"Dawn in L.A." – Chapter 1
Sequel to "Connor's Sunnydale Vacation." It's a year after Connor's visit to Sunnydale. Both series' played out per canon. Sunnydale is no more and Connor is in his new family. The Hyperion is still being used as base of operations although Angel & Co. has taken over ownership of W&H. (Don't y'all miss the hotel set? I do.)
I wrote most of this chapter before seeing Connor's return on "Angel" so it didn't influence me much. I'm creating my own AU version of season 5 "Angel," so anything goes.
*************
The bus was unloaded quickly, which wasn't really a surprise considering no one had any luggage or possessions of any kind. Dawn thought, not for the first time, that some pre-planning about the possible aftermath of the fighting would have been wise. But then, who would've predicted that the whole town of Sunnydale would tumble into the Hellmouth?
The warriors wandered into the lobby of the Hyperion, looking around more shell-shocked than curious. Makeshift stretchers for those too wounded to walk were also carried in and Angel's crew directed them to various rooms in the hotel. Dawn was supporting Maia, who had a nasty head wound. The slayer was heavy, and Dawn grunted as she deposited Maia's weight on the circular bench in the center of the lobby.
Dawn straightened and looked around. She saw Faith guiding Wood up the curved staircase. His wound had been dressed on the bus, but Dawn could see fresh blood seeping through the bandage. He staggered and leaned heavily on the dark haired slayer. Dawn thought vaguely that Faith should've put him on the elevator instead of making him walk a flight of stairs, but one glance at the lineup of seriously injured awaiting transportation by elevator under Giles' care explained it.
Willow was hovering over one of the injured girls, eyes closed, hands outstretched and lips moving in an incantation. Even from a distance, Dawn could feel the energy that crackled around the witch. With her current power level, it seemed like she would be able to cast some blanket healing spell that would fix up everybody at once. But Dawn knew the way magic worked by now – it was all about balance and the ebb and flow of lifeforce. No doubt it would be cheating or even playing with fire for Willow to do a massive healing spell.
Holding one of the younger slayers who had lost her very best friend in the battle was Xander. They rocked back and forth slightly. The girl was weeping while Xander stared dry eyed off into space. Dawn wasn't sure who was comforting whom.
Over near the front desk, Buffy was talking to Angel. Angel nodded and beckoned a small, mousy woman away from bandaging and gave her instructions. She nodded and went to the phone. Dawn hoped she was ordering pizza. It seemed disrespectful to be hungry when others were wounded or dead but she couldn't help it, she was starving.
"Miss Summers?" a cultured British voice spoke from behind her and the girl jumped. She turned to see a thin man with wire-rim glasses standing there. He held out his hand. "Wesley Wyndham Price."
'Has to be a Watcher' Dawn decided as she shook his hand.
He confirmed it with his next words. "I was your sister's Watcher for a brief time."
She nodded. She didn't remember ever seeing the man before, but then she hadn't been privy to much of Buffy's life until after mom died. Dawn mentally shook herself as she remembered that all of her memories of anything before Glory were not real. Recognizing your memories were implanted? Something you never quite got used to.
"Angel suggested, and I concur, that we need to go shopping to purchase replacement apparel for these young ladies. Buffy suggested that you might be able to help me secure garments in appropriate sizes."
'Hehe. MiniGiles.' Dawn's brain giggled. "Sure," she replied aloud. "But," she looked down at her own clothes, which were covered in other girls' blood, "I think I need to change first."
"Certainly," Wesley agreed. "I'm sure we can find something for you from Fred's wardrobe."
Dawn looked across the lobby at the tall, clean-shaven, black man who was carrying one of the girls in from the bus. "Fred?" she said with a puzzled frown.
"Winifred Burkle," he replied, gesturing toward the mousy woman on the phone.
"Oh." A sudden thought occurred and Dawn took a long searching look all around the lobby. "Hey!" she exclaimed. "Where's Connor?"
"Who?"
*************
Connor reclined his lawn chair back even farther and gazed up at the sun until spots danced before his eyes. He wondered how long it actually took to burn up your retinas. He closed his eyes and lay back, enjoying the hot sun bathing his body. The drone of a distant lawnmower reminded him he'd better cut the lawn today or Dad would have yet another reason to bitch him out.
This was a weird summer. A very weird summer. He could hardly believe that high school was finally over. That he had actually graduated ... with high honors and a full ride at USC. He had tossed around the idea of school abroad but eventually decided to stay in California. Mom was thrilled. She wanted him where he could come home and visit on occasional weekends, and Connor had to admit, if only to himself, that he wasn't quite ready to cut family ties and jet off to Europe.
