Fic: Of All the Wonders That I Yet Have Heard
from the AtS season 3 episode Lullaby:
Angel: Well, you'll do the only thing that you can do. - You'll have it. You'll have it and then...
Darla: What? We'll raise it?
Angel: Why not?
*
Title: Of All the Wonders That I Yet Have Heard
Author: girlpire
Rating: R or FRM
Pairing: Angel/Darla
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: "Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,/ It seems to me most strange that men should fear/ Seeing that death, a necessary end,/ Will come when it will come." - W. Shakespeare
Alternate Summary: Darla gets another chance, and everything that comes with it.
Warnings: Het sex (not very graphic), second person POV
Author's Notes: This story was written for winter_of_angel, 2008.
*
Of All the Wonders That I Yet Have Heard
*
This is how it started: Darla asked if you’d like some blood, and you told her yes.
You were all sitting in the Hyperion kitchen, you and Darla, Gunn, Wesley, Cordy, and Fred. Lorne was upstairs looking after Connor. And you were discussing a case, or else you were discussing cheesy horror movies, or more likely both at the same time (although you don’t really remember now), and you didn’t think about it when she offered, didn’t even notice really, except to be pleased that she was willing to get it for you. She stood and went to the refrigerator, and you carried on talking with your friends. You were in a room with five humans, and not one of them cared what you are. It was nice, and you actually worried for a moment that you could become used to this sort of thing.
Or maybe that’s not how it started. Maybe it started before then, in the alley where Connor was born. Maybe it started with the Furies and their three-part incantation, with that once-in-a-lifetime chance, the choice they offered you. Becoming human.
Listening to Darla’s struggle to twist the lid from the glass jar, you think it’s not such a prize anymore.
And maybe you already knew it then, in the alley, kneeling in the rain over Darla’s swollen belly. Maybe you knew already what it would mean, what would happen, what you would have to give up. Maybe that’s why you gave up the prize instead, handed it off as soon as it was within your reach. The Three Sisters didn’t seem surprised in the slightest before they did their magic. When they disappeared, Darla screamed and started breathing.
She gave birth as a human gives birth, sweaty and red-faced and crying, squeezing your hand (though not nearly as hard as she used to), while Fred knelt there whispering soothing words. The baby exhausted Darla’s new body. She clutched the tiny pink thing to her human chest and cried while you carried them both, mother and child, to the car where your friends were waiting. And you were such a hero to them all.
But maybe you knew.
*
She doesn’t hate you for what you did. She’s told you and told you. She’s happy. Grateful. And motherhood suits her in a way you never would have guessed. She loves baby Connor with everything that she has, and she even loves you a little, you think, the way that only someone who knows all your secrets can. She’s proud of you, of who you are and what you’re doing, and it makes you proud that she’s proud, because for some reason making her happy now is becoming as important to you as it used to be a hundred years ago.
And she hasn’t forgotten anything about the way the two of you used to be with each other, and somehow, in every way that matters, it’s exactly the same. At night, she slips easily into your arms as though she had never not been there, and it’s all just what you’ve wanted - a real, human family - but better because it’s her. And you’ve wanted her for two hundred and fifty years.
*
Need some help? Gunn calls.
No, I’ve got it, she says, still trying to twist the jar lid. Her knuckles are white. She’s squinting, biting her lip, holding the jar close to her stomach as she struggles.
She should have been able to open it. That’s probably how it started.
*
She was quiet at first.
The first few days, after you brought her back to the hotel, you wondered what kind of human she would be, if she would be the kind of human that you don’t like very much. If she would be this time the way she was last time, driving you slowly crazy in your sleep but always too far away when you woke up. You wondered if this time it would be all mind games, or if she would be the woman she was right at the end, before Dru showed up, who had finally made peace with the universe for being what it is. It was hard to tell.
Those first days, she mostly just stayed in your bed with Connor curled in the crook of her arm, and they both cried a lot without indicating why, but they seemed to take comfort in each other. Seeing them there sort of terrified you - still does, sometimes - because you realized that everything is so much more important than it used to be, and the world is so much scarier than it was before, because now the things you are fighting to protect are so much closer to you, inside your lair, making it smell like a home.
*
You can hold him if you want, she said the second day, giving you a patient look as you hovered by the bed. You’re not going to break him.
Oh, I just didn’t... I mean, aren’t they supposed to stay with their mothers?
Five minutes can’t hurt, Angel. And I think you can stop wringing your hands. He’s fine. Everything’s fine. Go ahead and take him.
I don’t... really know how.
She patted the bed beside her so you sat down, and she gently placed the baby in your arms, taking your hand to move it underneath his head. There, she said. You’re doing fine.
The baby yawned.
He’s... amazing, you said. He’s so little.
She huffed softly. Didn’t feel so little coming out.
I can’t even imagine.
That’s probably a good thing. I don’t know if I want you imagining me like that. All gross and... human.
You’re still human, Darla.
Yes, but I’m not gross. That’s important.
Have you thought of a name yet?
No. Why? Have you?
I’ve... given it some thought, yeah.
