Taking a fic for a test drive--
If I could get some opinions on the following, I'd be very grateful. This fic is set about five years after "Chosen"/"Home" and is a BtVS/AtS crossover. I'm not even going to attempt to match it up with the upcoming season of AtS, so don't worry about spoilers--this is all my speculation about what the Jossverse might look like in five years. The pairing is Connor/Dawn. Take a look, por favor, and let me know if I confuse the hell out of you:
“I hope my friends didn’t scare you off,” Connor Davies said to his girlfriend. He stole a glance at her as he navigated his car down the dark, quiet residential streets leading to his parents’ home.
Dawn Summers gave him an amused grin. “It takes a lot more than a bunch of crazy guys to scare me.”
“Good.” Connor glanced at her again, a smile of his own on his lips.
He’d met her just a year ago, when he and a couple of his frat brothers had gone backpacking in Great Britain. Dawn, a California girl attending Oxford, was the most beautiful thing he’d seen on that journey. Much to his shock, she’d turned up at Notre Dame a semester later to study abroad.
“An American studying abroad--in America?” Connor had asked.
“Do you object?” she’d responded.
He most certainly hadn’t. She was beautiful, smart, warm, funny--he sometimes looked at her and wondered why he was lucky enough to have her for his girlfriend. He’d never taken any other college girlfriend home to meet his family. When he’d asked her, he’d been a bundle of nerves. What if she’d said no, that she liked him, but not *that* much?
But she hadn’t, and she was here. Of course, he wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d run screaming after meeting his old high school friends at the party tonight--but she hadn’t. She’d even held her own with them.
“You’re quite a woman, you know that?” he said, pulling up to the curb in front of his parents’ house to park.
“Yeah, I am.” She smiled even brighter, banishing the darkness of the night around her.
It took his breath away. She made him feel electric. This could be the one, he thought, and it was scary, exciting . . .
The next few moments seemed to pass in slow motion. Dawn’s smile was replaced by an expression of horror as her eyes caught something behind him.
“Connor!” she cried.
He turned his head just in time to see a fist smash through the driver’s-side door window. It grabbed him and pulled him out, tearing his clothes and skin and scattering broken glass. Connor found himself held aloft, looking into an impossibly ugly face.
“Well, well,” sneered the creature that was holding him. “Angel did a good job of hiding you, boy. Don’t know how he got you back, though. Gotta ask him how--after I’m done killing you.” It hurled him into a car whose alarm instantly began whooping. “Aw, shit. I was wanting to play with you, but I guess I’ll have to kill you quick. I’ll take my time with your old man.”
Connor’s car smashed into the creature, knocking it down. Dawn was at the wheel.
“Connor! Get in!” she yelled.
Connor practically dove into the back seat, and Dawn screeched out of there. Connor looked back to see the creature fade into shadow.
“What--what was that?” he gasped.
“Not sure.” Dawn’s voice was rock-solid. “I don’t think it’s safe to go back to your house tonight.”
Her calm took him by surprise. “Where are we going, then?”
“To someone who might know what’s going on,” she answered. “That demon said something about Angel, so that’s who we’re going to see.”
“Angel?” All Connor knew about Angel was that he was a somewhat reclusive artist. “Demon? Dawn--what exactly do you mean?”
She sighed. “You’re always asking me about my life and my family growing up. Well, I have a feeling that you’re about to get the full picture.”
***
The desk clerk at the Hyperion Hotel wasn’t extremely impressed with them. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking in the Connor’s bedraggled appearance with a pinched expression, “but Mr. Angel has left strict instructions that he is not to be disturbed. If you wish to make an appointment with him, you’ll have to call Wolfram & Hart at--“
“Look, just call up to his penthouse and tell him that Dawn Summers is here,” said Dawn. “He’ll want to see me.”
The desk clerk’s face grew even more pinched. “Listen, young lady--“
“Dawn?” The softly English-accented voice cut through the desk clerk’s snobby tones. Connor looked up to see a tall, handsome, brown-haired man approaching.
Dawn looked relieved to see him. “Wesley. Thank God. My boyfriend and I need to see Angel, and fast.” She indicated Connor.
Wesley looked at Connor, who suddenly felt very self-conscious about his torn clothes, which were bloody in spots, and the bruises that both he and Dawn were sporting. The Englishman turned his attention to the desk clerk.
“Call Angel. Inform him that I’m on my way up to see him, along with Dawn Summers and a guest,” ordered Wesley. “Come this way, both of you.”
Dawn spared a smirk for the desk clerk, and she and Connor followed Wesley into one of the elevators.
“What happened?” asked Wesley as soon as the doors shut.
“Demon of some kind attacked us,” Dawn answered. “It mentioned Angel’s name.”
“Dawn,” said Connor. She looked at him. “Demon?”
“That’s what it was,” insisted Dawn. “Look, Connor, there’s a lot out there you don’t know about. I grew up with it. If that wasn’t a demon, what would you call it?”