He was excited to go to college yet anxious, and this whole summer felt like a long, suspended daydream from which he would soon awake. High school was over, college not begun, and he was stuck somewhere in between. It didn't help that he had broken up with his girlfriend, Chris. Everyone knew long distance relationships were doomed and so he'd broken it off before she left for her early admission at Brown. He knew it was for the best but he missed her.
His family was driving him nuts these days. Everything his sisters said was annoying and he knew they weren't doing anything different. It was his own lousy attitude. His dad told Connor that he felt at loose ends because he needed to get a job. Dad was probably right but every day Connor continued to lay about like a useless, lazy housecat. He lounged all day and partied with his friends all night and wondered why he felt as if he were living in a dream.
It was weird. Unsettling. He was sure things would get better when he went off to college and began really living life. He just needed something concrete to do.
He sighed and sank even further into the comfort of the lounge chair. Maybe this afternoon he'd go and fill out some job applications. Or maybe tomorrow.
*********
Dawn looked down at the blood-encrusted shirt she was still wearing. The three of them had been closeted in Angel's office for almost half an hour now.
Angel had been pole-axed when Dawn went up to him as he spoke to Buffy and asked Connor's whereabouts. His face wore the expression she'd seen on the two or three vamps Buffy had allowed her to stake over the past year – total confusion and disbelief before poofing into dust. Except Angel didn't poof.
As Buffy said, "Yeah. Where is Connor?" Angel grabbed each of the sisters by an arm and hauled them into the office.
"You remember Connor?" he asked, his face almost savage in its intensity.
"Of course," Dawn replied. "We sorta almost went out for like two minutes."
"And you?" he confirmed, spinning toward Buffy.
"Yes. What's this about?"
It was then that Angel gave a brief synopsis of the events in L.A. over the past year.
"So this Jasmine was planning world domination?" Buffy said thoughtfully.
Angel nodded.
"At the same time that the First was ... planning world domination. Do these guys ever coordinate their schedules?"
It was when Angel reached the part of the story about Connor's melt down, the deal with Wolfram and Hart and the subsequent mind alteration of everyone except Angel that Buffy began to frown.
"You cut a deal with Wolfram and Hart," she said. "And becoming the new CEO of a satanic law firm seemed like a 'good' idea to you?" Her arms were folded and her face set in a disapproving scowl.
"There was no other option." Angel's voice was leaden and his face a smooth, imperturbable mask.
"Compromising with evil is never an option," she stated flatly.
"Right. Like the time you allied with Spike to defeat Angelus? Not an option?" Angel snapped. Buffy stopped dead at the mention of Spike's name.
The mask began to slip and Angel's mouth twisted in bitterness. "You weren't here, Buffy, you don't know what the past year has been like for any of us in L.A. I did what I had to do to save my son." His mouth resolved into a grim line again.
Buffy's expression softened as she glanced over at Dawn. "Okay. Point taken," she conceded. "Family comes first."
She walked over to Angel and looked up at him with serious eyes as she rested a hand on his arm. "Look. I'm really sorry about Connor ... and Cordy and, even if I don't completely agree with it, I totally understand your decision to throw in with Wolfram and Hart."
Angel accepted her apology with a nod.
Dawn watched all this but she couldn't say a word. How could she comment on the ethics of creating a whole new life for someone and changing dozens of peoples' memories when her whole life was a sham? But as she sat there silently listening to Angel and Buffy discuss theories about why the sisters' memories were unaltered, Dawn became suddenly very sure about one thing. She must see Connor again.
"Angel, we should talk about this later," Buffy finally said. "I need to make sure the girls have all been taken care of." She added. "But I'll find out if Xander has true memories and you can check with Faith. Maybe this has something to do with our distance from the source."
Angel agreed and the pair swept out of the office with Dawn trailing behind them.
"You must be Dawn." The mousy woman approached Dawn and spoke in a soft voice with just a hint of Texas twang. "I'm Fred. Pleased to meetcha. If you want to come with me, I'll find something for you to wear." She eyed Dawn's height. "You're a bit taller than me. There are some boxes of Cordelia's clothes. We should go through those and see what we can use for you and the other girls."
A staff of caterers had invaded the lobby and was setting up tables and producing trays and serving dishes of food. The slayers who weren't too damaged swarmed to the fragrant, steaming dishes.
