Chapter 14~ The Night In Question

The night, as it turned out, didn't take them anywhere good.

They had barely made it five blocks, and Angel already found that calling Connor talkative was like someone referring to himself as slightly reserved. No wonder Buffy and his son got along so well.

"It was completely ridiculous!"

"Why did you take cultural anthropology in the first place?"

Connor ducked his head for a moment, then glanced at Angel sheepishly.

"Ah," Angel chuckled. "What's her name?"

"That's not the point."

"Ok. What is the point?"

Connor let out an exasperated sigh.

"The point is that it's a very valid topic for a paper. And the professor just dismissed it!"

"Connor, you can't just tell an academic that you want to study a group of people that worship vampires."

"But you see how it could be cool, right?"

The memory was vivid; just a few years was nothing compared to the centuries he carried. What had those silly children called the deadly monsters who held death and destruction sacred above all else? The Lonely Ones. It hadn't been very long since then. But everything had been so much simpler. Or maybe, things had never been simple. Maybe he had simply been blind.

"Cool? Compared to the things you've seen, the things you've done..."

"That's just it! I wanted to understand. Why they believed without knowing anything about what they were worshipping."

"Why do people believe in anything without knowing? So they can feel safe. So they can close their eyes and not be afraid of the dark."

Connor seemed to consider this. When he spoke again, his voice was softer than Angel had ever heard it.

"I was never afraid of the dark, Angel. Never. Like I knew that I had nothing to fear from it." He took in a shaky breath. "But the night you sent me away and I couldn't... That night, I was afraid. For you."

Angel stopped walking, looking into those blue eyes that made him think of Darla, never failing to remind him about true sacrifice. There were a million emotions fighting for supremacy within him, a million things he wanted to say, knowing that no words would ever be enough to express what he felt. Instead, he reached over, ruffling his son's unruly hair. He smiled, giving in to an earlier impulse.

"You need a haircut."

Connor smirked.

"Tell it to someone who cares."

Angel swatted lightly at him, and Connor jumped out of the way, circling the vampire mockingly. They traded jabs, laughing, until Angel froze in mid-attack. He sniffed the air, sampling it, the certainty already bitter within him.

"Do I even wanna know?"

"Human blood."

Connor followed the dark stare the vampire directed into the shadows. In the next instant, the creature darted through a beam of light cast by the glowing city. For a moment, they caught sight of feral yellow eyes, teeth the size of fingers, the shimmer of scales in the moonlight. And then it was gone, disappearing down a darkened street.

"Woah!" Connor exclaimed. "What the hell was that?"

They were both running after it now.

"I don't know. Reptilian species never really interested me."

"It kinda looked like one of those Brazilian Lagarto demons."

The shocked look on Angel's face was both amusing and irritating.

"What? I read," Connor muttered indignantly. Then, seeming to remember something, added, "Hey, wait a minute. Aren't those endangered?"

Angel felt the excitement sweep through him as the warrior soul torn to shreds mended just a little.

"This one is."

***

The sky was still shrouded in night when she returned to the Hyperion. As her hand reached out for the door, she wondered if he would still be standing in the same exact spot where she had left him. He hadn't followed her, hadn't lurked vigilantly in the shadows, hadn't become the same silent guardian of years gone by. Maybe more had changed than she thought. Maybe, if that were true, it would bother her.

Buffy shook her head to clear it. Get a grip on yourself. The mental thrashing seemed to work, at least for the moment. Her stride was a little more confident when she walked into the lobby, but at the foot of the staircase, she hesitated again.

The feeling accosting her was no mystery. The pulse quickened just a little, an almost audible hum coursing like electricity under her skin.

It was no use.

Dusting the vamp had helped relieve some of her nervous energy. But it was still there; unmistakable, unrelenting.

Isn't it crazy how slayin' just always makes you hungry and horny?

She really hated it when Faith was right.

Making up her mind to vanquish the former and ignore the latter, she set off to raid the fridge.

One ham sandwich later, the ignoring wasn't going so well. The more she thought about it, the more it was a terrible idea. Yet somehow she found herself knocking on Angel's door. Just to talk, of course; just to clear the air between them.

Her knocks and whispered words were met with silence. She frowned. It wasn't like him to be outright rude, even when he cranked up his setting to Morose- Ultra. She pushed the door open gently.

"Angel?"

Only the emptiness answered in greeting.

She searched the hotel. There was no one. And for a moment, a sharp paralyzing fear knocked the breath from her lungs, fixing her on the tip of its pointed blade.

The Glamour had collapsed. Wolfram and Hart had reclaimed their spoils. He was lost forever.

It took all of her considerable strength to manage a coherent thought. She called Willow, barely registering the five missed calls flashing on her display.

"Buffy! Where've you been? We've been trying to reach you!"

"He's gone." Voice raw with emotion. She heard it outside her own body and didn't recognize it.

"Who's gone where? Are you ok?" Willow's voice was fraught with worry.

"The Glamour—"

"It's still holding. Intact as can be. Did something happen to Angel?"

"I… I don't know. Can you find him?"

"Just a sec."

Buffy could hear the receiver being put down on the other end, some scratchy noises, silence. She had remembered how to breathe again, but just barely. It was an eternity before her friend replaced the silence.

"He's fine. Somewhere in L.A. Buffy, we need to ta—"

"Thanks Will. Call you later."

She hung up in a daze.

He's ok. She took in a deep breath. And another. On the third, she breathed in righteous anger instead of air.

How could he just leave like that?

He's a deader man than he is already.

Then — Why do I care so much?

She hated that he could make her feel that way, like she was still some irrational, hormonal teenager. The sudden hodgepodge of emotions made her head all spinny.

