Title: Désespoir
Author: Princess Twilite (Princesstwilite2@aol.com)
Summary: Connor. Steven.
Rating: Hard R.
Genre: Character Exploration, Post/during-ep, Angst.
'Ship: Slight Connor/Cordelia
Time Line: Spoilers up to Supersymmetry
Disclaimer: This story rips off Joss, get it? But I make no money from it.
I'm just shit of luck when it comes to my OWN characters right now and feel
like messing with his. So don't sue. I'm broke anyway.
Distribution: List archives, Of Death & Destiny, Shoes and Doughnuts, and
if you want it, you can take it. Just toss me a note saying that you have
it. Thanks:)
Feedback: Yes, thanks.
Website: http://thatvisionthing.org/whip
Updates: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ptupdates
Author's Note: Désespoir means Despair when translated into English. It's a
French word that I feel captures the essence of heart break, of need, of
looking for that SOMETHING. and always coming up empty handed. The despair
that comes hand and hand with those who are always searching. We've all
felt that despair before, even when we pretend we haven't. As always, I
listen to a song while writing. Here are the lyrics to this one.
.And it's almost like being free. Yeah. And I know soon you will be.. Over the lies and you'll be strong You'll be rich in love and you will carry on. No, oh no, no you won't be mine.
"Won't Be Mine" - Matchbox20
- - -
They told him he was human, but special. Very, very special.
Holtz, the only father he had ever known, had often held his head late at night, his dirty-rough nails digging into his scalp as he tried to figure out the puzzle he called his son.
Connor, sitting now, on the window ledge, watched over Cordelia with her soft hair feathering over his pillow and remembered.
- - -
His father's tired gaze, his steady eyes.
"No." He slashed his hands in the air for emphasis as he came forward, bare feet trudging through the red soil. Steven flinched, lowering his ax as he trained in the relative safety of the forest. It was the clearings where they got you. "You're too tense - we've been through this before. A million times. You must accept your strength, even it doesn't seem natural. If you do not - your opponent can use it against you."
Steven nodded and bowed his head, sweat dripping from his hair, tickling his scalp.
Holtz backed away, hobbling a little.
Steven raised his eyes, watched him sadly.
From nowhere, a creature with tiny, dangerous teeth swooped from the trees.
"Father!" Steven yelled. Holtz neither flinched or turned at Steven's shout, but slipped a long, curved blade from his belt and stabbed into the air with the accuracy of a predator in search of his food.
A squall met the blade and blood dripped onto the earth.
The creature fell.
Holtz turned slowly, yellow teeth glinting, eyes as happy as they ever were. Steven's heart pounded in his chest. To almost lose what meant everything to him.
"Accept yourself," Holtz murmured softly, smile faltering. "Because no one else ever will."
Steven nodded and returned to his training. To his life, that's all there really was. But at least he would eat tonight.
- - -
The night was not still, but it was like a deep, black pool of water and Connor could relate to it, if not understand.
There was the sound of memories in his head and briefly he wondered what it would be like to be without them. How the quiet must feel, moving along the edges of your ear. His gaze stayed on Cordelia, with her face slack and trusting in sleep, open as a child's might be.
She knew the sound of empty.
Connor pursed his lips and ached to know that quiet void.
The colors were liquid, shades of gray, black and yellow. They gave the room depth, made it swim with what it was or might be if you listened close enough and not with your ears, but with your skin.
He shivered, the goose bumps rising on his skin under the thin, dirty sweat shirt. He wished he had something cleaner to wear, something slick and clean.
Connor sat stiffer, knees bent up, feet resting on the wall and the cold, boarded up window at his back. Air sneaked through, climbing through the weak threads of his shirt.
And he wondered when his appearance had started to matter to him.
Watching her, the way her stomach and chest rose with every breath. he knew.
Connor bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and sucked on it as he leaned further into the window, shuddering when a crack slithered up its length from his weight and he was forced to lean away.
When he realized what he was doing, he shoved his palm over his mouth in disgust and hurriedly wiped his lips off on the sleeve of his sweat shirt.
The tint of blood would stay there for a long time, but it would blend in with the blood of every other thing he killed.
- - -
Cordelia woke up to the sound of tin hitting wood and someone cursing.
Ping. Ping.
She bolted up in bed, gripping the blankets to her chest and staring blindly into the dark. Her heart thumped like a mad thing in her chest.
"Connor?" She called, voice shaky.
Ping. Ping.
What WAS that sound? It made something insider her jump.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the shadows and she saw his face emerge from them. It was pale, his eyes shaded by his bangs as he bent over a bucket, shifting it just so.
"It's just me." He said quietly. "Go back to sleep."
Yeah, cause she could really do that when he looked so alone standing there, a Peter Pan that couldn't fly.
And then there was the sound of water sharply hitting the bottom of the bucket. Cordelia blinked, looking around, opening up her ears to more than her heart beat and the sound of his soft breathing a few feet away.
Ping. Ping.
It was raining, pouring really. A storm without thunder or lightning. Just tons of rain, falling from the sky.
Ping. Ping.
"It's raining." She said dumbly, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders. "I remember the rain."
A smile drifted over her face and he watched, crouched to the floor.
He realized that he couldn't breathe.
"I remember the rain." She said again and stood, dropping the covers to the bed and climbing out. He watched silently as she walked over to the broken window, covered raggedly by plastic that whipped inside and out, torn.
Ping. Ping.
He saw the wind fuss her hair, but she didn't seem to notice. Cordelia held her hand up, vaguely lit by the street light, and touched where the water pelted into the room. Connor flushed in shame and wondered if she'd rather be else where, in a place that wasn't leaking and cold, and sometimes smelling of blood.
But there was a smile still, right there on her lips, like she was dazed by the memory.
Ping. Ping.
She moved her fingers, the drops of rain sliding down the back of her hand, over her wrist and disappearing into the white of her long sleeved night shirt.
Cordelia glanced back at him, surprised to find him in the same position, ass tucked on his heels, watching her from the floor.
Ping. Ping.
