Asphyxia

The sun was like rain that day – huge streams of golden light raining down on his boy, causing Angel to notice for the first time the natural blond highlights in Connor's hair. He watched behind glass, in the safety of the shadows, as his listless son sat in the garden, fussing with a twig, crumpling a few leaves. Picking a flower.

Connor looked pale.

And sad.

And so, so small.

The vampire longed to join his offspring; to step outside and not burn to ash, to grant his child some sense of normalcy. Connor needed new shoes – the ones he had were falling apart. Detached soles, and torn fabric. They were dirty, too. Always tracked dirt in the house. Mud and blood and dirt – filth.

Angel wished he could do something with his son. Something real. Like take him to a ballgame, or teach him how to shave. It was a shame that Connor was past that age.

They never did anything together other than fight and sleep and cry.

"How's your dad?"

"Fine."

"Done anything fun lately?"

"I met a man who lived in a cardboard box."

Dr. Rob looked vaguely startled at this declaration, and raised his eyebrows at the boy who sat so stiffly in front of him, that sullen glare never leaving those blue eyes – not for a second.

"Really? What was his name?"

"Don't know."

"What did you think about this man?"

"He was annoying." Connor crossed his arms as he said this, relaxed into a slump on the couch, and waited for the next inane question to drop from the demon's tongue.

"Why did you think he was annoying?"

"He asked me a lot of personal questions that I didn't feel like answering."

Dr. Rob smiled tiredly at this and said, "Did you think anything else about him?"

"He should have a job. So then he wouldn't have to sleep on a cardboard box."

"Easier said than done," the shrink remarked. "20 of homeless people are employed. They just don't get enough money to live comfortably in this world."

Connor shrugged. "I don't think he had a job. I don't think he could get a job smelling as bad as he does."

Dr. Rob chuckled. "Sometimes that does make it tough. How did he make you feel?"

Connor shrugged.

"Did his unfortunate situation make you feel sad?" Dr. Rob tried again.

"No," Connor lied. "He has a box."

Dr. Rob paused, searching the boy's face for a moment, before nodding and asking, "And you think a box is enough to make him happy?"

"He laughed like he was happy," Connor mused, the memory of the manic laughter ringing in his ears.

"I'm sure he did. What did your dad think about your new friend?"

"He's not my friend," Connor snapped. "He's an old man who lives on a box."

"Well, what did your dad think about the old man who lives on a box?"

Connor shrugged. "He wasn't there."

"He wasn't?"

Connor shook his head.

"Were you supposed to be there?"

Connor gritted his teeth. "I can do what I want."

"I'm sure you can. Have you and your dad been getting along?"

"I guess. He buys me things."

"Things?"

"Clothes and books and ice cream," Connor clarified.

"And you appreciate this?"

Connor shrugged. "I like the ice cream. And he says the clothes are necessary."

"What about the books?"

"He won't buy me anything I want to read."

"What do you want to read?"

"American Psycho."

"And what did he buy you?"

Connor sighed. "Dubliners."

"Do you and your dad do anything else together?"

The boy shrugged again. "He watches me eat. He gets angry when I don't."

"Would you eat if he didn't watch you?"

"Maybe. He watches me sleep, too."

Dr. Rob paused. "Anything else?"

"We patrol sometimes."

"Patrol?"

"For vampires and demons and things."

"Is that fun?"

Connor paused and cocked his head to the side in contemplation. "I guess. He kills everything that tries to touch me."

"You need to teach your son some manners."

Angel's head snapped up from an outdated issue of Cosmo. He looked at the strict old woman with an expression of surprise, which quickly turned into a look of indignance.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"He puts his feet on the table. There's nothing worse than a boy who puts his feet on the table."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "I'd say there's a lot of things worse than a boy who puts his feet on the table."

"It is not polite." She motioned with a sandpaper hand to the dirt Connor's shoes had left on the table, the streaks of filth which had resulted from how he carelessly dragged them off. "Other people use this table."

"Well, I apologize," said Angel, a sour tinge to his tone. "I'll try to prevent it in the future."

Connor came out then, a sulky look pasted on his face as he approached his father.

"Can we go now?"

"Hey, pal," Angel smiled, ignoring his son's demand. "How was your appointment?"

"It sucked," Connor replied, tapping his foot impatiently. "Let's go."

Angel shifted uncomfortably, feeling just a bit too aware of how the old woman's smug look was trained right on him.

"Okay." He stood up and slung an arm over his son's shoulder, which was shrugged off after a moment. "Anything you want to do?"

"I want to go home."

"Oh…okay. What do you want to do at home?"

"Take a shower."

"You just took a shower," Angel reminded him, inhaling the floral scent of his son's clean hair as the two walked towards the car.

"Well, I'm taking another," Connor informed his father, jumping into the passenger seat of the convertible.

"Do you mind if I buy you new shoes first?"

"Yes, I do mind. There's nothing wrong with the ones I'm wearing."

"Connor…they're coming apart. And they're really filthy," Angel pointed out.

"Well, can't we get them another time?"

"I think it would be best if we got them now."

Connor graced his father with a melodramatic sigh and kicked at the dashboard. "Why now? Why not tomorrow?"

"Time is of the essence," Angel replied.

"Dad, we don't do ANYTHING. How can time possibly be of the essence?"

Angel's eyes flickered from the road to his now dirty dashboard and he panicked for a moment, a stream of clarity blinding him, sinking him, drowning him – he was a wreck as a champion and a failure as a father. Connor wore dirty shoes and a sad face, and everywhere he walked, he left it apparent until someone came around to clean his tracks.

"Feet off the dashboard."

"What?"

"Now."

Connor slowly returned his feet to the floor of the car and turned untrusting eyes to the vampire.

"Why?" he asked softly, as his father parked the car.

"Your shoes are dirty and I love my car."

Connor stilled, his mind absorbing the words like his back would absorb a blade. Angel took note of the change in expression and touched his son's shoulder.

"That's why you get new shoes."

"Oh." Connor looked out the window. "Can I have that book I wanted?"

"Have you finished Dubliners?"

"No. Dubliners is boring."

"Well, American Psycho is nauseating. I don't want you reading it until you're forty. And Dubliners isn't boring. It's a classic."

"Just because you're Irish-"

"Dubliners is infamously anti-Irish, so don't even try using that against me."

"Just because you hate Ireland-"

"Can't use that one, either. I gave you an Irish name."

Connor sighed as his father parked the car in the mall parking lot. "How long is this going to take?"

"No more than 30 minutes."

"Can we go home after that?"

"I was thinking we could go out for dinner."

"I don't want to go out for dinner."

"Too bad."

Connor groaned. "Dad, I really just want to be alone for a little while."

Angel decided it was best to go temporarily deaf at that moment. Connor was small and sad and pale and Angel needed to do more with his son - somethingother than fight and sleep and cry.