Chapter 6
Alone. Sweet, blissful, alone. For the first time since Connor arrived in Sunnyvale, he was the only one in the house. Buffy, Spike, and Faith took out all the potentials for a night on the town. Willow, Xander, and Anya decided that they too needed a night on the town. They took pity on Andrew, and let him go with them. With Giles out trying to meet a potential slayer, Connor had the house to himself. Which gave him time to do some investigating. He walked up the stairs, strait to Buffy's room.
The room wasn't what he was expecting. There were pictures on the wall, of Buffy with her friends, Buffy with Dawn, And Buffy with Dawn and another woman, which Connor assumed was her mother. On her desk in a silver frame, was a picture of an older man. He had Buffy's eyes; Connor decided it was her father.
On The Floor was a bed made up for Faith, who after spending one night with the other slayer girls, insisted on moving. It was made neatly, which surprised Connor. He didn't see Faith as on to make her bed every morning. He saw the corner of a picture poking out from under her pillow and let curiosity get the best of him.
He pulled it out from under, and was quite surprised at what he saw. It was quite an old picture. There was a little brown haired girl with her front teeth missing in a spring dress. She was sitting in the lap of an old woman with her arms flung around the woman's neck. The old woman was hugging her right back. He turned over the picture. On the back, in the handwriting of a child, it said, 'Faith and Grams'.
Connor put the picture back under the pillow, feeling as though he had just hugely violated Faith's privacy. He had not come up here to learn about her, he had come to learn about Buffy and his father.
Connor walked back over to the desk, and opened the top drawer. There papers, more pictures, and BINGO! A letter addressed to Buffy from L.A. It wasn't the hotels address, but it looked promising. He picked it up, and found more underneath it. All From L.A. After a while, the address changed to the hotel. There was about fifteen in all.
He opened up the first one. It read;
Dear Buffy,
I'm sorry I've waited so long to contact you. Too long really, especially after how I left. If you don't write back, I wont blame you. It's just that it's hard for me too. I didn't want to leave; I had to. Your mom, Giles, they were all right, you could never have a normal life with me. And I finally realized that if I really loved you, I'd let you find one. Know that I think about you every day, every hour, every moment, and every second. And I always will. I don't know if that will help, or make things worse, but it's true. I don't know what else to say to you, what can I say that already hasn't been said a million times back and forth. I'll write to you again in a while. Stay well, don't die, And I'll try to do the same.
~Always~
Connor read through more of them, and found one sent from the hotel just a few days before he had been stolen away to Qour-Toth.
Dear Buffy,
I haven't been so happy, since the last time we were happy together. I wish you could see Connor. That's what I named him, Connor, a good Irish name. I never thought I'd have a son, but my only regret in it is who the mother was. Darla is dead by the way, a steak in the heart during childbirth. It's probably for the best. I can't even imagine what kind of mother she'd be. Who would of thought that two Vampires would give birth to such a beautiful creation. I feel he amazes me more with every smile, every laugh. For once in my life there is goodness, pure goodness, and no one will ever take that away from me. I'll send you a picture as soon as we have one.
Speaking of pictures, a while ago I found a few pictures I thought you might like. I sent them, I don't know if they'll make you laugh, cry, or smile. They made me do all 3. I think about you everyday, every hour, every moment, and every second.
~Always~
Connor put down the letter, and read through all of the letters, and each one of them ended the same way. But the first one about him got to him the most. He had been the joy in Angel's life. But it was Angels own fault that things turned out like this. He made a vow to let no harm come to Connor. He broke his own vow.
The simple mention of his name wasn't what attracted him to this letter though. It was different from all the others. It was the only one that was happy, the only one with out tearstains, (who was crying, he didn't know). And the pictures mentioned weren't in the envelope. He dug through the drawer, and found nothing else of any relation. He walked over to Buffy's bed, and felt under the mattress. Nothing. He looked in her night table drawer, nothing.
