Ficlet: Quiet Beauty (Darla and Connor) G
Title: Quiet Beauty
Author: lillianmorgan
Setting: pre Inside Out, AtS Season 4
Rating: G
Summary: Who does Connor dream of?
Disclaimer: I don’t own Joss’ and ME’s toys.
Originally posted November 19th, 2005. For kittyzams.
Quiet Beauty
He dreams of her, sometimes. When his mind isn’t filled with Cordelia and their baby. He has responsibilities now; he’s going to be a father. And like his father before him, he wants to do right by his child.
So it is that she appears only when he sleeps, and that is rare, because as he’s already mentioned he has responsibilities and sleep becomes a luxury now. Especially as the makeshift bed on the wooden floor provides little in the way of comfort. He’s got to be attentive and watchful and all the things he never expected to be in this dimension, but finds is still ingrained, still known. He wonders if his father’s lessons have been learned precisely for this moment.
But nevertheless when his eyes close, and he has drifted away from Cordy, she is there. An angel of the night. Sometimes she hums him a lullaby, an antique song with old-fashioned words. Sometimes she strokes his hair and speaks in a mother’s voice filled with pride and warnings. Other times she is far off in the distance and he grabs on to glimpses of her dressed in bright coloured robes, Chinese silk, French brocades, Italian velvets. She is forever flickering, like one of those old-timer films, hazy in a sepia-world. Sometimes laughing, sometimes disinterested, always commanding.
He never sees him because they’re his dreams and he doesn’t allow it, but sometimes he feels the imposing presence. Like he’s on the sidelines, waiting to be let in on the game. He gets the feeling she misses him. He can taste a melancholy around her, on occasion, that she usually keeps wrapped up inside her. But the dreamscape is only theirs - him and this woman of flaxen brilliance whose smile belongs only to the two of them. It’s secret and delightful and something he can sink into, as comfortable as resting his head on her knee as she tells him a story.
He gets the feeling from the way she regards him, especially when he catches her unaware, or the way her voice inflects over certain words, that she can be wicked. And merciless. And she is accustomed to holding the destinies of others in her delicate, little hands. But he always feels safe with her, it’s as if he knows no other way; he gets the impression that she will never falter, she will never bend in the road of loving him. He doesn’t know if this is a good thing. He has never known unconditional love, and feels uncertain what to do with it. He feels her strength, and wishes he could touch it all the time.
The dreams are fleeting and illusory. He doesn’t want to wake, but he knows he must, because when he opens his eyes he tries to hang on so tightly to her memory. In the waking hours, she is gone, essentially forgotten. No matter what, he has responsibilities.
Finis
Many thanks to momentsintime for the banner.
Author: lillianmorgan
Setting: pre Inside Out, AtS Season 4
Rating: G
Summary: Who does Connor dream of?
Disclaimer: I don’t own Joss’ and ME’s toys.
Originally posted November 19th, 2005. For kittyzams.
Quiet Beauty
He dreams of her, sometimes. When his mind isn’t filled with Cordelia and their baby. He has responsibilities now; he’s going to be a father. And like his father before him, he wants to do right by his child.
So it is that she appears only when he sleeps, and that is rare, because as he’s already mentioned he has responsibilities and sleep becomes a luxury now. Especially as the makeshift bed on the wooden floor provides little in the way of comfort. He’s got to be attentive and watchful and all the things he never expected to be in this dimension, but finds is still ingrained, still known. He wonders if his father’s lessons have been learned precisely for this moment.
But nevertheless when his eyes close, and he has drifted away from Cordy, she is there. An angel of the night. Sometimes she hums him a lullaby, an antique song with old-fashioned words. Sometimes she strokes his hair and speaks in a mother’s voice filled with pride and warnings. Other times she is far off in the distance and he grabs on to glimpses of her dressed in bright coloured robes, Chinese silk, French brocades, Italian velvets. She is forever flickering, like one of those old-timer films, hazy in a sepia-world. Sometimes laughing, sometimes disinterested, always commanding.
He never sees him because they’re his dreams and he doesn’t allow it, but sometimes he feels the imposing presence. Like he’s on the sidelines, waiting to be let in on the game. He gets the feeling she misses him. He can taste a melancholy around her, on occasion, that she usually keeps wrapped up inside her. But the dreamscape is only theirs - him and this woman of flaxen brilliance whose smile belongs only to the two of them. It’s secret and delightful and something he can sink into, as comfortable as resting his head on her knee as she tells him a story.
He gets the feeling from the way she regards him, especially when he catches her unaware, or the way her voice inflects over certain words, that she can be wicked. And merciless. And she is accustomed to holding the destinies of others in her delicate, little hands. But he always feels safe with her, it’s as if he knows no other way; he gets the impression that she will never falter, she will never bend in the road of loving him. He doesn’t know if this is a good thing. He has never known unconditional love, and feels uncertain what to do with it. He feels her strength, and wishes he could touch it all the time.
The dreams are fleeting and illusory. He doesn’t want to wake, but he knows he must, because when he opens his eyes he tries to hang on so tightly to her memory. In the waking hours, she is gone, essentially forgotten. No matter what, he has responsibilities.
Finis
Many thanks to momentsintime for the banner.