Author´s Notes: Wow, guys, I can't believe this is it... the final chapter of "Two Single Parents". But don't worry, hopefully it won't be the end of the story... wink
Many thanks, like always, to everyone who read this fic... and especially to Luna Moonlight Fawn and Sparky, who reviewed last chapter.
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Locked Door
What is a secret? According to many dictionaries and to most people's belief, a secret is something that is concealed, hidden. A secret is a piece of knowledge that, for some reason or another, does not go public; on the contrary, there are people that are very keen on keeping it silent. It is a piece of knowledge that must be disguised, camouflaged, that must remain unseen, undercover. The moment a secret is known by a large number of people it loses its clandestine quality to become common knowledge. For those who must keep the secret safe, that moment is their worst nightmare come true.
How do people keep a secret? By being sly, reticent, secretive. By acting surreptitiously, stealthily; by disguising the truth... or telling blatant lies.
And how can a secret be exposed? By many ways. Someone who is supposed to keep his or her mouth shut says more than is convenient; somebody's suspicions are raised; an investigation is started...
Or simply by zapping through TV channels one dull Saturday morning, when all the house is quiet and boring. Simply by hearing what wasn't supposed to be heard, simply by feeling that curiosity has been piqued, simply by paying a little bit of attention.
Admittedly, Connor never thought he would unveil the greatest mystery of his life by watching Discovery Health, though.
One Saturday morning, the boys were bored to death. Darla was, needless to say, sleeping soundly, whereas Sirius had left the house early to keep searching for their future home. The children had tried every more or less silent game they could play without waking Darla up, but soon they had run out of them. Defeated, they finally had resorted to the TV, hoping that they would find something to entertain their dull spirits.
However, that morning the TV was highly uncooperative. There were cartoons, of course, but both Harry and Connor were reaching that age in which the Looney Tunes weren't as funny as they had been just a few months back. Besides, they had already watched all the episodes, and there was a limited number of times you could laugh of the same old joke.
The other channels weren't any better. Evidently, whomever came up with the TV timetable considered that nobody in his right mind would watch TV at such an early time on a Saturday, so there was no programme worthy watching. Fed up, Connor tossed the remote control to Harry.
'Do with it whatever you want.'
Harry began zapping but nothing remotely decent was on. He reached the documentary channels, which he hastened to change.
'Today we will talk about a most uncommon disease, which is known as XP but it is indeed called...'
Connor snatched the control from his hand so fast that Harry didn't have time to flinch.
'Let's leave this on.'
'But, Connor, this is Discovery Health...'
Connor paid him no attention: he was listening, transfixed, to what a bald man in a white robe was saying about an illness Harry hadn't heard about in his entire life. This piqued his curiosity, making him listen to the doctor more attentively. Soon he began to suspect why Connor could feel so interested on what the man had to say.
---
'I don't get it.'
The sound of Connor's footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he paced around the room. Harry's gaze followed his friend's movements until he became dizzy and had to look elsewhere.
'Let's recap,' he suggested. 'Your mum told you she got this illness called XP or something, right?' Connor, without interrupting his pacing, nodded. 'But she shows none of the symptoms she should, does she?'
Connor came to a halt. 'Exactly! How can she have the same sickness that those people and share none of their symptoms?'
'But she does share at least one symptom,' Harry interjected. 'She's sun-allergic.'
Connor snorted.
'Yeah, and what about all the other symptoms? The terrible eyesight, the skin-related problems, all the visits they had to make to the hospital...? You heard what that doctor said. No one with XP can lead a fully normal life.' He resumed his pacing. As Connor's bed, where Harry was sitting, was in the middle of the room, the boy had a hard time following his friend's movements without getting a headache.
'She's got amazing eyesight. She can even read in the dark,' Connor went on. 'She's never sick, not even a headache. She doesn't feel weak, either. Merlin, sometimes I think she's stronger than Sirius.'
Connor smiled sardonically. Harry had to admit that he could possibly be right. Just the other day Darla had lifted a trunk as if it had been weightless, whereas Sirius could hardly move it.
'I think she's never been to a hospital, and people with XP have to go to the doctor like, all the time!'
Harry shrugged. 'Perhaps she goes to the doctor when you aren't visiting her. After all, you aren't here all the time.'
Connor shook his head. 'I've spent an entire month here at a time. She should have gone to the doctor sometime. Why would she keep it from me? It's not like I didn't know she's sick, she told me herself.'
Harry bit his lower lip, confused.
'Dunno. She might not want to worry you.'
In spite of his own words, Harry himself was starting to feel some doubts. Connor was right: Darla showed none of the supposed symptoms. She didn't come across as somebody who suffered from an uncommon and dangerous disease. She didn't look sick at all.
Connor came to a halt, his brow furrowed. Harry watched him. His friend seemed to be making up his mind about something. He waited.
'There's something weird going on here...' Connor whispered, absent-midedly. Suddenly, he looked up and his eyes locked with Harry's. 'Are you up to find out what it is?'
-
The boys were unusually quiet that day, but the adults were too engrossed in their own business to notice. Sirius had finally found what seemed like a suitable house for him and Harry, in addition to an interesting job offer. Finally things appeared to be taking a straight course and his good mood wasn't clouded by the little enthusiasm Harry managed to show at the prospect of moving yet again. Darla, on the other hand, had her mind filled with facts and figures of the hotel where she worked and the consequences raised after the fire. Angel used to say that lawyers were the most bloodsucking creatures on earth, surpassing vampires, but Darla was certain he had never met the guys that worked for the hotel's insurance company. The nerve of them to assume it was the hotel's fault for allowing clients to smoke in their rooms!
Harry didn't like the idea of moving that much. He felt rather comfortable where he was with Darla, who acted like the mother he'd never had, and Connor, the first friend he'd had in a long time. Of course he said none of this to Sirius, who looked very impatient to get a house of their own, this time without Muggle limitations.
Apart from this, Harry could not pay proper attention to Sirius' description of the house because he was too distracted by the thought of what Connor and him were planning to do next. Admittedly, Harry had no idea what the other boy had in mind: Connor had a very mysterious air that day, but he had assured Harry they would get to the bottom of Darla's secret. Harry didn't consider himself as a nosy person, although he had to admit that, when his curiosity was piqued, he could not rest until the mystery was solved. And this seemed to be quite the mystery...
After dinnertime, the boys saw their chance: Darla had gone out to work, whereas Sirius was locked in the room he shared with Harry, preparing himself mentally for the job interview that awaited him the following day... whatever that meant. Either way, the children soon found they had the coast clear... and they wasted no time to seize their chance.
