CHAPTER FIVE

I You with the sad eyes
don't be discouraged
oh I realize
it's hard to take courage
in a world full of people
you can lose sight of it all
and the darkness inside you
can make you feel so small

b True Colors - Cyndi Lauper /b /I

Connor hoped to sneak out of the house before anyone was awake. He knew he had freaked everyone out and hated it. He should have just lied and said he'd seen the damn Soul Eater. If he had been certain that's what it was, he would have. As it was, he wasn't quite sure that he trusted his nose when it came to the identity of the attacker. He did, however, trust it to tell him that at least one other person in the house was awake. The smell of eggs and garlic wafted through the air. He followed the wonderful aroma to the kitchen in spite of himself. So much for not meeting anyone.

Concetta puttered around the kitchen as she prepared a large repast for what appeared to be a still sleeping household. Connor's stomach rumbled loudly. The savory scents made him ravenous. Concetta, unable to miss the gustatory longings his stomach was broadcasting, looked up at him, smiling softly.

"I know it's a cliché, but when I get upset I cook," she shrugged.

He couldn't really imagine her eating. Concetta weighed next to nothing, having been on course to being a prima danseur before being Called. Of course, everyone assumed he didn't eat and could be blown away in a slight breeze. "Smells yummy."

She gestured to the table. "Sit. Eat."

"I have to get to class," he said, shaking his head.

She glanced up at the clock. "You have plenty of time. Sit."

Connor knew better than to resist an Italian armed with food. He would lose the battle, so he sat and she put a huge plate of frittata in front of him. She took a considerably smaller portion for herself. She watched him intently, and he knew she was waiting for him to say something, anything but probably preferably nothing about Alcina's death.

"Delicious," he said with complete honesty after his teeth dug into the thick sea scallops that had been mixed into the rich egg mixture along with the garlic, cheese and butter. He eyed the coffee machine. "I'll have to make myself a cappuccino before I jet out of here."

She pounced on the machine. "Eat. I'll make it."

"Concetta, you don't have to wait on me," he protested then shoveled in a mouthful of frittata.

"I'm nervous just sitting around." Her hands shook a little as she started frothing his milk. The rest of the espresso and fixings were ready and waiting. She must have been expecting him or someone to join her soon. "I've never seen anyone die before."

Connor got up and hugged her. She appeared to need it. She was too young for this, something he had never felt for himself. He had always been old. "I wish I could tell you it'll never happen again."

She embraced him back. "I know it's something I'll have to get used to but it just...it took me by surprise."

"Death usually does." He gave her an extra squeeze. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You can sit and eat the breakfast I cooked way too much of," she said, grinning.

"I can do that."

Connor made Concetta happy and ate well, then made a promise to dance with her later. Concetta had to practice for one last performance. She knew her career was dead but she wasn't quite ready to let go. Connor didn't know how much Angel had helped to tailor his new memories but he didn't doubt that remembering being in ballet classes since he was five was somehow influenced by his dad. He had partnered Concetta ever since meeting her and Buffy. He was grateful for the implanted knowledge because he sure as hell knew Steven Holtz never had been to a dance, and Connor No Last Name was equally clueless. Connor Reilly understood girls liked men who danced, and he did it well.

He had eaten too much to be anything but sleepy in class. Ms. Ambrosetti sparked some interest in him, not for Renaissance-era Italy, but for her glorious breasts hugged by the red silk of her shirt. As much as he wanted Buffy, Connor couldn't help the fantasies he had about Ms. Ambrosetti.

For Ms. Ambrosetti's part, she was interested in Giles. Connor couldn't remember the off-hand remark he had made about knowing Rupert Giles or why it had come up but Ms. Ambrosetti knew his work in the British Museum and wanted to meet Giles. At the time, Connor had no idea he was playing matchmaker but he liked doing it. For some reason, it made Willow and Buffy nuts but that just served to make him feel more like part of the group.

As Ms. Ambrosetti leaned on the desk, gesturing at the class to make a point - Connor has lost track of which one it was since all his blood was somewhere far south of his brain - he tried not to look at the healthy expanse of olive skin peeking through the V of her shirt. At least it wasn't high school where he'd have to fake not knowing an answer just so he wouldn't be sent to demonstrate at the board, something he'd inevitably be asked to do the moment he'd get the king of boners. What a joke, his mind snarled. You were never in high school. You spent those years half-afraid of what your body was doing and understanding none of it. He winced and kicked his inner voice. Still, he had both sets of memories and it was dicey as to which his brain would choose to access at any given moment, and now it wasn't accessing a damn thing beyond the urgent below-the-belt needs.

