Imzadi: Your support during the course of this fic has meant a lot to me and now that it has come to an end I wanted to thank you for your encouragement. It means a lot to me that you wrote the last review with tears in your eyes, I'm happy that you considered it to be so touching. I particularly liked last episode, although I had a hard time trying to make Darla and Lindsey's break-up convincing and not too sappy. On the other hand, I laughed a lot with your suggestions. Who knows what could happen...
Epilogue:
'If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all OK
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken'
- 'Hands', by Jewel -
On her tiptoes, careful not to make the faintest sound, Darla walked down the corridor and came to a halt before the ajar door. With a gentle touch, she pushed it open and peered inside.
The silvery rays of moonlight illuminated the room which clearly belonged to a boy. There were colourful posters hanging from the walls, which glittered platinum; countless comics on the shelves, old action figures, a strange looking baseball bat and a magnificent trunk. In the middle of it all, under a mess of entangled white sheets, lay Connor, his body still and his arms and legs sprawled across the bed. Darla watched intently the slow rising movement of his chest, the musical sound of his soft, regular breathing echoing in her ears. Smiling, she stepped inside and walked towards her child. She looked at him for a moment, contemplating the peaceful expression on his face, the shadow of a smile quirking his lips...
Sleep tight, my dear. Mum's here, and you have nothing to fear.
She bent over him and straightened the sheets, careful not to disturb his sleep. The boy didn't even stir. Darla walked away from him and headed to the window, in order to shut the curtains close; otherwise daybreak would wake him up and her child needed all the rest he could get.
Darla abandoned the room, closing the door behind her, and headed to the stairs that led to the building's roof. Once outside, she walked towards the edge and gazed below, at the twinkling lights of London, which continued as far as her sight could reach, melting with the dark horizon. There were almost no stars here to soothe her soul and the city's air was tainted with smog and other nasty smells characteristic of the metropolis, but there was a cool breeze caressing her skin and a wonderful sight to entertain her eyes. What else could she ask for?
She sat next to the edge, enjoying this small moment of peace and allowing her mind to wander. Her thoughts drifted from the starless sky, and they happened to land on Lindsey.
Connor had asked Spike – when he'd thought she was out of earshot – about him. His precise words were whether she was sad because of Lindsey. Poor Connor. He'd been quite upset at Lindsey's sudden departure to the States, although he'd tried not to show it. He'd quite liked Lindsey, who always had time for him and who had taught him to play the guitar. He just couldn't get why his mother could have had a fight with him.
Darla had tried to explain him that sometimes, even though two people loved each other very much, things just didn't work out. Connor was a perceptive boy and he hadn't bothered her with questions, but she suspected he still did not understand what had happened between them. He was young, after all, and naïve, way too naïve to try to comprehend the complicated ways adults' relationships worked out. Darla feared that Connor would miss Lindsey a lot and she was sorry that bond had to be broken so abruptly.
She missed Lindsey, too. She had just gotten used to his company, his support, his love. It had been so easy for a while, to pretend she was just like any other woman, and love him back. To wait him with dinner ready and Chardonnay as Brahms echoed in the background, and talk about each other's days. It had been so simple, for a while, to be able to show herself just the way she was, without masks, without pretenses. And it had been so warming to be accepted.
But Lindsey hadn't accepted her, not fully, had he? If he had, he wouldn't have asked her to chase an impossible dream, he wouldn't have craved for things she could not give him, no matter how much it pained her to deny them to him. No, if he had really accepted her just the way she was, without false hopes and unreachable uthopies, she wouldn't be standing under a pitch-black sky on her own, but between his arms.
Darla missed Lindsey, and she knew she would miss him for quite a long time until she began to heal, but she did not regret her decision. She knew that what she had with Lindsey couldn't be preserved. They could have lasted one, perhaps two, months more... but the beautiful feeling that united them would have died eventually, killed by Lindsey's absurd jealously of Angel, his unfulfilled dreams of a family and a future together, and Darla's bitterness and impatience at his lack of foresight. It would have been terrible, watching something so precious, so vibrant, to die little by little, with every passing day, until there was nothing left but bitterness and regrets. No, Darla could not let it happen. She could not stand the idea of losing Lindsey's love little by little, like Spike had watched Buffy's love dying away. She could not bear losing Lindsey in pieces; he could not bear losing her at once. He'd called several times to beg, to reason, but Darla had been inflexible. In the end, Lindsey had come to terms with the reality of their situation, he'd packed and marched back to the States. Darla felt relief washing over her and wondered whether that wasn't terribly selfish on her part. She shook her head. Those thoughts never occurred to her didn't happen when she'd been soulless.