Fred gestured toward the table with a sour smile. "Courtesy of Wolfram and Hart. There have to be some perks for working with an agency of the devil. Come on." She led Dawn upstairs to look for an outfit from the Cordelia Chase collection.
************
Connor was restless. He took another swig of his beer and gazed unseeing across the crowded room while his friends' chatter washed over him. He had nothing to contribute to the conversation. They talked about the same stuff all the time. Their discussions were so redundant it made him want to puke. Surely there must be something more important they should all be doing than standing around Benner's living room getting wasted and wondering which of the girls they might possibly lay by the end of the night.
Through the picture window, he could see the moon shining on the ocean and he suddenly decided things would be better, he'd feel better, if he just went outside for a while. With a muttered, 'I'll be back,' he pushed past his friends, dropped his empty off on the kitchen counter and snagged a fresh bottle from the ice in the sink before heading out into the night.
As he walked from the house down to the beach, Connor wished that Chris was with him. It had been four weeks since he cut her loose, two since she'd left for college, and he still thought of her every day. Sometimes it seemed that it was more the idea of her than her actual presence that he missed but other times, like tonight, it was definitely the feel of her hand in his that he craved. He sighed. Walks on a dark beach at night were meant for couples.
He walked along the edge of the water, removing his shoes so that the surf could lap over his feet. Glancing back at the brightly lit house he had come from, Connor thought maybe he should take his friends' advice and hook up with a random girl from the party. On a hot summer night like this, it beat being alone.
Then, as if conjured by the force of his desire, a female figure appeared ahead of him on the sand. Connor glanced up and there she was, walking the edge of the water, coming from the opposite direction. He grinned and sent up a 'thank you' to God for wishes unexpectedly granted. As she drew nearer, his hopes were confirmed, she was young and beautiful.
"Hey," Connor offered as they came within speaking distance of one another.
"Hello," she responded in almost a whisper. The girl was dressed in a, there was no other word for it, diaphanous, white gown that fluttered around her in the light breeze coming in off the sea. Her blond hair tumbled in a curly cascade down her back. Her feet, as they peeked from under the hem of her old fashioned gown, were bare like his, and her skin was as white and unblemished as a newborn baby. Connor was struck momentarily speechless by her almost unearthly beauty.
"Um, h-hi," he stuttered.
"Hello," she repeated with a teasing smile.
"Nice night. Uh, taking a walk?" he asked, then winced at the extreme lameness of the remark. "Well, duh, of course you're taking a walk. Sorry. I'm just, ah, a little...." He waved the half full bottle of beer.
Her smile widened and she reached out a hand to take the bottle from him. He watched as she put it to her red lips and sipped daintily. She wrinkled her nose at the taste and handed the bottle back.
"So," he cleared his throat and tried to regain some composure, "You live around here?"
"Sometimes," she replied.
"Home from college for the summer?" he guessed.
"Yes," she beamed proudly as if he were a pet dog, which had suddenly learned to talk. "That's right. I'm home from college, visiting my ... parents. And you?" To Connor's surprise, she slipped her hand in his and began to walk along the beach with him.
"Oh, I'm just at a party." He pointed back the way he'd come. "But it got boring."
Her hand was quite cold and Connor wished he could be gallant and offer her his jacket but he wasn't wearing one.
"Well," she said, voice dropping to a seductive purr, "Maybe we can find something to do to make the night more interesting."
Connor swallowed. This was like the ludicrous plot of a porn movie – starring him and a gorgeous chick! Unable to speak again, he simply nodded.
The girl stopped walking and pulled him around to face her. She was quite strong for such a delicate looking little thing. She tilted her pretty face up and Connor instinctively leaned down to kiss her. Her lips were cool and soft underneath his mouth. When she opened her mouth in response he tasted a faint coppery tang, which was odd and sent a pang of memory zinging through him. But before his mind could decode what his senses were trying to remind him of her tongue came out to play and he forgot everything but the sensation of kissing.
After several long, sucking moments, the girl pulled back. "So hot!" she gasped. "So sweet." Her dark eyes seemed to sparkle gold like an animal caught in headlights, as she regarded him thoughtfully. "And such a pretty boy. Perhaps it would be better as a companion...."
"Hm?" Connor was a little too drunk and horny to try to decipher her cryptic remarks. He leaned toward her for another kiss but the girl bypassed his mouth and went for his throat, kissing and nibbling up and down his windpipe. Connor sucked in a breath and held it. His eyes drifted closed at the erotic feel of her mouth moving across his throat.
His arms wrapped around her back and pulled her in tighter. He pressed his already aching groin against her.
