Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Author's note: the Irish poem, 'Dun Cearmna is empty tonight' found at: http://www.dnaco.net/~mobrien/irishptr/irepoems/folamh.html



"So, this is my room," Angel said, waving his arm around. He led Connor out of the room and down the hallway, and opened a door. "This was Fred's, till she married Gunn. I keep it habitable in case it's needed." He glanced sideways at Connor. "You could sleep here … if you're staying?"

"Yeah. For a bit. Thanks." Connor grinned back.

His father led the way downstairs. "This is the lobby. Cordelia and Fred's desks. The office." Connor followed him into the office, neatly furnished with a desk and chairs. Angel opened a cabinet. "You're not to touch these without someone else around, all right?"

Connor moved forward in awe, his mouth slightly open. "Wow."

Angel picked out a knife from the weapons stacked neatly in the cabinet, and tested it against his finger before replacing it. "You like them?"

"Wow," said Connor again. He looked at Angel. "But why?"

"Oh." His father closed the cabinet. "Um. It's what I do."

Connor chose a chair and sat down. "I thought you were a private detective or something."

"I am. We solve the cases people don't handle … demons, vampires, possessions. They come to us and we help them." Angel steepled his hands in front of his face. "Cordelia … Cordy gets visions, too, to direct me to those who need help and can't ask for it."

"Visions?" Connor was entranced.

"From the Powers That Be. The … guiding beings who control us."

"Like God?"

Angel met his son's eyes. "Connor, I can't say I believe in God as such. I believe in the power of belief, and the fact that there are undeniably powers guiding us. Guiding our destinies. And nobody could spend 250 years being scared of a cross without believing in something."

"So …" Connor said, thinking aloud, "Cordelia gets a vision of someone in danger, and you go along and save them?"

"Something like that."

"Wow."

Angel smiled at his son's rapt expression. "Let's continue the tour, shall we?" Connor nodded and stood up. "So, office. With weapons you're not to touch."

"Got that."

"Good." They went through several doors and down a passageway. "Kitchen. There's a fridge in the lobby too. Cordy and Fred keep sodas in it. But here there's food. Don't bother looking in this fridge." He tapped the door of one.

Connor found his curiosity piqued. "Why not?"

Angel frowned. "I can't remember if I was as inquisitive at your age. Because there's nothing in it for you."

"So what is in it?"

Angel sighed audibly, and opened the fridge. "My food."

The door swung back to reveal neat rows of plastic cartons and a few plastic bags filled with a deep red liquid. For once, Connor was silent, looking at the fridge with a different kind of awe.

"Is it human?" he asked, after a moment's contemplation. Angel swung the fridge shut and walked firmly away from it.

"No. Animal. Pig, mostly. I don't drink human blood anymore. And that's the last I'm saying on the subject, I'm afraid. You want more answers, ask Cordy."

They went through more passages and down some stairs.

"Basement. Training area." Angel picked up a dagger lying on a table, examined it for a moment, and then threw it accurately at a target. "Hmm." He turned to Connor. "I think that's it. That's the Hyperion."

"But it's huge, you've only shown me a bit of it," Connor pointed out.

"It's fairly decrepit. We can't afford to renovate as much as I'd like."

"I guess not."

They arrived back in the lobby and Connor sat down on the sofa. Angel watched him, and then sat down next to him. "Tell me about your parents."

"My parents? Mum and Dad?" Connor reflected. "Like what?"

"What do they do?"

"Oh. Dad's an accountant. Mum does a bit of teaching, when she's needed."

"Where?"

"San Diego. La Jolla."

"So you were never that far away. If only I had known."

"I … like I said, I like sport. I'm good at running. I'm fast. I'm not that keen on schoolwork but I do it. My grades are okay."

"Good. I'm glad. I hated school."

"Did you?"

Angel stared into space. "Completely. We were taught by the village priest, in Latin. He wouldn't let us speak Gaelic or even English. I used to sneak off and go egg-hunting by the beach, and then my father would catch me and then we'd argue. And none of it was ever any use. I put nothing into practice." He paused. "Except the Latin, for magic."

"What's Gaelic?" Connor asked.

"Gaelic? Irish. I'm Irish. Or I was, once." After a moment, he began to speak softly.

"Folamh anocht Dún Chearmna

do Ráith Teamhra is cúis bhaoghail;

méad uaigneasa an dúin dreachglain--

beart do bheartaibh an tsaoghail."

"It's an old poem I used to like," he said. "I doubt I could hold a conversation these days. Not that there's anyone to speak to."

"Where was my mother from?"

"Darla? Originally, I have no idea. I'm sorry. But I know she was turned – made into a vampire, I mean – in Virginia. In the early 1600s."

"When?!" Connor's eyes bulged.

"The oldest mother ever," said Angel. "And the oldest father. I'm sorry. All this must be so odd for you."

"Kind of," he admitted. He looked back at Angel, who was resting his elbows on his knees again and fiddling with his ring. To Connor, there was something at once very familiar and very strange about the thought that this man looked like an elder brother, was, in fact, not a man, and was at the same time his own father. His own blood. He knew that rationally he should have run away screaming by now, calling for men in white coats, but he believed everything Angel was saying. A part of him, a part that was growing stronger by the minute, felt that he had come home.

There was noise from the yard outside, and in a moment Cordelia, Fred and Gunn came in from the sunlight outside, talking noisily and laughing at something.

"Well, you try getting him into something that's not black!" Cordelia said. "Hey, Angel. You talked to him?"

"I talked. We talked."

"Did he?" Cordelia shot a look at Connor.

"He did."

"What did he say?"

Angel opened his mouth to protest.

"That he's my dad. That he's a vampire. That my mother was a vampire, but she's dead. That you all help people. Oh, and that you get visions."

Cordelia exchanged glances with Fred and Gunn. "Angel got talkative? That's something I haven't seen for a long long time." She smiled, a brilliant smile that lit up the room. "It's a good thing. You're good for us, Connor. I like that."

Connor grinned back at her. "Thanks. I like it here."

"Someone who likes the ol' Hyperion," said Gunn slowly, shaking his head. "Wonders will never cease, Angel, man. But we've got a suggestion. Why don't we all take Connor out for somethin' to eat, you can catch some sleep, and we'll all be back later?"

"We'll look after him," Fred added, in her soft, eager voice.

"I'll come back," Connor said in his turn, to Angel. "I'm not going to leave in a hurry now I've found you."

Their eyes met, and there was perfect understanding between them.