Connor shrugged and shook his head. “I dunno. Super-strong freak, maybe, but demon?”
The word chilled him precisely because it seemed so apt. His Catholic upbringing had left him with the strong conviction that there were spiritual forces present in the world--and that being, with its hideous form and aura of absolute evil, certainly embodied the idea of “demon.”
Both Dawn and Wesley seemed absolutely serious as they looked at Connor. One of the things that had most intrigued Connor about Dawn was her depth. He’d known from the first time he met her that life had dealt Dawn a lot of blows, but she’d always fought back. Now, as he looked into the haunted depths of her eyes, he knew that she had reason to believe what she did.
The elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened. Wesley escorted them across the hall to a door, pulled out a key, and opened it. The door swung open to reveal a spacious penthouse apartment. Dawn and Connor entered, taking in the elegant, yet spare, décor. Standing with his back to them, looking out the picture window at the Los Angeles night was a tall, broad man.
“Angel?” said Dawn.
The man, Angel, turned around, a slight smile on his face. “Hello, Dawn. I take it you’ve found trouble?”
Dawn smiled. “You know me. Trouble magnet.”
Angel’s eyes flicked past her to Connor . . . and they both froze. For the longest moment of Connor’s life, he held Angel’s gaze. Something about this man evoked a powerful sense of déjà vu. As for Angel, his body and face were locked, frozen.
Dawn’s voice cut in. “Connor, this is Angel. He’s an old friend of my family. Angel, this is Connor, my boyfriend. We got attacked by something this evening, and it said your name.”
Angel forced his gaze away from Connor. “What?”
“A demon. It attacked us, and I heard it say your name. Connor, do you remember?”
Connor shook off the eerie feeling Angel’s gaze had evoked in him. “Um, not really. It had me by the throat. Something about Angel hiding something--I didn’t understand.”
“What did it look like?” Angel asked.
“Big. Wrinkly skin. Ugly.” Connor shrugged. “I didn’t exactly get its vital stats; I was fighting for my life.”
“It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before,” put in Dawn. “It looked a little like Glory’s minions, only a lot bigger, stronger, and meaner.”
Connor had been replaying the whole scene in his head. He was struck by sudden horror. “My dad!”
Angel jerked visibly. “What?”
“It said it was going to kill me and my ‘old man,’” explained Connor, feeling panic grip him. “If it’s going after my dad--“ He turned and started toward the door.
A hand caught his shoulder. Connor wheeled to find himself face-to-face with Angel. Part of him wondered how Angel could have gotten across the room that fast, but the young man was too worried about his family to give it much thought. As their eyes met, Connor was again overwhelmed by that strange sense of déjà vu.
“It’s not safe for you to go back home,” Angel said.
“But it said--“
“I’ll take a team, and we’ll make sure your family’s okay,” Angel interrupted. “You and Dawn should stay here. Wesley?”
Wesley had already pulled out a phone and was giving orders for a team to meet him and Angel outside the Hyperion. Angel grabbed a long coat, and a few seconds later, Connor and Dawn were alone in the penthouse.
“He doesn’t even know my address!” protested Connor belatedly.
“Angel knows how to find things,” Dawn reassured him. “Why don’t we sit down, and I’ll take a look at those scrapes of yours while I explain some things about my very unusual adolescence.”
***
“This is the place,” said Angel, looking around at the quiet residential street. There wasn’t much evidence of the fight, just shattered glass and black marks on the asphalt. “As far as I can tell, the--the family hasn’t been disturbed.”
Wesley had been watching Angel knowingly. “It’s him, isn’t it? The boy, Connor. There’s a reason he looks like you, isn’t there?”
For the first few months after Angel’s devil’s deal with Wolfram & Hart, no one had even questioned the inconsistencies of the previous year-and-a-half. It was as if something had been blinding them all. Slowly, though, Wesley and Fred had begun to suspect something was wrong. As for Gunn--well, how much he’d known, and when, were unknown. Gunn kept his own counsel these days.
It was all Spike’s fault, of course. The vampire-cum-human had been returned to life by the Ra-Tet, who’d decided his ability to use their amulet warranted giving him a second chance at life. He’d then proceeded to bug them all to death with questions about what the hell they were doing working for Wolfram & Hart. Eventually, those questions had overpowered whatever was blinding Wesley, Fred, and Lorne.
The search for answers had led directly to Connor.
Angel looked at his old friend with empty eyes. “Yes.”
Wesley’s eyes were full of compassion. “The demon spoke of you, and threatened Connor’s ‘old man.’ That seems to me to indicate that it knows of your relationship with him. Angel--what do you know about this? You’re the only one with intact memories of Connor’s life.”
“I-I think, from Dawn’s description, that it might be Sahjhan.”
“Sahjhan? You mean the demon that brought Holtz forward in time?”
“Yeah.” Angel’s brow furrowed. “He was trying to prevent Connor’s birth because it was prophesied that the child of two vampires would kill him. The only question is how he even knows about Connor after Wolfram & Hart’s spell.”
