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Title: Flashback
Author: Anna
Email: niannah@hotmail.com
Feedback: Yes please.
Pairing: Angelus/Darla
Rating: NC-17 - rated for violence
Disclaimer: Angelus and Darla are not mine.
Distribution: Shippers United, One Happy Family, The Crypt. Others just ask.
Summary: A violent vignette featuring Angelus and Darla.
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It was near the Duomo that Angelus first saw the priest. He was a young man, longish hair, a beard, gazing at the doors of the baptistery, running his fingers over Donatello's bronze.
Darla had no time for him, wanted to see her Botticellis.
So Angelus left her, and followed the young cleric. Through the dark, narrow streets of Florence, past the Innocenti, out of the city, and into the hills towards Fiesole. It was quite a walk, but Angelus had fed well.
He saw the church, a beautiful place, all warm limestone and Romanesque arches. Moonlight lit its dome a ghostly white. He saw the priest open the heavy wooden doors and enter through the multi-arched doorway. Soon candlelight faintly lit the windows near the north transept.
Angelus took note. A new project. They might be hurrying on their way to France, but there was plenty of time for an artful kill.
When he turned he saw the view, Florence by the light of a waxing moon.
A few nights later, he found the priest again, praying late in his church. This time Darla had come with him, to watch her boy at work. It did thrill her. They followed the young, brown-robed priest through the magnificent old doorway. At first he didn't hear them as they followed him through the deep shadows of the nave, column by column. They watched him light a hundred candles around the altar, the flame of the big, thick candles making the gilded semi-dome of the apse gleam like heaven itself. He knelt in front of the great crucifix hanging over the altar, the figure of Jesus nailed to the wood, and prayed.
It was then that Angelus came forward, a serene smile on his face. The priest turned at his approach. His eyes widened in surprise, but then mellowed, and he even began to smile. There was nothing threatening Angelus's figure, nothing to suggest the pain that would ensue.
The priest began to rise.
"May I help you?" he said. "Confession? Advice?"
"Help me, Father?" replied Angelus. "Sure, I'm here to help you."
"Help me? How?" The priest laughed, a little nervousness now audible to the attentive ear.
"You're a man of God?" Angelus had now come to a halt less than a step from the priest.
"Of course!" he replied. His benign expression began to fold into confusion.
"What's that they say about walking a mile in another man's shoes?" Angelus's brow now creased. "Or am I thinking of the right one? Darla!"
"Yes, Angelus?" The voice came like silk from the darkness.
"Am I thinking of the right one? Something about miles and shoes."
"What does it matter, Angelus?" she said.
"True. Walk a mile in another man's shoes, you're a mile away, and you've got his shoes. Though I prefer getting mine made, myself. What do you think, Father?"
"I – what?" The priest now looked very confused, though he was making a valiant attempt to retain the position of shepherd to this late-night flock of two.
"Ah, never mind, Father! I see you're wearing sandals anyway!" Angelus hooked his thumbs in his lapels. "And sure why not? Didn't the good Lord himself wear sandals?"
"I imagine so!" replied the priest. This was a topic he felt he could get to grips with. "Christ was a poor wanderer, and of course it was a hot country – "
Angelus cut him short.
"And of course you should be as like our good Lord Jesus Christ as possible, isn't that so, Father?" Angelus leaned close to the priest, as if expecting a secret to be divulged.
"Yes, I truly believe that."
"Father, I can tell when someone's lying, and I know you're not. You strike me as a good man."
"I try." It was a simple statement, and it held the absolute truth.
"And as I say, I'm here to help you. Become more like the Son of God."
A frown once again made its gentle curves on the priest's forehead.
Angelus lunged. The priest cried out in surprise and pain as he was grabbed by the hair and dragged to the top of the dome by a stairway in a great corner pillar. They skidded and slid up the dome's tiled curve until they were at its very apex. Angelus spread his arms wide over the Tuscan landscape.
"I'll give you all of this," he said, "if you bow down and worship me." He laughed. It was too funny.
The priest didn't think so.
"Never, Satan!" he replied gutturally. "Never!"
"Grand, so," said Angelus, hauling him back down the dome to the stairs. "But you made me do all that climbing for nothing!"
He threw the priest down the stairs and into the candlelight under the crossing. His gaze traveled slowly towards the great crucifix in the chancel. His eyes gleamed, though he flinched ever so slightly. Then he kneeled down beside the priest, leaning close to his face and inhaling deeply.
"Ah now, smell that fear," said Angelus softly. "Let's see, what can we do about that?"
He looked down the aisle at Darla sitting primly in the front pew.
