Winter Of Our Discontent
Author's Note: The quote is from Shakespeare, but there is no glorious summer to be found. I'm using the quote because so much of it sums up the characters' lives at this point. The "glorious summer" is what they expected from Connor. I'll bet they all thought things would be grand when he came back.
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this Son of York;
And all the clouds that loured upon our houses
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
- Richard III, Act I, Scene I
Fred tailed wearily after Gunn and Connor, trying to ignore their sniping. She was tired, bruised and she had a headache, she didn't have the energy to sort out another quarrel between them. Not when every night, it was the same damned argument.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to take risks?" Gunn demanded, throwing down his sword on the counter and glaring at Connor.
"It wasn't a risk!" Connor snapped. "I knew what I was doing."
"Well, it looked risky!"
"For you, maybe, but not for me," Connor answered, shooting Gunn a look that made him seethe.
The slim teen grabbed a rag from the counter and wiped the demon blood from his axe before crossing the lobby to put it in the cabinet. He didn't say a goodnight as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom and Gunn pounded his fist into the counter.
"I've told him to clean his things properly!" he hissed.
Fred didn't answer, but quietly wiped his weapon clean, letting him rant.
"And where the hell does he get off looking at me like that?" he finished off after fuming for God knows how long.
"Like what?" she asked, placing his sword back on the counter and picking up her small axe.
"Like…" Gunn's anger evaporated suddenly and he sank back against the counter, shooting his girlfriend a mournful look. "Like he's so much better than me. Like I'm nothing compared to him. Just because he's faster and stronger. It's like I don't count."
Fred smiled at him, putting the rag and axe down; she wiped her hands on her jeans and wrapped her arms around him.
"You count to me, tough guy," she said, kissing his nose.
He grinned back, before pulling out of her embrace and grabbing hold of the weapons to put them in the cabinet.
"You coming up?" he asked.
"Yeah," she nodded, coming toward him and taking his hand. "But I'll check on Connor first."
He humphed in reply, glancing at her. She ignored the look; she was becoming used to it. She gave up days ago telling him that he was Angel's son, therefore their responsibility until Angel got back. He seemed to think the "kid" could take care of himself.
Gunn tried to pull her toward their room when they reached the top of the stairs, but she pulled away, shaking her head.
"In a minute," she told him.
He shrugged, scowled and went into their room as Fred sighed and turned to Connor's. She knocked gently and opened the door. He was laying on his back, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, hands behind his head.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey," he answered flatly, not looking at her.
"Aren't you gonna go to bed?" she asked, sitting on the bed beside him.
He sat up slowly and turned to her.
"Are you?" he asked.
She shifted under the direct, coldly impassive stare and blushed.
Sometimes she was terrified of him, which was silly, because he was Angel's son. But he was not Angel. Sometimes she thought there was more life in a dead man's eyes than in Connor's and sometimes they glittered with something Fred didn't want to call madness, but had no other name for. She gulped and avoided his gaze.
"Yeah," she nodded. "Just wanted to check on you first."
"Why?"
"I wanted to see if you were ok."
"Because you care."
"Of course."
He nodded and stood up, going to the closet. He opened the doors and started tugging off his shirt. Fred stood up and went to the door.
"Well, I'll see ya in the morning," she said, voice wavering on high pitched for no reason whatsoever.
"Fred."
She looked back inside the room to see Connor shirtless and wearing sweat pants.
"Um, what's up?" she asked.
In two seconds he had crossed the room and grabbed her upper arms. Terror seized her, clenching her stomach and twisting it into knots. His eyes bore into hers and she almost whimpered in fear.
And suddenly he was kissing her.
Fingers tight on her arms and mouth violent and probing. She was frozen, unresponsive in shock. She tried to push him away, hands scrabbling over his sides. Connor pulled her closer and she pushed hard, digging her nails as hard as she could into his flesh. He pulled away and laughed as he touched the bright red marks on his sides.
"That wasn't friendly," he said.
"Neither was that!" she answered fiercely, wiping her mouth.
"Why not?" he shrugged.
"I love Charles!" she hissed.
He raised his eyebrows.
"Do you?" he voice was soft, the tiny, weedling voice of doubt.
She didn't answer, just backed toward the door and ran along the hall, his laughter echoing in her ears. Gunn was sitting up in bed, flicking through a magazine. He tossed it to one side and smiled at her as she came in.
"You ok, baby?" he asked.
She nodded, but could see he didn't quite believe her. He started to get out of bed when she grabbed hold of him, pulling him into a steamy kiss. His hands tugged her shirt off and ran over her skin as she tugged at his pants.
Becauseshe did love Charles Gunn.
Down the hall Connor listened and sighed. He looked around the room. It flickered, became cold and blue. He forced the image away and climbed into bed.
