From The Ashes (Chapter 3/?)
“Have I mentioned how much I hate sewers?”
“What’s the matter B? Don’t like eau de la crap?” Faith snickered.
“Can I respond with an ‘ew’?”
They had been wandering for a couple of hours, but there was no sign that anyone had passed through here. Except for the rats. So at least they knew Angel wasn’t feeding off of them. Buffy wasn’t sure if that was good, bad, or just plain weird, but it was something. Which was more than the big fat nothing they had so far.
“Angel must know every inch of these sewers. We don’t even know where we’re going, Faith,” Buffy sighed. Every few minutes she dug deep and tried to feel him inside, tugging on that invisible cord, but it was useless. She couldn’t feel his presence anywhere nearby.
“Well, our Slayer-sense has gotta help us out here, right?”
Buffy bit back the urge to explain to Faith the difference between her Slayer-sense and her Angel-sense. It didn’t seem like either was much use as of late.
They had come to a spot where the tunnel split in two, and stopped to ponder their next course of action. They debated which proverbial fork of the road smelled worse, looked more filthy, afforded more shelter, and still couldn’t come to a conclusion for which avenue to pursue. Their “discussion” had reached a fever pitch, when suddenly, Buffy held up her hand.
“Shhh. Do you hear that?”
Sure enough, in the ensuing silence, they heard it: a faint echo of footsteps from the leftmost tunnel. Faith leaned in to whisper in Buffy’s ear.
“I’ll go check it out. You hang back here. I’ll holler if I need an extra stake.”
Buffy’s mouth tightened in frustration, but she didn’t argue. After all, Faith had been the one guarding a Hellmouth for the last year, while Buffy had… most definitely been not. Lithe and silent as a cat, Faith moved along the side of the tunnel. Long moments passed in silence, and then, the unmistakable sounds of a struggle could be heard. Faith would give her a signal if she needed help, so for the time being Buffy stepped back to conceal herself in the shadows. The struggle came closer. Suddenly, a shape flew out of the tunnel entrance, landing in the sewage with a curse. Just as Faith leapt after it, a leg swung out to catch her by the shins and she went down. The attacker was on his feet faster than Buffy would have thought possible, but so was Faith, reaching out and kicking with a booted foot. He swung away from the kick, and despite his small size and slim build, Buffy thought that there was something familiar in the graceful movement. She began to maneuver herself into position behind the figure, giving Faith time to handle this on her own.
Faith lashed out with her elbow, catching her attacker square in the jaw. But he was fast, catching her fist as it flew towards him for a double whammy, twisting her arm sharply enough to make her gasp. She kicked out again, this time hearing a grunt of pain, and smiled with satisfaction. He struck out with his fist, but she parried with her left hand, as her right clenched security around his throat and pushed him back into the slick stone wall.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to be nice to girls?” she snarled.
The attacker struggled against Faith’s grasp, then stilled with a startled wheeze.
“Faith?”
It came out as a croak, considering she was crushing his larynx, but it was unmistakable.
He knew her name.
Faith loosened her hold just enough to let him speak. Buffy came closer, and his gaze flickered to her in confusion. She tried to make out his features in the dim light. He was definitely human. And very young.
Faith’s eyes narrowed, her body still tense, muscles rigid.
“I know you, kid?”
“You did…I mean…” he stammered, not knowing how to explain the unexplainable. “You don’t remember me, but I remember you. I remember you helping Angel.”
Buffy froze, breath catching in her throat at the sound of the name. Faith’s eyes narrowed further, tiny slits now. Her lip twitched.
“What the hell do you mean, I don’t remember you? Who are you?”
The boy hesitated, blue eyes uncertain.
“I’m Connor.” He paused, seemingly struggling with himself. The decision, when he made it, came almost instinctually. “I’m Angel’s son.”
***
“Whose what now?”
It couldn’t have been more shocking if he had told them that he was Jesus Christ himself. And it would probably have been more likely.
“You are aware that vampires can’t have children?” Faith asked as she released him from her grip.