“Perhaps his kind would be unaffected by it,” suggested Wesley. “He was trapped, was he not?”
“He was. That makes the second question: how did he get free?”
“Another excellent question. Perhaps the Ra-Tet would know.”
Angel nodded. “They knew more than I did about Sahjhan last time. We’ll ask Gunn when we get back to Wolfram & Hart.” He crouched down beside a couple of dark spots on the road. “I smell demon blood here”
Wesley very carefully gathered a specimen for transport back to the lab. He suddenly chuckled. “Quite an irony, isn’t it? Buffy’s sister is now dating your son.”
In spite of himself, Angel had to smile. “Yeah. They’re either the best thing for each other--or an apocalypse waiting to happen.”
“Let us hope for the former rather than the latter.” Wesley stood. “I don’t believe we can do anything more here.”
“No. We’ll leave some of the team in case Sahjhan comes back, but I doubt he will.” Angel and Wesley went back to the car. “I think we need to talk more to Dawn and Connor, anyway.”
“I concur.” Wesley waited a moment while Angel started the car. “I wonder what his life’s been like?”
For a long moment, Angel stared into space, eyes and face distant. “Good. It has to have been good.” He looked at Wesley helplessly. “If not . . . what have I done?”
***
“You okay?” Dawn asked.
Connor didn’t have any clue as to how to answer her. Physically, he was a mess of aches and sharp pains. Dawn had patched up the worst cuts and scrapes on his body with an efficiency that told him she was no stranger to combat medicine. Mentally, he was a little more ragged. “So . . . demons and vampires, and these Slayer girls fight them?”
Dawn nodded. “Yes. There are about a hundred worldwide. Slayers, I mean.”
“And the Guardians?”
“Take care of the Slayers. We keep them secret and help them in any way we can. That’s what I was doing at Notre Dame. Charlotte, my roommate from Oxford, is a Slayer. She wanted to study abroad at an American school, so I went with her.” She smiled. “It’s my first solo assignment--I’m kinda surprised Giles let me out of the country, but he did.”
It was a bit ego-bruising to hear that. Connor had dared to imagine she’d come to Notre Dame looking for him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this before?”
“What? That vampires and demons are real, and my sister’s been fighting them since I was nine?” Dawn shook her head. “You’d have thought I was crazy.”
“So when were you planning on telling me all this?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed softly, rubbing her forehead. “I guess . . . I guess I needed to know that this--between us--was going to be,” she gestured helplessly, “real. That it was going to last. Connor, the Slayers have to operate in secrecy. Think of what would happen if the world suddenly knew about all these super-powered girls and women. We’ve gone to incredible lengths, both technological and magical, to keep them secret and safe. I’m a Guardian; I have to protect them so that they can protect the world.”
Connor didn’t know what to say to that. He shrugged into the shirt Dawn had appropriated from Angel’s wardrobe for him. “And Angel’s a vampire?”
“Yep. He and Buffy had a thing for a few years.”
Given Connor’s experiences with the redoubtable Buffy Summers, he could well believe she was a Slayer. The first time he’d met her, she’d nearly crushed his hand with her own while politely asking how well he and Dawn knew each other.
And she’d dated a vampire, he thought. It almost made him laugh. Actually, the whole insane situation almost made him laugh. Here he was, talking to the girl he was busy falling in love with about vampires, demons, and the supernaturally-powered girls who fought them. If it had been anyone other than Dawn, even with what he’d seen this evening, he’d never have believed it.
He stood and began to wander absently around Angel’s apartment. For as long as he could remember, Connor had had a love for art. In the last couple of years, Angel pieces--drawings, mostly--had become the rage of the art world. Connor was more excited than he’d have easily admitted to be inside Angel’s inner sanctum. Especially seeing as there were sketches scattered all over Angel’s desk.
“Have any idea what these would be worth? Unpublished Angel sketches?” he asked Dawn, picking one up. It depicted a woman with an elfin face and soft, curly hair.
Dawn smiled. “You probably do. But then, I think you draw as well as Angel.”
“Nah. My drawing lacks. But then, I haven’t had forever to practice.” He set the drawing down.
“250 years.”
“Hm?”
“Angel. He’s around 250 years old.”
Connor picked up another drawing, this one of a handsome young African-American man with curiously light eyes. It was easier to distract himself with artwork than to think about the hairpin turn his worldview had just taken.
The door to the penthouse opened, and Angel and Wesley walked in. “Find anything?” asked Dawn.
“Whatever it was, it was long gone,” said Angel. “We did find a couple drops of demon blood, though, and the lab can analyze it.” His eyes found Connor, who was suddenly acutely aware of the drawing he was holding.
“I was just looking,” said the young man, carefully setting it down. “Promise I wasn’t going to pick up a few of these to sell on the black market.”
Angel looked faintly surprised and pleased. “Do you know my work?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a print of ‘Dear One.’” Connor suddenly felt like a fanboy. It was vaguely embarrassing.