She had worked her way over to the side of his neck when he heard a strange sound, amplified by proximity to his ear. It reminded him of the time he'd broken his ankle in soccer practice, a kind of bone grating, tissue squelching sound. His eyes opened and he frowned, at the same moment that the girl's grip on him tightened until her arms around him felt like steel bands and her hands like grappling hooks.
Connor tried to pull away.
"Don't worry, sweet. The pain will be over soon," she murmured and before he could react he felt a sharp pain in his neck as if he'd been cut by several razor blades at once.
Connor cried out and began to struggle in earnest against her supernaturally strong grip. As he felt her begin to suck at the wound she had made, random images flashed through his mind; distorted faces, clashing weapons, screaming victims, the sort of thing that often filled his dreams but never entered his mind during the day.
A burst of adrenaline triggered his fight reflex and he suddenly broke the woman's grip, throwing her away from him with such force that she flew back several yards and plowed into the sand.
Instinctively Connor stepped toward her to see if she was all right. His mother had taught him to never hit a woman. He remembered Mom breaking up a quarrel between him and his younger sister, Kathy, during which he had practically dislocated his sister's arm while yanking her off the living room couch. Mom had scolded him severely, telling him it didn't matter who had called dibs on the piece of furniture, he must never use his superior force against his little sis.
But the woman in white was already back on her feet and flying at him like a cheetah. He barely had time to notice that something was horribly wrong with her face before she hit him and bowled him over. Connor's ethical instincts were superseded by the primal urge to defend himself. He arched up from the sand, shoving his hands against the woman's chest and throwing her off of him again.
Jumping lightly to his feet, he delivered a roundhouse kick to her head. The kick carried him around in a circle but he quickly regained his balance and raised his fists, ready to face her next attack. With a scream of rage, she came at him, shoulder to his solar plexis. She knocked him backward and drove the breath out of him in a whoosh. Connor fell to his knees in the sand, doubled over in pain.
The woman's hand twisted in his hair and she pulled his head back with a jerk, exposing his throat. This time, as she leaned in toward him, Connor got a very clear look at her face. Her brow was ridged all the way down to the nose. Her eyes glittered an incredible gold, and her mouth was opened to reveal white teeth and a vicious pair of fangs where the canines should be. Connor had read "Dracula" and seen enough movies to know a vampire when he saw one, even as his logical mind tried to deny what his eyes were witnessing.
'Cross. Holy water. Garlic. Stake.' His mind searched for a solution. 'Stake!'
He tore his head away from her vicelike grip, leaving a good quantity of hair behind in the process. Rolling to the side, he crab-scuttled away. She approached him in slow motion, a cat now toying with her prey. This gave Connor a window of opportunity to look for something, anything, with a sharp, pointy end.
From the corner of his eye a piece of driftwood caught his attention. It gleamed white in the darkness. Connor grabbed it and jabbed it toward the vampire. She stopped, eyes widening in surprise. "Oh! It wants to play now?"
She kicked out, knocking the wood from Connor's hand as she hit his forearm. But the kick took her off balance and the flowing dress hampered her attempts to regain it. She fell in an ungainly heap.
Connor was beyond thought now. His body operated without instruction, diving for the sharp branch of wood and leaping toward the prone woman. The advantage was his now and he straddled her, pressing down on her shoulder with one hand and drawing his arm back and without hesitation driving the makeshift stake home into the vampire's breast.
Her face registered shock just before she disintegrated into dust, leaving him holding nothing but ash instead of a handful of her gown. Connor sat back on his heels, wide eyed and panting with exertion. He continued to stare at the place where the woman had been, as her ashes blew away and mingled with the sand, then he looked up and down the beach. He wished there had been someone to witness the fight and to confirm that he was not hallucinating, but the seashore was empty.
Connor slowly rose to his feet. He rubbed one hand across his neck and it came away smeared in blood. He looked at the piece of wood still clenched in his fist and had to will his fingers to slowly, stiffly uncurl and drop it.
Looking down the beach again then out at the water then up to the brightly lit houses on the bluff, Connor felt like he was in a little bubble of reality all his own. Everything he had known in his life up to this point felt surreal, like an extended dream. An incomprehensible shift in reality had occurred. He now knew that monsters really did exist and nothing would ever be the same again.
Either that or he would sweep this bizarre incident so deeply into the subchambers of his mind that he would eventually forget that it had ever happened. Yeah, that sounded pretty good.
Connor walked back the way he had come, still hugging the edge of the water. He stopped to pick up his abandoned shoes and then started up the path to the noise and confusion of Benner's party.