“Yeah, thanks, because I haven’t heard that one before,” he grumbled, rubbing his neck. “I know they can’t and you know they can’t, yet here I am. In a sewer, getting my ass kicked on account of it.”
Buffy was still rooted to the spot. If this was a joke, it was even less funny than the time Xander offered to build her a bomb-shelter for her next birthday. (Although, with her track record, the idea wasn’t a totally ridiculous one.) It was impossible… yet… could it be the truth? Defying every natural and unnatural law of the dimensions? That was something she had some experience with, had broken more than one of those laws herself. Why should she expect that exceptions applied only to her?
Angel’s son. Of all the strange and unfathomable things she’d seen in her life, nightmares that roamed and ravaged the earth, things that couldn’t possibly exist in the light of day, this seemed the strangest and most unfathomable of all. Angel had a son. An evidently-not-too-far-off-from-her-own-age son. And he had never told her.
But Connor did. He told the two women everything. Everything he had pieced together at least. He told them about Darla, about his miraculous birth, Holtz, his abduction, Quortoth, his return three months later as a sixteen year old boy hell bent on revenge that was based on a lie. He told them how he betrayed Angel, and how Angel saved him. He told them about the last words he had heard his father speak.
Go home...now.
They'll destroy you.
As long as you're OK, they can't. Go.
“I did what he said. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away.” He looked down, not able to meet either woman’s gaze. “I felt like it was my fault. It was my fault. He was there because of me. Wolfram and Hart was the price he paid so that I could have a normal life.”
The reality was overwhelming; a tidal wave coursing through her, flooding her senses, washing away the lies she had taken for truths. But the catalyst for Angel’s (albeit fake) defection to the opposing team finally made sense. He had sacrificed himself for a son who had betrayed him. A son he loved. The big, fat, cosmic joke of it broke her heart for him all over again. Why was he forever destined to walk away from those who mattered the most?
“You been lookin’ for him?” Even Faith looked moved.
Connor nodded.
“Anything?”
He shook his head sadly. “But I don’t think he’s….gone. I can’t explain it, but… I can still feel him. If he was dusted, I would know. I would know… in my blood.”
Something stirred inside of her. And in a strange way, even though she had only just met him, she felt a connection to Angel’s son. When she spoke, Buffy’s voice held the first unflinching certainty she had felt in days.
“So would I.”
***
There would be no more searching tonight. No slaying either. Tired and filthy, more deeply than just on the outside, they made their way back to the Hyperion. Connor headed off to the dingy motel he had occupied, promising to gather his belongings and return. Buffy was loathe to see him go, even for the time being, the questions effervescing in her chest like so many champagne bubbles struggling towards air. The questions could wait, she knew, and the intensity of her attachment to this boy confused her a little. She was cognizant of the fact that when she looked at Connor, she saw his father, and felt the feather- touch of Angel’s soul sweep along the borders of her consciousness. And, although he was quite obviously enamored with Faith, he too seemed affected by Buffy’s presence. She wondered if maybe some of her own blood ran through Connor’s veins, as if Angel had passed onto his son the life force she had so freely given him.
The boxes sat in the lobby, waiting. Faith, cursing softly, retreated to the sanctity of the shower, her shoes making that wet sloshing sound all the way upstairs. Buffy’s eyes, weary from the long days of worry and fruitless action, fixated on Wes’s bequeathed journals. There were too many, the writing flowing from the pages in an endless river of words, the litany of translations/texts/events making her head swim. She had never been the research type, not like Giles or Willow, and now regretted that she’d never developed the patience for it. The waiting and uncertainty had stretched her nerves raw, the desire to leap into action making her muscles twitch even as they ached. So she did the very thing any good Slayer could do when faced with such a predicament. She called her ex-Watcher.
“Buffy, have you any idea what time it is?” Irritation flittered through his voice, but the concern lingered.
“Oh please, Giles. Like you sleep. You’re probably translating some ancient demonic text as we speak.”
“Sumerian, actually.” He smiled. His Slayer knew him too well.
