i feel so far away from close to you
I didn't leave the glass from the shattered mirror on the floor, but neither did I pack anything to take with me as I walked out the door. It was useless, I knew, because everything would fall into place when I saw Lindsey again; my Angel-induced identity crisis would cease to be a problem, and everything would work itself out, the way it never
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I can't breathe. The tears on her face, the look in her eyes, but mostly it's the sound of her voice when she speaks to me, makes it impossible for me to breathe. No. No, whatever she wants to tell me, I don't want to know. I don't want to hear it.
Make it not be true. Where is Lindsey? I can smell his blood and I think I already know, but I don't want to know. Because I don't want this to be real. He's just cut himself with a knife because he was being careless. Mom always tells him not to be so careless in the kitchen, and she'll probably yell at him the next time we all have dinner. Maybe he can bring Darla with him. That will be weird, but somehow it will be right. All of us together. Family.
I can't breathe, but I sit next to her. I let her take my hand and I'm not sure who is squeezing harder. Maybe it's me because I'm already shaking. I don't want to hear what she has to say, but what else can I do?
"Where's my Uncle?" I ask, looking up at her and the look on her face confirms what I don't want to believe. Her words will only make it real.
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"He's gone," I finally say, and the words are out there, their sound a surprise even to me. But it isn't a surprise, because I was there and Connor already knew -- knew it from the second that he walked in the door.
"He --" I don't elaborate because I can't speak, I can only sob. Tears are falling from my eyes anew, dripping off my cheeks and onto my arms and chest and I can't breathe, can only gasp and struggle for air.
Things were not supposed to end this way.
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"Connor, the thing about girls is, they are just as confused about how they feel about you as you are about them." Lindsey's words come out in a drawl, an accent that no one else in my family has. We're sitting at a diner and I asked him why things have to be so damn difficult when it comes to girls. "See, the thing is, they can fake it better. So, you either have to fake it too, or you learn to just tell them what's going on in that head of yours and hope they can sort it out." He winked at me as he ordered us another round of sodas. "Faking it is easier, but you get more if you take a chance and tell them how you feel."
I bet he took the chance with my mother. He told her what was going on in his head and I bet she was able to sort it out. I brush Darla's hair from her face as I try and push my Uncle's voice out of my head. It hurts too much to hear him now. Not my Uncle, almost my father, always my friend, gone. I can't handle this. What am I supposed to do?
"How did it happen? Who did this?"
I don't want to ask her, but she is the only one who can tell me. The only one who can point me in the right direction for vengeance. Whoever took Lindsey from us would pay. "I'll kill whoever did this."
It's a promise. I don't break my promises.
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I closed my eyes to focus, to try and breathe, to try and concentrate on anything beyond the pain that binds my heart in iron rings. Like that fairy tale, except that this is no story. This is real.
How did it happen? Who did this?"
I wish I could tell him, I wish I knew. I almost wish that I'd allowed Drusilla to explain her side of things, but I knew... knew that given a second, given half a moment, Connor wouldn't have simply lost Lindsey. He would have lost so much more, and he would have hated us and we would have deserved his hatred.
"Drusilla," I mutter, my voice low and full of disgust. I draw back to look at his face, his face that's carved with pain in every pore, and I touch my hand to his cheek. I inhale to prevent myself from collapsing, but I blink back the tears and hold myself up. "But it's --" I had to stop myself from saying "okay," because it wasn't okay. It couldn't be further from okay, or alright, or anything even remotely so.
"I killed her."
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"I told Lily that I love her." I can't stop smiling at Lindsey and he practically beams at me when he reaches over to ruffle my hair. A habit that I'm always telling him to stop doing, but he says he can't help it since I refuse to cut my hair. Like he can talk when it comes to long hair. "It's kind of weird to be in love. How did you know you loved Darla?"
He looks at me with this weird look in his eyes. Kind of smiles as he shrugs his shoulders. "I saw her."
"What?"
"I saw her and I knew I loved her. It happens every now and then. If you're lucky." He winks at me and I remember rolling my eyes at him. I never told him that I thought it was the same with Lily. That I loved her the moment I saw her.