I suppose you want to call him after his father. Liam?
No. No, I wouldn’t do that to him.
Well, we’re not naming him Angel. Just so you know.
I thought... Connor. Maybe.
Ah. After his grandfather.
I didn’t think you’d remember.
She cupped a hand behind the baby’s velvety head. Of course I remember, she said softly. I remember everything.
*
Here, let me get that, you tell her, standing. You go over to her and reach for the jar of blood.
Her hands are trembling. She turns her back to you. No, she says softly. No no, I can do it. It’s just, the lid is stuck. That’s all.
*
You thought about moving them to a different room. Yours was so plain, so not family-like. And maybe they wanted more privacy. So they could do... mother and baby things. Human things. But you liked the idea of them there, in your bed. So you didn’t move them. You used Cordelia’s credit card to order them some mother and baby stuff online, and you started sleeping in the room across the hall.
We’re in your way, Darla said.
No you aren’t.
Then why don’t you stay in here? This is your room, isn’t it?
Well, yes. But.
You don’t have to sleep across the hall, Angel.
I’d be in your way.
It’s big enough for both of us. She’s talking about the bed. I don’t take up the whole thing, you know. And we’ve shared smaller spaces.
I didn’t think you’d want...
I don't mind. Really.
So you moved back in. Now Connor sleeps in his little white bed beside the one you and Darla share. And at first you didn’t touch each other - but only at first. Now every morning you wake up with a warm human woman in your arms, a woman you don’t have to keep your past from, a woman you don’t have to hide your cravings from, a woman who’s wanted you for as long as you’ve wanted her. And it scares you to death.
*
No. It must have started before the jar of blood. It must have started when you made love to her that first time after Connor was born. That’s when you first noticed.
You’d come home carrying some take-out Chinese food for Darla, because you’d remembered how much she used to love Chinese food (although it had been about a hundred years since you’d seen her eat any, and that was real Chinese food, from China, but you figured this was as close to the same stuff as you could get in L.A.). And when you opened the door to your room, Darla was sitting in your leather chair, legs splayed open, one knee hooked over the armrest. She was wearing only your robe, unfastened, the dark red silk spilling around her creamy skin, showing her off. One small hand was cupped around a breast, the other down between her legs, and you could smell her, God, you could smell what she was doing to herself, and she opened her eyes, gave you a tiny smile. You put the food down carefully on that little table just inside the door.
Oh, she said. You brought food.
Chinese, you said, watching her hands.
Mmm. I like Chinese food.
I remember. That’s why I... that’s my robe, Darla.
It looks better on me.
Yeah. Yeah, it does.
If you like, you can stand there and watch. Or you can come over here and make yourself useful.
And which would you prefer?
She tilted her head, considering, her hands still moving slowly. I’ve always loved your mouth, she said.
So you knelt in front of the leather chair and brought Darla off with your tongue and fingers, and she tasted just like she used to, only better, and her skin was so warm it almost burned your lips. And then you carried her to bed, and her body was so familiar that you barely had to think at all, and she did things to you that no one has done since she herself did them before, back then, and you tried to separate old and new in your head, and you couldn’t. But that’s when you first noticed.
Darla, you said, while you were still inside her. I think you have a fever.
I’m just hot. It's nice, isn't it? Haven’t had human sex in a long time.
Your body temperature... it isn’t normal.
Neither is yours.
I'm being serious--
Shhh. Angel, just keep going. Please. Please.
So you did. And she was so hot underneath you, her thighs against your hips, her neck to your lips, and it was so good that the next time she came with you inside her, you squeezed your eyes shut and almost lost control.
I... we have to stop now. I have to stop, Darla.
No... Angel, don’t stop... please don’t stop...
I don’t want to. God, I don’t want to stop, but I’ll be... I’ll be too... happy.
It was a hard thing to confess. It was like saying you loved her. Which you did, you know now, but you hadn’t said it yet.
Oh, she breathed. I thought I couldn’t... I mean, I thought you didn’t...
It’s different now, you said softly. I have to... um. I’ll be right back.
And you went to the bathroom and took yourself in hand, your cock still slippery and warm from Darla’s body. And when you came, shuddering, it was into a soft white tissue.
When you came back out of the bathroom, Darla was sitting naked on the bed with the take-out boxes, a pair of chopsticks in her hand. Once, Darla threatened to dust you with a chopstick. (Well, more than once, but once she was serious.) But this time when she looked up at you, there was something in her expression, some feeling that you’d only ever seen in her eyes when she looked at Connor. And you wondered if, maybe, the two of you were the only two people in the whole world that she’s ever loved. And that thought either made you very sad or very, very pleased. Or both.
Thank you, she said. She could have been talking about the food.
You’re welcome, you told her. And you climbed on the bed behind her and she leaned back against your chest, and you watched her eat, her small hands expertly controlling the two slender sticks.
But she still felt hot.
*
Even a human should have been able to open the jar.
Hey, don’t worry about it, you tell her. I’m not even that hungry. I’ll get something later.
Go sit down, dear. I can do this.
I know you can. I just--
Angel. Please sit down.
