When Caitlin went looking for Connor, she didn't have to look hard to
find him. He'd gone out to the courtyard and sat in a patch of grass
directly in the sun at least ten feet from any shade. She smiled wistfully,
imagining what could have been – a four year old with the same shaggy brown
locks and cubby cheeks, stomping out into the sun because his vampire
father wouldn't let him watch his favorite show or some other problem
little kids have. Angel would watch to make sure the boy didn't go to far,
then let him have his space, sending one of his friends out to get him if
he was gone too long. Maybe Fred. She tried to picture the other girl as
she must have been, before the blue hair and icicle eyes.
But he wasn't four and no one had denied him his favorite treat, she reminded herself. She could respect his need for space to sort things out, make room in his head for the new and not-so-great images, but someone had to make sure that when he was adding two plus two, he got four. So she went out and sat across from him in the grass. She waited to see if he would speak first.
"I started to run." He said. "I got a few blocks away and realized I have no where to go. I can't go back to my parents. Jesus, if they had any idea..." He shuddered. "Just like that, it all came back. At least I hope that's it. I don't think I can take much more. But I remembered everything about me and Cordelia, about Jasmine, right up until Angel stabbed me with a hunting knife."
At least they were on the same page now, she thought. It's what he'd wanted – no more secrets. Still, the whole time Angel had spoken about the events that had led up to Connor's new life and Angel's job at Wolfram and Hart, she'd felt like she was invading his privacy or something. She figured if she returned the favor, maybe he'd see that he could deal. She couldn't look at him as she spoke, though.
She began shredding a fallen leaf. "You're the same person you were two hours ago. I don't know much about people – you're the one taking psychology, and I haven't been to school since eighth grade, but I don't think people change because of stuff that happens to them. I think they change because of how they deal with the stuff that happens. Does that make sense?" She asked, risking a glance. He nodded.
"I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone else. My cousin probably has some idea, but I don't think even he knows it all." She studied her hands, willing herself to spit it out. "My father is a drunk and a pervert. You can probably figure out what that meant for his only daughter. My brothers were stupid and sadistic. I hid, most of the time, but if they found me, they pretty much tortured me. I tried to tell my mother once, but she twisted my arm so hard while she was telling me not to make stuff up that she broke it. Still, I probably would have stayed there in that house until I left for college or got married or one of them managed to kill me. That's the kind of person I was. I didn't think it was my fault, I just thought there wasn't anything I could do. Except, when I was thirteen, my dad lost his job. He made my brothers get jobs. He pawned the tv. He sold the stereo. And when we ran out of stuff in the house, he sold the only thing left that was worth anything. Me."
Her heart was pounding. She wanted to go, to run, anything but finish. Then she thought about what Angel had told her, about the people in the hardware store wired up to bombs, about the demise of Jasmine. Guilt was a funny thing. If you could tell someone else what you had done, and they didn't look at you like a bug that needed to be squashed, it eased a bit. Not a lot, but enough so you could live with yourself. Faith had told her that.
"You probably think that's when I ran away. That I somehow found out and got away before anything happened, or I overpowered my dad's best friend, a guy I had called uncle my whole life. You'd be wrong. I didn't get away the first time, or the second. It took until the third time for me to wake up, realize what my life was doing to me. That's when I ran. I came to LA, and stayed in some dumps, but I was safe, for a while. The rest is a whole different story." She closed her eyes, bracing herself before she looked up. She was perversely satisfied at the shock she saw in his eyes. Good. At least he wasn't feeling sorry for himself. "My point is this – I had two parents who did there best to hurt me. You've had how many parents now? And every one of them only wanted the best for you. So don't you dare turn your back on them now. You owe it to them to figure out how to deal with what happened so it doesn't change you."
He looked at her for so long she started to think he hadn't heard a word she said. Finally, he stood. "I get what you're saying. And thanks, for trusting me enough to tell me what happened to you. I just – I need some time."
"Fine." She said. "Just don't take too long. You're the biggest brain we've got." She watched him walk away, back into the hotel. Just behind her, she heard leaves crunch. Reflexively, her head whipped around, only to find that it was Angel, lurking in the shadows.
But he wasn't four and no one had denied him his favorite treat, she reminded herself. She could respect his need for space to sort things out, make room in his head for the new and not-so-great images, but someone had to make sure that when he was adding two plus two, he got four. So she went out and sat across from him in the grass. She waited to see if he would speak first.
"I started to run." He said. "I got a few blocks away and realized I have no where to go. I can't go back to my parents. Jesus, if they had any idea..." He shuddered. "Just like that, it all came back. At least I hope that's it. I don't think I can take much more. But I remembered everything about me and Cordelia, about Jasmine, right up until Angel stabbed me with a hunting knife."
At least they were on the same page now, she thought. It's what he'd wanted – no more secrets. Still, the whole time Angel had spoken about the events that had led up to Connor's new life and Angel's job at Wolfram and Hart, she'd felt like she was invading his privacy or something. She figured if she returned the favor, maybe he'd see that he could deal. She couldn't look at him as she spoke, though.
She began shredding a fallen leaf. "You're the same person you were two hours ago. I don't know much about people – you're the one taking psychology, and I haven't been to school since eighth grade, but I don't think people change because of stuff that happens to them. I think they change because of how they deal with the stuff that happens. Does that make sense?" She asked, risking a glance. He nodded.
"I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone else. My cousin probably has some idea, but I don't think even he knows it all." She studied her hands, willing herself to spit it out. "My father is a drunk and a pervert. You can probably figure out what that meant for his only daughter. My brothers were stupid and sadistic. I hid, most of the time, but if they found me, they pretty much tortured me. I tried to tell my mother once, but she twisted my arm so hard while she was telling me not to make stuff up that she broke it. Still, I probably would have stayed there in that house until I left for college or got married or one of them managed to kill me. That's the kind of person I was. I didn't think it was my fault, I just thought there wasn't anything I could do. Except, when I was thirteen, my dad lost his job. He made my brothers get jobs. He pawned the tv. He sold the stereo. And when we ran out of stuff in the house, he sold the only thing left that was worth anything. Me."
Her heart was pounding. She wanted to go, to run, anything but finish. Then she thought about what Angel had told her, about the people in the hardware store wired up to bombs, about the demise of Jasmine. Guilt was a funny thing. If you could tell someone else what you had done, and they didn't look at you like a bug that needed to be squashed, it eased a bit. Not a lot, but enough so you could live with yourself. Faith had told her that.
"You probably think that's when I ran away. That I somehow found out and got away before anything happened, or I overpowered my dad's best friend, a guy I had called uncle my whole life. You'd be wrong. I didn't get away the first time, or the second. It took until the third time for me to wake up, realize what my life was doing to me. That's when I ran. I came to LA, and stayed in some dumps, but I was safe, for a while. The rest is a whole different story." She closed her eyes, bracing herself before she looked up. She was perversely satisfied at the shock she saw in his eyes. Good. At least he wasn't feeling sorry for himself. "My point is this – I had two parents who did there best to hurt me. You've had how many parents now? And every one of them only wanted the best for you. So don't you dare turn your back on them now. You owe it to them to figure out how to deal with what happened so it doesn't change you."
He looked at her for so long she started to think he hadn't heard a word she said. Finally, he stood. "I get what you're saying. And thanks, for trusting me enough to tell me what happened to you. I just – I need some time."
"Fine." She said. "Just don't take too long. You're the biggest brain we've got." She watched him walk away, back into the hotel. Just behind her, she heard leaves crunch. Reflexively, her head whipped around, only to find that it was Angel, lurking in the shadows.