Connor and Harry, who were pretending to watch TV, waited in expectant silence until they were certain Sirius would not come out for his room for a while. Connor was the first to get to his feet, in slow, calculated movements. Harry imitated him, but when he picked up the remote control to turn off the TV Connor hastened to stop him by grabbing his wrist.
'Don't. It's better if he thinks we're busy.'
Harry nodded and left the control on the coffee table. He felt rather clueless at what to do next, so for once he merely let Connor lead him. The older boy stood still for a moment, as though he needed reassurement that nobody was going to pop up unexpectedly, ruining their plans. When none of this happened, he seemed to make up his mind and, with a resolved expression on his face, he headed towards the kitchen. Harry hastened to follow him, intrigued, wondering what in the kitchen could help them in their quest. Shouldn't they just check Darla's medical records? However, as this was a matter that only concerned Connor, he decided to trust in his judgement.
To Harry's surprise, Connor came to a halt when he reached the sink. He kneeled and turned towards Harry.
'Now, how many people do you know that lock their cupboards,' he said, as his finger poked a small lock on the cupboard under the sink door. Trying not to think of the time he had spent living in a cupboard, Harry shrugged.
'Dunno. Is it always locked?'
Connor nodded, his hair getting in his eyes. 'Ever since Mum moved here. And she's never told my why.'
Harry frowned. That was weird. 'Hmm... perhaps she kept cleaning products there that could be toxic... you know, toxic things that perhaps she feared you would swallow or something. Sirius used to keep them on the topmost shelf.'
Connor tilted his head to one side, as with one impatient movement of his hand he pushed the hair away from his face.
'Interesting theory. Except for one little thing...' Connor's hand rested a moment on the knob of the cupboard that was next to the locked one, making the door swing open smoothly. This revealed the presence of several bottles of all shapes and sizes, which Harry promptly recognised as cleaning products. That definitely shot down his theory, not that he'd ever truly believed it.
Connor got closer to the cupboard, his brow furrowing in concentration.
'Don't you hear a buzz?'
Harry leant forward and pressed his ear against the wooden door.
'Yeah. It sounds electrical. Like... a fridge, maybe,' he suggested as he turned to look at Connor.
Connor raised an eyebrow, unknowingly imitating his mother.
'Only one way to find out.'
To Harry's amazement, he pulled out from his back pocket a hairpin. Harry eyed it, skeptically.
'Does that trick really work?'
'Of course,' Connor stated, proudly. 'Spike taught me.'
Connor proceeded to thrust the hairpin into the lock and began to turn it both sides, his ear pressed against the door.
'One click here... other click there... and there we are!'
With a proud smile lighting up his face, Connor pulled open the door in triumph. Both he and Harry bent over to see what mystery the door yielded... only to be disappointed when their eyes found yet another door. This one, though, was white and metallic. It looked exactly like a...
'Fridge. Or mini-fridge. Turned out you were right after all, Harry.' Connor bit his lower lip. 'But what on earth does she keep in it?'
'Has she forbidden you to eat sweets lately?'
Connor snorted. 'For some reason, I doubt that's why she keeps this thing locked.' He inhaled deeply. 'Well... here we go.'
Their faces glowed as the white-ish light poured from the fridge when Connor pulled open the door. Holding their breaths, both boys moved forwards to examine its contents... and just as quickly they yelped, jumping backwards.
'Bloody hell,' Connor exclaimed, nothing short of shocked, as they knocked over a stool in their hurry to get away from the fridge and its sinister contents. Harry thought that his choice of words couldn't have been more accurate, given the nature of what they'd just seen.
Panting, Connor managed to regain a sitting position. Then, walking on his knees, he moved closer to the fridge, in the same tentative and cautious way one would approach a sleeping dragon. Mustering up all of his courage, Harry peered over his friend's shoulder.
There was no mistake, no trick of the light, no deceiving of their eyes: the mini-fridge contained no less than a dozen small plastic bags, filled with a scarlet, thick liquid that clearly resembled (but, how could it be possible...?) ... blood. Both children stared at them, their wide-open eyes reflecting the eerie brightness that made the blood look like melted ruby. For a moment, Harry's mind was completely blank. He could do nothing but stare at the transparent bags, all with its small, white labels, which reminded him of a lab or a hospital, like the one Harry had visited when a nurse had taken a blood sample from him with a syringe. Wait a second...
'I got it!' he exclaimed. Connor started and turned to face him, bewildered.
'What do you got?'
'Why your mum keeps these things! Can't you see, Connor? She must have some blood-related illness, so she needs transfusions.'
Harry was very pleased with himself for finding such a logical and plausible explanation that, to his eyes, had not a single flaw... but somehow his self-confidence wavered when he saw the look of utter incomprehension on Connor's face. Harry's spirits deflated.
'You don't think I'm right, do you?'
'Well,' Connor replied, still looking confused, 'I might, but the truth is I don't have a clue of what a tranfession...'
'Transfusion.'
'...is. Is it a Muggle term?'
Connor often surprised Harry with his ignorance of perfectly normal things, just as it amused Connor how many things about the Wizarding world Harry had never heard about.
Harry proceeded to explain to his friend what a blood transfusion was, although the base of his knowledge consisted of Hollywood films, which hardly could be considered as a reliable source of information. However, there was nobody in the room with enough medical knowledge to contradict him, so Connor inmediately accepted his words as fact, although he looked even more horrified than before.
'Do Muggles really put other people's blood in their veins? How gross is that?'
On the other hand, when Harry mentioned there were blood banks, Connor roared with laughter.
'Blood banks? You mean, they just trade it as if it were gold or something?'
When Sirius finally came out of his room, he looked rather surprised at finding Connor and Harry rolling with laughter on the kitchen's cold floor... next to a cupboard that had previously been closed shut by a cautious Connor, of course.
-
No matter how strange Connor found Harry's explanation, it did calm him down a little. After all, it made perfect sense now that his mother would keep that cupboard locked, and also that she hadn't said anything about it. She probably thought he would freak out, which he had done, by the way, or that given his magical upbringing he wouldn't understand. It was silly, really, because it would only have taken two minutes of her time to explain everything to Connor, but possibly she didn't like talking about her illness when her son came to visit. It was perfectly reasonable and natural.
Except that Connor didn't completely buy it. It just didn't make sense. The doctors on that TV show had said nothing about blood transfusions. And some of the other symptoms did not match, like the impossibility to stand fluorescent lights for long that people with XP faced. In fact, now he came to think of it, his mother's kitchen was illuminated by those kind of lights. What was she playing at?
