Angel's yellow, vampiric eyes flashed in anger. The light seemed to dance
in every ridge and crevice of his demonic features. The demon inside the
man basked in the malevolent glee. Robert LaMorte's reign of terror would
end here. Now.
"I love you Connor..." Angel muttered under his breath.
"I love you too, Dad."
Angel spun his head around and looked at the face of his son, Connor. It took him a few more seconds to realize that he wasn't in the cathedral anymore... or that any of the other combatants were there with him. He gasped at the sight of his son, and then at the scene before him. Instead of the old musty pews, arcane statutes, and smell of rotting wood... he now stood on a hill side, overlooking a view of rolling meadows, deep and lush pastures, and a small town encircled by a tranquil river. There were makeshift stone fences on the hillside, separating small flocks of sheep and their keepers. A small stone fort stood stoicly, nestled among some overgrown oak trees and creeping vines.
"Altagore..." Angel whispered, gazing at the old fort. "And that's Cushendun", he said as he pointed to the nearby town. "But how...?"
Connor walked up to his father, and looked curiously at him. Before he could say another word, Angel closed the gap between them and embraced in a desperate bear hug - clutching to the teenaged boy and pressing his head against his own.
"I love you... I love you... I love you...." Angel kept repeating in a hoarse, ragged voice. When he pulled away from the boy's face, he saw tears streaking the young man's cheeks - to match his own. "I'm sorry Connor... I'm sorry..."
"It's not your fault", Connor stuttered, "I... I knew what I was getting into... and... and..." The words failed him as fresh tears came down his face. His father embraced him once more, and racking sobs shook the two Irishmen. After what seemed like hours or sobbing, crying, holding each other... the two sat under a shady oak... heads resting on each other. Angel stroked his son's hair, the way a parent would to a small child or a toddler. Connor was older, but he didn't care. Connor was his baby... HIS baby. Connor just basked in the show of affection - a dreamy look on his face. He turned to his father, breaking their repose, and said, "Dad, we can't stay here forever. The Powers That Be sent us here so I could talk to you."
Angel smirked. "I know that son. This isn't really Cushendun is it?"
"Yes it is... or at least, it's the Cushendun in your mind."
"So why are you here?"
"To tell you that I love you, that I'm sorry I never said it in life... and to beg you to spare Robert LaMorte."
"What?" Angel spat out. He shook his head. "That... THING... will pay for what he did to you."
"You're right Dad, he will pay", said Connor -taking his father's large hand into his own. "In fact, he's only starting to pay right now. He's trying to put up a strong front... but those walls are crashing down, and crashing fast. You can't kill him... because he's got some kind of role to play in the Apocalypse..."
"Is this guy supposed to be a champion?"
"No, not exactly. But he's got to do something important... fulfill some kind of destiny... I don't know. The Powers didn't give me the details."
"They never do." Angel smiled absently. "I know what you're going to say..."
"You do?"
"Yeah. This guy killed you and I'm no better than him.... and I can't bring you back... but DAMMIT! When I look at you... all I want to see is this man DIE!"
"Yeah Dad... and what do you see when you look at them?" Connor pointed in front of them. When Angel turned his head to look he nearly jumped out of his skin. There, standing on the hill with them, as plain as day... where ALL the people that Angelus had ever killed. Every last one of them.. each still bearing the bodily damage and bloody clothing from their untimely deaths. They stared at Angel... but oddly, with looks of compassion and even sympathy.
Angel lost it... "No.. no.. no..." He closed his eyes and shook his head repeatedly. He looked up at the crowd of victims, crying uncontrollably... and the gathering of long dead people walked up to him. To Angel's utter shock and dismay, the people surrounded him and embraced him. Men, women, and even children held on to the man who was once a vampire. They stroked his hair, patted his back, and offered up endless condolences for the loss of his son.
