CHAPTER TWO
Angel didn't know how he could hold in all the misery that bubbled in him. It was easier to forget how much he had screwed up when all the evidence was neatly hidden away in London. Buffy had been too easy on him. She should hate him for deserting her. She was right. There was no reason for him to not have been there except for his fears. Could Buffy understand that? Yes, she probably could if he would only tell her.
He destroyed everything he ever touched. That was as true now as when he was mortal. He destroyed his family. He ruined his reputation, turned his back on all his father had wanted to give him, building the older man up as a monster in his mind. Angel didn't know now if his father had been too harsh, too overbearing all his life or if he had made the man that way by being such a huge disappointment.
As Angelus, he savored all he destroyed. He had set out to be the worst of the worst and damn, if he hadn't been good at it. He had gone down in the books as the Scourge of Europe. The Watchers knew and feared him. He lived for destruction until that fateful night when he, himself had been destroyed.
Then came nearly a century of crawling on his belly, hiding from himself. Every time life threatened to grab him and make him live again, he ran off . It lasted until Whistler dragged him out of the filth and showed him the brilliant life of a young Slayer at the moment her destiny became known. Even that didn't make him live again, not right away. It was gradual. He watched her in L.A., had her leave him only to follow her to Sunnydale. How ironic it wasn't until he moved to a Hellmouth that life trickled back into him. He got an apartment, cleaned up but still he was a mere shell of himself, waiting for someone to breathe life into him.
He had nearly destroyed Buffy before he truly got to know her. He knew only that he loved her but the century of fear and self-revulsion kept him from helping her. He had considered the Master a joke when he was Angelus but as Angel the elder vampire made him quake. If not for Xander, he wouldn't have gone to her aid. More bitter irony, the mortal jackass was braver than he was.
He still didn't know why he didn't just disappear when she left that summer to be with her father in L.A. The Master was gone. She didn't need him. He knew loving her was wrong. He should have just cut and run then, sparing both of their hearts before the roots of love went too deep. He knew he'd destroy her just by being what he was, the curse aside. He hadn't even known about the loophole then but still he couldn't give her up. Like a drug, she was what kept him going.
And it destroyed them both. Maybe they both had come back from that fateful day when he awoke Acathla but neither of them were the same. Buffy had looked him in the eye, her soul shredding, as she sent him to hell. He remembered every moment there. Some times things that are terribly traumatic get washed away by the brain. It was the only way to save itself. Buffy told him that it was that way with Connor. He only had vague memories of anything that transpired once Jasmine was 'born.' Angel wished it was that way for him, that hell was some vague blur. Instead it was a full throated scream in the back of his mind that he had to work on drowning out.
They limped through another year before he destroyed her completely. Running to L.A. hadn't helped and once there he left his usual path of destruction. Doyle died for him. Cordelia was driven mad by Wolfram and Hart just to get to him and was saved just barely, left changed but oddly for the better, only to sacrifice half her humanity and nearly her life down the road. Kate was all but destroyed by associating with him and his world. Jealousy and revenge against Angel ate Lindsey alive, taking a page from Holtz's book. Would Fred had been better off if he hadn't found her and brought her back only to die horribly here? And what of Wes? If not for him, Wesley might have just given up totally on the demon world and gone and lived a normal life. Instead he turned the 'rogue demon hunter' into someone far more competent before turning on him and forging Wesley into steel in the fire of his rage against him.
How could Buffy think that she would have been better off with him there? She had all the proof she needed to the contrary locked up in an asylum. Connor would have been better off if Holtz had just taken him to Utah and never saw him again. No matter what Angel had tried with his son, it only went from bad to worse. He was afraid to keep on trying, fearing his next attempt would destroy Connor completely. The boy had gotten better without him. It would never have happened if he had gone to England to be there with Connor. Couldn't they see that?
Angel wanted to tell Buffy that there was nothing she could say that could hurt him more than he was hurting himself. She would never know how much it was killing him to watch his grandchild grow up in pictures. Each email with the digital photos felt like someone yanking his fangs out slowly, taking hunks of jaw with it. At least with Connor, his son had grown up instantaneously from his point of view. There was nothing he could do to be there, no matter how much he wanted to be. It was his fault he hadn't seen his granddaughter, smelled her, felt the softness of her hair, watched the light in her eyes until today.