She filled him in on the day, and the strange unbidden revelations it had brought. He sputtered and nearly choked on his tea when she told him about Connor. When she told him about Wesley, a long silence stretched between them. Finally, respect for the dead acknowledged, Giles cleared his throat and spoke.
“You know Buffy, perhaps his journals could shed some light on-”
“Already tried Giles. Not my gig. You’re gonna have to decipher them.”
“Perhaps the letter then?” If she mailed it, it would take quite a few days to reach him. Days they couldn’t afford to waste. “Do you think you could manage reading it to me without lapsing into a catatonic state?”
Buffy scowled, but had learned many years ago that Giles’ impatience with her shortcomings only reared its ugly head when he was under extreme stress.
“Well,” she jabbed lightly, “if someone wasn’t such an old fogey and would at least get a fax machine, we wouldn’t run into these problems, now would we?”
“Duly noted. Now would you be so kind as to read the letter?”
***
She read. Every so often, she would slow down to hear Giles writing furiously. Wesley had provided a highly condensed record of all that had transpired in L.A. since Angel settled there, but even the Cliff’s Notes version astonished her. She wondered, with all that had happened, how Angel always let her lean on him without sharing his woes in return. How he had sat and comforted her by her mother’s grave while battling his own inner demons. She had never before realized how much of a struggle it really was.
Wesley’s account of the Darla/Connor situation was much more coherent than Connor’s had been, and she wondered briefly if Angel had told her about it before he had all the memories erased. Strangely, it seemed very important to have an answer to that question.
She read about all the things Angel had seen and done and thought how he had been when he brought her the amulet, seemingly unaffected by it all. She wondered what strength it had taken him to flirt with her and pretend like everything was alright, when he had just lost Connor and Cordelia, and signed himself over to Wolfram and Hart. She wondered how much that had truly cost him. But she continued to read, her voice unfaltering. She had nearly reached the end, and she stumbled over the strange word when she got to it.
Shanshu.
“Oh great,” she groaned. “Another prophecy.”
Chapter 4~ Titans
“What’s the matter B? Don’t like eau de la crap?” Faith snickered.
“Can I respond with an ‘ew’?”
They had been wandering for a couple of hours, but there was no sign that anyone had passed through here. Except for the rats. So at least they knew Angel wasn’t feeding off of them. Buffy wasn’t sure if that was good, bad, or just plain weird, but it was something. Which was more than the big fat nothing they had so far.
“Angel must know every inch of these sewers. We don’t even know where we’re going, Faith,” Buffy sighed. Every few minutes she dug deep and tried to feel him inside, tugging on that invisible cord, but it was useless. She couldn’t feel his presence anywhere nearby.
“Well, our Slayer-sense has gotta help us out here, right?”
Buffy bit back the urge to explain to Faith the difference between her Slayer-sense and her Angel-sense. It didn’t seem like either was much use as of late.
They had come to a spot where the tunnel split in two, and stopped to ponder their next course of action. They debated which proverbial fork of the road smelled worse, looked more filthy, afforded more shelter, and still couldn’t come to a conclusion for which avenue to pursue. Their “discussion” had reached a fever pitch, when suddenly, Buffy held up her hand.
“Shhh. Do you hear that?”
Sure enough, in the ensuing silence, they heard it: a faint echo of footsteps from the leftmost tunnel. Faith leaned in to whisper in Buffy’s ear.
“I’ll go check it out. You hang back here. I’ll holler if I need an extra stake.”
Buffy’s mouth tightened in frustration, but she didn’t argue. After all, Faith had been the one guarding a Hellmouth for the last year, while Buffy had… most definitely been not. Lithe and silent as a cat, Faith moved along the side of the tunnel. Long moments passed in silence, and then, the unmistakable sounds of a struggle could be heard. Faith would give her a signal if she needed help, so for the time being Buffy stepped back to conceal herself in the shadows. The struggle came closer. Suddenly, a shape flew out of the tunnel entrance, landing in the sewage with a curse. Just as Faith leapt after it, a leg swung out to catch her by the shins and she went down. The attacker was on his feet faster than Buffy would have thought possible, but so was Faith, reaching out and kicking with a booted foot. He swung away from the kick, and despite his small size and slim build, Buffy thought that there was something familiar in the graceful movement. She began to maneuver herself into position behind the figure, giving Faith time to handle this on her own.