"Are ye not joining in, love?"
"No, Angelus, this one is yours. Besides, you know how I love to watch." She clasped her hands in front of her in a parody of prayer.
Angelus smiled. Then he turned his attention back to the prone clergyman.
"My lady wants to watch. We'd better put on a good show, then, hmm?"
The priest tried to stand, but Angelus ruthlessly flung him again to the ground.
"None of that. Let's see now."
He took hold of the priest's habit at the back of his neck, and ripped it right down to the hem. The habit came off, leaving the priest almost naked on the cold tile of the crossing. The tiles spelled out IHS in terra cotta against the gray tiles of the floor. He tore the garment into strips. With some, he bound the horrified man hand and foot, making sure the knots were good and secure.
"Can't have you running away, now, can we?" he drawled. As he spoke, he removed his coat, folded it carefully, and laid it by Darla. Then he took the rest of the strips of rough brown cloth and wrapped them slowly and carefully around his own hands, making sure not a single sliver of skin was left visible, but keeping the thumbs free enough to move.
The priest lay on his belly, shivering now from fear and the cold ground. He watched as Angelus leapt onto the altar, kicking aside the chalice and monstrance. He all but flinched in the face of the giant crucifix suspended from the shadowy vaulted ceiling. He laughed at his own reaction. His head was level with the bloodied feet of the exquisitely carved, beautifully tortured Christ suspended on the cross. Angelus licked the blood, his tongue an obscene red against his white skin, then winced and spat.
"Paint!" he rasped. "We'll have to do something about that!"
Carefully he placed his bound hands at the foot of the cross. Satisfied when he felt no pain, he unhooked it from its chains and lowered it to the ground below the altar. With a spring and a smile he followed it, and carried it gingerly through the chancel arch into the crossing where the priest lay.
Holding down the cross with a foot, he ripped the very real nails from the hands and feet of the crucified figure. He flung the statue aside, and kneeled down beside the priest.
"I was going to do it properly, the whole thing, whips, crown of thorns, the lot. But unfortunately me and my lovely lady over there are in a bit of a rush, so we have to skip to the best bits. I know, disappointing, but that's it." He sighed.
The priest gaped.
"You're crazy!" he hissed. "You are insane!"
"Ah, now, that's not true." Angelus smiled. "I'm not insane, I'm evil. I thought I covered that with my big Satan impersonation on the roof. Maybe not. Here, I'll do my Judas too."
Angelus planted a kiss straight on the priest's mouth.
"How was that for you, Father?" He laughed again, undoing the bonds that held the priest's hands and feet together. "I liked it. You know what you taste of?"
The priest remained silent, gritting his teeth. "I wouldn't worry about it, though, Father." He turned the man's body over and laid him on the cross, again binding hands and feet, this time to the wood. "Even our good Lord himself was afraid. What was it he said again?"
"Father, if it be thy will, take this cup away from me." The priest pressed his eyes closed in the fervor of his prayer.
"That's it. Though, Father, I'll be honest with you, this one's not really in God's hands."
He stood up, and looked around. His eyes seemed to light on something he was looking for, and he strode forward to retrieve it.
He came back with a plain iron candlestick. It was dull and heavy, with a squared off base.
"This'll do nicely, hmm?" He hefted it in his wrapped hands, all the while smiling at the priest from under that heavy brow.
He knelt down again, this time straddling the priest. The almost-naked man writhed under him. Angelus laughed lewdly.
"Over the ages," he began, "Christ has been stripped. Did you know that? He started out in a full tunic. Neck to toe. Very serene looking too, hanging there on the cross. And look at you. Twisted in fear already. Never mind. About six hundred years ago they finally stripped him down to what we see today. Not unlike your own attire at this very moment, Father! And do you know why they never took the lot off?" He waited. "No? Well, I'll tell you. They didn't want to see that he was Jewish. I'm sure you know what I mean."
Angelus scooted back a little on the priest's body, until he was resting over his legs.
"I'm thinking we needn't worry about that with you, though."
Angelus ripped off the priest's loincloth.
"That's better." He cocked an eyebrow. "But – well, it's lucky you're a priest, 'cause there's not much you could be doing with that."
"Angelus." Darla's voice insinuated itself again from the shadows. "Don't be immature. It's dull."
He looked back at her. "Forgive me, my love."
He returned his attention to the man between his legs.
"Right," he said decisively. He moved to the right side of the priest's body. The priest had his hands clenched tight, the bonds around his arms cutting into his skin. Angelus licked the trace of blood soaking into the fabric, slowly, his
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