But maybe she had lied about XP and indeed had another disease. But why would she lie about it? Perhaps she had a very dangerous and fatal disease and didn't want to worry him... but wasn't XP serious enough? On the other hand, if she suffered from such terrible illness, shouldn't she go more often to the doctor? Connor had never heard that his mother had to go to a hospital in seven years. Now he came to think of it, Connor hadn't a clue of what a Muggle hospital looked like.
Lastly, what bothered Connor the most was how healthy his mother seemed. Apart from her pallid features and her lack of appetite (he never saw her eating much, she rarely did more than revolve her food), she was in perfect health. She didn't have headaches, she never felt dizzy, she never threw up and he'd never seen her show any signs of weakness. If it hadn't been for the fact she couldn't step into the sun, Connor would never have thought there was something wrong with his mother.
But there was and Connor was sick of being treated like a small child. He had a right to know what was going on, so he made up his mind to confront his mother as soon as she returned from work. It was time for the truth to be uncovered.
Alas, there were still a couple of hours left until she came back home. Connor, who wasn't in the mood to join Sirius and Harry in a game of Monopoly, opted instead to read. Comfortably sprawled on his bed as he was, Connor merely picked up the book that was closest to his reach. It turned out to be his brand new Defence Against the Dark Arts book, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. Connor thought that the title sounded promising, maybe this year they would see some real magic during those lessons.
Without bothering to take a look at the index, he merely flipped through the pages until one heading caught his interest.
Vampires.
Years later Connor would wonder what had made him read that particular chapter of the book on that particular night. Coincidence? Was he destined to find out the truth? Did his subconcious already suspect what was going on? Or was it just that the words pronounced by that poor woman with XP interviewed in Discovery Health were still echoing in his mind? "People don't understand the true nature of our disease, they call us vampires..."
Either way, he began to read the fateful chapter only half-interested on what the author had to say on the subject, as he was more concerned in his upcoming confrontation with his mother. However, soon enough he was wide-eyed as the knuckles of the hands that held the book had turned white.
"There are many legends and myths regarding vampires, which are the most widespread dark creatures of the Wizarding world. Some authors state that they were first originated in Eastern Europe, whereas there are others who strongly deny this argument. Even non-magical people have had many things to say on the subject throughout the centuries.
In spite of the controversial aspects of the subject, in this volume the main fact about these creatures will be objectively covered for a further understanding of the danger they represent to our community.
Vampires are dead corpses that are nevertheless capable of reasoning, unlike zombies and Inferi, although their main goal remains hunting their prey to drink their blood. Usually they prefer human blood, but it is known they can resort to animals' blood (preferably pigs) if proved necessary.
Muggles, wizards or witches can be turned into a vampire if they are bitten by one. In order to turn its victim into one of its own, a vampire has to drain its victim until he or she has almost neither blood nor life left, then forcefeed its own blood to him or her. The victim will die only to rise from the dead as a vampire some hours later.
Muggles are more vulnerable to a vampire's attack as they have less means to repel them, therefore there are more vampires that were originally Muggles than wizards or witches. On the other hand, magical powers diminish considerably when the person is turned, reason for which not even the Darkest wizards or witches had been allured to this form of inmortal life.
Unlike some other Dark creatures, vampires can easily pose as human beings, although there are some signs that give them away, such as: extreme paleness, low body temperature, supernatural strength, heightened senses, especially smell, sight and hearing, inability to reflect on mirrors, etc. There are also several ways of repelling or vanquishing them. They cannot stand sunlight or holy water; they run from crosses and are fatally allergic to garlic, they can be killed by beheading, fire or a wooden stake thrust across their hearts.
The following text will detail what must be done in case of a vampire attack. The Ministry of Magic recommends calling for an specialised squad, which is named..."
The book slipped from Connor's now sweaty hands and hit the floor with a thump.
No way.
No way in bleeding, sodding hell.
Connor shook his head. Of course not. It was ridiculous. His mother couldn't be a vampire. She wasn't dead, for Merlin's beard! And she wasn't a blood-sucking monster, that blood was in her fridge because she needed transfusions, didn't she?
she never eats in front of me she can't stand the smell of garlic
As for not stepping into the sun, she had a perfectly Muggle illness that prevented her from doing so. Nothing abnormal about it, right?
except the symptoms don't match and she doesn't look sick does she? heightened senses... supernatural strength... that does match doesn't it?
Ridiculous. Preposterous. He had to be completely nuts to even think about it. Nobody would have let him live with his mother had she been a vampire. Wouldn't she have tried to suck him dry, after all?
Besides, didn't she work with the Slayers, killing vampires?
there are no crosses in the house, although she should know that those repel them
there are no mirrors either why there are no mirrors? thought maybe Muggles didn't use them, perhaps I was wrong...
Connor firmly shook his head. To think his mother could be a vampire was the stupidest thing that could have occurred to him. Surely there was a very normal, very Muggle explanation for his mother's illness, and he would ask her as soon as she got home. Wiping the last insidious thoughts out of his mind, Connor was resolved to wait awake for his mother's return...
...but fell asleep within minutes.
-
Connor woke up with a start.
His clothes were sticking to his pale skin, which was covered with cold sweat, whereas his whole body was trembling uncontrollably. Breath came to him in pants, making him feel like he was suffocating. Still shaking, he sat up with some difficulty and remained still for several moments, his breath ragged and unsteady.
blood, warm, deep red blood everywhere, scarlet drops falling to the floor, everything around him was red and black and cold and nauseting, a claw asphixyating his throat...
It took him a long moment for his heart to stop beating furiously and his pulse to get to normal. Wide-eyed, his gaze swept over the room, as if he were seeking comfort from the familiar shapes of the things that filled his bedroom, which were now bathed with the greyish light of daybreak.
Get a grip, Connor. It was just a silly nightmare.
But Connor was still quite shaken up, and what annoyed him the most was not remembering what he had dreamt, only that it had been terrifying. His feet landed on the cold floor, making a hesitant attempt to stand up, then put on his slippers. Suddenly, all around him looked unfamiliar and menacing, even though it was his own bedroom. Connor had never been an easy one to scare out, but in suddenly he didn't fancy being on his own.
Connor, you're such a chicken.
The shadows, though, kept flickering and moving around him, resembling creepy hands of eerily long fingers, fingers that seemed just ready to close around his throat... Before he knew it, he had left his bedroom and tiptoed to his mother's. He knew he would regret it in the morning, that it would embarass him to no end (after all, he was twelve already) but in that precise moment he couldn't have cared less. All he could think of was that he had never felt a stronger urge to crawl to his mother's side.