Your friends are watching the scene play out, still sitting at the table, silent now. You didn't mean to make it awkward. But you really don't want to have to watch Darla not be able to do this, such a simple little thing. You promised her, before she was turned for the second time, that you would stay with her. That she wouldn't have to be alone. But you don't want to watch her be weak.
You clear your throat. Actually, I think I hear Connor waking up. I'll just go check on him. Back in a minute.
And then you walk out of the kitchen, so you don't have to see.
*
You didn't know how things were going to be between the two of you. You knew she would stay; that much was never a question. She would stay at the Hyperion with you and the two of you would be proper parents, and that was that. But you didn't think you would actually... that you would be... There are a lot of parents who don't love each other but raise children together anyway. Some of them don't even live together. So it's not like you expected Darla to be your...
But she was so damn beautiful. God. Pacing slowly back and forth through your room in the middle of the night, holding your fussy child close and singing old Ella Fitzgerald tunes in a soft voice, moonlight glinting off her blonde hair. You'd watch her from the bed, and she'd somehow know you were watching, and she'd glance up at you slyly and say something like, It's a good thing one of us can sing, isn't it? And you'd chuckle quietly and say to the baby, Don't listen to your mother. We know better, don't we?
And when he'd finally fallen back to sleep, Darla would put him down and climb into the bed beside you, sometimes wearing one of your t-shirts, but carefully not touching you at all. And you would think about how easy it would be to pull her against you, wrap your arms around her and fall asleep that way, just like you used to. But you would stay on your side of the bed, and most of the time she would go to sleep alone, breathing softly in and out while you watched. But sometimes she would talk to you.
Do you remember Amber Littleton? she asked one night.
I remember, you said. London. 1853.
We killed all seven of her children.
I remember.
To celebrate your centennial.
It was... quite a party.
I missed your second centennial.
I didn't do anything special.
I thought about you, though. I thought about finding you, sending you a gift. Something grotesque, that you would hate, but that the old you would have loved. I'm glad I didn't do it.
Me too.
In almost four hundred years of living, the only things I don't regret are the things I didn't do. How's that for irony?
I know what you mean, you told her. And then, a little uncertainly, you asked, Do you regret me?
Do I... what do you mean?
Do you regret me, Darla? Do you wish now that you hadn't turned me?
Oh, she said. Oh. I...
It's okay if you do. I understand. I mean, I regret what I did to Drusilla and...
No, she said.
No?
No. I don't regret you. When I think about all of the horrible things you did... I feel like I should. But now, with Connor and... and the things you do, for us and for other people... How could I? How could I regret you, Angelus, after what you've become? No. No, I couldn't.
You reached for her hand then, touched her in this bed for the first time since Connor was conceived. I'm glad to hear that, you said, folding your fingers over hers.
You'll be 250 soon, she said.
Next year.
Planning to celebrate?
Probably not. Not like we used to, anyway.
Good. Because if you kill my son, I swear to God, Angelus, I will stake you with a chopstick.
*
Your first kiss after the alley was an accident. You accidentally kissed her, the same way that you accidentally became a vampire. Which is to say that it was Darla's idea and you sort of went with it, and then after a while it seemed like it was your idea to begin with, or one that you would have had if you'd had the time to come up with it.
Cordelia'd had a vision about a group of vampires - 21 of them - coming to try and kidnap Connor, so you and Wes and Gunn were going out on a preemptive strike. Darla insisted on coming with you, because he was her son after all and she knew damn well how to dust a vampire, and Angelus, so help me, I will skin you alive and roll your body in salt if you don't let go of me this instant.
Getting her to agree to stay at the Hyperion was what you would call a finesse job. It's all in the tone of voice, really. And the giving her a loaded six-shooter crossbow and begging with your eyes. She finally relented, staying behind with Lorne and Cordy to guard Connor. But before you left, she threatened you again - if you didn't come back alive, she was going to find your ashes and pour holy water on them. You left her standing in the lobby with a baby in one arm and a deadly weapon in the other, and she probably never looked quite as beautiful as she did then, wearing baggy sweatpants with her hair sort of limp and a determined expression on her face.
You dusted eight of the vampires. Wes got four and Gunn got three, and you were all feeling pretty proud of yourselves - though Gunn was arguing that one of Wesley's counted as his, really - when you did the math and realized that there were still some vamps unaccounted for. The three of you hurried back to the Hyperion and arrived just in time to find Darla calmly feeding Connor from a bottle while Cordelia flipped through a magazine and Lorne whistled, cheerfully sweeping up six piles of dust. The crossbow lay on the counter, emptied of bolts.
You cleared your throat. Are you... is everyone okay? you asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious that you were a little bruised and blood-spattered while no one here appeared injured in the least.
We're fine, Cordelia answered, not looking up from her magazine. No thanks to you, Mr. Let's-let-the-new-mother-save-our-collective-asses-while-I-go-prancing-out-looking-for-trouble.
But. I killed some of them, you said. I killed eight. And I didn't prance.
I got four, Gunn added. Wesley glared at him.