An old woman said to him tenderly (in an unintelligable accent), "Don't cry... you've already brought us justice by killing Angelus. As long as you live... and fight on... we did not die in vain." "The same goes for LaMorte, Dad", said Connor. "Killing me was what allowed his true self to start to rebel against the demon's control. Without that inner struggle, Willow's spell wouldn't have worked. As long as he lives... and fights on... I didn't die in vain."
Angel looked at his son incredulously... mouth gaping open as he took the younger man's words in. "I don't know if I can forgive him son."
"They forgave you Dad", Connor responded, pointing at the throng of dead well-wishers. "And I have a gift for you..." Connor placed his hand on Angel's temple and Angel's mind was immediately flooded with images. The images were an amalgam at first, swirling, jostling, spinning with fury... but then they settled into a slow trickle of pictures, sounds, smells, and even touches. He saw it all. He felt it all. He lived it all... a lifetime of happiness spent with his son. He saw Connor grow up, saw him graduate from college, helped him through his first years on his own... then watched Connor wait for his bride Bonnie walk down the aisle to marry him. He saw the look on Connor and Bonnie's eyes as they held Angel's granddaughter, Emily, in their arms... the girl had her mother's eyes... and then he saw, and he lived though, the rest. The years flew by in real time, an entire lifetime played out before his mind's eye...
When it was over, only he and Connor remained in the quiet Irish meadow. He stood up warily, a look of elation, satisfaction, and quiet contentment on his face. He looked at his son breathlessly. "Thank You... thank you..." He hugged his son once more. "How...?"
"Love lives on, Dad..." Connor looked at the man-vampire with the love and pride and honor that children reserve for their fathers. "Bonnie and Emily are here with me... I don't know how... but we all go on... and in the End... if you win... that's how our lives will be. Everything will be set right... but you need to let LaMorte play his part... he must live..." And Connor, and indeed the entire meadow, began to dissolve back into the Cathedral. Fresh tears stung Angel's eyes, as he watched his son go back to the nether regions of the beyond. "Don't cry tonight, Dad... you'll still be loved..."
And Angel looked down at LaMorte once again - the dark knight's eyes begging him to swing the blade that would send him to eternal penance. "I love you Connor..." The sword made a loud, crashing twang as it hit the church's stone floors and bounced around. The knight shook his head in horror and disbelief, and began to shudder. Angel grabbed the man by the shoulders and picked him up into an awkward bear hug.
The knight couldn't stand on his own. He buried his head in the vampire's chest and wept bitterly - clutching Angel's back and letting out loud, guttural moans. "Kill me... I deserve it...I deserve it... I deserve..." his muffled voice trailed off.
"We both do", Angel said.
"What the hell is this?" Wesley snarled, watching vehemently as Angel embraced the foul murderer of his own son. He stormed over, "I'll do him in then." He pointed his crossbow at La Morte's face. He ignored Faith's imploring look and concentrated. Wesley was about to press the trigger when Angel finally spoke up.
"Wesley, I want you to put the crossbow down."
Wesley stared back at Angel as if the latter had gone insane.
"Are you mad, you have the blaggard right here before you, groveling for you to kill him and now you want me to spare him?"
Angel nodded.
"You're all bloody mad," Wesley stormed off, "and if you won't kill him now, I'll kill him the next time he crosses paths with me."
Angel released La Morte, who collapsed on the floor, moaning and weeping, a blubbering mess. Faith crawled over to him and caressed his face, herself reduced to feeling nothing but pity for the broken man she saw before her.
Giles turned to follow the former watcher but Willow motioned no. She then walked over to La Morte, who remained weeping on the floor, a pathetic sight for all to see.
Willow asked softly, "La Morte?"
"Yes?" La Morte lifted his head, his face broken and listless.
"Where is your former master?"
"He's in St. Timothy's cathedral, about several miles east of here. You must stop him before he destroys the world. He needed the Key to do so-"
"Just like Glory," Buffy piped up, "And we need to get there soon."
Giles nodded, "We don't have very much time, we must stop him before he finishes the ritual. Buffy, Angel and Willow are you coming with me?"