Darla gazed at the lights below, which were disappearing one by one as even this city needed its sleep. Her mind drifted and returned to her child, who was safe and sound in his bed, under her watch where no one could hurt him. He wouldn't be for a long time.
Connor had turned eleven. In England, eleven was the age normal children started secondary school. This wouldn't have affected Darla much – but Connor wasn't a normal child. He belonged to the Wizarding world, a world where children didn't go to a regular secondary school in the neighbourhood. Children in the Wizarding world, once they turned eleven, abandoned their homes and left to the ancient castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
If she only thought about distances, which meant nothing when you were a wizard and you could use the Floo Network, it was a small change. After all, Connor lived in the village closest to Hogwarts. But if she considered time, it was a great difference. Connor would spend ten entire months at Hogwarts; if she was lucky, she would have to wait until Christmas to see him again. No longer would be her apartment be filled with his silvery laughter, no longer would they go to the cinema on weekends, no longer would she be woken up early in the morning by the sound of his soft steps in the corridor, not until holidays started. In the meantime, Connor would be away from her. He would be meeting new people, attending difficult lessons and facing many troubles of his own; however, she would not be there to listen to his chatter, she would not be there to lend him a hand with his homework, she would not be there to hug him and comfort him if things weren't going okey. He would be out of her reach and all they would be able to exchange would be words written down in paper. But Darla knew that for a child wasn't enough to get a letter from his mother; he needed her gentle touch, her smiles, the sound of her voice caressing his ears. He needed her, damn it, he was far too young to be taken away from her. Who had been the sadist that had invented boarding school?
If she was honest with herself, though, she would have to admit that Connor didn't seem troubled at all at the prospect of spending many months away from home. After all, Severus would still be around as he was one of the teachers, and he'd been prepared for Hogwarts during most of his childhood. Actually, Connor was absolutely thrilled at the idea of going to Hogwarts at last. He'd been chattering non-stop about his future lessons, the people he expected to meet, Quidditch matches, House Cups and everything that was related to his new school. Darla doubted he would miss her half she would miss him.
It was only natural, she guessed, that parents felt the absence of their children much more than they did once they had started to grow up and become independant. She knew that would happen to Connor, too; as soon as he started to mature, until there would be a time he would no longer need her at all. There would be a time when he would become a full-grown man.
It was hard to believe, though. She still remembered as if it were yesterday how tiny and fragile her baby boy had looked in her arms, when Angel had let her carry him for the first and only time. She still remembered what he'd looked like when she'd seen him for the first time through the snow-flickered window glass on Christmas, so many years ago. She still remembered how soft his voice had been the first time he'd seen her and asked whether she was a dryad. Darla smiled at the memory. Her sweet, charming boy.
He had been far too quiet and grave for a child his age, she remembered. He had loosen up after a while until soon he'd resembled a real child and not a miniature version of a cynical middle-aged man. He had laughed and played and chattered, his eyes had turned round as saucers at Disney's movies, he had seeked her comfort when he had a problem; he had fallen asleep on her lap as she stroked his hair... She had watched him as his voice became firmer and steadier, as he grew taller and wiser, as he abandoned his childish games and started to look the world around him with new eyes. He had become stronger, too, and sharper, as he had developed and matured in every way a child should. Darla had watched as his baby slowly turned into a young adolescent and soon, before she realised it, he would become a young man.
Even when it was still a little early to say, Darla thought she could already see Connor as a man. He would be kind yet firm, fair and open-minded, ready to listen to other people's views before judging them. He would be brave like his father, with his same willingness to help others; and he would have his mother's sharpness and perhaps her slightly twisted humour sense. He would inherit the best from his parents, but he would also have many virtues his father and mother had never known. She knew Connor would make her proud, so even though it broke her heart, she promised herself that the following morning, when Connor said goodbye and departed to Hogwarts, she would smile and put on a brave face. It was the least she could do for such an amazing child.