To be continued....
Sequel to "Connor's Sunnydale Vacation." It's a year after Connor's visit to Sunnydale. Both series' played out per canon. Sunnydale is no more and Connor is in his new family. The Hyperion is still being used as base of operations although Angel & Co. has taken over ownership of W&H. (Don't y'all miss the hotel set? I do.)
I wrote most of this chapter before seeing Connor's return on "Angel" so it didn't influence me much. I'm creating my own AU version of season 5 "Angel," so anything goes.
*************
The bus was unloaded quickly, which wasn't really a surprise considering no one had any luggage or possessions of any kind. Dawn thought, not for the first time, that some pre-planning about the possible aftermath of the fighting would have been wise. But then, who would've predicted that the whole town of Sunnydale would tumble into the Hellmouth?
The warriors wandered into the lobby of the Hyperion, looking around more shell-shocked than curious. Makeshift stretchers for those too wounded to walk were also carried in and Angel's crew directed them to various rooms in the hotel. Dawn was supporting Maia, who had a nasty head wound. The slayer was heavy, and Dawn grunted as she deposited Maia's weight on the circular bench in the center of the lobby.
Dawn straightened and looked around. She saw Faith guiding Wood up the curved staircase. His wound had been dressed on the bus, but Dawn could see fresh blood seeping through the bandage. He staggered and leaned heavily on the dark haired slayer. Dawn thought vaguely that Faith should've put him on the elevator instead of making him walk a flight of stairs, but one glance at the lineup of seriously injured awaiting transportation by elevator under Giles' care explained it.
Willow was hovering over one of the injured girls, eyes closed, hands outstretched and lips moving in an incantation. Even from a distance, Dawn could feel the energy that crackled around the witch. With her current power level, it seemed like she would be able to cast some blanket healing spell that would fix up everybody at once. But Dawn knew the way magic worked by now – it was all about balance and the ebb and flow of lifeforce. No doubt it would be cheating or even playing with fire for Willow to do a massive healing spell.
Holding one of the younger slayers who had lost her very best friend in the battle was Xander. They rocked back and forth slightly. The girl was weeping while Xander stared dry eyed off into space. Dawn wasn't sure who was comforting whom.
Over near the front desk, Buffy was talking to Angel. Angel nodded and beckoned a small, mousy woman away from bandaging and gave her instructions. She nodded and went to the phone. Dawn hoped she was ordering pizza. It seemed disrespectful to be hungry when others were wounded or dead but she couldn't help it, she was starving.
"Miss Summers?" a cultured British voice spoke from behind her and the girl jumped. She turned to see a thin man with wire-rim glasses standing there. He held out his hand. "Wesley Wyndham Price."
'Has to be a Watcher' Dawn decided as she shook his hand.
He confirmed it with his next words. "I was your sister's Watcher for a brief time."
She nodded. She didn't remember ever seeing the man before, but then she hadn't been privy to much of Buffy's life until after mom died. Dawn mentally shook herself as she remembered that all of her memories of anything before Glory were not real. Recognizing your memories were implanted? Something you never quite got used to.
"Angel suggested, and I concur, that we need to go shopping to purchase replacement apparel for these young ladies. Buffy suggested that you might be able to help me secure garments in appropriate sizes."
'Hehe. MiniGiles.' Dawn's brain giggled. "Sure," she replied aloud. "But," she looked down at her own clothes, which were covered in other girls' blood, "I think I need to change first."
"Certainly," Wesley agreed. "I'm sure we can find something for you from Fred's wardrobe."
Dawn looked across the lobby at the tall, clean-shaven, black man who was carrying one of the girls in from the bus. "Fred?" she said with a puzzled frown.
"Winifred Burkle," he replied, gesturing toward the mousy woman on the phone.
"Oh." A sudden thought occurred and Dawn took a long searching look all around the lobby. "Hey!" she exclaimed. "Where's Connor?"
"Who?"
*************
Connor reclined his lawn chair back even farther and gazed up at the sun until spots danced before his eyes. He wondered how long it actually took to burn up your retinas. He closed his eyes and lay back, enjoying the hot sun bathing his body. The drone of a distant lawnmower reminded him he'd better cut the lawn today or Dad would have yet another reason to bitch him out.
This was a weird summer. A very weird summer. He could hardly believe that high school was finally over. That he had actually graduated ... with high honors and a full ride at USC. He had tossed around the idea of school abroad but eventually decided to stay in California. Mom was thrilled. She wanted him where he could come home and visit on occasional weekends, and Connor had to admit, if only to himself, that he wasn't quite ready to cut family ties and jet off to Europe.