"Yes," they all assented. The former Scooby gang shuffled outside of the church, walking past the devastation the battle had wrought.
Angel watched the others leave except for him and Buffy and he turned around to face the duo he had been previously fighting.
"I understand what happened to you. And you're as cursed as I am. It's difficult for me to say this, but I, I. Forgive you. Wesley won't, you can count on that, but I think the others will. You can avenge your wrongs by helping us."
"Thanks A, we'll meet you there soon. But for now, just let us be," Faith and Angel stared at each other as enemies came together for a truce and a hope for peace. Angel shuffled out of the cathedral, leaving Buffy alone with Faith and La Morte.
Buffy was the last to leave, she shuffled slowly out of the church, dragging her scimitar with her. She turned around to face Faith and La Morte, her face flustered and depressed.
"I'm sorry Faith, I wish I could've accepted you. But I didn't."
"And now it's too late for that," Faith replied, "Run along now B, save the world like you always do. I'm fine here with Robert."
Buffy turned around and walked out of the church, slamming the doors behind her.
Faith and La Morte were left in the darkened church with only moonlight and the candles that remained lit after the scuffle to illuminate their bodies. Faith kissed La Morte on the cheek, prompting La Morte to stare back at her.
"Faith, we must help them, we must undo all the wrong we created." His formerly cold brown eyes now brimmed with sadness, almost to the point of tears. Faith's fiery eyes met them and she sighed. Then, she embraced him, tears rolling down her face. As much as she tried to conceal it, the battle against her former best friend had torn her apart. She loved Buffy like a sister as much as she was secretly jealous of her and now the bond between them had been permanently shattered. She had betrayed the others, and she enjoyed their company, even the normally stuffy Giles or the quirky Willow or the sarcastic Xander. They were all out of her grasp now. She had no one, save only for a fellow tormented soul like her that struggled between his demon side and his human side. She looked out of the corner of her eye at the slammed door and cried silently in her heart as she realized how the closed door had shut her out of the world of her friends and into a dark, despairing abyss.
EXECUTIVE PRODUCER
Kurt Garwood
WRITTEN WITH SOME HELP FROM
DZ Dilinger
"I love you Connor..." Angel muttered under his breath.
"I love you too, Dad."
Angel spun his head around and looked at the face of his son, Connor. It took him a few more seconds to realize that he wasn't in the cathedral anymore... or that any of the other combatants were there with him. He gasped at the sight of his son, and then at the scene before him. Instead of the old musty pews, arcane statutes, and smell of rotting wood... he now stood on a hill side, overlooking a view of rolling meadows, deep and lush pastures, and a small town encircled by a tranquil river. There were makeshift stone fences on the hillside, separating small flocks of sheep and their keepers. A small stone fort stood stoicly, nestled among some overgrown oak trees and creeping vines.
"Altagore..." Angel whispered, gazing at the old fort. "And that's Cushendun", he said as he pointed to the nearby town. "But how...?"
Connor walked up to his father, and looked curiously at him. Before he could say another word, Angel closed the gap between them and embraced in a desperate bear hug - clutching to the teenaged boy and pressing his head against his own.
"I love you... I love you... I love you...." Angel kept repeating in a hoarse, ragged voice. When he pulled away from the boy's face, he saw tears streaking the young man's cheeks - to match his own. "I'm sorry Connor... I'm sorry..."
"It's not your fault", Connor stuttered, "I... I knew what I was getting into... and... and..." The words failed him as fresh tears came down his face. His father embraced him once more, and racking sobs shook the two Irishmen. After what seemed like hours or sobbing, crying, holding each other... the two sat under a shady oak... heads resting on each other. Angel stroked his son's hair, the way a parent would to a small child or a toddler. Connor was older, but he didn't care. Connor was his baby... HIS baby. Connor just basked in the show of affection - a dreamy look on his face. He turned to his father, breaking their repose, and said, "Dad, we can't stay here forever. The Powers That Be sent us here so I could talk to you."
Angel smirked. "I know that son. This isn't really Cushendun is it?"