"I think I loved the rain." She told him, pulling her hand away from the spray, but making no move to leave the window. "I almost remember. the rain was always a comfort. It seemed to slow things down and I think everything must have always happened so fast."
Connor nodded, and carefully stood. His bare foot bumped against the cold tin of the bucket at his feet.
Ping. Ping.
The sound filled the room, from the many buckets everywhere. She followed him with her eyes and he went to what passed for a dresser and struck a match. The scent of it teased her nose pleasantly and suddenly the room was a little lighter, as he lit a few of those often-burned candles with wax already hardened all over their holders.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
The room was visible now, lit gently by the golden glow and Cordelia saw at least ten buckets, set everywhere, collecting the rain.
She shivered when the rain splashed against the plastic, propelling it against the strip of bare skin between her shirt and her sweat pants. Connor noticed and moved slowly toward her in the strange light.
Looking a little like danger, something that cut a hole in the shadows.
Gently, he wrapped his fingers around hers.
"I like the rain too." He whispered. "But you should go back to sleep."
Nodding, she followed him. The floor was rough and cold beneath her feet, but very steady and very real. She didn't look at him as his fingers pressed against the bones in her shoulders, pressing her down into a sitting position against the mattress.
They stayed like that for a moment, with his stomach inches from her face and his fingers moving gently across her cotton covered skin until Cordelia felt the tension spread through the air and into her lungs. Swallowing, she pulled away and laid down on the bed, her back to him.
She heard a soft sigh behind her and the emptiness in her own head being filled with these strange, leaden moments that they shared. Cordy licked her lips and heard the fabric of his jeans rasp together as he moved away, across the room.
She stared hard at the bucket near her bed, where the rain dripped.
Ping. Ping.
"Thank you for taking care of me." She murmured, sure he couldn't hear her but needing to say it anyhow.
It was a surprise when not a moment later, he was by her side again, lifting her hips and tugging the blanket out from under her. She watched his face for a sign of his reason, but it remained impassive. He slid into the bed beside her, lay down on his back and brought the covers up over them both.
A long time later, he said to the ceiling, "Anytime."
Cordelia tucked her hand beneath her cheek and wondered why he was so soon a man. It was one thing no one was willing to explain to her. One of many.
- - -
Steven tilted his face toward the window, watching the yellow rain fall to the ground, turning the dirt the color of dark, thick blood.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the glass.
The sound of the rain and thunder far off slid into his heart and made it whisper instead of scream.
A smile slid across his face. It felt foreign, strange.
"What are you doing?" The voice of his father jolted him from his peace and he jerked away from the glass, feeling the coolness of his face where it had rested against the glass in a way that made him feel shamed.
"I'm sorry. I was just-"
"Letting your guard down. How many times do I have to tell you?"
Holtz came forward, shaking his grayed head of hair. His knees shook as he took a seat next to Steven, leaning his head back against the wall of their make-shift home.
"You worry me." Holtz admitted. "Sometimes I think you might get yourself killed by dreaming of something more."
"I wasn't dreaming." Steven assured, lacing his fingers together and sitting forward, aware of his father's stare on the side of his face. "I know that's dangerous in a place like this. But the rain - the sound of it. It's soothing."
Holtz reached out a hand, and gently ran his fingers over Steven's brown locks. The boy had grown fast and was now almost a man.
"Do not let it fool you." He warned his son. "You know if you step into that rain it will only make you sick for days."
"I know." Steven looked toward the window, where the rain fell. "But for a second, the sound made my heart feel good."
Holtz took a deep breath and his heart ached.
"Steven. Child. you must not let things that sound easy and good. lull you into a sense of safety. Anything that sounds that good can only hurt you."
Steven nodded and blocked out the sound of the rain, even as a part of him kept it tucked deep in side. Just in case.
- - -
Day light edged into his eyes, drifting through his nostrils with the wet scent of after-rain. Snuffling, he shifted on his bed, blinking up at the hazy ceiling.
And he couldn't hear her heart beat.
Panicked, he sat up in bed, looking around for her.
There was nothing. Only the sound of birds with their wings flapping a few rooms down. Trembling, he brought his hands up to his face and wiped the sleep from his eyes.
She wouldn't have just LEFT, would she?
Shaking his head, Connor slid free from the blankets and stood, bare feet shivering against the floor. Had he said something in his sleep last night, done something? It was why he often tried to stay awake as long as possible now - he was worried about what he might reveal.
It wasn't like her to just. leave. They hadn't been out of each other's company for days. Not really. He'd put off hunting for vampires to stay with her, talk with her, make her feel safe. Nothing seemed quite as important, as having her feel safe with him.
Maybe she had her memory back? Had rolled over to find him in the bed beside her and just found herself disgusted? Oh he'd seen the pictures. She'd held him as an infant. And occasionally, now that it meant something, he wanted to find all those pictures and rip them to shreds.
He was no longer a child and he certainly didn't think of her as a mother.
Frustrated with the train of his thoughts and the hungry sensation that had nothing to do with food that tightened his guts, Connor stalked out of the room, down the long, airy hall way and into the bathroom.
He stopped short when he saw, taped to the dirty-chipped mirror, a small piece of paper, scribbled on with blue ink. Stepping forward, he took the note down and read it.
Connor,
Went to get a job. I need a new wardrobe.
Cordy.
Smiling, Connor took his time in folding the note and pressing it into his back jeans pocket.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and found himself staring at the way his lips stretched across his face.
There was just. SOMETHING about her.
- - -
When she returned, he was waiting near the ladder, head cocked to the side, arm leaning against the railing. She gave him a tight smile as she climbed the rest of the rungs and found herself unable to think of a thing to say.
He just kept staring at her.
"Did you get my note?" She asked at last, fingers tucking into her pants pocket. His eyes flickered down, to where the fabric of her jeans tightened around the curve of her hips.
"Yes."
Talk about laconic.
Cordy nodded and passed him, aware that he followed close behind. Connor followed the line of her neck where tan became her shirt and the scent of woman became the scent of cloth.
"How was your day?" He asked, with an effort when they were near where they stayed. "Did you. find a job?"
She turned her head briefly toward him, her eyebrows raised.