He was excited to go to college yet anxious, and this whole summer felt like a long, suspended daydream from which he would soon awake. High school was over, college not begun, and he was stuck somewhere in between. It didn't help that he had broken up with his girlfriend, Chris. Everyone knew long distance relationships were doomed and so he'd broken it off before she left for her early admission at Brown. He knew it was for the best but he missed her.
His family was driving him nuts these days. Everything his sisters said was annoying and he knew they weren't doing anything different. It was his own lousy attitude. His dad told Connor that he felt at loose ends because he needed to get a job. Dad was probably right but every day Connor continued to lay about like a useless, lazy housecat. He lounged all day and partied with his friends all night and wondered why he felt as if he were living in a dream.
It was weird. Unsettling. He was sure things would get better when he went off to college and began really living life. He just needed something concrete to do.
He sighed and sank even further into the comfort of the lounge chair. Maybe this afternoon he'd go and fill out some job applications. Or maybe tomorrow.
*********
Dawn looked down at the blood-encrusted shirt she was still wearing. The three of them had been closeted in Angel's office for almost half an hour now.
Angel had been pole-axed when Dawn went up to him as he spoke to Buffy and asked Connor's whereabouts. His face wore the expression she'd seen on the two or three vamps Buffy had allowed her to stake over the past year – total confusion and disbelief before poofing into dust. Except Angel didn't poof.
As Buffy said, "Yeah. Where is Connor?" Angel grabbed each of the sisters by an arm and hauled them into the office.
"You remember Connor?" he asked, his face almost savage in its intensity.
"Of course," Dawn replied. "We sorta almost went out for like two minutes."
"And you?" he confirmed, spinning toward Buffy.
"Yes. What's this about?"
It was then that Angel gave a brief synopsis of the events in L.A. over the past year.
"So this Jasmine was planning world domination?" Buffy said thoughtfully.
Angel nodded.
"At the same time that the First was ... planning world domination. Do these guys ever coordinate their schedules?"
It was when Angel reached the part of the story about Connor's melt down, the deal with Wolfram and Hart and the subsequent mind alteration of everyone except Angel that Buffy began to frown.
"You cut a deal with Wolfram and Hart," she said. "And becoming the new CEO of a satanic law firm seemed like a 'good' idea to you?" Her arms were folded and her face set in a disapproving scowl.
"There was no other option." Angel's voice was leaden and his face a smooth, imperturbable mask.
"Compromising with evil is never an option," she stated flatly.
"Right. Like the time you allied with Spike to defeat Angelus? Not an option?" Angel snapped. Buffy stopped dead at the mention of Spike's name.
The mask began to slip and Angel's mouth twisted in bitterness. "You weren't here, Buffy, you don't know what the past year has been like for any of us in L.A. I did what I had to do to save my son." His mouth resolved into a grim line again.
Buffy's expression softened as she glanced over at Dawn. "Okay. Point taken," she conceded. "Family comes first."
She walked over to Angel and looked up at him with serious eyes as she rested a hand on his arm. "Look. I'm really sorry about Connor ... and Cordy and, even if I don't completely agree with it, I totally understand your decision to throw in with Wolfram and Hart."
Angel accepted her apology with a nod.
Dawn watched all this but she couldn't say a word. How could she comment on the ethics of creating a whole new life for someone and changing dozens of peoples' memories when her whole life was a sham? But as she sat there silently listening to Angel and Buffy discuss theories about why the sisters' memories were unaltered, Dawn became suddenly very sure about one thing. She must see Connor again.
"Angel, we should talk about this later," Buffy finally said. "I need to make sure the girls have all been taken care of." She added. "But I'll find out if Xander has true memories and you can check with Faith. Maybe this has something to do with our distance from the source."
Angel agreed and the pair swept out of the office with Dawn trailing behind them.
"You must be Dawn." The mousy woman approached Dawn and spoke in a soft voice with just a hint of Texas twang. "I'm Fred. Pleased to meetcha. If you want to come with me, I'll find something for you to wear." She eyed Dawn's height. "You're a bit taller than me. There are some boxes of Cordelia's clothes. We should go through those and see what we can use for you and the other girls."
A staff of caterers had invaded the lobby and was setting up tables and producing trays and serving dishes of food. The slayers who weren't too damaged swarmed to the fragrant, steaming dishes.
Fred gestured toward the table with a sour smile. "Courtesy of Wolfram and Hart. There have to be some perks for working with an agency of the devil. Come on." She led Dawn upstairs to look for an outfit from the Cordelia Chase collection.