It took a moment to register that the phone was buzzing, still clutched in her hand.

She sighed, flicked it open.

"Drama R Us, how may I help you?"

"Can you not be spazzo girl for a minute? It's important."

Buffy sobered at the sharpness in the witch's voice.

"What's up?"

"Something is happening Buffy. Something bad."

"Bad like 'I ruined my favorite sweater'-bad, or apocalyptically- bad?"

"We're not quite at DEFCON Apocalypse yet, but I think… something is coming."

"Gee, could you vague that up for me?"

Willow sighed.

"I just… I feel it. The dark power. Like one of your slayer dreams."

Buffy nodded, even though Willow wasn't there to see.

"Speaking of… have you had any slayer dreams? Seen any portents?"

"You have really been spending too much time with Giles."

She ran her fingers through her hair, tugging on it painfully. No, her dreams as of late had certainly had little to do with slaying. She voiced the thought quietly, sadly.

"Too much Angel on the brain, Will."

She had no one else to share that truth with. No one else who would understand.

The redhead's voice was equally soft when she responded.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yeah, you know, it's just Buffy and Angel- The Collector's Edition. Angst and miscommunication sold separately."

"Unfortunately, there's a lot of carnage when stuff gets too angsty between you two. Don't forget that Buffy."

As if she ever could.

"Call me the minute anything happens. And tell Giles to stop pacing, he'll wear out his expensive Persian rug."

Willow smirked.

"Well, if you'd quit with the Angel snuggles long enough to pick up your phone…" She heard an abrupt laugh, then the dial tone. Looking out somewhere beyond the constraints imposed by human vision, Willow fervently hoped that her friends would find their way. Preferably without ending the world in the process.

At the other end of the globe, Buffy finally succumbed to the exhaustion of the last few days. It was the most emotionally battered she had been since the last apocalypse. Willow's warnings echoed in her head. A coming darkness. Angst and carnage. She wasn't sure which one she dreaded more.

That wasn't quite true. Some new giant evil she could handle. It was only her own spiraling emotions that she couldn't control. And to think, she could be lying on a beach in Italy, fantasizing about how perfect everything could be if she would only bake faster…

But then she wouldn't be here, angry at him.

Things were getting far too complicated. Then again, hadn't they always been?

She'd go get some sleep, in her own bed thank you very much. Maybe then she could have some peace and quiet from the thoughts and feelings bombarding her at every turn.

But neither sleep nor peace was hers to be had that night. Every time she closed her eyes, the memory of his cool lips burned her flesh to cinders.

***

"Tired yet, old man?"

"Ha! Don't need to breathe, remember?"

They rounded another corner just in time to see a manhole cover come flying at them like some giant frisbee. Connor ducked. Angel jumped, landing silently on his feet. Turning, he smirked at the boy.

"Need a hand, sonny?"

Connor was upright almost before the words hit the air, a reciprocal smirk on his own face. They watched the demon disappear into the sewers.

As they descended in pursuit, Angel was secretly pleased. He could navigate these passages with the certainty of any tracking system.

As his feet touched down in a puddle, the predatory gleam returned to his eyes.

Father and son took off again, their footfalls echoing together companionably.

One set of footfalls suddenly gave way to a loud splash, as the demon took them by surprise and barreled into Connor. Its seven-foot tall frame towered over the prostrate boy, scaled torso gleaming in the scant light. All gnashing teeth and long, curved claws, it prepared to pounce again. Connor rolled out of the way, catching it behind the shins with his leg. The creature roared in rage, but remained standing. Angel took the opportunity to leap onto its back and wrap his arms around the thick neck. The scales that covered its body were clearly secreting some sort of thick mucus, because Angel's hands had a tough time finding purchase. He opted for squeezing his arms tighter, feeling ridiculous.

"This is no time to be hitching a piggyback ride, Angel."

Connor kicked out, catching the creature in the gut. It grunted in pain, but still found the energy to back up into the brick tunnel with force, thrashing Angel against it. He hung on, despite feeling the pain from his broken ribs flare bright and hot again. The demon rammed them into the wall once more, but this time, the vampire swung his legs into a horizontal position. When they hit the wall, he pushed, propelling the creature forward into the opposite wall. It hit the brick with a resounding thwack, losing its balance a little. Angel released it and swung with all his might, his fist connecting with skull with a gratifying crunch. He cursed himself for not bringing any weapons short of a stake, even as he watched Connor approach from the opposite side.

A change overcame it then. Cornered, the demon let out a bone curdling scream, its agape mouth revealing two rows of shark-like teeth. It faced him, and before Angel could react, spit that pungent mucus into his face. Blinded, he could only struggle while it lifted him over its head unceremoniously, and threw him at Connor like a rag doll. They landed hard in a tangle of limbs, and the creature made its triumphant escape.

For a few minutes, neither of them moved. Then, Angel turned his face sideways a little, using the filthy water to clean the mucus off his face. It burned. One of his healed ribs had definitely been re-broken. He could barely feel his damaged arm. He sat up with difficulty and looked at Connor, filthy and shivering. Imagined how he himself must look. Connor watched him with an unreadable expression. Suddenly, they both burst into uncontrollable laugher, the sound ringing in their ears and bouncing off the walls as their footsteps had done minutes before.

Wet and exhausted, they headed back, still laughing. They made their way through the doors of the hotel mere minutes before the bright orange rays stretched across the land, awakening the city to a life he would never be a part of.

In those precious moments, he didn't care.

He followed his son, both dragging mud and gore behind them. And as he ascended the staircase, feeling every one of his two-hundred-and-fifty-one years, he couldn't remember a time when he'd been this content.