She was sound sleep, sprawled on her bed limp and still. The curtains of her bedroom were, of course, tightly shut, but Connor's sight had gotten used to the surrounding darkness so he made his way to the bed in no time, climbed it and rested his head on her chest. He hadn't done that since he was very little, and it was really silly, but that night he needed to feel his mother's pressence, to be comforted by the sound of her breath, by the rhythmic movements of her chest going up and down...
Except that her chest wasn't moving and he couldn't hear her breath at all.
Connor froze. What on earth...?
Slowly, very slowly, he raised his head from his mother chest and turned to look at her. She was limp and still... too limp and still. Connor placed a trembling hand on her chest, then placed the other one on his own. Even though he was barely breathing by now, his chest expanded and contracted all the same, whereas his mother was as moveless as a rock or a...
Don't. Don't even THINK of it.
Connor raised the hand that was on his mother's chest and moved it towards her nose. Theoretically, he should be feeling her breath on the back of his hand... but he wasn't feeling anything. She wasn't breathing.
Don't be stupid, of course she's breathing. She breathes... faintly, that's it.
Perhaps he ought to check her pulse... except he had no idea how to do that. And it was silly, really. Of course there was nothing wrong with her, of course she was breathing, surely if he just called out her name she would open her eyes at once, she would sit up, and smile, and hug him, and tell him it had just been a hideous nightmare.
Except that his lips seemed to be glued. He could not call out her name. He could not just shake her to wake her up. Because if she didn't wake up, if she didn't open her eyes at once, if she didn't sit up, and hugged him, and told him he was being silly, then... then...
A mirror. He needed a mirror. Because, mirrors were useful to tell if somebody was breathing, weren't they? Connor was certain he had read somewhere that, when they couldn't tell whether someone was alive or dead, they put a mirror under his or her nose as breath, no matter how faint it was, always left traces on mirrors. Or any shiny surface, really.
There was only one drawback: there were no pocket mirrors at hand. Actually, there were no mirrors in the entire house, his mother said she had no use for them. A small voice from the back of his head nagged about why he had never found that weird, but he hastened to shush it. He had more serious things to worry about.
The tray! That's it!
His mother possessed a metallic tray as shiny as any mirror. That would work, wouldn't it? As smooth and soundlessly as a cat, Connor headed to the kitchen, retrieved the tray and returned to his mother's side. Barely controlling his shaking hands, he put the tray very close to his mother's face and eagerly bent down to check if there were any traces of her breath on it. Only that on the shiny surface of the tray he did not find any traces of his mother's breath... or her reflection. His eyes widening, Connor's gaze darted from his mother's head that was resting on the pillow, to the tray, where he could only see the pillow's reflection.
unability to reflect on mirrors... cannot stand sunlight... fatally allergic to garlic...
Letting out a scream, he jumped backwards. He dropped the tray, which fell to the floor with a clattering sound as Connor stumbled backwards and landed on his back. In an instant, his mother had shot upright in the bed, her eyes wide-open.
'Connor, what's...?' She pushed the blanket aside, as he stared at her, unable to move. 'Darling, what's wrong?' Her hair was a mess around her head, her nightdress was all wrinkled, but she was completely awake. Her clear eyes dug into his. Connor had never really noticed how pale she was. Almost traslucent.
'You... you're the one that's wrong!', he blurted out when he found his voice. 'You, you weren't breathing, you weren't moving, thought you were dead...' Connor began shaking furiously as his confusion turned into panic. 'Went for the tray to see if you were breathing, but you weren't, you didn't even reflect on it...'
Frowning slightly, Darla looked down... and her gaze fell on the metallic tray. Slowly, very slowly, she kneeled and picked it up. She stared at the tray and her eyes widened. When she looked back at Connor, he saw something he didn't remember ever seeing in her eyes before: fear.
For some reason, that just drove him round the edge.
'You lied to me, didn't you,' he hissed through gritted teeth. 'You said you had XP, but you didn't, did you? 'Cause that's a Muggle disease and you aren't a Muggle, you aren't even a...' He couldn't end the sentence, he just couldn't.
'Darling, please, listen...' She took a temptative step. Connor didn't move. After hesitating a moment, she shortened the distance between them. 'Baby, try to understand... I never meant to scare you...'
She stretched out an arm to touch him, which proved to be a terrible mistake.
'DON'T TOUCH ME, MONSTER!'
He pushed her to the other side of the room with inhuman force. With a shocked look on her face, she hit the bedside table, knocking it over and smashing the lamp, in the very same moment Connor's fury shattered the window's glass.
Without waiting for her reaction, he jumped to his feet and rushed out of the room and down the hallway. Behind him, he could hear Sirius asking what on earth was going on, but he paid no attention to him: he was a full-grown wizard, he'd be capable of defending himself and Harry. Instead, he dashed to the front door, nearly tripping. He grabbed the knob and pulled... but the door, as any other front door in London, was locked. Desperately, his eyes searched for the key, which was hanging from a nail next to the door. He grabbed it and thrust it into the keyhole.
'Connor, wait!'
He hastened to turn the key twice, then pulled open the door and jumped outside just as his mother stretched out an arm to grab him. He heard a cry of pain and when he looked over his shoulder he saw why: a large, nasty-looking burn had appeared on his mother's right hand. Connor blinked, confused... until he realised he was standing in the sunlight-bathed hallway. However, there was no time to linger: Sirius, who was just wearing a pair of trousers and had his hair messier than Connor ever thought he'd see it, had just appeared from behind his mum.
'Connor,' he asked, confused. 'What's wrong?'
Connor knew he didn't have a second to spare: he turned around and broke into a run, stepping down the steps from two to two. Soon he heard Sirius calling him, then his footsteps began behind him as he pursued him.
Connor didn't bother to run down the last flight of stairs: he closed his eyes, jumped... and neatly landed on his feet. Before Sirius could even dream of catching him, Connor was lost in London's streets.
-
Spike had passed out on the couch in front of the TV, which was showing some new wannabe punk pop band blasting on MTV. The early rays of morning filtered through the thick, opaque curtains, stretching languidly towards the couch where Spike was sleeping soundly. To an onlooker, it could have seemed as though not even an earthquake would be able to wake him up. However, his eyes shot open in a sudden. Something was off.
Knock, knock.
Even though he was used to sleeping with the loudest rock band on, his ears were trained to catch any faint sound that was out of place, and the insistent knocking on his door was anything but faint. Spike tried to ignore it at first an go back to sleep (couldn't people understand that vampires slept during the sodding day?) but soon the knocking turned into furious pounding. Who the hell could be so anxious to see him at such unholy time of the morning? Soon his question was answered.