************
Connor was restless. He took another swig of his beer and gazed unseeing across the crowded room while his friends' chatter washed over him. He had nothing to contribute to the conversation. They talked about the same stuff all the time. Their discussions were so redundant it made him want to puke. Surely there must be something more important they should all be doing than standing around Benner's living room getting wasted and wondering which of the girls they might possibly lay by the end of the night.
Through the picture window, he could see the moon shining on the ocean and he suddenly decided things would be better, he'd feel better, if he just went outside for a while. With a muttered, 'I'll be back,' he pushed past his friends, dropped his empty off on the kitchen counter and snagged a fresh bottle from the ice in the sink before heading out into the night.
As he walked from the house down to the beach, Connor wished that Chris was with him. It had been four weeks since he cut her loose, two since she'd left for college, and he still thought of her every day. Sometimes it seemed that it was more the idea of her than her actual presence that he missed but other times, like tonight, it was definitely the feel of her hand in his that he craved. He sighed. Walks on a dark beach at night were meant for couples.
He walked along the edge of the water, removing his shoes so that the surf could lap over his feet. Glancing back at the brightly lit house he had come from, Connor thought maybe he should take his friends' advice and hook up with a random girl from the party. On a hot summer night like this, it beat being alone.
Then, as if conjured by the force of his desire, a female figure appeared ahead of him on the sand. Connor glanced up and there she was, walking the edge of the water, coming from the opposite direction. He grinned and sent up a 'thank you' to God for wishes unexpectedly granted. As she drew nearer, his hopes were confirmed, she was young and beautiful.
"Hey," Connor offered as they came within speaking distance of one another.
"Hello," she responded in almost a whisper. The girl was dressed in a, there was no other word for it, diaphanous, white gown that fluttered around her in the light breeze coming in off the sea. Her blond hair tumbled in a curly cascade down her back. Her feet, as they peeked from under the hem of her old fashioned gown, were bare like his, and her skin was as white and unblemished as a newborn baby. Connor was struck momentarily speechless by her almost unearthly beauty.
"Um, h-hi," he stuttered.
"Hello," she repeated with a teasing smile.
"Nice night. Uh, taking a walk?" he asked, then winced at the extreme lameness of the remark. "Well, duh, of course you're taking a walk. Sorry. I'm just, ah, a little...." He waved the half full bottle of beer.
Her smile widened and she reached out a hand to take the bottle from him. He watched as she put it to her red lips and sipped daintily. She wrinkled her nose at the taste and handed the bottle back.
"So," he cleared his throat and tried to regain some composure, "You live around here?"
"Sometimes," she replied.
"Home from college for the summer?" he guessed.
"Yes," she beamed proudly as if he were a pet dog, which had suddenly learned to talk. "That's right. I'm home from college, visiting my ... parents. And you?" To Connor's surprise, she slipped her hand in his and began to walk along the beach with him.
"Oh, I'm just at a party." He pointed back the way he'd come. "But it got boring."
Her hand was quite cold and Connor wished he could be gallant and offer her his jacket but he wasn't wearing one.
"Well," she said, voice dropping to a seductive purr, "Maybe we can find something to do to make the night more interesting."
Connor swallowed. This was like the ludicrous plot of a porn movie – starring him and a gorgeous chick! Unable to speak again, he simply nodded.
The girl stopped walking and pulled him around to face her. She was quite strong for such a delicate looking little thing. She tilted her pretty face up and Connor instinctively leaned down to kiss her. Her lips were cool and soft underneath his mouth. When she opened her mouth in response he tasted a faint coppery tang, which was odd and sent a pang of memory zinging through him. But before his mind could decode what his senses were trying to remind him of her tongue came out to play and he forgot everything but the sensation of kissing.
After several long, sucking moments, the girl pulled back. "So hot!" she gasped. "So sweet." Her dark eyes seemed to sparkle gold like an animal caught in headlights, as she regarded him thoughtfully. "And such a pretty boy. Perhaps it would be better as a companion...."
"Hm?" Connor was a little too drunk and horny to try to decipher her cryptic remarks. He leaned toward her for another kiss but the girl bypassed his mouth and went for his throat, kissing and nibbling up and down his windpipe. Connor sucked in a breath and held it. His eyes drifted closed at the erotic feel of her mouth moving across his throat.
His arms wrapped around her back and pulled her in tighter. He pressed his already aching groin against her.