That odd expression Angel had worn when he’d first seen Connor was back. “ ‘Dear One?’ Why did--what drew you to that piece?”
“I guess it was the expression on the woman’s face,” said Connor, still embarrassed and feeling like he was talking to his most intimidating art professor, only about a million times worse. “I mean, the way she’s touching her belly, you can tell she loves her baby--it’s so tender--but the expression on her face is so sad. I always wondered why.”
Angel nodded and busied himself taking off and hanging up his trenchcoat.
“Connor’s an artist, too,” chipped in Dawn suddenly.
Connor was mortified. “Dawn!”
“Really?” Angel looked interested. “What’s your favorite medium?”
“I’m not really--I mean, my drawing and my painting are pretty much crap,” stammered Connor. “I like sculpture more.”
“And he’s good at it and keeps winning prizes,” added Dawn firmly. She’d been wonderful about encouraging his art. At the moment, though, Connor wished she’d just leave it alone.
“Good. I mean, it’s good to have something you’re good at,” said Angel. For whatever reason, he looked just as nervous as Connor felt.
Mercifully, Wesley intervened. “We need to know everything you two can remember about the demon attack.”
For the next half-hour, Dawn and Connor carefully combed through their memories for information. Finally, neither could come up with anything new to add.
“Do you have any idea why it attacked me?” Connor asked Angel.
Angel shifted uncomfortably. “It could be a case of mistaken identity. In any case, though, we think it would be best if you and Dawn stayed here, at least for tonight. We can get you rooms here. Or . . . a room. Whichever you two would prefer. I mean, you can arrange that with the desk clerk, because it’s not really my business.”
Dawn laughed softly at the mortal embarrassment in Angel’s face. “Two rooms will be fine, Angel.”
Connor was distracted by something else. He could see the whole group’s reflection in the picture window. Himself, Wesley, Dawn . . . but not Angel. “Whoa,” he murmured.
Angel looked at him sharply, then followed his gaze. “Uh, Dawn, did you mention . . ?”
She nodded. “I did. Connor knows.”
“That’s just so cool,” said Connor, still digging Angel’s lack of reflection. “So, like, is everything I’ve read about vampires true? Wooden stakes, sunlight, crosses?”
“I don’t exactly feel comfortable around any of those,” said Angel, looking like he wasn’t very comfortable anyway.
“Can you fly?” asked Connor. “What about--“
“Connor,” interrupted Dawn. He looked at her. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. This isn’t exactly Angel’s favorite subject.”
“Right. Sorry.” Connor felt himself blushing again. “We should probably get our rooms.”
A little while later, they had their room keys. The hotel was quiet. Most of the guests were probably asleep. Outside Dawn’s door, the young people paused.
“You really okay?” she asked Connor.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I guess--this is a lot to take in. That and I think I’m going to be sore as hell tomorrow.”
Dawn smiled that gorgeous smile he’d fallen hard for. “You’ll be okay. Angel and his crew will figure it out, and . . .” She trailed off, looking at something behind him. “Cordy?”
Connor turned to behold one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen or imagined. She was tall, almost his height, and curvaceous, with long, dark brown hair. Her face was completely unadorned, needing no makeup to enhance her features, and the sunspot on her cheek only served to highlight her beauty. And she was staring at him.
“Baby,” she murmured. One of her hands came up to touch his face. “You’ve come back.”
In a night of disturbing events, somehow, the most disturbing thing was the expression in her eyes. Rather, the lack of expression. They were wide and vacant as they stared into his. “Who--who are you?” Connor asked.
Her head tilted to one side, and a single tear ran down her cheek. “Once upon a time, I destroyed you. I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry . . .”
Dawn stepped to his side. “Cordy? Are you okay?”
“She shines,” murmured Cordy. She pulled back her hand. “Shouldn’t touch, shouldn’t look. I could bring everything crashing down again.” A little sob escaped her throat. “I tried to do the right thing. Remember that, baby, please remember.”
“Cordy!” cried another voice. A tall, slim girl ran up and slipped an arm around Cordy. Connor recognized her face from Angel’s drawing. “Cordy, honey, you shouldn’t run off like that, and--Dawn?”
“Fred, hi,” said Dawn. She tilted her head toward Cordy. “What--?”
Fred looked troubled. “You remember when you came here after Sunnydale was destroyed?”
“Yeah,” Dawn said. “She was in a coma then.”
“I got lost,” said Cordy suddenly.
“I know, honey,” said Fred gently, smoothing Cordy’s hair. “She came out of it about a year later, and . . . she hasn’t been the same.”
Cordy looked at Connor again. “I’m sorry.”
Something about this beautiful, maddened woman was almost unbearably tragic. “It’s okay,” he soothed her.
Dawn stepped forward and gently hugged Cordy. When she let go, Fred began to lead her away.