'Spike! Spike, are you there? Open up, please!'
Spike frowned. Connor? Why would Connor come to his house so early? At once, images of Darla's flat in flames or a terribly injured Connor flashed before his eyes. He jumped to his feet and rushed to the door, feeling fully awake all of a sudden.
He pulled open the door with more force than necessary, nearly tearing apart its hinges, and started at the sight of a very dishevelled and terrified-looking Connor. To Spike's shock, he was wearing some worn out pyjamas and slippers, whereas his hair was messy and he looked like he had been running at top speed all the way to his flat. But what shocked Spike the most was the look on the boy's face, as if he had just faced the Devil itself.
'Pigeon, what's wrong?'
But the boy seemed uncapable of answering, whether because he was too scared to speak or because he was trying to catch his breath. Either way, Spike decided it was not a good idea to linger on the doorstep, especially as the hallway was quickly being illuminated by sunlight. Grabbing Connor's arm more gently than he would have expected, he took the boy inside and made him sit on the couch. He sat to his side, waiting until he had stopped panting before asking what had happened.
Connor swallowed. Evidently, whatever had happened was too horrifying to speak about it easily. Finally, words seemed to blurt out of Connor's mouth, all mixed and confused, as though he could not put them in the right order. At first, Spike could not understand a thing out of the sudden flow of words that escaped the boy's mouth, until his final sentence became painfully clear:
'Mum was dead, Spike, she was dead...'
Spike winced. Had his heart been beating it would have stopped at once.
Darla, dead? It was too dreadful to be think of. Spike felt his mouth go dry. It was ironic how there had been a time when he wouldn't have cared less whether she lived or died, that he would even have felt glad, and now he felt so horrified at the idea. He'd never reflected on how much Darla's friendship meant to him now, how much her support throughout the last years had comforted him, until he realised he had lost it all. And Pigeon, little Pigeon, becoming an orphan all over again...
Get a grip, Spike. Not the time for getting sappy.
'Connor,' he said firmly, as he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, 'what happened to your mother? From the beginning.'
This time, Connor took some time to gather his ideas before letting it all came out.
'I had a nightmare, and I was scared, so I went to her bed. She was sleeping, or so I thought, but she wasn't breathing... Spike, she wasn't breathing at all.' Connor's eyes were round by shock as he looked up at him. 'She was lying there, all still and limp, and I thought that maybe her breathing was just too faint, so I went to look for the tray...'
'The tray,' Spike cut in, beffudled. Connor nodded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
'Yeah, the tray. It's metallic and it reflects things like a mirror. Mirrors help you to tell if somebody's breathing, I read it somewhere.'
Spike had a sudden and nasty suspicion of what followed next, but chose to let the boy continue his story without any more interruptions.
'So I picked up the tray, and went to her bedroom, and put it under her nose. Then I tried to check if there were any traces of her breath, and, and...' Connor swallowed again. Spike waited, sensing that he would not enjoy what he'd hear next.
The boy seemed to have put up some courage as he exclaimed, 'Spike, she had no reflection! No reflection at all!'
Connor started to breath raggedly as he stared at Spike, waiting for his reaction. Fearing he might hyperventilate, Spike made an attempt to calm him down.
'Pigeon, perhaps it was a trick of the light... You were sleepy and scared...'
Connor shook his head furiously.
'Spike, you don't understand because you're a Muggle, but people with no reflection can mean only one thing: they have been turned into a vampire!'
Connor stared at him, somewhat annoyed at his failure to understand the seriousness of the matter. But Spike understood, probably better than the boy. We're so screwed. Had Darla followed the piece of advice he'd given her ages ago, which consisted of telling Pigeon the truth, little by little, they wouldn't have found themselves in such a delicate situation. And now he was supposed to mend the damned thing. Bloody marvellous.
To his surprise, Connor's annoyance seemed to turn into nervousness.
'Spike, you... you believe me, right,' he asked, almost pleadingly. 'I mean, vampires are for real.' Don't say. 'I've studied them at school, I know what I'm talking about.'
''Course I believe you, kid,' he hastened to reassure him. 'OK, let's calm down, let's think 'bout this carefully...'
At these words, Connor exclaimed in a higher tone than usual:
'Spike, what are you talking about? She's a vampire, for Merlin's beard! What do you have to think about? How can you talk about this so calm...?' In the boy's clear eyes, Spike saw something he was very familiar with: suspicion. 'You knew, didn't you?' His voice was calm and silky, eeriely reminding him of Darla.
'Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout, kiddo,' Spike hastened to reply. But Connor's eyes, which had been digging into his, widened, an indignant gleam flashing in them.
'You knew!'
Without warning, Connor jumped to his feet and launched himself towards the door. He was amazingly fast, however, Spike was way faster. In no time he was standing between the door and Connor, trying to hold back the latter.
'Gerroff me!'
'Not until you stop twistin', Pigeon.'
Shooting a furious glare at him, Connor clenched his teeth, but at least he stop struggling. After a moment, Spike released the tight grip he had on the boy's arms... only to see how the brat slipped through his arms and dashed to the opposite side of the room.
'Damn it!'
He ran after him at top speed, but this time Connor was faster: when Spike reached out an arm to grab him, Connor ran into the bathroom, spun round and slammed the door shut right on Spike's nose. Cursing, he tried to turn the knob, but Connor had foreseen that move and locked the door.
'Bloody hell, Connor, open the bleedin' door right now, or I'll...'
His voice tailed off mid-sentence. Or what? He would just knock over the door, freaking out an already quite scared twelve-year old? He sighed in frustration.
'C'mon, Pigeon, just get the damned door open...'
But if there was one thing the boy had taken after his father it was stubborness. After fifteen minutes of failed attempts at reasoning, threatening and pleading, Spike resolved it was high time to take desperate measures.
-
When she received Spike's phonecall, Darla was nearly on the verge of hysteria. Or as much on the verge of hysteria a woman with a freezing mind like hers could be. It transpired that Black hadn't managed to catch Connor in time, losing him in London's streets. And Darla, as any other mother, was already picturing all the trucks that could run over him, all the criminal gangs that could get hold of him, all the dark alleys he could get lost in... Spike abruptly stopped her frantic rant.
'Darla, Pigeon's with me.'
Her voice faltered in mid-sentence. When she next spoke, her worried tone had turned into an exasperated one.
'Why the hell didn't you tell me that?'
'I tried,' he protested. Darla ignored him.
'How is he? What did he say? Is he hurt? Does he know you're talking to me or...?'