"In day one? Not really. I'll try again tomorrow." Sighing, she sat down in what passed for a chair and plucked at her shirt. "It'd be nice if I had some clean clothes. I might not get kicked out of the boutiques so fast."
Connor licked his lips.
"You want. your things?"
The thought whirled in his head, of her, of his father. He felt sick. She nodded distractedly, mind elsewhere. Far from him and this place. He felt something rise in his throat.
"Yeah." Cordelia replied, smoothing her hands over her knees. He noticed that her nails were painted a pale pink color that they hadn't been the night before. That's what had been on the bathroom sink, he realized, in that little bottle.
Cordelia's make up from that small gray bag she carried with her. Next to his own things on the counter. He felt a little less sick. "I'm thinking I'll head over to the hotel tonight - grab a few things."
Good things never last. Swallowing, Connor crouched at her feet, taking her hand in his own. She seemed shocked, then confused, a small white line appearing between her eyebrows as if the situation seemed familiar.
"I'll go for you." He told her, trying to smile. "You don't have to, if you don't think you're ready."
"I can do it." Cordy said stubbornly, sliding her hand free from his. Connor stared down, where his palm lay face up on his thigh, looking stupid and empty.
"I want to." He insisted. "I don't want you to feel pressured to stay with them because they say it's right. They'll. I'm afraid they'll tell you things about me. And you won't feel safe with me anymore."
At the admission, her eyes met his. There was a sound, deep within him that he heard go off like a buzzer on the microwave. The first time he'd heard that buzz he'd almost had a heart attack and Fred had pat his head like he was her child and smiled at him. "It's just the microwave." She'd said, as if it was the silliest thing she'd ever heard. He wanted to tell her to be kind, he wasn't used to things like this, but his voice was caught in his throat.
Connor missed her. The sharpness that had nothing to do with cruelty. The soft look in her eyes when she stared up at Gunn. Blinking, he brought his gaze back to Cordelia's.
With a small, sad smile, Cordy brushed her hand over the side of his cheek. He stilled, heart thrumming. She always looked so sad, but so ready to be happy again. There was the faint stain of red on her lips; like she'd worn lipstick hours ago and it had worn away to a blush of color that must taste like strawberries or something equally good to lick.
"Connor, you've told me all the bad things. They couldn't say anything to make me forget that we're friends."
Connor felt the brush of her finger pads across the sensitive line of his cheek bone and it stirred something inside him, made him want to lean into the touch. Not many had touched him as if they cared.
A girl once, with black fishnet stockings and a silver skirt that didn't cover the fleshy mounds of her ass had ridden him to his first finish. And then asked to be paid.
Friends. He had a friend. Now was not the time to screw it up with these strange feelings of lust unsatisfied. Lust that could NOT be satisfied, not ever. Because that would mean it would have to end, and he knew now, he'd never like that part.
"Still." He said, standing and moving from her touch. She drew her hand back immediately. Her face was a shock of tan and blonde bangs hanging over one eye in the relative safety of their stand off. "I'd feel better if you'd let me do this for you."
The way he worded it must have meant something, because she nodded and then rubbed her stomach when it made a soft growling noise. He watched her fingers, the pale pink against white.
Masochistically, he wondered what she was even doing here.
"Are there any doughnuts left?" She asked, deadly serious. She raised one of those pink tipped fingers and pointed it at him like a weapon. "You didn't eat them all, I hope." Connor grinned until it hurt his cheeks and then he let her drag him back into their room, and rant at him because he had indeed, eaten all the doughnuts.
- - -
Connor stood by the door way of the bathroom. She was inside, taking a shower. He knew she'd be fast asleep by the time he returned.
A part of him, terrified and trembling, wanted to push that door open wide and just look at her. Ask her if she'd let him look. How much it'd cost. He had no money. Not one cent, he lived from his wits, stealing food like a thief from the stores just to feed her.
Maybe he'd get a job as well.
He trailed his hands over the wooden surface of the door. It had no knob, only a hole that you could put your fingers through to tug it open. Something in Connor ached with rebellion.
He didn't want to pay her anything. He wanted her to just crawl on top of him and do things for free, because she wanted to.
Connor thought back again, to the woman who had taken his virginity. She'd had this beautiful head of red hair that hung down her back in long, curly ropes that smelled of hair spray. Gray eyes that looked almost silver in the street lights.
"Hey good looking." She'd drawled when he passed her on the street and he'd stopped, glancing back at her and smiling a little humbly. "Where you going at this time of night?"
"I was going to."
She never let him finish. It wasn't until he looked back that he realized she hadn't cared at all for what he might have said. She grabbed him by the arm and he winced a little when her sharp nails dug into the muscle.
"Niiice. Look honey, you wanna have a REAL good time, or what?" She smiled and her teeth glinted. "I guarantee satisfaction."
Connor had followed her down the street where a motel sign flashed, blue and red in the night. He stared hard at the back of her head while she unlocked the room door with a key she'd had stuffed into her cleavage and grinned darkly at him, pulling him inside.
After, when he lay stunned on the bed with his body hurting in a way he'd never known before, a good way - she'd slid off of him and dressed methodically, never looking at him.
He'd been confused, asked her where she was going.
"Well doll, I gotta get back to work. You're not my only customer you know. That'll be 250 sugar, cash, no receipt."
Connor had stared at her dumbly, still lying there naked and unsure.
"250?"
"As in money. I didn't spend an hour fucking your brains out for the pleasure sweetie."
She waited impatiently, while he got a sick sensation in his stomach that made him want to puke.
"I. don't have any money."
Connor dragged himself back to the now, hearing Cordy turn the shower off and step free from the bath tub, feet making a wet splat on the throw rug he'd put down for her. He still remembered how angry that woman had been, though he'd tried not to. Now, he could hear Cordelia toweling herself off. The sound of soft cotton brushing against skin was torture.
He forced himself away from the door. He would not press these feelings on her. He couldn't take the idea of her hating him, or asking for payment in return for satiation.
Salvation.
- - -
"They live in the in-between." Holtz said and Steven sat, knees curled up to his chest. "Between the worlds of night and day. But you must still watch them. They will strike if it suits them. They will hurt you. if it suits them."