She had worked her way over to the side of his neck when he heard a strange sound, amplified by proximity to his ear. It reminded him of the time he'd broken his ankle in soccer practice, a kind of bone grating, tissue squelching sound. His eyes opened and he frowned, at the same moment that the girl's grip on him tightened until her arms around him felt like steel bands and her hands like grappling hooks.
Connor tried to pull away.
"Don't worry, sweet. The pain will be over soon," she murmured and before he could react he felt a sharp pain in his neck as if he'd been cut by several razor blades at once.
Connor cried out and began to struggle in earnest against her supernaturally strong grip. As he felt her begin to suck at the wound she had made, random images flashed through his mind; distorted faces, clashing weapons, screaming victims, the sort of thing that often filled his dreams but never entered his mind during the day.
A burst of adrenaline triggered his fight reflex and he suddenly broke the woman's grip, throwing her away from him with such force that she flew back several yards and plowed into the sand.
Instinctively Connor stepped toward her to see if she was all right. His mother had taught him to never hit a woman. He remembered Mom breaking up a quarrel between him and his younger sister, Kathy, during which he had practically dislocated his sister's arm while yanking her off the living room couch. Mom had scolded him severely, telling him it didn't matter who had called dibs on the piece of furniture, he must never use his superior force against his little sis.
But the woman in white was already back on her feet and flying at him like a cheetah. He barely had time to notice that something was horribly wrong with her face before she hit him and bowled him over. Connor's ethical instincts were superseded by the primal urge to defend himself. He arched up from the sand, shoving his hands against the woman's chest and throwing her off of him again.
Jumping lightly to his feet, he delivered a roundhouse kick to her head. The kick carried him around in a circle but he quickly regained his balance and raised his fists, ready to face her next attack. With a scream of rage, she came at him, shoulder to his solar plexis. She knocked him backward and drove the breath out of him in a whoosh. Connor fell to his knees in the sand, doubled over in pain.
The woman's hand twisted in his hair and she pulled his head back with a jerk, exposing his throat. This time, as she leaned in toward him, Connor got a very clear look at her face. Her brow was ridged all the way down to the nose. Her eyes glittered an incredible gold, and her mouth was opened to reveal white teeth and a vicious pair of fangs where the canines should be. Connor had read "Dracula" and seen enough movies to know a vampire when he saw one, even as his logical mind tried to deny what his eyes were witnessing.
'Cross. Holy water. Garlic. Stake.' His mind searched for a solution. 'Stake!'
He tore his head away from her vicelike grip, leaving a good quantity of hair behind in the process. Rolling to the side, he crab-scuttled away. She approached him in slow motion, a cat now toying with her prey. This gave Connor a window of opportunity to look for something, anything, with a sharp, pointy end.
From the corner of his eye a piece of driftwood caught his attention. It gleamed white in the darkness. Connor grabbed it and jabbed it toward the vampire. She stopped, eyes widening in surprise. "Oh! It wants to play now?"
She kicked out, knocking the wood from Connor's hand as she hit his forearm. But the kick took her off balance and the flowing dress hampered her attempts to regain it. She fell in an ungainly heap.
Connor was beyond thought now. His body operated without instruction, diving for the sharp branch of wood and leaping toward the prone woman. The advantage was his now and he straddled her, pressing down on her shoulder with one hand and drawing his arm back and without hesitation driving the makeshift stake home into the vampire's breast.
Her face registered shock just before she disintegrated into dust, leaving him holding nothing but ash instead of a handful of her gown. Connor sat back on his heels, wide eyed and panting with exertion. He continued to stare at the place where the woman had been, as her ashes blew away and mingled with the sand, then he looked up and down the beach. He wished there had been someone to witness the fight and to confirm that he was not hallucinating, but the seashore was empty.
Connor slowly rose to his feet. He rubbed one hand across his neck and it came away smeared in blood. He looked at the piece of wood still clenched in his fist and had to will his fingers to slowly, stiffly uncurl and drop it.
Looking down the beach again then out at the water then up to the brightly lit houses on the bluff, Connor felt like he was in a little bubble of reality all his own. Everything he had known in his life up to this point felt surreal, like an extended dream. An incomprehensible shift in reality had occurred. He now knew that monsters really did exist and nothing would ever be the same again.
Either that or he would sweep this bizarre incident so deeply into the subchambers of his mind that he would eventually forget that it had ever happened. Yeah, that sounded pretty good.
Connor walked back the way he had come, still hugging the edge of the water. He stopped to pick up his abandoned shoes and then started up the path to the noise and confusion of Benner's party.
To be continued....