'One question at a time, Darla!' She fell silent at once. Spike suppressed a tired sigh. 'He's in one piece, although quite freaked out because of you and royally pissed off at me.'
'Why? Did he find out about you as well...?'
Spike idly wondered if Darla'd let him finish telling the whole story sometime.
'No, but he suspects I knew 'bout you n'he's locked himself in the loo, refusin' to get out.'
Darla sighed at the other end of the line.
'OK, I'll be right there. Sirius can stay with Harry, he has a couple of hours left before his job interview...'
Spike was struck by a sudden inspiration.
'Bring Batman as well.'
His words were followed by a startled silence.
'Bring who?'
'Snape. Probably Pigeon,' he shot a cautious glance at the toilet's closed door and lowered his voice, 'will listen to him, right?'
'OK, I'll contact him.' There was yet another pause. 'Why Batman?'
Spike shrugged. 'He looks like an overgrown bat, doesn't he?'
She snorted, and he would have bet she was rolling her eyes.
'Nice to see you haven't lost your inspiration.' Suddenly her tone turned serious. 'I have really screwed it up, haven't I?.'
Spike hesitated a moment before answering, biting his lower lip.
'Well... yeah. But he'll come around.'
Darla let out a tired sigh. 'Hope you're right. Anyway, here we go...'
And she hung up the phone.
-
It had to be a record, Spike reflected, the incredibly short time it took Darla and Snape to get to his place. Without so much as a preliminary hello, Snape walked past him towards the bathroom, his black robes billowing after him, making him look like an overgrown bat more than ever. Before he could let out a chuckle at this ridiculous sight, Spike's gaze fell upon Darla, who had the most miserable look ever. Touched in spite of himself, he walked over her and placed an arm around her shoulders.
'C'mon, pet. Y'need a cup of coffee.'
He led her to the small kitchenette, from where they heard the sound of knocking and Snape's carrying voice.
'Connor, it is me, Severus. Open up at once.'
As he poured some black coffee into a yellow mug and handed it to Darla, Spike did his best to hear Connor's muffled reply.
'Is... is she there?'
Snape wisely chose to avoid the question.
'Connor, I am not going to talk through a door. Do open up.'
Spike dared to come out the kitchenette to investigate. Snape was standing in front of the closed door, looking positively annoyed. Silently, Spike walked in his direction before coming to a halt right behind the man.
'I will not repeat this again, Connor.' Snape said, his tone dropping an octave. 'I told you to open the door at once.'
It would never cease to amaze Spike the power that Snape's commanding tone held. Anyone who heard it instinctually felt compelled to follow his orders at once, because the Potions Master had a way of subtly threatening without having to raise his tone or pronounce an actual threat. He merely dropped his tone a couple of octaves and that was enough to terrify most people into doing his will. Spike doubted there were many miscreants in his class.
But Connor wasn't like most people. If there was one thing the boy had, that was a hell of a spine. The door remained closed. Frowning, Snape seemed to have decided on a different tactic as he was drawing his wand out of an inner pocket, in the very same moment the door slowly opened to reveal the face of a very pale Connor.
'You know what she is, don't you?' Connor asked, trying his best to sound calm but stammering a little. Snape nodded gravely.
'Connor, let me in. We must talk.'
For a moment it appeared as though Connor was going to refuse, but not even he was brave enough to openly defy a direct order from Snape. Reluctantly, he opened the door completely and took a couple of steps backwards. Snape walked in and Spike, although nobody had invited him, followed suit.
Connor had sat on the toilet seat, resting his chin on his knees and wrapping his arms around his legs. His hair was covered in a thin layer of sweat and it stuck to his pallid forehead, whereas his eyes had never looked so large and dark. Spike took pity on the boy, whose whole world had crumbled in one moment. He opened his mouth to say something to comfort him, anything, but Snape, suddenly aware of his pressence, silenced him with a glare.
'Connor, I do understand that the news came as a shock to you, but it is not so simple. There are certain things you fail to comprehend.'
The boy's head jerked up, his eyes flashing with anger.
'There's nothing to comprehend, Severus! She's a bloodsucking monster, what's so complicated about that?'
Snape seemed admiringly unabashed by this outburst and remained as imperturbable as before.
'You are too young to grasp the concept of shades of grey, Connor, but you are nothing short of intelligent. You must have realised that there is more to your mother than that.'
Connor didn't answer and averted Snape's gaze, chosing to look anywhere but them. His gaze swept over the tiny room, where no possible way of escape was available, his eyes studying the few bottles lined at one side of the bathtube, then looking at the ceiling, glancing at the mirror...
Connor winced, as his eyes went from the mirror to Spike and then back to the mirror.
'You too,' he shouted, horrified. Too late Spike realised the terrible mistake he'd just made as he turned to look at the mirror, where he only saw Snape's livid face.
'Get out, now,' he bellowed, pushing him out of the bathroom and slamming the door right behind him.
As he pulled himself together, he saw Darla, who had popped up when she'd heard Connor's shouting. Spike gave her a half apologetic, half sheepish look.
'Guess you're not the only one who screwed it up, luv.'
-
An hour later, Darla and Spike were still waiting in the kitchen but Snape and Connor showed no signs of ending their chat any time soon. Darla had finished her second cup of coffee, but looked as depressed as when she'd arrived. Caffeine seemed not to be enough for her that day. Spike would normally have suggested whisky as a worthy alternative, but it was a little too early, even for them.
'I was so stupid,' Darla said, sounding profoundly annoyed with herself. 'If only I'd listened to you and told him the truth...'
He placed a hand on her shoulder, in a vain attempt to comfort her.
'Not your fault, luv. Well, maybe a little bit,' he added after seeing her incredulous look, 'but could've happened to anyone. Don't worry, Snape'll find a way to fix...'
His voice tailed off, though, and he felt Darla's body flinching under his touch. Standing in the doorframe, looking quite apprehensive, was Connor himself, with a quite tired-looking Snape behind him. Before Darla or Spike could react, Connor spoke in a slightly high-pitched voice.
'Severus says that you aren't like other vampires. That you aren't evil, because you got a soul and a conscience. Is that true?'
Darla glanced at Severus, whose expression remained unreadable. She then turned her eyes to her only child and replied softly:
'It is true, Connor. All of it.'
The boy bit his lower lip, thoughtful. The rest waited, figuratively holding their breaths. After a moment, his head jerked up and he locked his narrowing eyes with his mother's.
'Why didn't you tell me earlier, then? Why did you hide it?'