The truth reverberated in his mind. If he had contact with her, he'd destroy her. His mere presence would poison her life. By the mere fact of the genes they shared, her life would be a hard one, full of fighting, ripe with death. She was already in training. He had seen Sorcha in her tiny 'karate' outfit. She looked adorable but she was a weapon waiting to be honed to her deadly potential. A Slayer in a toddler's body. He'd blink his eyes and she'd be a teenager, out there killing his kind.
He heard the door to his apartment opening. The woodsy smell of aftershave told him it was Wesley and not Buffy returning to finish him off, as much as he would like that. He lumbered out of his bedroom. Wes stared at him, probably not really wanting to be here. "What?"
"Everyone's awake. We decided to order in Chinese. Spike and Cordy are on their way. You really should join us," Wes said.
Angel nodded. His family was already here. It was too late. His infectious devastation was probably already in the works. "Should I bring my gift now or should I ask first? I don't even have the right to..."
"Angel, bring the gift. Mine is already on the table and it's all Buffy can do to keep Sorcha's little fingers off it and I have even less right to be playing nice at this late date. We can't let this second chance pass us by." Wes leaned on the doorjamb. "It hasn't escaped my notice we're turning into bitter old men, shut off from the world. The kind of man I saw my father become, the kind I promised myself I'd never be."
Angel looked at his shoes as if he'd find answers in the pattern of the cheap carpeting left over from the days of psychedelia. "Think it's as easy as just going down there with gifts?"
"No, but it's a start, unless you've discovered a way to rewind the past and live it again," Wes said wryly.
Angel snorted. Wes knew that he had once done just that. God, what he wouldn't do to do that again. He'd save Connor and it would be his child who was the three year old. Dawn and Fred would be alive. Cordelia wouldn't be a shade of her former self. All it would cost him was his grandchild. Angel met Wes' eyes. He hadn't seen them this bright since before Fred's death. Hell, since before Connor was born. He ran a hand through his thick hair. It was longer than normal. He hadn't been keeping up with it. He could only imagine what he looked like. There was a rind of fuzz on his chin. "Am I really welcome?"
"I think Buffy will honestly kill you if you don't show up. Connor would be crushed." Wes surveyed him. "And in case you're wondering, you might want to take a brush to your hair."
Angel managed a sheepish look. "Thanks. I should have had it cut. Without a mirror...there are definitely things I miss not having someone to point out I look like a freak."
"I've always wondered how vampires handled grooming." Wes had that curious look Angel had long ago associated with him.
"We tend to be somewhat communal for a reason. Spike and I would help Dru and Darla and vice versa. It's easier for the guys. If we keep our hair short, it's usually okay." Angel disappeared into his bathroom. He stared in the mirror that reflected nothing but the shower curtain behind him. He rubbed some gel on his hands and smoothed the pelt on his head. He went back out. "Better?"
"Much."
Wes turned on his heel and headed out. Angel took the gaily wrapped gift out of his closet and followed. Everyone was in the living room except for Spike and Cordelia who obviously hadn't arrived. Sorcha was playing on the floor with a doll of something not quite human in a pink tutu. Beside her was a red dog with yellow splotches. Her pretty little dress had been exchanged for bib overalls with flowers embroidered on the pants and bib. She looked up, her eyes bigger than the gift in his hands. Buffy swooped in, grabbed the gift and stuck it up on the shelf.
"Not until after dinner," she said and Sorcha pouted.
Angel sat on the couch with Connor who still looked weary. He thought that might just be how his son looked now. Connor always did have sleepy eyes and a mouth that always seemed to hang open in a perpetual state of bemusement. Now, he had Dru's eyes, that slightly vacant look that said just how tenuous his sanity was. Willow was draped on the wing back chair, looking wrung out as if she should still be asleep.