A distant clattering sound was heard. Darla jumped to her feet at once, bent and peered over the edge at the alley below. She scrutinized the dark, searching for signs of anything suspicious going on, but her eyes found nothing more dangerous than a stray cat playing with a tin can. She shook her head and sat again.
Her eyes contemplated London's dark streets, which ran through the city like open veins, stretching to the horizon. The city looked very different from the last time she had visited it before Angel dusted her, she came back and got a soul along with a child. In that time, London had been nothing but a buffet to her, a place to satisfy her worst instincts, always ready to feed her lips with blood and her body with lust. Now, though, it had become a both safe and dangerous place. Safe, as it was home, dangerous when she thought of all the monsters lurking in the shadows, ready to attack Connor and those she held dear.
Or perhaps it wasn't London what had changed, but herself. Darla no longer recognized herself in the scared, sceptical girl whose name she could not even remember, the beaten up girl who had known nothing good or pure in her whole life and had been finally put out of her misery by the Master.
Darla no longer saw herself in the vile creature that had terrorized the five continents, wreaking havoc and slaughtering hundreds of innocents as she passed.
Darla could no longer what it felt like to be a scared, weak human at Wolfram and Hart's mercy, a mere puppet who never knew who was pulling her strings. She no longer felt the desperation of that lonely, unbalanced woman who had asked Angel to kill her just to end with her pain. She no longer knew what it felt like to have a heart beating in your chest, all the time marking the seconds of fragile life you had already lost.
Darla no longer was the renewed vampire that had painted Los Angeles' streets red with Drusilla's help, she no longer had delusions of power beyond human comprehension, she no longer craved for it. Neither Darla was the pregnant demon who had tried to get rid of that unnatural, unexpected life growing inside her.
Darla had changed. In every way possible, she had changed. She had overcome her inner demons, she had learnt to love and care for others, she had risked her life for the greater good. She knew the fear, not for herself but for others; she knew the bitter grief when somebody esteemed was lost to the cause; the sense of failure when she couldn't save an innocent life; the fury at the unfair way this world seemed to work. But she had also known the bliss of loving and being loved back, of laughing freely, she knew the warmth of an embrace, the comfort of a friend, the pride of doing what was right. And that was much more than she had ever had before.
Darla knew that only a part of that incommensurable change was a consequence of her soul. Yes, she was aware that without her soul she wouldn't have been able to feel guilt and shame over her past sins, she wouldn't have felt the desire to make things right. She knew she wouldn't have, without her soul, had the ability to feel and love. But she also knew that without Connor she would have never wished to seek for a soul. She knew that, without Spike's not-always-so-patient guide she wouldn't have been able to walk through the shadows that sombered her mind and heart. She knew that, without friends like Faith, she would have never known what companionship was about. Without the aid of people like Wesley or Giles she would have never been able to stand up so many times. She knew that, without the chances to do good both Willow and Buffy had given her, she wouldn't have joined the good fight. But, above all that, she knew that without Angel's mercy she would have never been standing where she was right now.
She smiled sadly at the memory. Angel had been the first one who had ever bothered to lend her a hand. He had been the only one willing to risk his very own life to give her a chance, chance she did not deserve. His efforts to save her had been vain, but he had taught Darla the value of mercy and compassion; he had taught her that there were people capable of giving up everything just to help somebody else. And he had given her the greatest gift of all: Connor.
The world had lost one of its best and worthiest champions the night Angel had been staked. He had saved so many people, he had tried so hard to make things right... in the end, it hadn't even mattered. He had been dusted like the rest, and shadows had fallen upon his city. He no longer was there to protect the innocent, to help the helpless as he once had.
Or perhaps not all his efforts had been wasted. Because those who remembered him, those he had helped – Faith, Fred, Gunn and Wesley, herself and so many others – were now fighting his fight, just where he had left it. They might not have his greatness, but they were all doing their best to live up to his memory, to pay back all he had done for them.
Darla herself knew she was no angel. She was fully aware that she didn not share Angel's strength, both physical and moral; that she hadn't his kindness or his knack for saving lost souls. She wasn't guilt ridden like he had been, neither did she believe there was a shinning prize in the form of a Shanshu prophecy waiting for her if she was a good girl and ate all her vegetables.
The evil in this world was much greater than her. Every time she won a battle, a new form of evil raised to endanger all she held dear. For every person she saved, there were many others that were slaughtered. For every little thing she did right, a thousand mistakes haunted her sleeping hours.