Suddenly, Cordy stopped and looked back. “Forgive me, Connor,” she said. At that, Fred stiffened and looked hard at Connor for just a moment. Then she shook her head, murmured something soothing to Cordy, and continued leading her away.
And Connor was left wondering how Cordy knew his name.
“I hope my friends didn’t scare you off,” Connor Davies said to his girlfriend. He stole a glance at her as he navigated his car down the dark, quiet residential streets leading to his parents’ home.
Dawn Summers gave him an amused grin. “It takes a lot more than a bunch of crazy guys to scare me.”
“Good.” Connor glanced at her again, a smile of his own on his lips.
He’d met her just a year ago, when he and a couple of his frat brothers had gone backpacking in Great Britain. Dawn, a California girl attending Oxford, was the most beautiful thing he’d seen on that journey. Much to his shock, she’d turned up at Notre Dame a semester later to study abroad.
“An American studying abroad--in America?” Connor had asked.
“Do you object?” she’d responded.
He most certainly hadn’t. She was beautiful, smart, warm, funny--he sometimes looked at her and wondered why he was lucky enough to have her for his girlfriend. He’d never taken any other college girlfriend home to meet his family. When he’d asked her, he’d been a bundle of nerves. What if she’d said no, that she liked him, but not *that* much?
But she hadn’t, and she was here. Of course, he wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d run screaming after meeting his old high school friends at the party tonight--but she hadn’t. She’d even held her own with them.
“You’re quite a woman, you know that?” he said, pulling up to the curb in front of his parents’ house to park.
“Yeah, I am.” She smiled even brighter, banishing the darkness of the night around her.
It took his breath away. She made him feel electric. This could be the one, he thought, and it was scary, exciting . . .
The next few moments seemed to pass in slow motion. Dawn’s smile was replaced by an expression of horror as her eyes caught something behind him.
“Connor!” she cried.
He turned his head just in time to see a fist smash through the driver’s-side door window. It grabbed him and pulled him out, tearing his clothes and skin and scattering broken glass. Connor found himself held aloft, looking into an impossibly ugly face.
“Well, well,” sneered the creature that was holding him. “Angel did a good job of hiding you, boy. Don’t know how he got you back, though. Gotta ask him how--after I’m done killing you.” It hurled him into a car whose alarm instantly began whooping. “Aw, shit. I was wanting to play with you, but I guess I’ll have to kill you quick. I’ll take my time with your old man.”
Connor’s car smashed into the creature, knocking it down. Dawn was at the wheel.
“Connor! Get in!” she yelled.
Connor practically dove into the back seat, and Dawn screeched out of there. Connor looked back to see the creature fade into shadow.
“What--what was that?” he gasped.
“Not sure.” Dawn’s voice was rock-solid. “I don’t think it’s safe to go back to your house tonight.”
Her calm took him by surprise. “Where are we going, then?”
“To someone who might know what’s going on,” she answered. “That demon said something about Angel, so that’s who we’re going to see.”
“Angel?” All Connor knew about Angel was that he was a somewhat reclusive artist. “Demon? Dawn--what exactly do you mean?”
She sighed. “You’re always asking me about my life and my family growing up. Well, I have a feeling that you’re about to get the full picture.”
***
The desk clerk at the Hyperion Hotel wasn’t extremely impressed with them. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking in the Connor’s bedraggled appearance with a pinched expression, “but Mr. Angel has left strict instructions that he is not to be disturbed. If you wish to make an appointment with him, you’ll have to call Wolfram & Hart at--“
“Look, just call up to his penthouse and tell him that Dawn Summers is here,” said Dawn. “He’ll want to see me.”
The desk clerk’s face grew even more pinched. “Listen, young lady--“
“Dawn?” The softly English-accented voice cut through the desk clerk’s snobby tones. Connor looked up to see a tall, handsome, brown-haired man approaching.
Dawn looked relieved to see him. “Wesley. Thank God. My boyfriend and I need to see Angel, and fast.” She indicated Connor.
Wesley looked at Connor, who suddenly felt very self-conscious about his torn clothes, which were bloody in spots, and the bruises that both he and Dawn were sporting. The Englishman turned his attention to the desk clerk.
“Call Angel. Inform him that I’m on my way up to see him, along with Dawn Summers and a guest,” ordered Wesley. “Come this way, both of you.”
Dawn spared a smirk for the desk clerk, and she and Connor followed Wesley into one of the elevators.
“What happened?” asked Wesley as soon as the doors shut.
“Demon of some kind attacked us,” Dawn answered. “It mentioned Angel’s name.”
“Dawn,” said Connor. She looked at him. “Demon?”
“That’s what it was,” insisted Dawn. “Look, Connor, there’s a lot out there you don’t know about. I grew up with it. If that wasn’t a demon, what would you call it?”
Connor shrugged and shook his head. “I dunno. Super-strong freak, maybe, but demon?”
The word chilled him precisely because it seemed so apt. His Catholic upbringing had left him with the strong conviction that there were spiritual forces present in the world--and that being, with its hideous form and aura of absolute evil, certainly embodied the idea of “demon.”