Steven nodded. And remembered even good things could hurt him.
- - -
Connor carefully slid the small blade through crack between glass and wood, eyes on the little lock he was trying to unlock. He kept his victory dance silent and quick when the lock slid out of place with a quiet snick. Cautiously, he slid his body through the opened window and landed on the balls of his feet, without a sound.
The room smelled of her.
He caught it and inhaled it, his chest hurting with the puffed up lungs.
What would she want?
He grabbed a box and peered inside. There was a few books and a tooth brush. Okay. Connor began going through the boxes, glancing through her things. Maybe he'd get a better handle on what she wanted. and not just the things that cluttered up her life.
He held up a picture and turned it toward the light of the moon. It was of Cordelia, younger, not in the skin, but in the eyes, with long, curly black hair. She was in the arms of a somewhat dorky looking boy, with shaggy brown hair and a smile so wide it hurt to look at.
Lucky asshole.
Connor went to a drawer, opened it and began digging things out that he thought she might need.
It wasn't much of a surprise when he was jerked back and thrown against the wall with a hard arm pressing dangerously against his windpipe.
Staring into the eyes of a man who loved the same woman he had feelings for, Connor figured life was about as fucked up as it could be.
This was going to be fun.
- - -
The streets were wet puddles staring up at him like black holes just waiting to suck him back into hell.
The idea that one day there might be some type of happiness now seemed absurd after staring into his father's face and seeing only hopeful misery. Yes, he deserved it. But did he deserve to have love taken away from him, when he had only learned to grasp it?
Connor leaned against the cement wall, outside the warm place where Cordelia slept with feathery, waiting breaths.
Waiting. Always waiting for something more, some type of something.
Connor stared straight into that black hole.
Whether Angel deserved it or not, he was not willing to give her up just to make that bastard happy. Not when he'd spent so much time making him miserable. And not when he wanted Cordelia for himself.
- - -
Awake. Hear. Breathe. Smell the scent of her hair as she stretches against you. Those long limbs of her shaking as she yawns and pulls free from your warm, too tight embrace.
You think: Damn, this has got to stop.
She looks over her shoulder at you as she walks away, toward that box you set right on top of the table, so she would see it when she woke up. She smiles.
You think: Damn, this is enough.
But the scent of her still lingers in your nostrils, in the back of your throat and you just.. Ache.
Ache for her to look at you just once, the way she used to look at him.
He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.
- - -
Steven bowed his head, tears burning tracks of shame down his face.
"Temptation is what has brought you here." Holtz circled him, smelling of old Tobacco and metallic like blood spilled across the faded strips of his pants. "Temptation to change your life, to pretend like your fate doesn't matter as long as you can live in the now."
Steven didn't cried out when the strap flashed across the torn flesh of his back and the blood dripped down, across the thin white scars of before.
"This hurts me, Steven." Holtz said, breathing hard, tears clogging up his voice. "Please stop defying me. You can't be just like him, you can't."
The strap slammed across his back, tore it open.
Steven kept his eyes open, staring blankly at the grizzly tree trunk. And remained silent even as his skin quivered, wanting nothing more than to run away from his bones.
- - -
"Connor! Wake. Up!" Cordelia shoved his shoulder and finally he jerked awake, his voice lost somewhere in a time before. Locked away in his throat.
He gasped, holding onto his chest with both hands, trying hard to breathe.
She sat on the bed beside him, staring in shock as he just sat there and shuddered. Cordelia didn't know what to do but take his hands in her own and be a friend.
Silently.
And then, when the silence became too loud, "It was just a nightmare." She soothed, brushing a hand over his forehead. He grabbed it, fingers rough and stared up at her with undiluted anger.
"Don't talk to me like that." He said it furiously, locking his fingers between her own and bringing her closer, till they were face to face and her eyes were all he could see before his own. She stared, without breath.
"Like. what?" Cordy gasped; found herself a little afraid, staring into those wildly dark eyes. He seemed dangerous here, in the morning sun with sweat dripping down his cheeks.
"Like I'm a child. Like you're the adopted mother. I'm NOT a child. I haven't been a child for a VERY long time."
His hand tightened briefly around her own and she tried to tug them away, but he held on. "Do you understand?"
Cordelia nodded, blinking when he suddenly threw himself away from her and stalked toward the hall.
"If it means anything," she called and he stopped, turning toward her with his face as empty as blank piece of paper. "I. don't think of you like that. I was only trying to be a friend."
Connor shrugged, the tension leaving him, just a little.
"It means something." He told her and then turned again. "I'm going to take a shower, get out of your way while you finish. decorating." There was a slight smirk in his voice.
Cordelia flushed, glancing around. So he'd noticed.
- - -
The shower was scolding, burning his skin until it was red and itchy and he had to arch his back away from the spray every so often, just to stand it.
Dipping his head under the meager pressure, he pressed his forehead against the wooden walls he'd built around the bathtub and slowly reached his hands back, so far his shoulder blades ached, until they slid across the bumps that would forever mark him as what he was.
His father's son. Both his fathers.
The water was fire, like the tears hanging bitterly and with shame, from his closed eye lids.
- - -
Remind me.
Cordelia stared at the photos like they were alive and might bite her. Might sink their skins into her own and change her. Was she really not herself? Why did it hurt them to look at her?
Never before had she been so afraid of truths.
Or at least she thought she hadn't. She didn't really know.
Standing there, with her knees weak and her heart thumping unsteadily against her ribs, she thought she could hear the sound of people urging her on.
Remind me. She begged it silently, to those still, cold images that seemed to whisper of a past where she was someone else.
Remind me.
They did nothing but smile back at her, a Hollywood smile - the type you might see from a movie star.
A movie star.
The back of her brain itched and she jerked her hand up to her skull, rubbing right there, on the scalp, where her memories must be hiding.
- - -
Connor was buttoning up his jeans when he heard Cordelia call out to him.
"Connor."
"Yeah?" He asked, opening up the bathroom door and going to stand in the doorway as he pulled the shirt over his head.