"Yes it is... or at least, it's the Cushendun in your mind."
"So why are you here?"
"To tell you that I love you, that I'm sorry I never said it in life... and to beg you to spare Robert LaMorte."
"What?" Angel spat out. He shook his head. "That... THING... will pay for what he did to you."
"You're right Dad, he will pay", said Connor -taking his father's large hand into his own. "In fact, he's only starting to pay right now. He's trying to put up a strong front... but those walls are crashing down, and crashing fast. You can't kill him... because he's got some kind of role to play in the Apocalypse..."
"Is this guy supposed to be a champion?"
"No, not exactly. But he's got to do something important... fulfill some kind of destiny... I don't know. The Powers didn't give me the details."
"They never do." Angel smiled absently. "I know what you're going to say..."
"You do?"
"Yeah. This guy killed you and I'm no better than him.... and I can't bring you back... but DAMMIT! When I look at you... all I want to see is this man DIE!"
"Yeah Dad... and what do you see when you look at them?" Connor pointed in front of them. When Angel turned his head to look he nearly jumped out of his skin. There, standing on the hill with them, as plain as day... where ALL the people that Angelus had ever killed. Every last one of them.. each still bearing the bodily damage and bloody clothing from their untimely deaths. They stared at Angel... but oddly, with looks of compassion and even sympathy.
Angel lost it... "No.. no.. no..." He closed his eyes and shook his head repeatedly. He looked up at the crowd of victims, crying uncontrollably... and the gathering of long dead people walked up to him. To Angel's utter shock and dismay, the people surrounded him and embraced him. Men, women, and even children held on to the man who was once a vampire. They stroked his hair, patted his back, and offered up endless condolences for the loss of his son.
An old woman said to him tenderly (in an unintelligable accent), "Don't cry... you've already brought us justice by killing Angelus. As long as you live... and fight on... we did not die in vain." "The same goes for LaMorte, Dad", said Connor. "Killing me was what allowed his true self to start to rebel against the demon's control. Without that inner struggle, Willow's spell wouldn't have worked. As long as he lives... and fights on... I didn't die in vain."
Angel looked at his son incredulously... mouth gaping open as he took the younger man's words in. "I don't know if I can forgive him son."
"They forgave you Dad", Connor responded, pointing at the throng of dead well-wishers. "And I have a gift for you..." Connor placed his hand on Angel's temple and Angel's mind was immediately flooded with images. The images were an amalgam at first, swirling, jostling, spinning with fury... but then they settled into a slow trickle of pictures, sounds, smells, and even touches. He saw it all. He felt it all. He lived it all... a lifetime of happiness spent with his son. He saw Connor grow up, saw him graduate from college, helped him through his first years on his own... then watched Connor wait for his bride Bonnie walk down the aisle to marry him. He saw the look on Connor and Bonnie's eyes as they held Angel's granddaughter, Emily, in their arms... the girl had her mother's eyes... and then he saw, and he lived though, the rest. The years flew by in real time, an entire lifetime played out before his mind's eye...
When it was over, only he and Connor remained in the quiet Irish meadow. He stood up warily, a look of elation, satisfaction, and quiet contentment on his face. He looked at his son breathlessly. "Thank You... thank you..." He hugged his son once more. "How...?"
"Love lives on, Dad..." Connor looked at the man-vampire with the love and pride and honor that children reserve for their fathers. "Bonnie and Emily are here with me... I don't know how... but we all go on... and in the End... if you win... that's how our lives will be. Everything will be set right... but you need to let LaMorte play his part... he must live..." And Connor, and indeed the entire meadow, began to dissolve back into the Cathedral. Fresh tears stung Angel's eyes, as he watched his son go back to the nether regions of the beyond. "Don't cry tonight, Dad... you'll still be loved..."
And Angel looked down at LaMorte once again - the dark knight's eyes begging him to swing the blade that would send him to eternal penance. "I love you Connor..." The sword made a loud, crashing twang as it hit the church's stone floors and bounced around. The knight shook his head in horror and disbelief, and began to shudder. Angel grabbed the man by the shoulders and picked him up into an awkward bear hug.