However, as flawed and unworthy as she could be, she was now standing on her own feet. She was now ready to face whatever the world decided to throw at her. She might not be the Golden Slayer, she might not be able to fill Angel's shoes, but she was right here, right now, willing to do what needed to be done. She might be small, but she wouldn't be overstepped. She might look fragile, but looks could be deceiving. She might be no saint, but she was fighting the good fight with all her strength. She wouldn't let her arms down. She wouldn't stop fighting.
Because many people had helped her to get here. And she would not let them down. She would not fail them. She would not disappoint her friends, she would not stop protecting Connor.
And she would not let Angel's sacrifice to be in vain.
-
Veiled by the shadows, invisible even to a vampire's superb nightsight, someone was watching the blonde vampire on the roof. It was quite a peculiar personage, with his strange hat and his old-fashioned clothes, but his eyes showed the wisdom of many centuries. He had lived and seen much and the lessons learnt had remained with him.
He had learnt much in these few last years. He had been sent to seek for that pitiful excuse of a vampire called Angel, who hid in smelly sewers and lived off rats. It was a pathetic creature, escaping from both humans and demons alike, haunted by the guilt of all the evil done but unable to make up for any of it. When he'd been told that this vampire would become one of the greatest champions of humankind, he had snorted.
He had been able to put Angel in the right path, though, and soon he had to eat his own words, because Angel turned out to be much more than he had ever imagined. He faltered many times – Alcathla was only an example, like the lawyers of Wolfram and Hart murdered at his ex's hands – but all in all, he became a worthy Champion of the helpless. He had lost count of how many had been saved, directly or not, by the souled vampire's will.
He had been led to believe that Angel would have a chance to make up for all the harm done. After all, The Powers That Be had made him return the vampire from the hell the Slayer had sent him to, and hadn't they promised to award him with the promise of making him human again?
However, one simple night, one mere second had been enough to bring the great Champion down. In one instant, all his and Angel's hard work had vanished into thin air when the shadow of death swept over the vampire, taking him away from this world.
He, who wasn't one to show human emotions as he was no human, had felt furious. After all that had taken to set Angel in the right path, after all Angel had gone through, proving once and again that he was worthy, The Powers That Be allowed a faceless human to dust him. And, this time, he hadn't been allowed to bring him back.
Instead, The Powers had the funny idea of stepping in to save Darla. Darla, who had never done anything for somebody else than herself; who had never felt true guilt or tried to make up for all she had done; who wasn't strong enough to stand on her own. Why had They wanted her to live, why had They chose her over Angel? What were they playing at? Darla couldn't help herself, let alone save other people. Which chance would humankind stand with Angel gone?
However, once again he had to eat his words. Darla had not only managed to save herself, but she had proved more than once that she was worthy of the task The Powers had placed on her shoulders. She was strong and brave, not in the reckless way Angel had been, but brave nevertheless. She was fair and although it was hard for her to be kind, she was ready to lend a hand. She didn't enjoy fighting, but she put aside her fears and did what needed to be done. She had her flaws, but no Champion in human history had been perfect.
Because that was what the blonde vampiress had become and Whistler wasn't sorry to admit he had been wrong about her. He wasn't sorry to admit that he had judged The Powers' decision lightly.
It was true that They had deprived this world of a great Champion. It was true that Angel would be solely missed.
But now Whistler knew, as he saw the petite, powerful woman gazing into the night, that The Powers That Be might have taken away one Champion, only to put another Champion, as worthy as the last one, in his place.
PLEASE, DON'T SKIP THIS PART!
Good. Now that we have made that point fully clear, there are a few things I want to say:
First of all, thanks to all who reviewed and/or read this fic. I had very little hope than anybody would be interested in this but thankfully you proved me wrong.
Secondly, although it saddens me to say this is the end of 'Ain't so far down', this is not the end of Darla's and Connor's tale. As you probably know, there's a companion fic, 'Two Single Parents', that tells things from Connor's and Snapes POV. 'Ain't so far down' ends where '2 single parents's chapter 18 starts, so that would be a continuation on its own. Also, I'm planning to write a fic for each year harry spends at Hogwarts, but told from Connor's, Darla's, Spike's, Snape's and Sirius' POV. So stay tuned, that there is much to come!
If you want me to notify you when I update this series, leave your e-mail address. See you!