Between sleepiness and horniness, Connor missed most of the lecture. After moaning a little with his classmates over the big paper they'd been assigned, he went to Ms. Ambrosetti's office to pass on a message from Giles.

He didn't really want to go back home, such as it was. Connor wanted to hide and it wasn't just poor Alcina's death making him feel that way because, God help them both, he didn't know her well enough to really feel her loss. He didn't want to return home because he was humiliated, and he knew it was ridiculous. Buffy, Concetta, and Kennedy were Slayers. Willow and Giles were mages. It wasn't like any of them were normal, except maybe Andrew. Then again none of them were demons or whatever the hell he was. Connor wished he knew and Angel's spell hadn't changed that. What he was deep at his core was a mystery and it disturbed him.

On the other hand, he had no desire to go back to the 'coffin.' The ancient dorm felt oppressive and ugly. He wanted mostly to just go into the city and lose himself for a while. Of course there was that bit of wisdom that said wherever you go, there you are. He couldn't escape being who he was. He would always be the son of two demons, and even if he went to Angel and begged his father to arrange for his mind to be scrubbed clean again, the young man knew it was unfair to himself, to everyone. Something would come along and spoil it. What he should do was call Angel and tell his father that he had run into Willow again, and someone really should put her memory back to rights; Faith, too, where ever she was.

But today, sexual stimulation aside, he was feeling very dark blue. The darkness in him was dragging him under, making him feel small, making him dangerous. He had to tamp his demon back down. That was easy enough to do. He knew restraint but that aside he still wanted to just go home, and toss on Evanescence or Staind and whip himself into a good brood. He wanted Buffy to just wrap him up in her arms and hold him until his darkness passed, but she had bigger concerns with Alcina's death. Sadly for him, he knew he'd be just as happy being held by Concetta or Willow. On an ordinary day, he wouldn't mind being held by any or all of them as a prelude to sweaty fun but today his libido had taken a dive once class let out and he was alone with his thoughts. Inside his head could be a scary place to be.

Connor shut off his chattering brain, parked his motorcycle and started to walk. Walking made him feel better, it took him back to a simpler time. Of course his simpler time was life in hell but damn if he hadn't felt at home there. He was still pushing and pulling at this world, trying to find his place, failing miserably. There were bizarre times, when his soul felt soggy, bleeding from a thousand rents, that he just wished he could make the rip between Earth and Quor-Toth in the reverse and go home.

His feet took him to the Castel Sant'Angelo. Connor glanced at the marble angels that looked down at him as he walked to the strange, round mausoleum. In Rome, one got used to being stared at by cold marble eyes. Statues were everywhere. He studied the serene stone faces and wondered how the hell Angel had gotten his name because surely neither Angel nor Angelus was his father's real name. It had to be some sick vampire joke, he decided. So, what was Angel's real name? Something Irish, probably given his father's reaction when he said his name was Steven.

Connor just kept walking, heading into the mausoleum, wishing Ms. Ambrosetti's class had more to do with ancient Rome. That would have been more interesting than Renaissance up to Victorian times. He had done his own homework on places he had seen or wanted to see, like the Castel. Built as a mausoleum for Emperor Hadrian, it gave Connor something to talk to Giles and Willow about. Giles told him this was the structure from which Puccini's Tosca had tossed herself. So, Connor had listened to the cd much to Buffy's displeasure. A connoisseur of classical and operatic music she was not.

He poked around the place, lingering in the I Hall of Apollo /I studying the frescos to that god. Would Angel like something like this? Connor thought maybe he would. Holtz might even have liked it once upon a time before his hatred ate him like a cancer. Was history something Angel liked? What did Connor have in common with his real father? Maybe once he was done with classes in Italy he should try to find that out. The only problem was, he didn't know if he was ready to have Angel back in his life. He didn't know if he could put himself through it all again, and he suspected Angel felt the same way. Even as Connor had been recuperating in the hospital after the averted apocalypse, Angel was jumpy around him. Maybe he was better off just fading into the woodwork, disappearing. Forget Angel, forget Buffy and Faith and all the Slayers, forget the easy camaraderie he felt with Giles, and just pretend he was nothing but a college kid. Except he knew it wouldn't work.

And he had been all over this ground before. There was no sense running in place. He might as well go home and practice with Concetta. On the way back to his bike, he couldn't resist a vendor selling mostaccioli. The buttery cookies, rich with honey, filled his mouth with the strong, cool taste of anise, and he stuffed himself greedily with them, saving back just a few to give to Buffy. She wasn't too experimental with food, as he was finding out, but maybe she'd like the decidedly un-American-styled cookie.