I close my eyes, fighting back tears that threaten to fall. I can't cry. Lindsey would want me to take care of my mother and I can't do that if I fall apart. I fight off the memories that seem to be flooding me. All I can smell is his blood, hear his voice, and it hits me. The tears fall as I mumble mostly to myself, "I have to tell my parents. What am I supposed to tell my mom? He was her brother...at least she believes he was."
Two mothers, three if you count Cordy, and considering my memories maybe it would be best if I didn't. Four fathers, if you count Lindsey, and I do because that is how he loved me. He stepped in to be what Holtz and Angel couldn't because he loved my mother. Seven parents and they have all left me with the exception of the Riley's. Darla and Angel came back, but I doubt the same will be true for Lindsey. He's gone. I don't want him to be gone. Fuck.
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If I closed my eyes I could almost imagine that he was Lindsey and that things were okay -- but I knew better, because when I did close my eyes all I could see was Lindsey, telling me that he loved me before I got a chance to tell him that I loved him too.
All this time -- how long have I known it? So many days, hours, minutes, moments when I could have told him that I loved him and I paused every time, and those infinite pauses let him die without knowing. How many things could have been different?
"I have to tell my parents. What am I supposed to tell my mom? He was her brother...at least she believes he was."
His mom. I'd forgotten, in the insanity of the past weeks, about his mother -- the mother he'd known for all the memories he had. He'd never known me, we'd never -- this was our parent-child bonding moment. My poor boy. I sighed.
"Honey, you don't have to tell them anything right now, you just need to get through this. I just --"
God, I can't do this. I am not equipped to do this, four hundred years and nothing had been done to prepare me for the moment when I'd finally break. "I love you, Connor," I said firmly, pulling away enough so that I could look at him. "I don't ever want you to forget that."
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I know he really took me those baseball games, and that those talks on the beach, they were real. I know that the pain in his eyes, when he tried to explain why he'd let himself be added to the fake life that Angel created for me, was real. I know that when he said he loved me like his own, that it was the truth.
"I love you, Connor. I don't ever want you to forget that."
She loves me. I doubted that once. I doubted it before Angelus taunted me with how my parents were just dying to get away from me. I remember the sporting goods store, home made bombs, screaming that my mother didn't love me. Angel told me she did. Lindsey told me she did. Now I hear her say it and I lose what little hold I have left on my emotions.
I'm supposed to be strong for her. I'm supposed to help her through this, but I'm holding on to her so tight as I shake with sobs. "I love you, Mom." The words come out in choked gasps for air, but I think she hears me. She has to hear me. I didn't get a chance to tell Lindsey that we were ok. I didn't get a chance to make things right. I don't want to lose anyone else without them knowing how I feel.
It makes me so angry at him that he left before I could tell him. Angry that he let himself get killed! Why was he around Drusilla? How did she get to him? Why didn't he fight back?
"How did this happen?" I pause, memories flooding me as I think about all the times I've faced death, even my own. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply. Not enough blood in the apartment. Drusilla didn't kill him here. "Where did it happen? Where is he now?"
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Funny the way loss weakens you, and funny the way I would have watched in ecstasy if I'd caused this sort of pain to someone else, so many years before.
But Connor is strong, though God knows where he gets his strength -- I don't know whether it's from me, Angel, or from somebody entirely different, but he's a beautiful, precious rock, and he's buried in a diamond shell.
How did this happen, he asks, and I wince because I never really found out. But the pieces aren't difficult to put together and I toy with the idea of lying to my son and I hate myself for even cosnsidering it. If he wants the truth, then by God he's going to get it in spades.
"Drusilla ... " I pause, because Drusilla's insanity was no excuse. "She wanted to turn him, Connor. And me, and... baby, she gets inside your mind, and makes you see things that you..." I trail off, not really knowing where to go next. "I wasn't going to let her damn him the way I did your father... the way she did me. I wasn't going to let her do that to him, or to you."
I avoid his second question, not wanting to tell him about the alley, hoping that he'll just let it go for now. He doesn't need to know about the alley, about everything in that alley and he doesn't need the pain. Not right now.