"How come there are no pictures of Angel?" Connor blanched at the question, smoothing the shirt down his stomach.
"Uh," think-think. "Didn't see any."
"Oh." She seemed disappointed for a moment and Connor felt his stomach clench up into one hard knot. Lie. When she wants the truth. "Well, you got all the other important stuff."
She lifted her slipper-covered foot and tilted her head sideways at him.
Connor felt something inside him stumble and just. fall.
- - -
Steven turned his eyes up to the black sun and wondered if there would ever be anything more.
Maybe it would rain today.
THE END
.And it's almost like being free. Yeah. And I know soon you will be.. Over the lies and you'll be strong You'll be rich in love and you will carry on. No, oh no, no you won't be mine.
"Won't Be Mine" - Matchbox20
- - -
They told him he was human, but special. Very, very special.
Holtz, the only father he had ever known, had often held his head late at night, his dirty-rough nails digging into his scalp as he tried to figure out the puzzle he called his son.
Connor, sitting now, on the window ledge, watched over Cordelia with her soft hair feathering over his pillow and remembered.
- - -
His father's tired gaze, his steady eyes.
"No." He slashed his hands in the air for emphasis as he came forward, bare feet trudging through the red soil. Steven flinched, lowering his ax as he trained in the relative safety of the forest. It was the clearings where they got you. "You're too tense - we've been through this before. A million times. You must accept your strength, even it doesn't seem natural. If you do not - your opponent can use it against you."
Steven nodded and bowed his head, sweat dripping from his hair, tickling his scalp.
Holtz backed away, hobbling a little.
Steven raised his eyes, watched him sadly.
From nowhere, a creature with tiny, dangerous teeth swooped from the trees.
"Father!" Steven yelled. Holtz neither flinched or turned at Steven's shout, but slipped a long, curved blade from his belt and stabbed into the air with the accuracy of a predator in search of his food.
A squall met the blade and blood dripped onto the earth.
The creature fell.
Holtz turned slowly, yellow teeth glinting, eyes as happy as they ever were. Steven's heart pounded in his chest. To almost lose what meant everything to him.
"Accept yourself," Holtz murmured softly, smile faltering. "Because no one else ever will."
Steven nodded and returned to his training. To his life, that's all there really was. But at least he would eat tonight.
- - -
The night was not still, but it was like a deep, black pool of water and Connor could relate to it, if not understand.
There was the sound of memories in his head and briefly he wondered what it would be like to be without them. How the quiet must feel, moving along the edges of your ear. His gaze stayed on Cordelia, with her face slack and trusting in sleep, open as a child's might be.
She knew the sound of empty.
Connor pursed his lips and ached to know that quiet void.
The colors were liquid, shades of gray, black and yellow. They gave the room depth, made it swim with what it was or might be if you listened close enough and not with your ears, but with your skin.
He shivered, the goose bumps rising on his skin under the thin, dirty sweat shirt. He wished he had something cleaner to wear, something slick and clean.
Connor sat stiffer, knees bent up, feet resting on the wall and the cold, boarded up window at his back. Air sneaked through, climbing through the weak threads of his shirt.
And he wondered when his appearance had started to matter to him.
Watching her, the way her stomach and chest rose with every breath. he knew.
Connor bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and sucked on it as he leaned further into the window, shuddering when a crack slithered up its length from his weight and he was forced to lean away.
When he realized what he was doing, he shoved his palm over his mouth in disgust and hurriedly wiped his lips off on the sleeve of his sweat shirt.
The tint of blood would stay there for a long time, but it would blend in with the blood of every other thing he killed.
- - -
Cordelia woke up to the sound of tin hitting wood and someone cursing.
Ping. Ping.
She bolted up in bed, gripping the blankets to her chest and staring blindly into the dark. Her heart thumped like a mad thing in her chest.
"Connor?" She called, voice shaky.
Ping. Ping.
What WAS that sound? It made something insider her jump.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the shadows and she saw his face emerge from them. It was pale, his eyes shaded by his bangs as he bent over a bucket, shifting it just so.
"It's just me." He said quietly. "Go back to sleep."
Yeah, cause she could really do that when he looked so alone standing there, a Peter Pan that couldn't fly.
And then there was the sound of water sharply hitting the bottom of the bucket. Cordelia blinked, looking around, opening up her ears to more than her heart beat and the sound of his soft breathing a few feet away.
Ping. Ping.
It was raining, pouring really. A storm without thunder or lightning. Just tons of rain, falling from the sky.
Ping. Ping.
"It's raining." She said dumbly, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders. "I remember the rain."
A smile drifted over her face and he watched, crouched to the floor.
He realized that he couldn't breathe.
"I remember the rain." She said again and stood, dropping the covers to the bed and climbing out. He watched silently as she walked over to the broken window, covered raggedly by plastic that whipped inside and out, torn.
Ping. Ping.
He saw the wind fuss her hair, but she didn't seem to notice. Cordelia held her hand up, vaguely lit by the street light, and touched where the water pelted into the room. Connor flushed in shame and wondered if she'd rather be else where, in a place that wasn't leaking and cold, and sometimes smelling of blood.
But there was a smile still, right there on her lips, like she was dazed by the memory.
Ping. Ping.
She moved her fingers, the drops of rain sliding down the back of her hand, over her wrist and disappearing into the white of her long sleeved night shirt.
Cordelia glanced back at him, surprised to find him in the same position, ass tucked on his heels, watching her from the floor.
Ping. Ping.
"I think I loved the rain." She told him, pulling her hand away from the spray, but making no move to leave the window. "I almost remember. the rain was always a comfort. It seemed to slow things down and I think everything must have always happened so fast."
Connor nodded, and carefully stood. His bare foot bumped against the cold tin of the bucket at his feet.
Ping. Ping.
The sound filled the room, from the many buckets everywhere. She followed him with her eyes and he went to what passed for a dresser and struck a match. The scent of it teased her nose pleasantly and suddenly the room was a little lighter, as he lit a few of those often-burned candles with wax already hardened all over their holders.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
The room was visible now, lit gently by the golden glow and Cordelia saw at least ten buckets, set everywhere, collecting the rain.