Darla just handed the baby to Cordy and came over to you, silently looking you up and down for injuries. She put a hand up to your cheek and tilted your head. There was a dark bruise along your jaw, and she ran her fingertips gently over it, briefly touched the tiny bleeding cut on your cheek, touched your split bottom lip. Then she said, in a very quiet voice, Thank you. And she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed you softly on the mouth. The blood didn't seem to bother her.
When she pulled back, you looked into her eyes for a long moment before running your fingers lightly through her hair and letting your hand rest on her neck, feeling the pulse beating steadily beneath your palm. You're welcome, you said. And then you leaned down and kissed her again, slowly, and her lips parted for you and her breath was warm and her skin smelled wonderful.
Okay, that? Is going nowhere good, you heard Cordelia say from somewhere far off. But you kept kissing Darla, and in your head you had to disagree.
*
You know, deep down, that her weakness started before the jar of blood, that her fever started before the sex. These things began four hundred years ago, and they've just been on hold for a while, just long enough for you to fall maddeningly in love with her. The timing of it all seems ridiculously contrived, and it makes you wonder if everything that's happened to Darla happened to her simply because you're being punished - that her life has turned out this way because of you. And you half convince yourself that her sickness is your own fault, and you half convince yourself that believing it's your fault makes you an arrogant prick who thinks the entire universe revolves around himself. But on the other hand, maybe it does.
And maybe you knew what would happen. That's the thing you can't quite move past. Maybe you knew she would get sick again; maybe, in giving her life, you condemned her to death because you were scared if you chose humanity for yourself then the same damn thing would happen to you. You don't remember thinking it at the time, but now that you've had time to think, it makes sense. You sacrificed Darla because you were scared, and now you're being punished.
And how could you have ever thought you wouldn't love her? You loved her before you had a soul to love with. Now that you have one, you can only love her more, and that makes it all so much worse. This guilt is the heaviest guilt you have ever carried.
*
You and Darla took Connor to the doctor. He'd already gone through all the regular newborn checkups and appointments, but you wanted to take him again... just to make sure. He smelled so much like her that you wondered if he had developed the same sickness. You didn't tell her that was what this was about, but you could tell she knew. She was getting worse.
Connor was fine, though. Healthiest baby I've ever seen, said the doctor. But then he looked at Darla's weary face and asked if she was alright.
Oh, I'm fine, she said. Just tired. And she hefted Connor into her arms, and for the first time it occurred to you that he was a heavy little thing.
It occurred to you again on the Hyperion stairs. Let me carry him, you finally said, but she said, No, no... I've got him. And you thought about the jar of blood, about Darla's trembling hands, white knuckles. She should have been able to open it. And you hovered right behind her on the steps, one hand out, not quite touching the small of her back, willing her to hold your son tighter. The two of you walked all the way up to your room that way, slowly, you wondering the whole time if you'd be quick enough to catch them if either one should fall.
You remember watching Darla haul a man your size easily over her shoulder, stepping through a dank alley daintily in a pretty kimono. You remember watching her overturn a carriage with her bare hands, rip a man's jaw from his face, uproot a sapling and break it over her knee for a stake to threaten you with. She was stronger than you.
When Darla laid the baby in his little bed, you tried not to show how relieved you were. You tried, but you failed.
Maybe it's time to talk about this now, Darla said softly.
Talk about what? you asked.
You know what, she said, sitting down on the bed. She slowly reached up to push her hair behind her ear.
There's nothing to talk about, you said. Hey, I think Fred bought some ice cream. You want some? I'll get it. I'll be right b--
Angel, she said.
There was a pause. You couldn't do this, not yet. You both knew it was happening, but you wanted to pretend just a little while longer that everything was okay, that your little family would be alright. You came over and put your hand to her cheek, and she covered your hand with hers. Her skin was too hot, and she was too pale. For a human.
It's vanilla, you finally said. You like vanilla, right?
She sighed, closing her eyes. Yes, dear, she said quietly. I like vanilla.
I'll be right back, you said, and she just nodded, letting your hand slip away from hers.
And you started to walk out, but then you hesitated, paused just inside the doorway, your back to her. I love you, Darla, you said. And when you turned to look, she was smiling a little bit, but she still looked tired.
I know, boy, she said. I know.
*
When you finally come back to the kitchen, the only one still there is Darla. She's leaning with both hands onto the counter, her head hanging down, and for a moment you think she's crying, but when she looks up, she's not. The jar is sitting there in front of her, opened, the lid lying on the countertop next to it, and beside that there is a blue mug of blood.
You smile and come forward, put your arms around her from behind, lean your chin down onto her shoulder. You're happier than you should be about this; it's only an opened jar. But it means something to you that she was able to do it.
Your friends are... nice, Darla says. She turns in your arms and gives you a kiss on the cheek.
Yeah, I think I'll keep them, you joke. You pick up the lid and the jar as Darla heads for the kitchen door, and you twist them back together, very lightly. Thank you, you say. For the blood.
Oh, she says, not looking back. Gunn opened it.