Sorcha popped up and ran over to him climbing onto the couch next to him. She plopped her doll into his lap. "She's Fizz."
Angel picked up the ballerina, examining her carefully, much to Sorcha's delight. "She's very pretty."
"She's a Tweenie," Connor offered and at Angel's upraised eyebrow, "It's a kid's show."
"Don't worry, you'll get real familiar with it real fast," Buffy said, ruefully. "We brought DVD's."
"What does Fizz do?" Angel gingerly touched Sorcha's bunny soft hair.
Sorcha took the doll back and made her dance. "She dances. You like dancing?"
Angel nodded. "I like ballet very much."
"I like to dance. Do you dance?" Sorcha's eyes fastened on him.
Angel smiled. "No. That's scary, not as scary as Wesley but pretty scary."
"I heard that." Wes frowned, sitting on the love seat with Buffy.
"You dance," Sorcha proclaimed, slipping off the couch.
"That was her non-negotiable voice," Willow said with a lazy grin.
Angel felt a frisson of panic at the idea of dancing where someone could see him. "I wasn't kidding about being scary."
"You danced fine with me," Buffy reminded him.
Angel shook his head. "Slow dancing. That's different. That's not dancing. That's just..." He looked at Sorcha who was heading his way with the stuffed dog and he edited his thought, "you know what it is. You've never seen me fast dance and that's not likely to change."
Sorcha tossed the dog into his lap and clamored back up on the couch. "That's Doodles. He likes pancakes."
"Pancakes?" Angel turned the toy over in his hands, wondering what he was supposed to do with it. He knew nothing about playing with children. The only time Connor had liked him when he was a baby was when Angel showed him his game face and Angel knew that would not be appreciated now.
"Lots of 'em." Sorcha snuggled into his side, sending a wave of parental pride through him.
Angel slipped an arm around her. "Do you like dogs?"
She nodded. "Want one. Aunt Buffy says no."
"Not until you're older," Buffy said with the weariness of someone who had had this argument many times over.
"She's not at all shy, is she?" Angel asked.
Connor laughed. "No."
"Usually she's Cordy-brash," Buffy said. "Kinda like me at that age if Mom was to be believed."
"In other words, a princess." Angel smiled his first true smile in what felt like years. No, he corrected himself, it had been years.
Buffy's eyes narrowed but she grinned. "Watch it, Mister."
"Fizz likes being a princess," Sorcha said, hopping back off the couch. She grabbed Angel's hand and pulled.
Curious, he got up and let her lead him behind the couch. She tried to pull him down so he sat on the floor where she had a mess of coloring books and crayons. She gave him a book and a box of crayons.
"Sorcha, I'm not sure he wants to color," Connor said, looking over the back of the couch.
"It's okay. You want me to do this one?" Angel tapped the picture of a winged faerie. Sorcha nodded and handed him a purple crayon then pressed his hand down to the fairies' hair. "Purple hair? Are you sure?"
"Yep."
"If you say so." Angel began meticulously coloring the faerie's hair, shading it as he went with a practiced artistic hand. It was easier than talking. He could sit and play with his granddaughter all night. That would keep him from having to say anything to Buffy or his son. He wanted to nurse this simple moment for all it was worth.
It ended quickly enough when Spike swaggered in and said, "Well, here's something I never thought I'd see."
Angel scowled up from his coloring book. He wanted to say something but he didn't. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep the snap from his voice and he didn't want to scare Sorcha. For whatever reason the little girl seemed to like him and as much as he knew he should frighten her away for her own good, he just couldn't do it. Spike was carrying a couple gifts which Buffy spirited away before Sorcha could hold out her hands for them.
"Unca Spike!" Sorcha bubbled, jumping up. She tossed herself into Spike's arms.
"'Allo, ducks." He kissed her cheek.
Angel felt sick from the jealousy welling up in him. It was his own fault, not Spike's. He cut himself out of Sorcha's life. He had no right to be jealous of Spike but he was. He was even jealous that Sorcha had a British accent, even if it was more like Giles' and Wes' like than Spike's.
"You have Peaches coloring." Spike scooped her up.