Both Dawn and Wesley seemed absolutely serious as they looked at Connor. One of the things that had most intrigued Connor about Dawn was her depth. He’d known from the first time he met her that life had dealt Dawn a lot of blows, but she’d always fought back. Now, as he looked into the haunted depths of her eyes, he knew that she had reason to believe what she did.
The elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened. Wesley escorted them across the hall to a door, pulled out a key, and opened it. The door swung open to reveal a spacious penthouse apartment. Dawn and Connor entered, taking in the elegant, yet spare, décor. Standing with his back to them, looking out the picture window at the Los Angeles night was a tall, broad man.
“Angel?” said Dawn.
The man, Angel, turned around, a slight smile on his face. “Hello, Dawn. I take it you’ve found trouble?”
Dawn smiled. “You know me. Trouble magnet.”
Angel’s eyes flicked past her to Connor . . . and they both froze. For the longest moment of Connor’s life, he held Angel’s gaze. Something about this man evoked a powerful sense of déjà vu. As for Angel, his body and face were locked, frozen.
Dawn’s voice cut in. “Connor, this is Angel. He’s an old friend of my family. Angel, this is Connor, my boyfriend. We got attacked by something this evening, and it said your name.”
Angel forced his gaze away from Connor. “What?”
“A demon. It attacked us, and I heard it say your name. Connor, do you remember?”
Connor shook off the eerie feeling Angel’s gaze had evoked in him. “Um, not really. It had me by the throat. Something about Angel hiding something--I didn’t understand.”
“What did it look like?” Angel asked.
“Big. Wrinkly skin. Ugly.” Connor shrugged. “I didn’t exactly get its vital stats; I was fighting for my life.”
“It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before,” put in Dawn. “It looked a little like Glory’s minions, only a lot bigger, stronger, and meaner.”
Connor had been replaying the whole scene in his head. He was struck by sudden horror. “My dad!”
Angel jerked visibly. “What?”
“It said it was going to kill me and my ‘old man,’” explained Connor, feeling panic grip him. “If it’s going after my dad--“ He turned and started toward the door.
A hand caught his shoulder. Connor wheeled to find himself face-to-face with Angel. Part of him wondered how Angel could have gotten across the room that fast, but the young man was too worried about his family to give it much thought. As their eyes met, Connor was again overwhelmed by that strange sense of déjà vu.
“It’s not safe for you to go back home,” Angel said.
“But it said--“
“I’ll take a team, and we’ll make sure your family’s okay,” Angel interrupted. “You and Dawn should stay here. Wesley?”
Wesley had already pulled out a phone and was giving orders for a team to meet him and Angel outside the Hyperion. Angel grabbed a long coat, and a few seconds later, Connor and Dawn were alone in the penthouse.
“He doesn’t even know my address!” protested Connor belatedly.
“Angel knows how to find things,” Dawn reassured him. “Why don’t we sit down, and I’ll take a look at those scrapes of yours while I explain some things about my very unusual adolescence.”
***
“This is the place,” said Angel, looking around at the quiet residential street. There wasn’t much evidence of the fight, just shattered glass and black marks on the asphalt. “As far as I can tell, the--the family hasn’t been disturbed.”
Wesley had been watching Angel knowingly. “It’s him, isn’t it? The boy, Connor. There’s a reason he looks like you, isn’t there?”
For the first few months after Angel’s devil’s deal with Wolfram & Hart, no one had even questioned the inconsistencies of the previous year-and-a-half. It was as if something had been blinding them all. Slowly, though, Wesley and Fred had begun to suspect something was wrong. As for Gunn--well, how much he’d known, and when, were unknown. Gunn kept his own counsel these days.
It was all Spike’s fault, of course. The vampire-cum-human had been returned to life by the Ra-Tet, who’d decided his ability to use their amulet warranted giving him a second chance at life. He’d then proceeded to bug them all to death with questions about what the hell they were doing working for Wolfram & Hart. Eventually, those questions had overpowered whatever was blinding Wesley, Fred, and Lorne.
The search for answers had led directly to Connor.
Angel looked at his old friend with empty eyes. “Yes.”
Wesley’s eyes were full of compassion. “The demon spoke of you, and threatened Connor’s ‘old man.’ That seems to me to indicate that it knows of your relationship with him. Angel--what do you know about this? You’re the only one with intact memories of Connor’s life.”
“I-I think, from Dawn’s description, that it might be Sahjhan.”
“Sahjhan? You mean the demon that brought Holtz forward in time?”
“Yeah.” Angel’s brow furrowed. “He was trying to prevent Connor’s birth because it was prophesied that the child of two vampires would kill him. The only question is how he even knows about Connor after Wolfram & Hart’s spell.”
“Perhaps his kind would be unaffected by it,” suggested Wesley. “He was trapped, was he not?”
“He was. That makes the second question: how did he get free?”