Slowly, Darla rose from the metallic chair she'd been sitting, circled the table and approached Connor, coming to a halt when she was at a prudent distance from him. Spike got the distinct impression that Darla moved as if she were handling a skittish, wounded animal. She bent a little, so her eyes were at the same level of her child's.
'I hid the truth because I'm silly. I wanted you to have a normal childhood... well, as normal as it could be. I wanted... I wanted you to be happy, and carefree, and not have a worry in the world. Stupid, huh?' She smiled sadly. 'I wanted all that for you, and I naïvely thought that, as long as you didn't know the truth about my condition, it would be possible. Now I realise it was unfair to you. You had a right to know, and I should've been the one who told you.' Her voice softened, a pleading look in her eyes. 'Could you forgive me?'
Connor hesitated a moment. Spike didn't blame him: it was a lot to take all in stride, especially for a kid his age.
But there was something heart-breaking in the way Darla, who was usually so implacable and formidable, had been reduced to desperatly begging for forgiveness to the person she loved the most, something that would have been able to melt the coldest heart. Spike saw that Connor tried to resist the charm, though: after all, he had a right to be angry. However, he could also see that the boy's resolve was wavering. Connor cast an inquiring glance at Severus, then back at his mother, he shot a look at Spike, changed his weight from one foot to the other, and finally surrendered.
'I guess I could,' he said quietly. 'But I'm not going to forget it easily.'
Darla's smile, though sad, managed to illuminated her features.
'I wouldn't have expected you to.'
A long pause followed, during which nobody dared to move, all afraid of breaking the enchantment. Finally Connor, who was twisting his hands nervously, looked up at his mother.
'I know it's the period of holidays I spend with you,' he whispered, 'but could I go with Severus? Just for today.'
Darla took the blow with dignity.
'Sure, dear. As you wish.'
From her contrite tone of voice, Spike had the suspicion that Pigeon would get away with anything he wanted during the following days. Sly brat...
Snape cleared his throat.
'I could deliver him back to your place about seven, if it doesn't inconvenience you.'
'Of course not. Seven's just fine,' she replied, somehow managing to sound nonchalant. Snape nodded, and Spike was sure the man saw, as well as he did, the sacrifice this meant for Darla. He turned to his protégé. 'Connor, why don't you to wash your face?'
Connor suddenly seemed to become aware of his looks. 'Hmm, shouldn't I change my clothes or...?'
'It will not be necessary, as we will perform Side-Apparition.'
These words must have made some sense to Connor, who nodded and turned to the bathroom once more. As soon as they heard the bathroom's door closing, Snape took a couple of steps towards Darla.
'I think it will be better if we don't tell him all the truth at once. He has got anough to deal with right now, doesn't he?' Darla nodded, pensive. Snape looked at her a moment, then he shook his head. 'Darla, give him some time. It's been too much for one day.'
After Snape and Connor had left, Spike noted that she was doing her best to pull herself together. Her cool mask could have deceived anyone but Spike, who hesitated a moment. What the hell.
He walked towards her and circled his arms around her. At first she stiffened, startled, then she relaxed and let her head reast on his chest.
'It'll be OK, luv. It'll all be OK.'
-
Snape took Connor to Darla's at the very same time she received an urgent call from the Slayer's School. She didn't know what to do: Severus had to work that night, as school term was around the corner, and Sirius and Harry had gone out to celebrate that he had gotten the job, so there was no one to take care of Connor. As she was trying to decide what to do, Connor's voice pulled her out of her reverie:
'Mum, could I come with you?'
Darla usually avoided taking her son with her when she went to the School but this time she decided to make an exception. She suspected that for a couple of days she'd be unable to deny her child anything he asked.
During the walk to the School, they talked about what Connor had seen and done that day. Although she was glad that her son was talking to her again, she couldn't help noticing that there was certan awkwardness between them. Well, you couldn't expect that it would all go to normal at once, could you?
As she went to take care of the newest crisis – which consisted of a clan of vampire that was keen on some sort of mystical stereoids and had given the girls more than a headache – Giles agreed to look after Connor. The man had winked her an eye as she left, which had made her feel inmensely relieved. She'd told Giles by phone what had happened, and he had promised he would talk to Connor.
After she had solved the crisis, she took the chance to talk to Giles while Connor examined a dusty book. The man's advice was simple.
'He won't accept everything in just one day, so don't push him – but don't go too easy on him either. Treat him like you usually do, so you don't take away from him all sense of normality. And try to be as honest as you can with him from now on.'
On the way back home, they were silent for most of the time. However, after quite some minutes had passed by without a word being exchanged between us, Connor abruptly asked:
'How were you turned into a vampire?'
Darla stopped on her tracks. She knew this question was coming and yet it had startled her. Bearing in mind both Severus' and Giles' words, she tried to be as honest as she could without giving too much away.
'I was very sick, see, and a man who said to be a priest came to visit me, supposedly to pray for my recovery. He turned out to be a vampire, though, and he took the chance to turn me.'
'And what happened to him?' Connor inquired, the faintest trace of fear in his voice.
'Staked. By a Slayer.'
'The Original Slayer?'
Darla had to make a great effort to suppress her laughter when she heard from Connor's lips the hilarious term the Slayers-in-training used for Buffy, who had become some sort of legend, mixed with the glamour of a mysterious rock star.
'Yeah, that one. So you don't have to worry about that.'
Connor nodded, pensive. 'And what about Spike?'
'A girl turned him. In an alley, I think.'
'Where is she now? Was she dusted, too?'
Darla sighed, thinking of Drusilla. They hadn't heard anything from her since the night she had approached Connor in the Forbidden Forest, nearly three years ago.
'No idea. I'm afraid she's still at large... but don't worry: I won't let her get anywhere near you.'
Connor tried his best to look as if he wasn't worried at all, whereas Darla hoped she'd be able to keep her promise. Connor, though, hadn't run out of questions.
'That was why nobody gave you my custody when Dad died, wasn't it? Because you had been turned into a vampire.'
Sighing, Darla nodded. 'They were afraid I might hurt you... and I don't blame them. Even I was afraid.'
'And why did you and Spike get your souls? How did you do that, by magic?'
Darla closed her eyes for a second. That was a tough one. She ran a hand through her hair as she reflected on how to explain it to Connor. Finally she decided on making it as simple and plain as possible.
'We knew there was a spell that could make a vampire to recover its soul, as it had been used about a hundred years before our time, but it was complicated, too complicated. Spike heard about this... this sort of god, known as the wish-granter, that would, well, grant you anything you wished.'
'Really,' Connor cut in, his eyes alight with interest. 'Like Aladdin's Genie? He just... gave you anything you wanted?'