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I can't finish that thought. My mother did the impossible. She let him die, instead of being selfish, so she could have him in some form. I know he wasn't already dead. That is why she smells of his blood.
"Was he still able to talk?" I ask, and I hate myself for asking. I hate myself for needing to know and for needing her to expand on her pain. None of these answers will bring him back, but I still need to know. "Tell me he didn't suffer."
Of course he suffered. A vampire drained him and wanted to turn him into a monster. How could he not have suffered? I sound like a little kid and that infuriates me, but deep down, I think I understand why people would rather have the lies. The lies make it easier because the truth is ugly and painful. The truth cuts like a knife, but she is my mother and she won't lie to me. Not when she knows that too many people that I loved, that I trusted, chose to lie to me in order to save me.
"You can't be saved by a lie. I can't be saved at all."
Angel didn't listen. He tried to save me with lies, and I know why he did it. I understand, but I was right. Because the lies shattered and the truth is still here. The truth is staring me in the face. In the questions she avoids answering. I look at her and ask quietly, "Where did he die? Where is Lindsey now?"
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He won't let it go and it breaks my heart, and I can't lie to him -- which tears me into pieces because he'll never understand that such things aren't his fault. That particular alley had nothing to do with Connor. It was all about me, and his birth had nothing to do with it.
I'd died there.
"She wanted to bring me back from where I'd died," I answer as honestly as I can without reminding him that it was also where he'd been born. "She just wanted --"
to continue where we left off the unspoken words, the words I would never say to Connor. He has enough to attempt to digest without throwing in the fact that I'd been a loathsome demon far more recently than I'd care to admit. He deserves better.
"He's at Wolfram and Hart," I forge on, knowing that he hates that law firm more than anything, hoping that he'll ignore the things I've already said. "It seemed best."
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I pull away from her, standing up to pace the length of the apartment. Suddenly the apartment that always felt too big feels like the walls are closing in on me. I'm back to not being able to breathe. Not being able to think about anything but alleys and death and how in the end it all comes back to me.
If I love you, if I need you, you will die. Probably in the alley I was born in.
My eyes flash at her when she says he's at Wolfram and Hart. Then I exhale slowly as a sense of calm washes over me. Angel is in charge there. He brought me back. Lindsey brought Darla back. It's so simple. I understand it now.
"When does he come back?" I ask, tilting my head to study her. She looks at me like she doesn't understand what I mean. "You took him to Wolfram and Hart so they can fix him. I understand." I smile at her softly. She is going to make it better. That's what mom's do. "When will Lindsey be back?"
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My mouth drops open, but I can't force the words out. I can't break his heart again, but if I don't -- oh, God, if I don't do it then it's still my fault and I can't.
"Back?" I echo, suddenly very still on the divan. The world is spinning, but I am motionless, defenseless, afraid of my shadow because I am in over my head. "Honey, no. It doesn't -- we can't just -- we can't just bring people back at will, Connor. If I could... Connor, that's very powerful magick and... Lindsey wouldn't..."
I take a deep breath and attempt to start again. "Lindsey wouldn't want that, Connor."
I'm afraid now, afraid to watch him break again. Afraid because he will.
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I step back like I've been slapped. My hand touches my cheek even though I know she never laid a finger on me. If she didn't plan on bringing him back, why would she give him to that place?
"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE WANTS!" I shout out, grabbing a vase and hurling it across the room. It smashes against a wall, shattering across the floor. I feel like that vase. Like I'm shattering and no one will ever be able to piece me together again.
She is looking at me and I don't understand why she won't do this. Doesn't she want him back? "He brought you back. He let them bring me back. Why..."
I turn away from her, and walk over to the window to look out at the city. I hate this place. I want to take Lily and get as far away from this place as possible. Fuck the funeral. Fuck the Riley's. Fuck everyone, because I'm sick of this. I'm tired and no one understands that I just want to rest.
"Why is he at Wolfram and Hart? Shouldn't he be at a funeral home so I can identify his body and make his death official?"
I don't even recognize the sound of my own voice anymore.
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