Wake of Destruction
Connor stares at the cake. It was slightly burnt around the edges and sunken in the middle. His eyes flicker towards the housekeeper sitting at the table and then back at the cake. No matter how hard he stares, the cake refuses to change. It smells okay, so maybe-He cuts a slice and places it in front of Mrs. Layla. She gives it a wary look, pokes it with her fork and looks back at Connor. He smiles. She takes up a piece of it with her fork, puts it in her mouth and chews.
“Well? How is it?” she swallows and drains her cup.
“Oh, hunny,” she coughs, “that was awful.”
Connor groans and bangs his head on the table. She pats him on the shoulder.
“It's okay Connor. Baking is an art and it takes practice.”
He glares at her. “You’re laughing at me.”
“It is impolite to laugh at others,” she informs him, eyes twinkling.
“You’re practically hysterical,” he mutters. He stands and heads back to the counter. Luckily he had come prepared. He places an Apple-pie from her favorite bakery on the table and cuts slices for the both of them.
“You were supposed to lie to me, you know. You were supposed to tell me it was the best cake ever.”
“It was really awful.”
“I can have you fired.”
“I changed your diapers,” she offers. “You also had an aversion to clothes.”
She takes a moment to savor the flavor. “I have pictures.”
Connor ducks his head and shovels more pie into his mouth.
“More tea, dear?”
--
“No.”
“What?”
“Grandpa, I’m not interested in the company. I like Linguistics. I’m not changing my major.”
Patrick Sheppard is an old dog that refuses to learn a new trick. No matter how many times they have this conversation, he refuses to take no for an answer. It is probably why his business is so successful.
Problem is Connor’s just as stubborn and has a serious problem with authority.
“You don’t know what you want,” he loves his grandfather but sometimes…
“I know what I don’t want,” Connor snaps back, “It’s the twenty-first century. Children don’t have to follow in their parent’s footsteps. Dad may have wanted that life but I don’t.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me then? What does Connor Angel Sheppard want to do with his life?”
And Connor is surprised. It’s the first time he’s been ask and it’ll probably be the last time. Connor meets his eyes and tells him in his most sincere voice, “I want to be a Mime.”
“This is not a laughing matter. The family business-“
“-- is fine,” he interrupts, “And it will still be fine when I finish my degree. You’re so obsessed with the business that there isn’t room for anything else. You should spare some of that intensity for your family.”
“I love my family,” Patrick stands, slamming his hands on the desk.
“I know you do. I also know that you’re good at running them off,” that’s probably going a bit far but Connor has never learned how to hold his tongue.
“I’ve told that father of yours multiple times to teach you some manners.”
Connor responds with a sympathetic look. “He never listens to good advice, does he? I mean, I keep telling him to have you committed but does he listen? No!”
And maybe Connor should call an ambulance because he’s pretty sure that his Grandfather’s face should not be turning purple.
--
Connor watches his dad from the bedroom door. “I think Grandpa finally cracked. He’s in his study mumbling about mimes. Either that or he’s afraid of mimes. We should get him some help. It may seem silly to us but Metamfiezomaiophobia is no laughing matter!”
“Connor,” Connor walks towards the bed and gives the suitcase an irritable look.
“Why are you packing?”
“I know we were supposed to spend the rest of the day together but there’s a problem I have to deal with at the New York office.”
“Let someone else deal with it. You’re the boss, Dad. That means you don’t have to take care of every single problem yourself,” he really wants to do something childish. Like unpack the suitcase or hide his dad’s laptop.
“How about this; I’ll come down to Palo Alto and we can spend the weekend together?”
“I like my idea better. It’s just for tonight. You can leave for New York in the morning. It’s not often that a teenager off at college wants to spend time with his Dad. You should take advantage of it before I lose myself to sex, drugs and alcohol.”
David frowns and turns back to the bed. “This weekend. I promise. You can show me what the kids nowadays get up to.”
Connor grits his teeth in frustration. “Dad, I’ve been trying to pin you down for the past two months. One night, that’s all I’m asking.”
“I really do have to go. We can do whatever you want this weekend,” Connor follows him out the room and down the stairs.
“I don’t want to do anything then. I want to watch those stupid black and white movies you like, tonight. Come on, Dad. Popcorn, soda, and obnoxiously sweet romantic movies…what more could you ask for?”
David grins. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be caught dead watching those.”
They stop in front the door and Connor turns to look at him. David isn’t sure what it is about that look but it makes his heart clench and he’s struck with the sudden desire to stay.