The knight couldn't stand on his own. He buried his head in the vampire's chest and wept bitterly - clutching Angel's back and letting out loud, guttural moans. "Kill me... I deserve it...I deserve it... I deserve..." his muffled voice trailed off.
"We both do", Angel said.
"What the hell is this?" Wesley snarled, watching vehemently as Angel embraced the foul murderer of his own son. He stormed over, "I'll do him in then." He pointed his crossbow at La Morte's face. He ignored Faith's imploring look and concentrated. Wesley was about to press the trigger when Angel finally spoke up.
"Wesley, I want you to put the crossbow down."
Wesley stared back at Angel as if the latter had gone insane.
"Are you mad, you have the blaggard right here before you, groveling for you to kill him and now you want me to spare him?"
Angel nodded.
"You're all bloody mad," Wesley stormed off, "and if you won't kill him now, I'll kill him the next time he crosses paths with me."
Angel released La Morte, who collapsed on the floor, moaning and weeping, a blubbering mess. Faith crawled over to him and caressed his face, herself reduced to feeling nothing but pity for the broken man she saw before her.
Giles turned to follow the former watcher but Willow motioned no. She then walked over to La Morte, who remained weeping on the floor, a pathetic sight for all to see.
Willow asked softly, "La Morte?"
"Yes?" La Morte lifted his head, his face broken and listless.
"Where is your former master?"
"He's in St. Timothy's cathedral, about several miles east of here. You must stop him before he destroys the world. He needed the Key to do so-"
"Just like Glory," Buffy piped up, "And we need to get there soon."
Giles nodded, "We don't have very much time, we must stop him before he finishes the ritual. Buffy, Angel and Willow are you coming with me?"
"Yes," they all assented. The former Scooby gang shuffled outside of the church, walking past the devastation the battle had wrought.
Angel watched the others leave except for him and Buffy and he turned around to face the duo he had been previously fighting.
"I understand what happened to you. And you're as cursed as I am. It's difficult for me to say this, but I, I. Forgive you. Wesley won't, you can count on that, but I think the others will. You can avenge your wrongs by helping us."
"Thanks A, we'll meet you there soon. But for now, just let us be," Faith and Angel stared at each other as enemies came together for a truce and a hope for peace. Angel shuffled out of the cathedral, leaving Buffy alone with Faith and La Morte.
Buffy was the last to leave, she shuffled slowly out of the church, dragging her scimitar with her. She turned around to face Faith and La Morte, her face flustered and depressed.
"I'm sorry Faith, I wish I could've accepted you. But I didn't."
"And now it's too late for that," Faith replied, "Run along now B, save the world like you always do. I'm fine here with Robert."
Buffy turned around and walked out of the church, slamming the doors behind her.
Faith and La Morte were left in the darkened church with only moonlight and the candles that remained lit after the scuffle to illuminate their bodies. Faith kissed La Morte on the cheek, prompting La Morte to stare back at her.
"Faith, we must help them, we must undo all the wrong we created." His formerly cold brown eyes now brimmed with sadness, almost to the point of tears. Faith's fiery eyes met them and she sighed. Then, she embraced him, tears rolling down her face. As much as she tried to conceal it, the battle against her former best friend had torn her apart. She loved Buffy like a sister as much as she was secretly jealous of her and now the bond between them had been permanently shattered. She had betrayed the others, and she enjoyed their company, even the normally stuffy Giles or the quirky Willow or the sarcastic Xander. They were all out of her grasp now. She had no one, save only for a fellow tormented soul like her that struggled between his demon side and his human side. She looked out of the corner of her eye at the slammed door and cried silently in her heart as she realized how the closed door had shut her out of the world of her friends and into a dark, despairing abyss.
EXECUTIVE PRODUCER
Kurt Garwood
WRITTEN WITH SOME HELP FROM
DZ Dilinger