Faith lashed out with her elbow, catching her attacker square in the jaw. But he was fast, catching her fist as it flew towards him for a double whammy, twisting her arm sharply enough to make her gasp. She kicked out again, this time hearing a grunt of pain, and smiled with satisfaction. He struck out with his fist, but she parried with her left hand, as her right clenched security around his throat and pushed him back into the slick stone wall.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to be nice to girls?” she snarled.
The attacker struggled against Faith’s grasp, then stilled with a startled wheeze.
“Faith?”
It came out as a croak, considering she was crushing his larynx, but it was unmistakable.
He knew her name.
Faith loosened her hold just enough to let him speak. Buffy came closer, and his gaze flickered to her in confusion. She tried to make out his features in the dim light. He was definitely human. And very young.
Faith’s eyes narrowed, her body still tense, muscles rigid.
“I know you, kid?”
“You did…I mean…” he stammered, not knowing how to explain the unexplainable. “You don’t remember me, but I remember you. I remember you helping Angel.”
Buffy froze, breath catching in her throat at the sound of the name. Faith’s eyes narrowed further, tiny slits now. Her lip twitched.
“What the hell do you mean, I don’t remember you? Who are you?”
The boy hesitated, blue eyes uncertain.
“I’m Connor.” He paused, seemingly struggling with himself. The decision, when he made it, came almost instinctually. “I’m Angel’s son.”
***
“Whose what now?”
It couldn’t have been more shocking if he had told them that he was Jesus Christ himself. And it would probably have been more likely.
“You are aware that vampires can’t have children?” Faith asked as she released him from her grip.
“Yeah, thanks, because I haven’t heard that one before,” he grumbled, rubbing his neck. “I know they can’t and you know they can’t, yet here I am. In a sewer, getting my ass kicked on account of it.”
Buffy was still rooted to the spot. If this was a joke, it was even less funny than the time Xander offered to build her a bomb-shelter for her next birthday. (Although, with her track record, the idea wasn’t a totally ridiculous one.) It was impossible… yet… could it be the truth? Defying every natural and unnatural law of the dimensions? That was something she had some experience with, had broken more than one of those laws herself. Why should she expect that exceptions applied only to her?
Angel’s son. Of all the strange and unfathomable things she’d seen in her life, nightmares that roamed and ravaged the earth, things that couldn’t possibly exist in the light of day, this seemed the strangest and most unfathomable of all. Angel had a son. An evidently-not-too-far-off-from-her-own-age son. And he had never told her.
But Connor did. He told the two women everything. Everything he had pieced together at least. He told them about Darla, about his miraculous birth, Holtz, his abduction, Quortoth, his return three months later as a sixteen year old boy hell bent on revenge that was based on a lie. He told them how he betrayed Angel, and how Angel saved him. He told them about the last words he had heard his father speak.
Go home...now.
They'll destroy you.
As long as you're OK, they can't. Go.
“I did what he said. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away.” He looked down, not able to meet either woman’s gaze. “I felt like it was my fault. It was my fault. He was there because of me. Wolfram and Hart was the price he paid so that I could have a normal life.”
The reality was overwhelming; a tidal wave coursing through her, flooding her senses, washing away the lies she had taken for truths. But the catalyst for Angel’s (albeit fake) defection to the opposing team finally made sense. He had sacrificed himself for a son who had betrayed him. A son he loved. The big, fat, cosmic joke of it broke her heart for him all over again. Why was he forever destined to walk away from those who mattered the most?
“You been lookin’ for him?” Even Faith looked moved.
Connor nodded.
“Anything?”