“Another excellent question. Perhaps the Ra-Tet would know.”
Angel nodded. “They knew more than I did about Sahjhan last time. We’ll ask Gunn when we get back to Wolfram & Hart.” He crouched down beside a couple of dark spots on the road. “I smell demon blood here”
Wesley very carefully gathered a specimen for transport back to the lab. He suddenly chuckled. “Quite an irony, isn’t it? Buffy’s sister is now dating your son.”
In spite of himself, Angel had to smile. “Yeah. They’re either the best thing for each other--or an apocalypse waiting to happen.”
“Let us hope for the former rather than the latter.” Wesley stood. “I don’t believe we can do anything more here.”
“No. We’ll leave some of the team in case Sahjhan comes back, but I doubt he will.” Angel and Wesley went back to the car. “I think we need to talk more to Dawn and Connor, anyway.”
“I concur.” Wesley waited a moment while Angel started the car. “I wonder what his life’s been like?”
For a long moment, Angel stared into space, eyes and face distant. “Good. It has to have been good.” He looked at Wesley helplessly. “If not . . . what have I done?”
***
“You okay?” Dawn asked.
Connor didn’t have any clue as to how to answer her. Physically, he was a mess of aches and sharp pains. Dawn had patched up the worst cuts and scrapes on his body with an efficiency that told him she was no stranger to combat medicine. Mentally, he was a little more ragged. “So . . . demons and vampires, and these Slayer girls fight them?”
Dawn nodded. “Yes. There are about a hundred worldwide. Slayers, I mean.”
“And the Guardians?”
“Take care of the Slayers. We keep them secret and help them in any way we can. That’s what I was doing at Notre Dame. Charlotte, my roommate from Oxford, is a Slayer. She wanted to study abroad at an American school, so I went with her.” She smiled. “It’s my first solo assignment--I’m kinda surprised Giles let me out of the country, but he did.”
It was a bit ego-bruising to hear that. Connor had dared to imagine she’d come to Notre Dame looking for him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this before?”
“What? That vampires and demons are real, and my sister’s been fighting them since I was nine?” Dawn shook her head. “You’d have thought I was crazy.”
“So when were you planning on telling me all this?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed softly, rubbing her forehead. “I guess . . . I guess I needed to know that this--between us--was going to be,” she gestured helplessly, “real. That it was going to last. Connor, the Slayers have to operate in secrecy. Think of what would happen if the world suddenly knew about all these super-powered girls and women. We’ve gone to incredible lengths, both technological and magical, to keep them secret and safe. I’m a Guardian; I have to protect them so that they can protect the world.”
Connor didn’t know what to say to that. He shrugged into the shirt Dawn had appropriated from Angel’s wardrobe for him. “And Angel’s a vampire?”
“Yep. He and Buffy had a thing for a few years.”
Given Connor’s experiences with the redoubtable Buffy Summers, he could well believe she was a Slayer. The first time he’d met her, she’d nearly crushed his hand with her own while politely asking how well he and Dawn knew each other.
And she’d dated a vampire, he thought. It almost made him laugh. Actually, the whole insane situation almost made him laugh. Here he was, talking to the girl he was busy falling in love with about vampires, demons, and the supernaturally-powered girls who fought them. If it had been anyone other than Dawn, even with what he’d seen this evening, he’d never have believed it.
He stood and began to wander absently around Angel’s apartment. For as long as he could remember, Connor had had a love for art. In the last couple of years, Angel pieces--drawings, mostly--had become the rage of the art world. Connor was more excited than he’d have easily admitted to be inside Angel’s inner sanctum. Especially seeing as there were sketches scattered all over Angel’s desk.
“Have any idea what these would be worth? Unpublished Angel sketches?” he asked Dawn, picking one up. It depicted a woman with an elfin face and soft, curly hair.
Dawn smiled. “You probably do. But then, I think you draw as well as Angel.”
“Nah. My drawing lacks. But then, I haven’t had forever to practice.” He set the drawing down.
“250 years.”
“Hm?”
“Angel. He’s around 250 years old.”
Connor picked up another drawing, this one of a handsome young African-American man with curiously light eyes. It was easier to distract himself with artwork than to think about the hairpin turn his worldview had just taken.
The door to the penthouse opened, and Angel and Wesley walked in. “Find anything?” asked Dawn.
“Whatever it was, it was long gone,” said Angel. “We did find a couple drops of demon blood, though, and the lab can analyze it.” His eyes found Connor, who was suddenly acutely aware of the drawing he was holding.
“I was just looking,” said the young man, carefully setting it down. “Promise I wasn’t going to pick up a few of these to sell on the black market.”
Angel looked faintly surprised and pleased. “Do you know my work?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a print of ‘Dear One.’” Connor suddenly felt like a fanboy. It was vaguely embarrassing.
That odd expression Angel had worn when he’d first seen Connor was back. “ ‘Dear One?’ Why did--what drew you to that piece?”
