Chapter Seven
Connor scuffed his feet on the sidewalk. He kept his head down and his hands in his pockets, not caring if it made him look like a petulant child. He almost wished he were a child again. When he was eight, no one asked him to save the world. No one implied he was failing all of humanity by choosing to be an architect instead of a hero.
Of course, his childhood had been spent in a hell dimension with a man he both loved and hated.
But then, he could also remember watching cartoons and games of kickball and playing with his Transformers.
He focused on the fake memory as he usually did, but the real ones were becoming harder and harder to deny. They filled his dreams and pounced on him without warning during the day. He'd be in class, giving half his attention to the professor's power point presentation on Byzantine architecture, and the force of sudden memory would nearly knock him out of his chair.
They came more frequently now, the memories, some more disturbing than others. Yesterday he'd remembered the first time Holtz had tied him to a tree and left. He was seven, terrified and alone in hell. Holtz hadn't gone far; it had taken Connor longer to free himself—once he stopped crying—than it had to find him. But that juvenile fear had risen up inside Connor yesterday while he refilled his Nalgene at the water fountain, as strong and pure as the day he'd first experienced it. The bottle had slipped from his hands, splashing water all over the floor, soaking his shoes.
The cold water seeping through his socks had snapped him out of the memory—out of the fear—and he'd used paper towels from the restroom to mop up the mess, thankful no one walked by. He'd returned to the cubicle he shared with the other three interns, shaken and distracted for the rest of the day.
Today he'd been answering an email when he remembered the woman the thing pretending to be Cordelia had killed. He could hear his mother's voice, begging him to stop it, but Cordy's had been stronger. He'd dragged the woman into the center of the pentagram and watched as Cordy slit her throat.
He'd leapt from his chair and raced to the restroom, barely managing to keep the bile at bay until he was safely on his knees in a stall. When he'd thrown up everything in his stomach and then some, he'd walked out of the building, needing to get away from anyone who might ask him if he was okay. If they did, he was sure he'd break down.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking, or where he was, and he didn't care. He only knew he couldn't go back to the office today, couldn't force himself to smile and act normal and talk to people who had no idea what this world was really like. What he was really like.
He stopped walking, realizing he should probably call his boss, tell her he was sick. He gave the street a cursory scan, looking for a phone booth, then pulled his right hand from his pocket so he could see his watch.
A soft voice behind him said, "Almost two."
Connor spun, his hands halfway to a defensive position. The small, Hispanic Slayer—Laina?—stood looking up at him, her hands clasped behind her back. Connor blinked and lowered his hands.
"Are you following me?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Why?"
"To see what—who—you are." She cocked her head and continued to study him.
Connor looked past her for Faith or the tall one—they hadn't gotten around to introductions yesterday—but didn't see either of them. "Where's Faith?"
The girl shrugged. "At the hotel, perhaps. Maybe looking for me and Katie. I'm not sure."
"So where's Katie?"
Her face fell a little and she finally looked away. "I don't know. I couldn't find her." Her eyes came back to him, and he realized she was older than he'd originally thought. Still young, but not a child.
"You're upset," she said. "Is it our fault?"
Connor shoved his hands back into his pockets and examined the building across the street, dissecting it as he decided how to answer. "No," he said after a moment. "Not your fault. Just…I keep remembering things. Not fun things."
Her touch surprised him. She lightly took hold of his forearm and tugged him forward. Pointing across the street, she said, "There's a park. Let's sit."
He followed her, having nowhere else to go. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Elena." She looked both ways, then dashed across the street, her hand still on his arm.
"How do you know the things you know?" he asked when they reached the opposite sidewalk.
She looked at him questioningly.
"I mean, the demon stuff, and that I was upset."
She smiled and turned away to walk toward a bench. Once they were both seated, she replied, "I'm a Slayer. And anyone who walks for thirty-seven blocks without looking up, hunched as you were, must be upset."
He smiled. "I suppose that was pretty obvious, huh? But Faith and Katie didn't pick up the demon thing. You did."
She looked at the sky, closing her eyes against the sunlight. "I'm not as good a fighter as they are, not as big or strong. I think God enhanced this gift to compensate."