She snorted. 'Of course... after undergoing a good number of tests. And, trust me on this, they were no walk in the park, Connor. He made sure you wouldn't have a pleasant experience.'
As she remembered the fateful night she had faced the wish-granter, Darla had a hard time suppressing a shiver. It had been, by far, the scariest experience of her life after the night of Connor's birth, when she'd feared her child might never live.
Connor opened his mouth, and she was sure he would ask about the tasks. Some higher power must have liked her, though, because he seemed to reconsider it and closed his mouth again. They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, each one of them immersed in their own thoughts while London's animated sounds surroundered them. After a moment, though, Connor seemed to have put up enough courage to ask:
'But if it was so ugly to do, why did you do it? I mean, you were evil, weren't you?'
Darla nodded sadly. 'We were.'
'Then why go and get a soul? Weren't you glad not to have a consciense,' he inquired, sounding utterly perplexed. Darla looked at him, surprised at his insight. In times like this, she was astounded at Connor's maturity. She was starting to fear that there was little left of the boy she'd loved, as he was growing up so fast.
'Well, it was sort of... complicated. And yet, it was very simple.' At Connor's puzzled look, she decided to be more specific. 'Look, vampires aren't supposed to love. However, Spike... well, he was always a freak, even for a vampire.' He let out a chuckle at this and even she smiled a little. 'The thing is, he had no better idea than falling in love with a girl... a human girl. The Slayer, to be more precise. The...' at this point, her lips curved a little, 'Original Slayer.'
Connor gaped. 'But... but... that's insane! It's... it's the insanest thing I've ever heard in my life!''
'Pretty much what I said when I found out,' she said, amused at his outburst. 'Anyway, he was afraid he might hurt her... he wanted to be worthy of her affection. And he thought that the only way to manage that was going to get himself a soul so he did that.'
Connor looked astonished. 'And did she accept him?'
Darla chuckled. 'It took her an awfully long time but yeah, she did.'
This was a little too much for Connor, whose jaw had fallen open. After a moment, though, he recovered the speech.
'But, wasn't she a Slayer? Did she like irony or what? Besides, didn't she freak out knowing that her boyfriend was...?' His voice tailed off as his eyes widened in realisation. He shot a half-nervous, half-apologetic look at her. 'Er, I didn't mean like it was disgusting or anything, just...'
'It's okey, darling,' she reassured him, smiling warmly. 'I understand.'
He nodded, still looking quite uncomfortable. Suddenly his head jerked up, a frown on his forehead.
'Did... did Lindsey know?'
Startled, Darla stared at him. It was funny, but it had been quite some time since she'd last thought about Lindsey. For a fleeting moment, she wondered where he might be right now. Perhaps he had a new girlfriend. For some mysterious reason, that idea didn't bother her as much as she'd thought it would.
'Yes, he did know. And he didn't freak out.'
'Oh. Umm, good to hear that.'
'Yeah.'
Another awkward pause followed. Darla would have loved to know what was going on in her son's head, but she thought it would be unwise to push him.
When they reached her building at last, and Darla was about to go inside, she felt a soft grip on her wrist. She turned, surprised, and saw Connor looking up at her with an anxious expression on his face.
'What's the matter, dear?'
'Nothing. I just... I just wanted to know why you got a soul.'
Darla realised this was what Connor had really wanted to know all along from the way his eyes shone, almost avidly, and the way he seemed to wait for her answer, holding his breath. For once, Darla reflected, her son had asked an amazingly simple question to answer.
'Because of you.'
He blinked. 'Me?'
'Yes. You. Y'know, Connor, when I was turned into a vampire I... couldn't have cared less for humans. Any humans. There was no nobility, no good feelings in me.' Her gaze got lost, far away from Connor, far away from present time, into a dark past time. After a moment, she put up enough courage to look back at her child. 'I did terrible things. Things I would not like you to know. I had no respect for others, I did not care at all what may happen to them. But you... you were different.'
She bent a little, so their eyes were at the same level. Connor was just frowning a little, as if he were trying to grasp what she was trying to say but not quite managing it.
'You were the very best thing that had ever happened to me, and being soulless would not take that away from me. But I was so scared, Connor, so afraid of hurting you... I chose to leave you with your father, knowing that he would take care of you. I went as far as I could go... until I received news of your dad's death. I returned at once but, obviously, nobody would let me see you.'
'Because you were a vampire,' Connor muttered. She nodded.
'That's right. But I had to see you, I had to be sure you were alright... Then I heard that Spike's gotten his soul back... and decided that I had to do the same if I wanted to be with you.'
'In spite of how hideous those tests were?'
Darla looked at her boy, whose lip was trembling slightly and his eyes were wide and apprehensive. She gave him her warmest smile.
'I would have gone to Hell itself to see you again, my darling. And I would do that again.'
Connor looked down, perhaps unable to hold her gaze. He was bitting his lower lip, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Darla watched him anxiously. Whatever happened next would be crucial to define the rest of their relationship. And she really didn't want to lose her son due to a stupid mistake, she could not, she would not lose him again...
She did the only thing she could.
She waited.
After a moment that seemed to last an eternity, Connor looked up, and to her utter surprise, he was trying to smirk.
'Well, I guess it's not so bad. I mean, you can't step out in the sun, that's gotta be a pain in the... well, you know. And you have to drink pig's blood, which is just gross.' At this point, his smirk faltered a little, but soon his eyes recovered their twinking. 'But you have like superpowers, don't you? I mean,' he grinned, 'I got a Super Mum. How cool is that?'
Darla watched in awe Connor's attempts to sound light-hearted and saw the incredible effort he was making to accept the truth of her condition. To accept her. Nobody, in four centuries, had done such an effort for her. Darla knew how hard this had to be for Connor and loved him all the more for it. As emotion swelled inside her, she realised one more thing: her baby boy was turning into a young man in front of her very eyes. Soon he would no longer be a child: he would turn into a man, and she would no longer be able to tuck him in, to streak his soft hair, to hold him tightly...
But tonight Connor was still her sweet, darling child who was trying his best to understand and accept her, tonight he was still the baby boy she'd held so fearfully hours after his birth under Angel's watchful gaze. Tonight, he still belonged to her.
Knowing that later he would protest, saying that he was no longer a baby and regretting having made such an unmanly gesture, she ignored it all and took him in her arms, holding him tight. At first, he stiffened, but then she felt his thin arms wrapping around her waist as he sunk his face on her shoulder. Smiling, she felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks and saw them fell on Connor's soft hair, but she couldn't have cared less: she had just recovered her greatest treasure.
And she would not let anyone take him away from her.