“I guess it was the expression on the woman’s face,” said Connor, still embarrassed and feeling like he was talking to his most intimidating art professor, only about a million times worse. “I mean, the way she’s touching her belly, you can tell she loves her baby--it’s so tender--but the expression on her face is so sad. I always wondered why.”
Angel nodded and busied himself taking off and hanging up his trenchcoat.
“Connor’s an artist, too,” chipped in Dawn suddenly.
Connor was mortified. “Dawn!”
“Really?” Angel looked interested. “What’s your favorite medium?”
“I’m not really--I mean, my drawing and my painting are pretty much crap,” stammered Connor. “I like sculpture more.”
“And he’s good at it and keeps winning prizes,” added Dawn firmly. She’d been wonderful about encouraging his art. At the moment, though, Connor wished she’d just leave it alone.
“Good. I mean, it’s good to have something you’re good at,” said Angel. For whatever reason, he looked just as nervous as Connor felt.
Mercifully, Wesley intervened. “We need to know everything you two can remember about the demon attack.”
For the next half-hour, Dawn and Connor carefully combed through their memories for information. Finally, neither could come up with anything new to add.
“Do you have any idea why it attacked me?” Connor asked Angel.
Angel shifted uncomfortably. “It could be a case of mistaken identity. In any case, though, we think it would be best if you and Dawn stayed here, at least for tonight. We can get you rooms here. Or . . . a room. Whichever you two would prefer. I mean, you can arrange that with the desk clerk, because it’s not really my business.”
Dawn laughed softly at the mortal embarrassment in Angel’s face. “Two rooms will be fine, Angel.”
Connor was distracted by something else. He could see the whole group’s reflection in the picture window. Himself, Wesley, Dawn . . . but not Angel. “Whoa,” he murmured.
Angel looked at him sharply, then followed his gaze. “Uh, Dawn, did you mention . . ?”
She nodded. “I did. Connor knows.”
“That’s just so cool,” said Connor, still digging Angel’s lack of reflection. “So, like, is everything I’ve read about vampires true? Wooden stakes, sunlight, crosses?”
“I don’t exactly feel comfortable around any of those,” said Angel, looking like he wasn’t very comfortable anyway.
“Can you fly?” asked Connor. “What about--“
“Connor,” interrupted Dawn. He looked at her. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. This isn’t exactly Angel’s favorite subject.”
“Right. Sorry.” Connor felt himself blushing again. “We should probably get our rooms.”
A little while later, they had their room keys. The hotel was quiet. Most of the guests were probably asleep. Outside Dawn’s door, the young people paused.
“You really okay?” she asked Connor.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I guess--this is a lot to take in. That and I think I’m going to be sore as hell tomorrow.”
Dawn smiled that gorgeous smile he’d fallen hard for. “You’ll be okay. Angel and his crew will figure it out, and . . .” She trailed off, looking at something behind him. “Cordy?”
Connor turned to behold one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen or imagined. She was tall, almost his height, and curvaceous, with long, dark brown hair. Her face was completely unadorned, needing no makeup to enhance her features, and the sunspot on her cheek only served to highlight her beauty. And she was staring at him.
“Baby,” she murmured. One of her hands came up to touch his face. “You’ve come back.”
In a night of disturbing events, somehow, the most disturbing thing was the expression in her eyes. Rather, the lack of expression. They were wide and vacant as they stared into his. “Who--who are you?” Connor asked.
Her head tilted to one side, and a single tear ran down her cheek. “Once upon a time, I destroyed you. I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry . . .”
Dawn stepped to his side. “Cordy? Are you okay?”
“She shines,” murmured Cordy. She pulled back her hand. “Shouldn’t touch, shouldn’t look. I could bring everything crashing down again.” A little sob escaped her throat. “I tried to do the right thing. Remember that, baby, please remember.”
“Cordy!” cried another voice. A tall, slim girl ran up and slipped an arm around Cordy. Connor recognized her face from Angel’s drawing. “Cordy, honey, you shouldn’t run off like that, and--Dawn?”
“Fred, hi,” said Dawn. She tilted her head toward Cordy. “What--?”
Fred looked troubled. “You remember when you came here after Sunnydale was destroyed?”
“Yeah,” Dawn said. “She was in a coma then.”
“I got lost,” said Cordy suddenly.
“I know, honey,” said Fred gently, smoothing Cordy’s hair. “She came out of it about a year later, and . . . she hasn’t been the same.”
Cordy looked at Connor again. “I’m sorry.”
Something about this beautiful, maddened woman was almost unbearably tragic. “It’s okay,” he soothed her.
Dawn stepped forward and gently hugged Cordy. When she let go, Fred began to lead her away.
Suddenly, Cordy stopped and looked back. “Forgive me, Connor,” she said. At that, Fred stiffened and looked hard at Connor for just a moment. Then she shook her head, murmured something soothing to Cordy, and continued leading her away.
And Connor was left wondering how Cordy knew his name.