“You like them,” and Connor continues to stare at him. It makes David think that Connor is trying to tell him something and it has nothing to do with the fact that he works too much.
“This weekend,” David offers.
Connor smiles. It’s bright, sweet and utterly heartbreaking and David doesn’t understand why.
“Sure,” the whole situation makes even less sense when his son hugs him. Connor is not a tactile person. He’ll tolerate hugs from Layla and his father and perhaps his grandfather if he were so inclined. Connor is a friendly and outgoing person. David doesn’t deny that. In fact he could be infuriatingly upbeat but Connor has not initiated a hug since he was five. He was uncomfortable in emotional situations and made saying the most improper things at the most inappropriate times an art form.
David wraps his arms around him and is disturbed when Connor tightens his hold and buries his face in his chest. “You okay, kid?” he moves back enough to tilt Connor’s face up.
“Sure.” Connor steps back and opens the door. David hesitates a moment, then picks up his bag.
“Goodbye, Dad.”
David stops and studies his son. “I’ll see you this weekend.”
“Sure, Dad.”
David can’t get that moment out of his head as he sits in the back of the limo. These last couple of months, Connor has done and said things that confuse him, but this is the first time he’s been so disturbed by his son’s behavior.
“Are you alright, sir?” his assistant asks.
He doesn’t know what’s wrong but he’ll find a way to fix it. “Clear my schedule for this weekend.”
--
It’s pathetic, Connor thinks, that there are only three things on his list. He’s not even the least bit bitter that the one he tried the hardest to do was the one he couldn’t complete.
Bucket-List
· S.Spend time with Dad
·P.Piss Grandpa off
·Do something nice for Mrs. Layla
Nope. Not bitter at all.
Calling it a Bucket-List may be a bit dramatic but this life would be over for him by the end of the week. He shuts the notebook in disgust and sighs. He’d made his decision the same night Angel died breaking Wolfram and Hart’s hold on this dimension. He’ll take the fight to them. It wasn’t enough that their hold was broken here. Connor is determine take them down.
He’s going to spend the rest of the day with his grandfather and Mrs. Layla because tomorrow he leaves for Palo Alto and his plan to leave this dimension begins. He isn’t worried about the consequences…about the chance that he will fail.
Because Connor knows how to hold a grudge and he’s going to make sure they feel his wrath.
--
Three days later, Connor finds him-self alone in a warehouse with a bag of weapons at his feet. He takes a knife and cuts deep.
“It always starts with blood,” he mutters as he watches the blood drip to the floor. He tries to remember what it felt like the day he punched and clawed his way out of Quor’toth. He pictures the day he chased that demon; the exhilaration and fury that fills him in every fight. Two very different emotions that once fueled him and brought about his instincts of chasefightkill that made him a force to be reckon with.
Connor doesn’t think about what it will look like when the police find his car or the blood. He doesn’t think about the family he’s leaving behind or the life he’s carved out for himself. He can’t afford to have doubts or attachments. He knows that if he wants to take the Partners on, he’s going to have to leave everything that made him Connor, whether that be Angel’s or David’s son, behind and embrace who he once was.
He needs to remember what it felt like not to hesitate with his prey-how it was before he found out that demons can be good and the terrible things that humans did.
He’s made his decision and nothing will stop him from doing this. He’ll chase them from dimension to dimension and destroy their power bases and territories. He’ll rip apart anyone that gets in his way until he finally stands face to face with the Partners.
And he’ll thank them.
He’ll thank them for bringing his mother back and for everything they’ve done that, intentionally or not, brought about his birth.
He’s not going kill them. No, he won’t even try. He’ll show them their ruined territories because that’s the worst possible thing he can do to them. Take away their power and show them just how insignificant they are.
Taking them down will be worth everything. Angel taught him that. Angel’s been fighting his war with them for years and in the end gave up everything to bring them down. Angel and his friends died on the off chance that the Senior Partners wouldn’t be able to carry out their plans on Earth and Connor understands. As much as it hurts to know he’ll never see Angel again, he understands. When he’d first made his decision he was so filled with rage he couldn’t stop shaking.
And maybe he’s still mad. Mad at Angel. Mad at Them. Maybe that anger has burn so hot it leaves behind tranquility and thoughts as clear as glass but he understands. Understands what Angel meant. No more deaths. No more manipulations.
No more. No more. No more.
Angel said ‘Enough is enough!’
Well Connor’s here and he’s saying ‘Enough! No more!’
It was time to show them why the demons of Quor’toth called him ‘The Destroyer’.
Connor draws his blood covered fist back.
( Wraith )