She shivered when the rain splashed against the plastic, propelling it against the strip of bare skin between her shirt and her sweat pants. Connor noticed and moved slowly toward her in the strange light.
Looking a little like danger, something that cut a hole in the shadows.
Gently, he wrapped his fingers around hers.
"I like the rain too." He whispered. "But you should go back to sleep."
Nodding, she followed him. The floor was rough and cold beneath her feet, but very steady and very real. She didn't look at him as his fingers pressed against the bones in her shoulders, pressing her down into a sitting position against the mattress.
They stayed like that for a moment, with his stomach inches from her face and his fingers moving gently across her cotton covered skin until Cordelia felt the tension spread through the air and into her lungs. Swallowing, she pulled away and laid down on the bed, her back to him.
She heard a soft sigh behind her and the emptiness in her own head being filled with these strange, leaden moments that they shared. Cordy licked her lips and heard the fabric of his jeans rasp together as he moved away, across the room.
She stared hard at the bucket near her bed, where the rain dripped.
Ping. Ping.
"Thank you for taking care of me." She murmured, sure he couldn't hear her but needing to say it anyhow.
It was a surprise when not a moment later, he was by her side again, lifting her hips and tugging the blanket out from under her. She watched his face for a sign of his reason, but it remained impassive. He slid into the bed beside her, lay down on his back and brought the covers up over them both.
A long time later, he said to the ceiling, "Anytime."
Cordelia tucked her hand beneath her cheek and wondered why he was so soon a man. It was one thing no one was willing to explain to her. One of many.
- - -
Steven tilted his face toward the window, watching the yellow rain fall to the ground, turning the dirt the color of dark, thick blood.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the glass.
The sound of the rain and thunder far off slid into his heart and made it whisper instead of scream.
A smile slid across his face. It felt foreign, strange.
"What are you doing?" The voice of his father jolted him from his peace and he jerked away from the glass, feeling the coolness of his face where it had rested against the glass in a way that made him feel shamed.
"I'm sorry. I was just-"
"Letting your guard down. How many times do I have to tell you?"
Holtz came forward, shaking his grayed head of hair. His knees shook as he took a seat next to Steven, leaning his head back against the wall of their make-shift home.
"You worry me." Holtz admitted. "Sometimes I think you might get yourself killed by dreaming of something more."
"I wasn't dreaming." Steven assured, lacing his fingers together and sitting forward, aware of his father's stare on the side of his face. "I know that's dangerous in a place like this. But the rain - the sound of it. It's soothing."
Holtz reached out a hand, and gently ran his fingers over Steven's brown locks. The boy had grown fast and was now almost a man.
"Do not let it fool you." He warned his son. "You know if you step into that rain it will only make you sick for days."
"I know." Steven looked toward the window, where the rain fell. "But for a second, the sound made my heart feel good."
Holtz took a deep breath and his heart ached.
"Steven. Child. you must not let things that sound easy and good. lull you into a sense of safety. Anything that sounds that good can only hurt you."
Steven nodded and blocked out the sound of the rain, even as a part of him kept it tucked deep in side. Just in case.
- - -
Day light edged into his eyes, drifting through his nostrils with the wet scent of after-rain. Snuffling, he shifted on his bed, blinking up at the hazy ceiling.
And he couldn't hear her heart beat.
Panicked, he sat up in bed, looking around for her.
There was nothing. Only the sound of birds with their wings flapping a few rooms down. Trembling, he brought his hands up to his face and wiped the sleep from his eyes.
She wouldn't have just LEFT, would she?
Shaking his head, Connor slid free from the blankets and stood, bare feet shivering against the floor. Had he said something in his sleep last night, done something? It was why he often tried to stay awake as long as possible now - he was worried about what he might reveal.
It wasn't like her to just. leave. They hadn't been out of each other's company for days. Not really. He'd put off hunting for vampires to stay with her, talk with her, make her feel safe. Nothing seemed quite as important, as having her feel safe with him.
Maybe she had her memory back? Had rolled over to find him in the bed beside her and just found herself disgusted? Oh he'd seen the pictures. She'd held him as an infant. And occasionally, now that it meant something, he wanted to find all those pictures and rip them to shreds.
He was no longer a child and he certainly didn't think of her as a mother.
Frustrated with the train of his thoughts and the hungry sensation that had nothing to do with food that tightened his guts, Connor stalked out of the room, down the long, airy hall way and into the bathroom.
He stopped short when he saw, taped to the dirty-chipped mirror, a small piece of paper, scribbled on with blue ink. Stepping forward, he took the note down and read it.
Connor,
Went to get a job. I need a new wardrobe.
Cordy.
Smiling, Connor took his time in folding the note and pressing it into his back jeans pocket.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and found himself staring at the way his lips stretched across his face.
There was just. SOMETHING about her.
- - -
When she returned, he was waiting near the ladder, head cocked to the side, arm leaning against the railing. She gave him a tight smile as she climbed the rest of the rungs and found herself unable to think of a thing to say.
He just kept staring at her.
"Did you get my note?" She asked at last, fingers tucking into her pants pocket. His eyes flickered down, to where the fabric of her jeans tightened around the curve of her hips.
"Yes."
Talk about laconic.
Cordy nodded and passed him, aware that he followed close behind. Connor followed the line of her neck where tan became her shirt and the scent of woman became the scent of cloth.
"How was your day?" He asked, with an effort when they were near where they stayed. "Did you. find a job?"
She turned her head briefly toward him, her eyebrows raised.
"In day one? Not really. I'll try again tomorrow." Sighing, she sat down in what passed for a chair and plucked at her shirt. "It'd be nice if I had some clean clothes. I might not get kicked out of the boutiques so fast."
Connor licked his lips.
"You want. your things?"
The thought whirled in his head, of her, of his father. He felt sick. She nodded distractedly, mind elsewhere. Far from him and this place. He felt something rise in his throat.
"Yeah." Cordelia replied, smoothing her hands over her knees. He noticed that her nails were painted a pale pink color that they hadn't been the night before. That's what had been on the bathroom sink, he realized, in that little bottle.