But it was under the bed, the most obvious of places, where he found what he was looking for. A shoebox, even more obvious. 'Leave it to girls' he thought. He took the lid off, and there was everything he had been looking for. The pictures, he could only describe them as beautiful. There was only two, and they were of him and Buffy, in what appeared to be a club of some kind.
They were sitting on a red couch, not even touching, but the look said it all. Buffy was smiling, her face a soft vision that Connor was unaware she could obtain. Her eyes stared right at Angel, who was completely returning her glance. Connor hadn't seen him look even at Cordy like that.
In the other picture, Buffy was being held up on Angels back, her arms flung tightly around his shoulders. They were at some type of butte, the moonlight reflected beautifully off of Buffy's hair. They had their faces turned towards each other, sharing the same look as in the other one.
Along with the pictures in the box, there was also a book of poems, and a movie ticket stub, and a ring. A ring that Connor was sure he had seen somewhere around the hotel.
And there it was. In that little shoebox were the answers to all of his questions. Of course Buffy hated him. He was the son of the one man she loved, the man who loved her back with equal strength loved her back. And she wasn't the mother. Of course she hated him, anybody would.
Connor put everything back in the box, then restored it back to its rightful place. He didn't know how to feel. How could people love each other after going so long with out seeing each other? Both of them seemed to be moving on. Angel supposedly loved Cordilia, and Connor had seen the way Buffy and Spike looked at each other.
He walked downstairs, and went into the kitchen. More then ever, it was apparent to him that he didn't belong here. That he wasn't wanted here.
"Then why don't you leave?" a familiar voice said.
Connor spun around and saw Angel standing behind him. "How did you get here?" Connor asked.
"That's not important, what's important is that you are here. Why is that?" Angel smirked with a raised eyebrow. "They don't want you here, you don't want you here, so why are you here?" he asked.
"That's not true," Connor said in defense. "They need me to help fight the first evil," he told his father.
"First evil? Never heard of it," Angel said. "How can you be sure it even exists? Have you seen anything out of the ordinary? Anything besides the old run of the mill Vampires?" he asked.
Connor looked down, he hadn't, and it was true. Could Angel be right? He did know a lot about demons. "I haven't been here long yet," he said.
"And why do you remain?" Angel asked. "There's no big bad, nothing they can't handle. You're just a boy, go find something else to do besides bugging these people," Angel said.
A boy? He wasn't just a boy. Connor was a man. A strong man who could fight. He stared at Angel, and watched as his face morphed into that of a blond woman, with blue eyes. He mouth formed a warm smile. "My little boy," she said, her voice full of tenderness.
Connor stared at this woman She couldn't be, it was impossible, "Mother?" his voice barely formed the word. She nodded her head. "Is it really you?" he asked.
"Of course it is, I'm here to take you home" she said. She held her hand out to you.
"Home." Connor said, with a little laugh. "There is no home, not for me" he looked down at the counter, hiding the tears that were staring to form.
"Home is wherever we can be together," Darla said.
Connor turned around and looked at her again. She was everything Connor had ever imagined her to be. She was the picture of motherly love. He reached out his hand to grab hers, but she disappeared.
"Who ya talkin' to?" Faith asked.
Connor turned around, to hide his face. He hadn't realized they had gotten back yet. "No one, I mean, I was just mumbling to myself, thinking, you know?" Connor said wiping the tears out of his eyes.
"Okay Crazy" Faith said. She came up behind him and messed his hair. "I don't think we should be leaving crazy boy home alone," she said to Buffy, who had entered the kitchen shortly after Faith.
Connor turned around and said, a bit louder then necessary, "I'm not crazy!" His mouth distorted into a frown. He wanted so much just to cry, let it all go. But he couldn't, he wouldn't give Angel the satisfaction of knowing he had broken. He knocked Faith out of the way, and ran out of the kitchen, out of the house, and into the dark streets.