"Don't teach her to call me that, Spike," Angel said lowly, setting aside his purple crayon and getting up. He felt a hand in the small of his back and he turned, thinking it was Cordy who had fallen into the role of referee between the two vampires. However, it was Buffy behind him and for her, he let the tension go.
"Like it'll matter," Spike said, his eyes hard and Angel knew the implication. Spike didn't believe he would ever have further contact with the child. That if Buffy hadn't brought Connor and Sorcha to him, he would never have seen them.
The door bell cut off anything he might have had to say. Wes popped up from the love seat. "That'll be dinner."
"Come on, let's get you set up." Buffy held out her arms and Spike plunked Sorcha into them. "We have a special table for you."
Angel watched as Willow laid out part of the newspaper as a table cloth and the coffee table became the 'special' table. Buffy sat the girl down at it then followed Wes and the huge bags of food into the kitchen. Angel went with them as did Cordy and Willow. "Does she like Chinese?" He kept his voice to a whisper, just for Buffy to hear.
She nodded. "She likes the eggs rolls and honey chicken or moo goo gai pan. She's not so crazy about the rice." While the others started getting down bowls and plates, Buffy diced the sticky breaded honey chicken hunks into tiny pieces for Sorcha then did the same to the egg roll.
Wes put him to work carrying bowls of soup to the living room where Connor and Spike were setting up trays for everyone to eat off of. Angel just sat and let the conversation wash over him. Everything was kept light and superficial as everyone danced around the strains in the fabric of their extended family. He and Wes were still being judged as to their fitness to be invited back inside. Wes was making a better effort to win his place back than Angel was. Angel was content to just watch Sorcha ignore her fork and pop bits of chicken and whatever the green stuff was inside of an eggroll into her mouth with gummy fingers. It took a while for it to sink in how quiet Connor was being. Of course, his son was always taciturn and it was hard to shoehorn in conversation once Willow, Spike, Cordy and Buffy got going. Angel glanced over and saw Connor silently watching him. His son's face was inscrutable. He wanted to say something, smile encouragingly, anything but what he did was drop his gaze to his hands.
Angel felt Connor's eyes staying on him. He heard Spike laughing and joking with Buffy. He felt like he had when he found Darla, Dru and Spike in China, on the outside, unwanted with Spike in his place as head of the family. He wasn't needed here, or required. It would be easier on everyone if he would just go.
The phone rang. Angel answered it, grateful for a break in the tension. Why wouldn't Connor just look away and eat his orange beef? The boy could never be easy. "Hello...yes, Lorne." Angel couldn't' keep the irritation of his face. "I'll be right there."
"Angel, what's wrong?" Wesley got up, anticipating danger.
"There's been an incident at Lorne's club, Foawrs. Lorne needs me there before things get ugly. He sends his apologies for breaking up the family reunion."
"Do you have to handle this personally?" Disappointment and anger mixed in Buffy's eyes.
"We've renamed Lorne's bar the Phoenix Rising for as many times as it's been blown up or burnt down. Lorne wouldn't have called if he didn't think it was in imminent danger of returning to ash," Wesley said.
"Do you need me to help?" Buffy asked. Connor and Willow looked just as ready to throw in if need be.
Angel offered a weak smile. "You're still tired. I can handle a few Foawrs."
"Are you sure, Angel? I could at least go with you," Wes said, "Or Spike."
Spike curled his lip. "Bloody hell. When those giants aren't busy busting up a place, they're out to buggar all the livestock they can find."
"No cussing," Buffy snapped.
"And I'd best get there before any of that starts. You guys stay. There's no sense in everyone missing out on tonight. I'll be back as soon as I can." Angel didn't give them time to argue more, heading for the door. He stopped when Sorcha slithered out from the table and fastened onto his pants.
"No go," she begged.
Angel stooped down, stroking her hair. "I don't want to go, Sorcha. I'll be back soon, promise. You should finish your dinner."
"Come on, baby." Buffy took Sorcha's hand. "Your grandfather needs to hurry, big bad business."
Sorcha looked up at him solemnly. "Come back."