Cordelia's make up from that small gray bag she carried with her. Next to his own things on the counter. He felt a little less sick. "I'm thinking I'll head over to the hotel tonight - grab a few things."
Good things never last. Swallowing, Connor crouched at her feet, taking her hand in his own. She seemed shocked, then confused, a small white line appearing between her eyebrows as if the situation seemed familiar.
"I'll go for you." He told her, trying to smile. "You don't have to, if you don't think you're ready."
"I can do it." Cordy said stubbornly, sliding her hand free from his. Connor stared down, where his palm lay face up on his thigh, looking stupid and empty.
"I want to." He insisted. "I don't want you to feel pressured to stay with them because they say it's right. They'll. I'm afraid they'll tell you things about me. And you won't feel safe with me anymore."
At the admission, her eyes met his. There was a sound, deep within him that he heard go off like a buzzer on the microwave. The first time he'd heard that buzz he'd almost had a heart attack and Fred had pat his head like he was her child and smiled at him. "It's just the microwave." She'd said, as if it was the silliest thing she'd ever heard. He wanted to tell her to be kind, he wasn't used to things like this, but his voice was caught in his throat.
Connor missed her. The sharpness that had nothing to do with cruelty. The soft look in her eyes when she stared up at Gunn. Blinking, he brought his gaze back to Cordelia's.
With a small, sad smile, Cordy brushed her hand over the side of his cheek. He stilled, heart thrumming. She always looked so sad, but so ready to be happy again. There was the faint stain of red on her lips; like she'd worn lipstick hours ago and it had worn away to a blush of color that must taste like strawberries or something equally good to lick.
"Connor, you've told me all the bad things. They couldn't say anything to make me forget that we're friends."
Connor felt the brush of her finger pads across the sensitive line of his cheek bone and it stirred something inside him, made him want to lean into the touch. Not many had touched him as if they cared.
A girl once, with black fishnet stockings and a silver skirt that didn't cover the fleshy mounds of her ass had ridden him to his first finish. And then asked to be paid.
Friends. He had a friend. Now was not the time to screw it up with these strange feelings of lust unsatisfied. Lust that could NOT be satisfied, not ever. Because that would mean it would have to end, and he knew now, he'd never like that part.
"Still." He said, standing and moving from her touch. She drew her hand back immediately. Her face was a shock of tan and blonde bangs hanging over one eye in the relative safety of their stand off. "I'd feel better if you'd let me do this for you."
The way he worded it must have meant something, because she nodded and then rubbed her stomach when it made a soft growling noise. He watched her fingers, the pale pink against white.
Masochistically, he wondered what she was even doing here.
"Are there any doughnuts left?" She asked, deadly serious. She raised one of those pink tipped fingers and pointed it at him like a weapon. "You didn't eat them all, I hope." Connor grinned until it hurt his cheeks and then he let her drag him back into their room, and rant at him because he had indeed, eaten all the doughnuts.
- - -
Connor stood by the door way of the bathroom. She was inside, taking a shower. He knew she'd be fast asleep by the time he returned.
A part of him, terrified and trembling, wanted to push that door open wide and just look at her. Ask her if she'd let him look. How much it'd cost. He had no money. Not one cent, he lived from his wits, stealing food like a thief from the stores just to feed her.
Maybe he'd get a job as well.
He trailed his hands over the wooden surface of the door. It had no knob, only a hole that you could put your fingers through to tug it open. Something in Connor ached with rebellion.
He didn't want to pay her anything. He wanted her to just crawl on top of him and do things for free, because she wanted to.
Connor thought back again, to the woman who had taken his virginity. She'd had this beautiful head of red hair that hung down her back in long, curly ropes that smelled of hair spray. Gray eyes that looked almost silver in the street lights.
"Hey good looking." She'd drawled when he passed her on the street and he'd stopped, glancing back at her and smiling a little humbly. "Where you going at this time of night?"
"I was going to."
She never let him finish. It wasn't until he looked back that he realized she hadn't cared at all for what he might have said. She grabbed him by the arm and he winced a little when her sharp nails dug into the muscle.
"Niiice. Look honey, you wanna have a REAL good time, or what?" She smiled and her teeth glinted. "I guarantee satisfaction."
Connor had followed her down the street where a motel sign flashed, blue and red in the night. He stared hard at the back of her head while she unlocked the room door with a key she'd had stuffed into her cleavage and grinned darkly at him, pulling him inside.
After, when he lay stunned on the bed with his body hurting in a way he'd never known before, a good way - she'd slid off of him and dressed methodically, never looking at him.
He'd been confused, asked her where she was going.
"Well doll, I gotta get back to work. You're not my only customer you know. That'll be 250 sugar, cash, no receipt."
Connor had stared at her dumbly, still lying there naked and unsure.
"250?"
"As in money. I didn't spend an hour fucking your brains out for the pleasure sweetie."
She waited impatiently, while he got a sick sensation in his stomach that made him want to puke.
"I. don't have any money."
Connor dragged himself back to the now, hearing Cordy turn the shower off and step free from the bath tub, feet making a wet splat on the throw rug he'd put down for her. He still remembered how angry that woman had been, though he'd tried not to. Now, he could hear Cordelia toweling herself off. The sound of soft cotton brushing against skin was torture.
He forced himself away from the door. He would not press these feelings on her. He couldn't take the idea of her hating him, or asking for payment in return for satiation.
Salvation.
- - -
"They live in the in-between." Holtz said and Steven sat, knees curled up to his chest. "Between the worlds of night and day. But you must still watch them. They will strike if it suits them. They will hurt you. if it suits them."
Steven nodded. And remembered even good things could hurt him.
- - -
Connor carefully slid the small blade through crack between glass and wood, eyes on the little lock he was trying to unlock. He kept his victory dance silent and quick when the lock slid out of place with a quiet snick. Cautiously, he slid his body through the opened window and landed on the balls of his feet, without a sound.
The room smelled of her.
He caught it and inhaled it, his chest hurting with the puffed up lungs.
What would she want?