Alone. Sweet, blissful, alone. For the first time since Connor arrived in Sunnyvale, he was the only one in the house. Buffy, Spike, and Faith took out all the potentials for a night on the town. Willow, Xander, and Anya decided that they too needed a night on the town. They took pity on Andrew, and let him go with them. With Giles out trying to meet a potential slayer, Connor had the house to himself. Which gave him time to do some investigating. He walked up the stairs, strait to Buffy's room.
The room wasn't what he was expecting. There were pictures on the wall, of Buffy with her friends, Buffy with Dawn, And Buffy with Dawn and another woman, which Connor assumed was her mother. On her desk in a silver frame, was a picture of an older man. He had Buffy's eyes; Connor decided it was her father.
On The Floor was a bed made up for Faith, who after spending one night with the other slayer girls, insisted on moving. It was made neatly, which surprised Connor. He didn't see Faith as on to make her bed every morning. He saw the corner of a picture poking out from under her pillow and let curiosity get the best of him.
He pulled it out from under, and was quite surprised at what he saw. It was quite an old picture. There was a little brown haired girl with her front teeth missing in a spring dress. She was sitting in the lap of an old woman with her arms flung around the woman's neck. The old woman was hugging her right back. He turned over the picture. On the back, in the handwriting of a child, it said, 'Faith and Grams'.
Connor put the picture back under the pillow, feeling as though he had just hugely violated Faith's privacy. He had not come up here to learn about her, he had come to learn about Buffy and his father.
Connor walked back over to the desk, and opened the top drawer. There papers, more pictures, and BINGO! A letter addressed to Buffy from L.A. It wasn't the hotels address, but it looked promising. He picked it up, and found more underneath it. All From L.A. After a while, the address changed to the hotel. There was about fifteen in all.
He opened up the first one. It read;
Dear Buffy,
I'm sorry I've waited so long to contact you. Too long really, especially after how I left. If you don't write back, I wont blame you. It's just that it's hard for me too. I didn't want to leave; I had to. Your mom, Giles, they were all right, you could never have a normal life with me. And I finally realized that if I really loved you, I'd let you find one. Know that I think about you every day, every hour, every moment, and every second. And I always will. I don't know if that will help, or make things worse, but it's true. I don't know what else to say to you, what can I say that already hasn't been said a million times back and forth. I'll write to you again in a while. Stay well, don't die, And I'll try to do the same.
~Always~
Connor read through more of them, and found one sent from the hotel just a few days before he had been stolen away to Qour-Toth.
Dear Buffy,
I haven't been so happy, since the last time we were happy together. I wish you could see Connor. That's what I named him, Connor, a good Irish name. I never thought I'd have a son, but my only regret in it is who the mother was. Darla is dead by the way, a steak in the heart during childbirth. It's probably for the best. I can't even imagine what kind of mother she'd be. Who would of thought that two Vampires would give birth to such a beautiful creation. I feel he amazes me more with every smile, every laugh. For once in my life there is goodness, pure goodness, and no one will ever take that away from me. I'll send you a picture as soon as we have one.
Speaking of pictures, a while ago I found a few pictures I thought you might like. I sent them, I don't know if they'll make you laugh, cry, or smile. They made me do all 3. I think about you everyday, every hour, every moment, and every second.
~Always~
Connor put down the letter, and read through all of the letters, and each one of them ended the same way. But the first one about him got to him the most. He had been the joy in Angel's life. But it was Angels own fault that things turned out like this. He made a vow to let no harm come to Connor. He broke his own vow.
The simple mention of his name wasn't what attracted him to this letter though. It was different from all the others. It was the only one that was happy, the only one with out tearstains, (who was crying, he didn't know). And the pictures mentioned weren't in the envelope. He dug through the drawer, and found nothing else of any relation. He walked over to Buffy's bed, and felt under the mattress. Nothing. He looked in her night table drawer, nothing.