And then she walks out, and you're standing there with a jar of blood in your hand, watching her slowly leave.
*
Angel: Well, you'll do the only thing that you can do. - You'll have it. You'll have it and then...
Darla: What? We'll raise it?
Angel: Why not?
*
Title: Of All the Wonders That I Yet Have Heard
Author: girlpire
Rating: R or FRM
Pairing: Angel/Darla
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: "Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,/ It seems to me most strange that men should fear/ Seeing that death, a necessary end,/ Will come when it will come." - W. Shakespeare
Alternate Summary: Darla gets another chance, and everything that comes with it.
Warnings: Het sex (not very graphic), second person POV
Author's Notes: This story was written for winter_of_angel, 2008.
*
Of All the Wonders That I Yet Have Heard
*
This is how it started: Darla asked if you’d like some blood, and you told her yes.
You were all sitting in the Hyperion kitchen, you and Darla, Gunn, Wesley, Cordy, and Fred. Lorne was upstairs looking after Connor. And you were discussing a case, or else you were discussing cheesy horror movies, or more likely both at the same time (although you don’t really remember now), and you didn’t think about it when she offered, didn’t even notice really, except to be pleased that she was willing to get it for you. She stood and went to the refrigerator, and you carried on talking with your friends. You were in a room with five humans, and not one of them cared what you are. It was nice, and you actually worried for a moment that you could become used to this sort of thing.
Or maybe that’s not how it started. Maybe it started before then, in the alley where Connor was born. Maybe it started with the Furies and their three-part incantation, with that once-in-a-lifetime chance, the choice they offered you. Becoming human.
Listening to Darla’s struggle to twist the lid from the glass jar, you think it’s not such a prize anymore.
And maybe you already knew it then, in the alley, kneeling in the rain over Darla’s swollen belly. Maybe you knew already what it would mean, what would happen, what you would have to give up. Maybe that’s why you gave up the prize instead, handed it off as soon as it was within your reach. The Three Sisters didn’t seem surprised in the slightest before they did their magic. When they disappeared, Darla screamed and started breathing.
She gave birth as a human gives birth, sweaty and red-faced and crying, squeezing your hand (though not nearly as hard as she used to), while Fred knelt there whispering soothing words. The baby exhausted Darla’s new body. She clutched the tiny pink thing to her human chest and cried while you carried them both, mother and child, to the car where your friends were waiting. And you were such a hero to them all.
But maybe you knew.
*
She doesn’t hate you for what you did. She’s told you and told you. She’s happy. Grateful. And motherhood suits her in a way you never would have guessed. She loves baby Connor with everything that she has, and she even loves you a little, you think, the way that only someone who knows all your secrets can. She’s proud of you, of who you are and what you’re doing, and it makes you proud that she’s proud, because for some reason making her happy now is becoming as important to you as it used to be a hundred years ago.
And she hasn’t forgotten anything about the way the two of you used to be with each other, and somehow, in every way that matters, it’s exactly the same. At night, she slips easily into your arms as though she had never not been there, and it’s all just what you’ve wanted - a real, human family - but better because it’s her. And you’ve wanted her for two hundred and fifty years.
*
Need some help? Gunn calls.
No, I’ve got it, she says, still trying to twist the jar lid. Her knuckles are white. She’s squinting, biting her lip, holding the jar close to her stomach as she struggles.
She should have been able to open it. That’s probably how it started.
*
She was quiet at first.
The first few days, after you brought her back to the hotel, you wondered what kind of human she would be, if she would be the kind of human that you don’t like very much. If she would be this time the way she was last time, driving you slowly crazy in your sleep but always too far away when you woke up. You wondered if this time it would be all mind games, or if she would be the woman she was right at the end, before Dru showed up, who had finally made peace with the universe for being what it is. It was hard to tell.
Those first days, she mostly just stayed in your bed with Connor curled in the crook of her arm, and they both cried a lot without indicating why, but they seemed to take comfort in each other. Seeing them there sort of terrified you - still does, sometimes - because you realized that everything is so much more important than it used to be, and the world is so much scarier than it was before, because now the things you are fighting to protect are so much closer to you, inside your lair, making it smell like a home.
*
You can hold him if you want, she said the second day, giving you a patient look as you hovered by the bed. You’re not going to break him.
Oh, I just didn’t... I mean, aren’t they supposed to stay with their mothers?
Five minutes can’t hurt, Angel. And I think you can stop wringing your hands. He’s fine. Everything’s fine. Go ahead and take him.
I don’t... really know how.
She patted the bed beside her so you sat down, and she gently placed the baby in your arms, taking your hand to move it underneath his head. There, she said. You’re doing fine.
The baby yawned.
He’s... amazing, you said. He’s so little.
She huffed softly. Didn’t feel so little coming out.
I can’t even imagine.
That’s probably a good thing. I don’t know if I want you imagining me like that. All gross and... human.
You’re still human, Darla.
Yes, but I’m not gross. That’s important.
Have you thought of a name yet?
No. Why? Have you?
I’ve... given it some thought, yeah.
I suppose you want to call him after his father. Liam?
