made him promise that this was the last time - that when I died, he’d let me die, and he wouldn’t find someone to vamp me again. I would die the way I was supposed to and -
Except, of course, that wouldn’t be necessary. He’d forced Wolfram and Hart doctors to work day and night from the instant I’d dusted myself, worked them until they’d come up with a cure for my deadly condition. I was human for the long haul, now.
Fast forward five years, and here we were - working diligently for the Senior Partners, doing our part to make sure that Angel remained miserable and hidden. I had no residual feelings for Angelus, nothing left but annoyance and loathing. Not only had he wrecked my life constantly, he'd taken my son from me and everybody who'd cared about him. He'd taken his memories, made him forget about the mother who sacrificed herself for him. I wasn't a memory for Connor. We didn't share a soul any longer, we had no connections.
Angel had severed all of those, and for that, he needed to be punished.
Not that he wasn’t being punished.
Suddenly the phone rang and I reached lazily for it. “Hello?”
The news on the other end wasn’t pleasing. “He’s what?” I asked flatly, my eyes narrowing. They repeated their news. Angel - the real Angel - had escaped. I slammed the phone down and dialed the number of Lindsey’s cell phone. He wasn’t going to be pleased.