This was more like it, Connor thought. This was the reason he could never go back to being just plain Connor Reilly, big brother to bratty little Tierney, who at fourteen was making him nuts. When night fell, he felt alive. When he could go out and fight and kill, he felt whole, purposeful, which even a beginning psych major like himself should find both telling and disturbing. He knew he had shared this with Faith that time they'd gone out looking for Angelus, and he knew she was a killer. That worried him more. Buffy looked more tired than excited to be out here fighting the good fight, but only until pushed to the wall. Then she came alive, whether she liked to admit it or not. He saw the flicker in her eye, the excitement.

She, Kennedy, and Willow were hunting with him in the area the soul eater had last been seen while Concetta, Giles and Andrew had gone to question the priest who had lost a few parishioners to the soul eater. The night was still young and not much was happening. Kennedy was bored, and being loud about it, while Willow was just as interested in seeing the sights at night as she was in anything else. Connor was busy trying to break Buffy out of her own little world and knew it would take more than mostaccioli to do it. She hadn't liked the licorice-flavored cookies.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked as she and he went around one of the big churches one way while Kennedy and Willow went the other.

She shrugged. "I guess I just need a vacation, you know?"

"Yeah, I do." Truer words were never spoken.

She hip bumped him. "I think you do. You've had this far away look in your eye all day. You seem so down."

"Sorry. It's just...never mind."

Her fingers brushed his arm lightly. "You can trust me, Connor."

He shook his head. "It's not that. I trust you. I wouldn't have told you what I did last night if I didn't but..."

"But being different can royally suck?" She smiled lopsidedly.

He snorted. "Like you wouldn't believe...or maybe you and the Slayers are the few people who could understand." Connor stared at Buffy, realizing she easily understood what it was like to be different even if she couldn't grasp the extra added bonus of being hell-raised.

"Being built for the hard battle...being made for the kill, yeah, I know and it's ugly sometimes," Buffy replied, slinging her hair back. "Sometimes I really hate it."

He only wished he did. "And if not for people like us..."

"Rome gets swallowed up by vampires." Buffy pointed to the shadow of the church where two vampires were harassing a priest. "I mean, could they be more bold?"

"Or stupid. All that priest needs to do is hit them with that huge cross around his neck," Connor called loudly. Yes, this was exactly why he couldn't run from what he was. He was part of the very thin line of defense from the things that go bump in the night.

The priest actually listened and fried the hand of the vampire holding him. The creature swore in Italian, letting the priest go. The man bolted and just kept on going, abandoning his church in lieu of saving his life. Connor and Buffy gave the vampire and his companion something more to swear about. The two vampires swarmed up the church and started cutting over the high, sharply slanting, slick slate roof. Connor went up easily. Buffy followed slightly more slowly. He gave her a hand up, figuring in Sunnydale, too near to earthquake central, she wasn't used to scaling tall buildings.

She caught the female vampire easily and the fight was on. Connor ignored it, knowing Buffy in no way needed his help for one vampire. He lunged at the male vampire, who moved faster than Connor anticipated. They ended up a tangle of limbs and started skidding down the church's roof. The vampire kicked free and started climbing back up, to rescue his girl, Connor suspected. He was actually surprised by that. He figured vampires were more every man for himself types.

The male vampire arrived way too late. Buffy whirled through the woman's dust and nearly lost her footing on the old slate. Connor made a grab for the remaining vampire, bringing the stake around. The vampire tossed him and Connor tossed the stake. The vampire went up in a cloud and Connor tucked in for a back flip and landed one foot on either side of the church's huge cross, the top of the stone structure brushing just under his groin.

"That was cool," Buffy said, appreciating the acrobatic display.

He steadied himself, grinning like a fool. "Almost turned myself into a castrato."

She beamed. "We couldn't have that."

Connor hoped what she meant by that was she had some interest in him retaining all his most important parts. Connor heard a noise and glanced down from his perch. "Oh shit!"

"What?" Buffy was instantly all business again.

Connor flung a hand out. "To the west of the church, the soul eater and Willow and Kennedy. Willow!" he bellowed. "Move now!"

The witch dived through a church doorway as the demon homed in on her. Kennedy planted a crossbow bolt in the soul eater's back but didn't even so much as slow it down. It turned toward her, and Willow stepped back out of her shelter, chanting. Connor swore he could feel the magic energy whipping around them, heeding her call.

"We have to get down there," Buffy said, cautiously picking her way down the roof.