No. No, I wouldn’t do that to him.
Well, we’re not naming him Angel. Just so you know.
I thought... Connor. Maybe.
Ah. After his grandfather.
I didn’t think you’d remember.
She cupped a hand behind the baby’s velvety head. Of course I remember, she said softly. I remember everything.
*
Here, let me get that, you tell her, standing. You go over to her and reach for the jar of blood.
Her hands are trembling. She turns her back to you. No, she says softly. No no, I can do it. It’s just, the lid is stuck. That’s all.
*
You thought about moving them to a different room. Yours was so plain, so not family-like. And maybe they wanted more privacy. So they could do... mother and baby things. Human things. But you liked the idea of them there, in your bed. So you didn’t move them. You used Cordelia’s credit card to order them some mother and baby stuff online, and you started sleeping in the room across the hall.
We’re in your way, Darla said.
No you aren’t.
Then why don’t you stay in here? This is your room, isn’t it?
Well, yes. But.
You don’t have to sleep across the hall, Angel.
I’d be in your way.
It’s big enough for both of us. She’s talking about the bed. I don’t take up the whole thing, you know. And we’ve shared smaller spaces.
I didn’t think you’d want...
I don't mind. Really.
So you moved back in. Now Connor sleeps in his little white bed beside the one you and Darla share. And at first you didn’t touch each other - but only at first. Now every morning you wake up with a warm human woman in your arms, a woman you don’t have to keep your past from, a woman you don’t have to hide your cravings from, a woman who’s wanted you for as long as you’ve wanted her. And it scares you to death.
*
No. It must have started before the jar of blood. It must have started when you made love to her that first time after Connor was born. That’s when you first noticed.
You’d come home carrying some take-out Chinese food for Darla, because you’d remembered how much she used to love Chinese food (although it had been about a hundred years since you’d seen her eat any, and that was real Chinese food, from China, but you figured this was as close to the same stuff as you could get in L.A.). And when you opened the door to your room, Darla was sitting in your leather chair, legs splayed open, one knee hooked over the armrest. She was wearing only your robe, unfastened, the dark red silk spilling around her creamy skin, showing her off. One small hand was cupped around a breast, the other down between her legs, and you could smell her, God, you could smell what she was doing to herself, and she opened her eyes, gave you a tiny smile. You put the food down carefully on that little table just inside the door.
Oh, she said. You brought food.
Chinese, you said, watching her hands.
Mmm. I like Chinese food.
I remember. That’s why I... that’s my robe, Darla.
It looks better on me.
Yeah. Yeah, it does.
If you like, you can stand there and watch. Or you can come over here and make yourself useful.
And which would you prefer?
She tilted her head, considering, her hands still moving slowly. I’ve always loved your mouth, she said.
So you knelt in front of the leather chair and brought Darla off with your tongue and fingers, and she tasted just like she used to, only better, and her skin was so warm it almost burned your lips. And then you carried her to bed, and her body was so familiar that you barely had to think at all, and she did things to you that no one has done since she herself did them before, back then, and you tried to separate old and new in your head, and you couldn’t. But that’s when you first noticed.
Darla, you said, while you were still inside her. I think you have a fever.
I’m just hot. It's nice, isn't it? Haven’t had human sex in a long time.
Your body temperature... it isn’t normal.
Neither is yours.
I'm being serious--
Shhh. Angel, just keep going. Please. Please.
So you did. And she was so hot underneath you, her thighs against your hips, her neck to your lips, and it was so good that the next time she came with you inside her, you squeezed your eyes shut and almost lost control.
I... we have to stop now. I have to stop, Darla.
No... Angel, don’t stop... please don’t stop...
I don’t want to. God, I don’t want to stop, but I’ll be... I’ll be too... happy.
It was a hard thing to confess. It was like saying you loved her. Which you did, you know now, but you hadn’t said it yet.
Oh, she breathed. I thought I couldn’t... I mean, I thought you didn’t...
It’s different now, you said softly. I have to... um. I’ll be right back.
And you went to the bathroom and took yourself in hand, your cock still slippery and warm from Darla’s body. And when you came, shuddering, it was into a soft white tissue.
When you came back out of the bathroom, Darla was sitting naked on the bed with the take-out boxes, a pair of chopsticks in her hand. Once, Darla threatened to dust you with a chopstick. (Well, more than once, but once she was serious.) But this time when she looked up at you, there was something in her expression, some feeling that you’d only ever seen in her eyes when she looked at Connor. And you wondered if, maybe, the two of you were the only two people in the whole world that she’s ever loved. And that thought either made you very sad or very, very pleased. Or both.
Thank you, she said. She could have been talking about the food.
You’re welcome, you told her. And you climbed on the bed behind her and she leaned back against your chest, and you watched her eat, her small hands expertly controlling the two slender sticks.
But she still felt hot.
*
Even a human should have been able to open the jar.
Hey, don’t worry about it, you tell her. I’m not even that hungry. I’ll get something later.
Go sit down, dear. I can do this.
I know you can. I just--
Angel. Please sit down.