Connor grunted and looked at his shoes.
They sat in silence for a while, until Elena spoke again.
"I saw you last night," she said, glancing sideways at him. "You killed a vampire."
"You've been following me that long?" he asked. "Where did you sleep? Did you sleep?"
She shrugged. "I've had worse nights."
He looked at her, wondering if she would answer if he asked about her life. She beat him to it.
"You said you don't want to fight, but last night you went out looking…"
He looked at his hands and brought his thumbs and fingertips together, then opened them again. "I was curious. If I could still do it."
"You're good," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.
He swallowed and pressed his palms against his knees. "But what if I'm the same as they are? I keep remembering things from my real life, memories belatedly pushing their way to the surface, and they're horrible. The things I've done…" He stopped, tightly holding onto his control. "I know what I'm capable of. I'm the child of two vampires—an abomination." He looked up and smiled sardonically. "Maybe you should fulfill your Slayer duties by killing me."
"Is that what you want?" she asked evenly.
He blinked. He had wanted it, once. It was the last memory of his old life, what had prompted Angel to give him a fresh start. And now…
"No," he said.
Elena stood, and he briefly wondered if she was going to kill him anyway. If she tried, would he be able to stop her? His hands tightened on his knees.
"I don't think you're an abomination," she said, looking down at him.
"Then what am I?"
She looked at the sky again, then at something past his shoulder before bringing her eyes back to his. "I think perhaps you are a miracle."
Connor dropped his face into his hands so she couldn't see him cry.
"Miss Crawford?"
Katie paused. Six months ago she'd have run, but things were different now. She turned, a gruff "yeah?" on her lips, but when she saw who it was, the word became a startled, "You!"
Norberry smiled without showing his teeth and dipped his head in a condescending little bow. "It's nice to see you again, Miss Crawford." His English accent was gone, as were the glasses and the simpering, bumbling demeanor. This Norberry oozed confidence and something else Katie couldn't identify. Something that frightened her a little.
"What do you want?" she demanded. Before he could answer, she added, "How do you know my name? How did you find me?"
"Wolfram & Hart has extensive connections, Miss Crawford. It's extremely hard to escape our attention once you've gained it." He looked at her appreciatively. "And you, my dear, have definitely garnered our attention."
Katie crossed her arms. "Whatever the hell you want, the answer's no. Faith told me all about you guys." She turned and strode off, tense but trying not to show it.
Norberry called after her, "And you believe the words of a murderer?"
Katie stopped.
She heard a footstep, then another, and when Norberry spoke again he was closer. "We know about Faith, as well. Perhaps more than she knows about herself." Another step, his voice close to her ear, low and intimate. "And we know about Connor. All about Connor. And we think you should, too."
It took Katie only three heartbeats to make her decision. She turned, looked hard at Norberry, and nodded.
Faith shoved her hamburger in her mouth, taking a huge bite and chewing fiercely. She wiped some ketchup from the corner of her mouth and looked up at Doyle, who was staring at her with a slightly alarmed look on his face.
"You're going to choke yourself," he said.
She shook her head and said, "Ah don' cah."
He frowned at her.
She swallowed and repeated, "I don't care. I haven't had a real meal in, God, I don't even know." She put three fries in her mouth. "Since before all this began."
Doyle looked down at his plate and club sandwich. "I don't think I'm hungry anymore."
Faith reached across the table with the hand not holding her hamburger, snatched Doyle's sandwich, and plopped it on her plate.
"Hey!" He snatched it back, glaring at her. She grinned and took another bite of her hamburger. "I'm a little hungry," he grumbled, eyeing his sandwich suspiciously.
They didn't speak for several minutes, while Faith devoured her hamburger, fries, and half of Doyle's fries. When he set the last third of his sandwich down, full, she picked it up and ate that too.
Doyle looked around the hotel dining room. "This is pretty posh. You Slayers must have a nice budget."
Faith shrugged. "We've been in dives for so long, I thought it was time to splurge a bit. Girl gets tired of motel rooms with cement block walls. Too much like—" She covered by drinking the rest of her water, but Doyle didn't seem to notice her aborted sentence. He was scratching the back of his neck and watching a family at a nearby table. Faith wondered where on earth he found his shirts, as the one he wore today was even worse than the one he'd been in last night. She rather liked his jacket, though.