But it was under the bed, the most obvious of places, where he found what he was looking for. A shoebox, even more obvious. 'Leave it to girls' he thought. He took the lid off, and there was everything he had been looking for. The pictures, he could only describe them as beautiful. There was only two, and they were of him and Buffy, in what appeared to be a club of some kind.
They were sitting on a red couch, not even touching, but the look said it all. Buffy was smiling, her face a soft vision that Connor was unaware she could obtain. Her eyes stared right at Angel, who was completely returning her glance. Connor hadn't seen him look even at Cordy like that.
In the other picture, Buffy was being held up on Angels back, her arms flung tightly around his shoulders. They were at some type of butte, the moonlight reflected beautifully off of Buffy's hair. They had their faces turned towards each other, sharing the same look as in the other one.
Along with the pictures in the box, there was also a book of poems, and a movie ticket stub, and a ring. A ring that Connor was sure he had seen somewhere around the hotel.
And there it was. In that little shoebox were the answers to all of his questions. Of course Buffy hated him. He was the son of the one man she loved, the man who loved her back with equal strength loved her back. And she wasn't the mother. Of course she hated him, anybody would.
Connor put everything back in the box, then restored it back to its rightful place. He didn't know how to feel. How could people love each other after going so long with out seeing each other? Both of them seemed to be moving on. Angel supposedly loved Cordilia, and Connor had seen the way Buffy and Spike looked at each other.
He walked downstairs, and went into the kitchen. More then ever, it was apparent to him that he didn't belong here. That he wasn't wanted here.
"Then why don't you leave?" a familiar voice said.
Connor spun around and saw Angel standing behind him. "How did you get here?" Connor asked.
"That's not important, what's important is that you are here. Why is that?" Angel smirked with a raised eyebrow. "They don't want you here, you don't want you here, so why are you here?" he asked.
"That's not true," Connor said in defense. "They need me to help fight the first evil," he told his father.
"First evil? Never heard of it," Angel said. "How can you be sure it even exists? Have you seen anything out of the ordinary? Anything besides the old run of the mill Vampires?" he asked.
Connor looked down, he hadn't, and it was true. Could Angel be right? He did know a lot about demons. "I haven't been here long yet," he said.
"And why do you remain?" Angel asked. "There's no big bad, nothing they can't handle. You're just a boy, go find something else to do besides bugging these people," Angel said.
A boy? He wasn't just a boy. Connor was a man. A strong man who could fight. He stared at Angel, and watched as his face morphed into that of a blond woman, with blue eyes. He mouth formed a warm smile. "My little boy," she said, her voice full of tenderness.
Connor stared at this woman She couldn't be, it was impossible, "Mother?" his voice barely formed the word. She nodded her head. "Is it really you?" he asked.
"Of course it is, I'm here to take you home" she said. She held her hand out to you.
"Home." Connor said, with a little laugh. "There is no home, not for me" he looked down at the counter, hiding the tears that were staring to form.
"Home is wherever we can be together," Darla said.
Connor turned around and looked at her again. She was everything Connor had ever imagined her to be. She was the picture of motherly love. He reached out his hand to grab hers, but she disappeared.
"Who ya talkin' to?" Faith asked.
Connor turned around, to hide his face. He hadn't realized they had gotten back yet. "No one, I mean, I was just mumbling to myself, thinking, you know?" Connor said wiping the tears out of his eyes.
"Okay Crazy" Faith said. She came up behind him and messed his hair. "I don't think we should be leaving crazy boy home alone," she said to Buffy, who had entered the kitchen shortly after Faith.
Connor turned around and said, a bit louder then necessary, "I'm not crazy!" His mouth distorted into a frown. He wanted so much just to cry, let it all go. But he couldn't, he wouldn't give Angel the satisfaction of knowing he had broken. He knocked Faith out of the way, and ran out of the kitchen, out of the house, and into the dark streets.