Your friends are watching the scene play out, still sitting at the table, silent now. You didn't mean to make it awkward. But you really don't want to have to watch Darla not be able to do this, such a simple little thing. You promised her, before she was turned for the second time, that you would stay with her. That she wouldn't have to be alone. But you don't want to watch her be weak.
You clear your throat. Actually, I think I hear Connor waking up. I'll just go check on him. Back in a minute.
And then you walk out of the kitchen, so you don't have to see.
*
You didn't know how things were going to be between the two of you. You knew she would stay; that much was never a question. She would stay at the Hyperion with you and the two of you would be proper parents, and that was that. But you didn't think you would actually... that you would be... There are a lot of parents who don't love each other but raise children together anyway. Some of them don't even live together. So it's not like you expected Darla to be your...
But she was so damn beautiful. God. Pacing slowly back and forth through your room in the middle of the night, holding your fussy child close and singing old Ella Fitzgerald tunes in a soft voice, moonlight glinting off her blonde hair. You'd watch her from the bed, and she'd somehow know you were watching, and she'd glance up at you slyly and say something like, It's a good thing one of us can sing, isn't it? And you'd chuckle quietly and say to the baby, Don't listen to your mother. We know better, don't we?
And when he'd finally fallen back to sleep, Darla would put him down and climb into the bed beside you, sometimes wearing one of your t-shirts, but carefully not touching you at all. And you would think about how easy it would be to pull her against you, wrap your arms around her and fall asleep that way, just like you used to. But you would stay on your side of the bed, and most of the time she would go to sleep alone, breathing softly in and out while you watched. But sometimes she would talk to you.
Do you remember Amber Littleton? she asked one night.
I remember, you said. London. 1853.
We killed all seven of her children.
I remember.
To celebrate your centennial.
It was... quite a party.
I missed your second centennial.
I didn't do anything special.
I thought about you, though. I thought about finding you, sending you a gift. Something grotesque, that you would hate, but that the old you would have loved. I'm glad I didn't do it.
Me too.
In almost four hundred years of living, the only things I don't regret are the things I didn't do. How's that for irony?
I know what you mean, you told her. And then, a little uncertainly, you asked, Do you regret me?
Do I... what do you mean?
Do you regret me, Darla? Do you wish now that you hadn't turned me?
Oh, she said. Oh. I...
It's okay if you do. I understand. I mean, I regret what I did to Drusilla and...
No, she said.
No?
No. I don't regret you. When I think about all of the horrible things you did... I feel like I should. But now, with Connor and... and the things you do, for us and for other people... How could I? How could I regret you, Angelus, after what you've become? No. No, I couldn't.
You reached for her hand then, touched her in this bed for the first time since Connor was conceived. I'm glad to hear that, you said, folding your fingers over hers.
You'll be 250 soon, she said.
Next year.
Planning to celebrate?
Probably not. Not like we used to, anyway.
Good. Because if you kill my son, I swear to God, Angelus, I will stake you with a chopstick.
*
Your first kiss after the alley was an accident. You accidentally kissed her, the same way that you accidentally became a vampire. Which is to say that it was Darla's idea and you sort of went with it, and then after a while it seemed like it was your idea to begin with, or one that you would have had if you'd had the time to come up with it.
Cordelia'd had a vision about a group of vampires - 21 of them - coming to try and kidnap Connor, so you and Wes and Gunn were going out on a preemptive strike. Darla insisted on coming with you, because he was her son after all and she knew damn well how to dust a vampire, and Angelus, so help me, I will skin you alive and roll your body in salt if you don't let go of me this instant.
Getting her to agree to stay at the Hyperion was what you would call a finesse job. It's all in the tone of voice, really. And the giving her a loaded six-shooter crossbow and begging with your eyes. She finally relented, staying behind with Lorne and Cordy to guard Connor. But before you left, she threatened you again - if you didn't come back alive, she was going to find your ashes and pour holy water on them. You left her standing in the lobby with a baby in one arm and a deadly weapon in the other, and she probably never looked quite as beautiful as she did then, wearing baggy sweatpants with her hair sort of limp and a determined expression on her face.
You dusted eight of the vampires. Wes got four and Gunn got three, and you were all feeling pretty proud of yourselves - though Gunn was arguing that one of Wesley's counted as his, really - when you did the math and realized that there were still some vamps unaccounted for. The three of you hurried back to the Hyperion and arrived just in time to find Darla calmly feeding Connor from a bottle while Cordelia flipped through a magazine and Lorne whistled, cheerfully sweeping up six piles of dust. The crossbow lay on the counter, emptied of bolts.
You cleared your throat. Are you... is everyone okay? you asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious that you were a little bruised and blood-spattered while no one here appeared injured in the least.
We're fine, Cordelia answered, not looking up from her magazine. No thanks to you, Mr. Let's-let-the-new-mother-save-our-collective-asses-while-I-go-prancing-out-looking-for-trouble.
But. I killed some of them, you said. I killed eight. And I didn't prance.
I got four, Gunn added. Wesley glared at him.