Kennedy took another shot but the soul eater closed the distance between them in a blink of an eye. She tried a spin kick and followed it up with a few quick jabs.

"Kennedy, no!" Connor yelled. "Don't engage it hand to hand!"

Connor leapt straight from his perch, his strong legs propelling him away from the roof into free fall. Even as the night air streamed past him as his righting mechanisms kicked in like a cat's so he'd land in something other than a splat, he saw the demon put a hand on Kennedy's chest. Willow's concentration broke and she screamed her lover's name. Buffy kicked off the lower lip of the roof but both he and she hit ground far too late.

Connor had his sword out, scything it. The soul eater's head came off with one clean stroke, even as Buffy's sword almost kissed Connor's side as she thrust it into the demon's chest. Willow shoved past them.

"We can't be too late," she was muttering as she went to her knees.

Connor said nothing, knowing they had been. He had seen the last of the light leaving Kennedy before he struck. Willow tried to revive Kennedy. Buffy helped with the CPR. Connor couldn't help them with it, and he knew it was a lost cause. He went and gathered the demon's head then called Giles.

"Giles...yeah, the soul eater's dead but we lost Kennedy. Buffy and Willow are trying but...I don't think...I saw it finish its work," he said, groping blindly for words. "What? You spotted one, too? Damn. No, I'll tell her later." Connor rang off and called for an ambulance. He put the head next to the women then grabbed the body. That he hid in the nearest church yard mausoleum that he could break the lock on.

Willow was sobbing and Buffy cradling her by the time he finished with disposal duty. Buffy looked up at him. "Why did you save the head?"

"I'm going to put it somewhere else. The one I fought...we're the ones who dug the damn thing up in the first place. It had been in the ground for a very long time, and it came out alive. I'm not sure what will happen if I put the head near the body. It might reattach and come back to life. I've known demons like that. I'll put the head in a different spot. I've told Giles and called for an ambulance," he said very matter of factly, feeling a creeping numbness growing in him, and seeing it in Buffy's eyes as well.

"What did Giles tell you? I heard you swear."

"There're more of them. He and Concetta saw another one but lost it. It almost got Andrew." Connor brushed his hand over Willow's back. "I'm so sorry, Willow. I should have been faster."

She looked up at him, tears staining her cheeks. Her fingers brushed his. "You tried. Can't fall faster than gravity."

He didn't say anything. Connor just scooped up the head and went to find it a resting spot.

Connor lifted his head off the pillow, hearing a faint knock on his door. It had been a long night with Kennedy's death following so closely on the heels of Alcina's and even more so because of her involvement with Willow. He had considered briefly going back to his dorm room and giving them all space since they were pretty much family and he was an outsider. In the end, Buffy made the decision for him, relying on him to take Giles and Concetta back to where he had interred the soul eater so they could get a good look at it. Giles took notes and a few samples.

When they got back, Buffy had called in someone named Xander and her sister, Dawn. She called Faith, too. Andrew was busy getting rooms ready for them for whenever their planes arrived tomorrow. Willow had sunk into a numb silence, and, after conferring a long time with Giles, she had gone to sleep. During their trip back to the church, Giles had told Connor that Willow's last lover had been murdered as well, and that Willow's reaction had been even worse than could have been expected. He understood that, wondering briefly if he could have killed Jasmine had Cordy not been in a coma; would he have been moved to force his father to kill him with the grand play at the mall if his love hadn't been shredded? He knew squat about comforting people but had enough empathy to realize they wanted him to hang around.

Connor stumbled out of bed, managing to find his boxers. He opened the door and wasn't very surprised to see Buffy standing there, looking wrung out. "Buffy, what..."

She pushed past him then shut the door behind her. She clicked the lock. "How many times do we have to live through this?"

"I don't know what to say to make it better," he admitted, not sure if he should touch her or not.

"Don't need you to say anything," she muttered. "Words can't make it better. I need you to..." She went silent, looking away.

He couldn't read her face in the darkened room. Buffy threw her arms around him. He held her tight, thinking that's what she needed from him, closeness, a safe place to be. Her lips met his with a wild hunger that he wasn't expecting. Connor found himself being pushed down on the bed. Buffy threatened to devour him whole. Her strong hands had his boxers down around his ankles in one smooth move. He knew about the psychological drive that kicked in, in the face of death, that need to celebrate life. He had even seen it in action that time with Cordelia, and he had to quash that thought or he'd be useless to Buffy.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, wresting his lips away from hers.

"Even before tonight," she said, huskily.

He didn't argue further and simply gave himself over to her to take what she needed from him.