He grabbed a box and peered inside. There was a few books and a tooth brush. Okay. Connor began going through the boxes, glancing through her things. Maybe he'd get a better handle on what she wanted. and not just the things that cluttered up her life.
He held up a picture and turned it toward the light of the moon. It was of Cordelia, younger, not in the skin, but in the eyes, with long, curly black hair. She was in the arms of a somewhat dorky looking boy, with shaggy brown hair and a smile so wide it hurt to look at.
Lucky asshole.
Connor went to a drawer, opened it and began digging things out that he thought she might need.
It wasn't much of a surprise when he was jerked back and thrown against the wall with a hard arm pressing dangerously against his windpipe.
Staring into the eyes of a man who loved the same woman he had feelings for, Connor figured life was about as fucked up as it could be.
This was going to be fun.
- - -
The streets were wet puddles staring up at him like black holes just waiting to suck him back into hell.
The idea that one day there might be some type of happiness now seemed absurd after staring into his father's face and seeing only hopeful misery. Yes, he deserved it. But did he deserve to have love taken away from him, when he had only learned to grasp it?
Connor leaned against the cement wall, outside the warm place where Cordelia slept with feathery, waiting breaths.
Waiting. Always waiting for something more, some type of something.
Connor stared straight into that black hole.
Whether Angel deserved it or not, he was not willing to give her up just to make that bastard happy. Not when he'd spent so much time making him miserable. And not when he wanted Cordelia for himself.
- - -
Awake. Hear. Breathe. Smell the scent of her hair as she stretches against you. Those long limbs of her shaking as she yawns and pulls free from your warm, too tight embrace.
You think: Damn, this has got to stop.
She looks over her shoulder at you as she walks away, toward that box you set right on top of the table, so she would see it when she woke up. She smiles.
You think: Damn, this is enough.
But the scent of her still lingers in your nostrils, in the back of your throat and you just.. Ache.
Ache for her to look at you just once, the way she used to look at him.
He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.
- - -
Steven bowed his head, tears burning tracks of shame down his face.
"Temptation is what has brought you here." Holtz circled him, smelling of old Tobacco and metallic like blood spilled across the faded strips of his pants. "Temptation to change your life, to pretend like your fate doesn't matter as long as you can live in the now."
Steven didn't cried out when the strap flashed across the torn flesh of his back and the blood dripped down, across the thin white scars of before.
"This hurts me, Steven." Holtz said, breathing hard, tears clogging up his voice. "Please stop defying me. You can't be just like him, you can't."
The strap slammed across his back, tore it open.
Steven kept his eyes open, staring blankly at the grizzly tree trunk. And remained silent even as his skin quivered, wanting nothing more than to run away from his bones.
- - -
"Connor! Wake. Up!" Cordelia shoved his shoulder and finally he jerked awake, his voice lost somewhere in a time before. Locked away in his throat.
He gasped, holding onto his chest with both hands, trying hard to breathe.
She sat on the bed beside him, staring in shock as he just sat there and shuddered. Cordelia didn't know what to do but take his hands in her own and be a friend.
Silently.
And then, when the silence became too loud, "It was just a nightmare." She soothed, brushing a hand over his forehead. He grabbed it, fingers rough and stared up at her with undiluted anger.
"Don't talk to me like that." He said it furiously, locking his fingers between her own and bringing her closer, till they were face to face and her eyes were all he could see before his own. She stared, without breath.
"Like. what?" Cordy gasped; found herself a little afraid, staring into those wildly dark eyes. He seemed dangerous here, in the morning sun with sweat dripping down his cheeks.
"Like I'm a child. Like you're the adopted mother. I'm NOT a child. I haven't been a child for a VERY long time."
His hand tightened briefly around her own and she tried to tug them away, but he held on. "Do you understand?"
Cordelia nodded, blinking when he suddenly threw himself away from her and stalked toward the hall.
"If it means anything," she called and he stopped, turning toward her with his face as empty as blank piece of paper. "I. don't think of you like that. I was only trying to be a friend."
Connor shrugged, the tension leaving him, just a little.
"It means something." He told her and then turned again. "I'm going to take a shower, get out of your way while you finish. decorating." There was a slight smirk in his voice.
Cordelia flushed, glancing around. So he'd noticed.
- - -
The shower was scolding, burning his skin until it was red and itchy and he had to arch his back away from the spray every so often, just to stand it.
Dipping his head under the meager pressure, he pressed his forehead against the wooden walls he'd built around the bathtub and slowly reached his hands back, so far his shoulder blades ached, until they slid across the bumps that would forever mark him as what he was.
His father's son. Both his fathers.
The water was fire, like the tears hanging bitterly and with shame, from his closed eye lids.
- - -
Remind me.
Cordelia stared at the photos like they were alive and might bite her. Might sink their skins into her own and change her. Was she really not herself? Why did it hurt them to look at her?
Never before had she been so afraid of truths.
Or at least she thought she hadn't. She didn't really know.
Standing there, with her knees weak and her heart thumping unsteadily against her ribs, she thought she could hear the sound of people urging her on.
Remind me. She begged it silently, to those still, cold images that seemed to whisper of a past where she was someone else.
Remind me.
They did nothing but smile back at her, a Hollywood smile - the type you might see from a movie star.
A movie star.
The back of her brain itched and she jerked her hand up to her skull, rubbing right there, on the scalp, where her memories must be hiding.
- - -
Connor was buttoning up his jeans when he heard Cordelia call out to him.
"Connor."
"Yeah?" He asked, opening up the bathroom door and going to stand in the doorway as he pulled the shirt over his head.
"How come there are no pictures of Angel?" Connor blanched at the question, smoothing the shirt down his stomach.
"Uh," think-think. "Didn't see any."
"Oh." She seemed disappointed for a moment and Connor felt his stomach clench up into one hard knot. Lie. When she wants the truth. "Well, you got all the other important stuff."
She lifted her slipper-covered foot and tilted her head sideways at him.
Connor felt something inside him stumble and just. fall.
- - -
Steven turned his eyes up to the black sun and wondered if there would ever be anything more.
Maybe it would rain today.
THE END