"I will."
Angel left before his heart broke. He didn't want to go. He couldn't stay. Lorne's call was just a good excuse. He got in his Super Bee and drove for the club. He wanted to just keep driving. He couldn't let himself get too involved. His son and granddaughter were better off without him. It would only hurt them in the long run if he was in their lives. All he ever had done was bring misery to Buffy. She didn't deserve it. He had no business trying to be part of their world like he had tonight.
Here was where he belonged, in the night, under the stars, or the light pollution as the case may be. He belonged in battle, not with a happy family. He let the Manx giants kick him around Lorne's place a little before luring them outside and letting them really cut loose. He enjoyed prolonging the battle. Each blow was just punishment for breaking his promise to himself to keep out of their lives for their own good. By the time all the Foawrs were dead, Angel staggered half blind from the beating he took. Blood ran in his eyes and his fangs felt loosened in their sockets. The pain gave him something to concentrate on, something other than the spun-glass look of fragility Connor wore, the anguish in Buffy's eyes, the sweet innocence of Sorcha.
He dragged the heavy blanket he carried for emergencies out of the Bee's trunk and draped it over the car seat so he wouldn't get blood all over the interior of his car. He drove to the beach. The soft sounds of the waves lured him down to the surf. The waves looked inviting. He could just disappear under them again and this time never come back. It wouldn't be fair, though. He couldn't put any of them through the pain of not knowing what happened to him. It was better to just cut them out, let them think him the villain. At least they wouldn't be tortured with thoughts of trying to find him.
Angel trucked back to the dry sand. He looked up at the cliffs. He remembered going over them, the rage in his son's eyes. He recalled all of Connor's mocking words, his own words thrown back at him. He had been too stunned by the sheer strength in his child's slight body, the poisonous fury that consumed him, to fight back like he should have. Angel couldn't get the image of Connor's face staring up at him through the waves as he tried to drown him, just a little, trying to slow him down. He had been a lousy father. What kind of man did that to his son?
Angel shivered, remembering the pain of the taser, the brutalness later as his son welded him into the coffin. How could he trust a man like that with a little girl? Angel half thought he should just grab his son and disappear. Let Buffy and her friends raise Sorcha. The child might be better off that way, with neither of them in her life. Connor was just a phantom in her life as it was, a supervised visit once a week until recently, nothing more. It would hurt for a while but it wasn't uncommon to sacrifice an infected limb to save a life.
Angel sat on the beach, mulling over his family situation until nearly dawn. He was smoking slightly as he raced back into his home, his head still throbbing and oozing blood. Buffy was waiting for him in the living room. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles, threads of crimson running through their whites.
"You should be in bed," he said.
"This was coming back as soon as you could?" Buffy got to her feet, her body trembling with exhaustion.
Angel touched the wound on his forehead. "I ran into unexpected problems."
"Lorne said you left the club hours ago."
Angel grimaced. He should have known they'd check up on him. "Ran into trouble again after that."
"Did you think to call?" Frustration laced her voice.
"I lost my cell phone." Angel patted his pocket and was actually surprised to feel nothing. His cell phone was gone, probably lying on the beach. He was constantly losing them and the smaller they got, the faster he lost them. "Sorry. Did she like her gifts?"
"What do you care?"
Angel sighed. "I care, Buffy. I...just...there was trouble. I'm sorry. Don't tell me you never had that happen."
"Of course it happens. I just don't think it did tonight. You couldn't get out of here fast enough."
"That's not true," he lied. "Buffy, you're exhausted. I'm in pain. I don't want to stand here arguing, waking up the whole house. Get some sleep. You can yell at me all you want later."
He walked past her, heading for his part of the house. He should have just gone there in the first place but he had wanted to try to sneak a peek at Sorcha.
"We told Sorcha she had to wait for you to open the gifts," Buffy called as he walked on.
He paused for a minute, feeling pain for being the reason Sorcha was denied her gifts but said nothing. Angel locked his place up behind him, trying to make it a sanctuary from the trauma of seeing his family again. The only thing wrong with that was most of the problem was locked up inside of him.