Title: Somewhere A Candle Is Burning.
Summary: Vigils are never easy unless you have faith. Less than 500 words.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: It’s funny what inspires a thought. I was listening to Hero of the Day by Metallica and the first line of the song struck me hard for the first time. Fic resulted.
Angsty but hopefully hopeful. S5, post YW.
It rained in LA the day they had her funeral.
Angel stared down the grey streets on the way back home, silent and unmoving, the urn held just so between his hands, in his lap. Cradled the way he couldn’t cradle her.
When they reached the office, he left the others and took her remains up to his suite.
He set her on a low table in his bedroom, kept the lights low, and stripped the funeral clothing from his body, dropping the tie and the shirt and the slacks to the floor and stepping over them to get to his shower stall with the triple shower heads.
He came out of the bathroom half an hour later and belted his robe.
The night outside his windows was wet and dark with no hint of the full moon he knew was beyond the rainstorm and clouds.
He went into the living room and reached for the cardboard box by the front door.
Inside was a candle holder like his mother used to have, and nestled at the center was a single white, unadorned candle. When lit, it would give off the scent of fresh orchids after a rainfall.
He took it back into his bedroom and set it on the table in front of the window. He took a matchstick out of his robe pocket and scraped his thumb over the top. He watched it flare to life, the smoke dark grey and thick, before lowering it carefully to the candle.
The wick lit instantly, hungry for the flame, and burned strong.
He put the match out and walked back over to his bed, sitting heavily on the edge.
He stared at the candle and then out into the deep night.
“I’m not going to say good-bye,” he whispered. “You’re not gone, not really. You’re out there somewhere.” Angel didn’t think he could cry any more but soon the bitter salt of his grief spilled down his face, drops wetting the dryness of his lips. “And I know you’re on another road and that you have important things to do. But Cordelia.” He stopped as his throat tightened on her name, and swallowed hard until he felt it relax enough again. “I’ll keep this candle burning for you, in the window, to remind you…don’t forget to come home. I love you, baby.”
Angel sat and stared, prepared to wait out the long night ahead of him, certain that wherever she was, she’d heard him.
And she’d come.