God, he wished he wasn't so alone.
Angel leaned his head to one side and sighed.
"Don't you just love the sound of the ocean?" Cordy breathed, fingers gently running through his hair.
"Mmm," he murmured in reply, shivering a little.
"Cold, baby?" she asked.
"A little," he answered.
"Well, what do you expect? It's always cold under the ocean. Cold and damp."
"Under the ocean?" he asked, looking up at her.
Her face was vaguely green, ripples of blue running over it. She smiled gently and touched his hand where it rested on his knee. He suddenly noticed the dampness of the fabric.
"I don't…"
"Yes, you do," she whispered. "You always understand."
He blinked and when his eyes opened again, she was gone. Replaced with the black of his tomb and the cold, sickly blue of the world beyond. He moaned, voice echoing around him. He strained against the bonds again and roared in rage.
"Nothing you can do, dad," Connor hissed, rocking slightly with the motion of the boat.
But there was no boat, Angel knew that. Or maybe he didn't. He didn't seem to know much of anything anymore.
"Connor," Angel started, tasting salt and forcing away the craving for blood. "Let me out."
"Can't do that," Connor shrugged. "You're a monster."
"Monster, am I?" Angel asked, hand flashing out to grab the boy by his neck. He struggled, but Angel sank his teeth into his neck and drained him.
The body disappeared as he dropped it and Angel frowned. He could taste blood, so rich and… cold.
His head drooped forward in defeat as he realised that he had bitten his own tongue.
Wesley grunted as he sank onto Lilah. She sighed, stretching her long limbs beneath him, fingernails scraping down the skin of his back. He nibbled her neck and she arched up against him, teeth latching onto his ear.
But then she let go, gave him a push and he rolled off her.
"Don't get me going again," she said, swinging her legs out of the bed and reaching for her clothes.
"Why? Because evil's got a schedule?" Wes asked, leaning back to watch that delicious skin disappear under layers of expensive silk. Such a pity.
"No, just evil law firms," she shrugged. "I've got a two hour lunch break tomorrow."
"Lucky you. What are you going to do with it? Have an evil latte with a low fat muffin?"
"Is that your way of asking if I'll come here?" she asked, leaning over him with a smirk.
"No, that's my way of saying that I'm busy tomorrow lunch time," he replied, pushing her away to grab his boxers from the floor. "I have a prior appointment."
"You'll make time for me," she answered confidently as she opened her purse, looking for her make up.
"Of course I will, dear," he replied dryly. "And I'll get you a key cut too. Oh, and I was planning a romantic candle lit dinner for two," he snorted. "Honestly, Lilah, do you really think I sit around waiting for you?"
"I know you do, lover," she replied, finishing applying her lipstick and clicking her purse closed. "Because there's no one else for you to wait for."
She smirked at him and ran her fingers through her hair as she left. He swallowed his growl and yanked on his jeans, grabbing his shirt as he crossed the room to the closet. He paused in front of the closet and pulled on the shirt. He opened the closet door, buttoning his shirt with one hand.
"You finished?" Justine asked. "Well, that took longer than last time."
"Get up," he ordered. "We've got to be going."
She glared at him, struggled to her feet and waited for him to let her out.
"I thought you said this thing was soundproofed?" she grumbled.
"It is," he replied mildly, grabbing the bag of supplies from a chair in the corner and taking her arm.
"Then that woman is impossibly loud!" she snapped, pulling away from him.
His fingers clamped harder around her arm and he gave her a sharp tug, opening the door and dragging her after him.
"Why do you think she keeps coming back for more?" he asked, smirking.
"I have no idea," Justine rolled her eyes, before shooting him a sly look. "But I know why you keep letting her come back."
"Oh? Enlighten me."
She didn't answer as she followed him down the stairs, trying to pull away from him as he dragged her after him. When the reached the ground floor, he paused to search for his car keys. When he found them, he pulled her outside and pushed her into the car.
"Don't make me have to put the child lock on," he warned her as he climbed into the driver's seat.
"Know why you keep letting her come back?" she asked after a short silence.
He stopped at a red light and shrugged.
"Fire away."
"Because without her, who you got? The girl in your closet? Nah, without her, you got nothing. She's the only one nowadays that cares if you live or die. Or maybe you're falling for her, but I prefer the you got nothing without her one."
"Do I have to gag you again?" he asked.
"Hey, you asked."
His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he made a hard right. He jaw tightened and Justine noticed with a triumphant grin. Because, well, she was right. He had asked and as annoying as it was, she was right.
Maybe removing the gag had been a bad idea?
Wes fell silent with a scowl, wondering if he would be able to put off his appointment tomorrow until after lunchtime.
He had nothing better to do.
The End.