Darla just handed the baby to Cordy and came over to you, silently looking you up and down for injuries. She put a hand up to your cheek and tilted your head. There was a dark bruise along your jaw, and she ran her fingertips gently over it, briefly touched the tiny bleeding cut on your cheek, touched your split bottom lip. Then she said, in a very quiet voice, Thank you. And she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed you softly on the mouth. The blood didn't seem to bother her.
When she pulled back, you looked into her eyes for a long moment before running your fingers lightly through her hair and letting your hand rest on her neck, feeling the pulse beating steadily beneath your palm. You're welcome, you said. And then you leaned down and kissed her again, slowly, and her lips parted for you and her breath was warm and her skin smelled wonderful.
Okay, that? Is going nowhere good, you heard Cordelia say from somewhere far off. But you kept kissing Darla, and in your head you had to disagree.
*
You know, deep down, that her weakness started before the jar of blood, that her fever started before the sex. These things began four hundred years ago, and they've just been on hold for a while, just long enough for you to fall maddeningly in love with her. The timing of it all seems ridiculously contrived, and it makes you wonder if everything that's happened to Darla happened to her simply because you're being punished - that her life has turned out this way because of you. And you half convince yourself that her sickness is your own fault, and you half convince yourself that believing it's your fault makes you an arrogant prick who thinks the entire universe revolves around himself. But on the other hand, maybe it does.
And maybe you knew what would happen. That's the thing you can't quite move past. Maybe you knew she would get sick again; maybe, in giving her life, you condemned her to death because you were scared if you chose humanity for yourself then the same damn thing would happen to you. You don't remember thinking it at the time, but now that you've had time to think, it makes sense. You sacrificed Darla because you were scared, and now you're being punished.
And how could you have ever thought you wouldn't love her? You loved her before you had a soul to love with. Now that you have one, you can only love her more, and that makes it all so much worse. This guilt is the heaviest guilt you have ever carried.
*
You and Darla took Connor to the doctor. He'd already gone through all the regular newborn checkups and appointments, but you wanted to take him again... just to make sure. He smelled so much like her that you wondered if he had developed the same sickness. You didn't tell her that was what this was about, but you could tell she knew. She was getting worse.
Connor was fine, though. Healthiest baby I've ever seen, said the doctor. But then he looked at Darla's weary face and asked if she was alright.
Oh, I'm fine, she said. Just tired. And she hefted Connor into her arms, and for the first time it occurred to you that he was a heavy little thing.
It occurred to you again on the Hyperion stairs. Let me carry him, you finally said, but she said, No, no... I've got him. And you thought about the jar of blood, about Darla's trembling hands, white knuckles. She should have been able to open it. And you hovered right behind her on the steps, one hand out, not quite touching the small of her back, willing her to hold your son tighter. The two of you walked all the way up to your room that way, slowly, you wondering the whole time if you'd be quick enough to catch them if either one should fall.
You remember watching Darla haul a man your size easily over her shoulder, stepping through a dank alley daintily in a pretty kimono. You remember watching her overturn a carriage with her bare hands, rip a man's jaw from his face, uproot a sapling and break it over her knee for a stake to threaten you with. She was stronger than you.
When Darla laid the baby in his little bed, you tried not to show how relieved you were. You tried, but you failed.
Maybe it's time to talk about this now, Darla said softly.
Talk about what? you asked.
You know what, she said, sitting down on the bed. She slowly reached up to push her hair behind her ear.
There's nothing to talk about, you said. Hey, I think Fred bought some ice cream. You want some? I'll get it. I'll be right b--
Angel, she said.
There was a pause. You couldn't do this, not yet. You both knew it was happening, but you wanted to pretend just a little while longer that everything was okay, that your little family would be alright. You came over and put your hand to her cheek, and she covered your hand with hers. Her skin was too hot, and she was too pale. For a human.
It's vanilla, you finally said. You like vanilla, right?
She sighed, closing her eyes. Yes, dear, she said quietly. I like vanilla.
I'll be right back, you said, and she just nodded, letting your hand slip away from hers.
And you started to walk out, but then you hesitated, paused just inside the doorway, your back to her. I love you, Darla, you said. And when you turned to look, she was smiling a little bit, but she still looked tired.
I know, boy, she said. I know.
*
When you finally come back to the kitchen, the only one still there is Darla. She's leaning with both hands onto the counter, her head hanging down, and for a moment you think she's crying, but when she looks up, she's not. The jar is sitting there in front of her, opened, the lid lying on the countertop next to it, and beside that there is a blue mug of blood.
You smile and come forward, put your arms around her from behind, lean your chin down onto her shoulder. You're happier than you should be about this; it's only an opened jar. But it means something to you that she was able to do it.
Your friends are... nice, Darla says. She turns in your arms and gives you a kiss on the cheek.
Yeah, I think I'll keep them, you joke. You pick up the lid and the jar as Darla heads for the kitchen door, and you twist them back together, very lightly. Thank you, you say. For the blood.
Oh, she says, not looking back. Gunn opened it.
And then she walks out, and you're standing there with a jar of blood in your hand, watching her slowly leave.
*