He shook his head sadly. “But I don’t think he’s….gone. I can’t explain it, but… I can still feel him. If he was dusted, I would know. I would know… in my blood.”
Something stirred inside of her. And in a strange way, even though she had only just met him, she felt a connection to Angel’s son. When she spoke, Buffy’s voice held the first unflinching certainty she had felt in days.
“So would I.”
***
There would be no more searching tonight. No slaying either. Tired and filthy, more deeply than just on the outside, they made their way back to the Hyperion. Connor headed off to the dingy motel he had occupied, promising to gather his belongings and return. Buffy was loathe to see him go, even for the time being, the questions effervescing in her chest like so many champagne bubbles struggling towards air. The questions could wait, she knew, and the intensity of her attachment to this boy confused her a little. She was cognizant of the fact that when she looked at Connor, she saw his father, and felt the feather- touch of Angel’s soul sweep along the borders of her consciousness. And, although he was quite obviously enamored with Faith, he too seemed affected by Buffy’s presence. She wondered if maybe some of her own blood ran through Connor’s veins, as if Angel had passed onto his son the life force she had so freely given him.
The boxes sat in the lobby, waiting. Faith, cursing softly, retreated to the sanctity of the shower, her shoes making that wet sloshing sound all the way upstairs. Buffy’s eyes, weary from the long days of worry and fruitless action, fixated on Wes’s bequeathed journals. There were too many, the writing flowing from the pages in an endless river of words, the litany of translations/texts/events making her head swim. She had never been the research type, not like Giles or Willow, and now regretted that she’d never developed the patience for it. The waiting and uncertainty had stretched her nerves raw, the desire to leap into action making her muscles twitch even as they ached. So she did the very thing any good Slayer could do when faced with such a predicament. She called her ex-Watcher.
“Buffy, have you any idea what time it is?” Irritation flittered through his voice, but the concern lingered.
“Oh please, Giles. Like you sleep. You’re probably translating some ancient demonic text as we speak.”
“Sumerian, actually.” He smiled. His Slayer knew him too well.
She filled him in on the day, and the strange unbidden revelations it had brought. He sputtered and nearly choked on his tea when she told him about Connor. When she told him about Wesley, a long silence stretched between them. Finally, respect for the dead acknowledged, Giles cleared his throat and spoke.
“You know Buffy, perhaps his journals could shed some light on-”
“Already tried Giles. Not my gig. You’re gonna have to decipher them.”
“Perhaps the letter then?” If she mailed it, it would take quite a few days to reach him. Days they couldn’t afford to waste. “Do you think you could manage reading it to me without lapsing into a catatonic state?”
Buffy scowled, but had learned many years ago that Giles’ impatience with her shortcomings only reared its ugly head when he was under extreme stress.
“Well,” she jabbed lightly, “if someone wasn’t such an old fogey and would at least get a fax machine, we wouldn’t run into these problems, now would we?”
“Duly noted. Now would you be so kind as to read the letter?”
***
She read. Every so often, she would slow down to hear Giles writing furiously. Wesley had provided a highly condensed record of all that had transpired in L.A. since Angel settled there, but even the Cliff’s Notes version astonished her. She wondered, with all that had happened, how Angel always let her lean on him without sharing his woes in return. How he had sat and comforted her by her mother’s grave while battling his own inner demons. She had never before realized how much of a struggle it really was.
Wesley’s account of the Darla/Connor situation was much more coherent than Connor’s had been, and she wondered briefly if Angel had told her about it before he had all the memories erased. Strangely, it seemed very important to have an answer to that question.
She read about all the things Angel had seen and done and thought how he had been when he brought her the amulet, seemingly unaffected by it all. She wondered what strength it had taken him to flirt with her and pretend like everything was alright, when he had just lost Connor and Cordelia, and signed himself over to Wolfram and Hart. She wondered how much that had truly cost him. But she continued to read, her voice unfaltering. She had nearly reached the end, and she stumbled over the strange word when she got to it.
Shanshu.
“Oh great,” she groaned. “Another prophecy.”
Chapter 4~ Titans