As she set her glass down, he glanced at her to let her know he was listening, then went back to watching the family. "Must be tiring, bouncing from place to place like that," he said, sliding down in his seat a little and playing with his fork.
Faith shrugged. "I guess. Want dessert?"
"Sure."
She ordered the Brownie Chocolate Explosion, and Doyle asked for a caramel sundae. While they waited, he asked her when she'd met Angel. Instead, she told him about the last time she'd seen him, about Angelus and Orpheus. When their desserts arrived—Faith's on a plate she could have used as a sled—Doyle talked about he and Angel's first mission —"Well, Angel's; I just drove the getaway car."
As he wrapped up his story, Faith's fork stopped halfway to her mouth, dripping chocolate syrup. She squinted at Doyle. "Wait…Cordy? You and Cordy?" She gaped at him for a moment, then burst into laughter as he turned bright pink.
"Sort of," he said. "Not really. I mean, I left before we could—"
"Cordy?"
He set his jaw. "Yeah. And?"
"Nothin'. She's hot. It's just, she's a bit of a…well, you know."
He raised an eyebrow. "So are you."
She grinned. "Oh, believe me, Cordy and I are in very different classes." Her forgotten fork completed the short distance to her mouth, and she closed her eyes in appreciation. The brownie was almost two inches thick and so gooey it was practically fudge. When she opened her eyes again, Doyle was staring at nothing, his face filled with a sorrow that made the brownie stick in her throat, and she remembered that Cordelia was dead.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Doyle's eyes slowly focused on her, and he smiled sadly. "Thanks. I'm sorry, too. About Angel."
"We weren't—"
"I know. I'm still sorry."
She nodded and kept her head bent over her dessert until it was finished. As she pushed her plate away, a soft voice said, "Faith."
Elena stood near their table, wearing the same clothes she'd left in yesterday. Faith resisted the urge to scramble to her feet, instead saying, "Hey." But then, a second later, she blurted, "You came back."
"I couldn't find her," Elena said. "I hoped she came back."
"I…are you sure?" Faith asked.
Elena cocked her head. "That I didn't find her? Yes."
"No." Faith shook her head a second longer than felt normal. "That…that you wanted to come back."
Elena's face softened, and she said, "Whatever the Faith-you-were did, the Faith-you-are-now would not do. I believe this." Faith swallowed and nodded once, and Elena's eyes darted to Doyle and back.
Faith had forgotten about him. He was studying her, trying to figure out what they were talking about, but she wasn't going to explain now. Not yet. Instead she tiled her head in his direction and said, "This is Doyle. The Irish guy. Doyle, this is Elena."
He waved.
Elena opened her mouth, but Faith talked over her. "And I already know he's half demon. He also gets visions from the Powers That Be."
Elena's eyes widened. "Like a prophet?"
Doyle blinked and said, "Uh…"
"Kinda," Faith said. "He used to work with Angel."
Elena nodded, then looked over her shoulder.
"Are you hungry?" Faith asked.
The younger girl shook her head. "No, I had some cash." She looked over her shoulder again.
"What?" Faith demanded. "Something chasing you? Or do you have a hot date?"
Elena smiled. "No, but I think you do." She turned and pointed. "With him."
Connor paused at the entrance to the dining room, scanning the tables. He found them after a few seconds, and Faith watched him waver for a moment in the doorway before walking toward them. She still found it hard to take her eyes off him, not yet used to the impossibility he represented.
"What'd you do?" Doyle asked Elena, sounding impressed.
She shrugged. "Nothing. Told him something he needed to hear, perhaps."
Connor stopped next to Elena and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked from Faith to Doyle, frowning.
"Oh," he said. "You know each other."
"Only very recently," Doyle said. "She dragged me out of a bar by the collar last night, and we discovered we had similar interests." He raised his water glass in a small salute and took a sip.
Connor said, "Right." He turned to Faith and pulled his hands from his pockets, letting them dangle at his sides in a casually defensive stance. "I think I know what the dream means," he said. "Why you need to take care of me."
Faith stared up at him, somehow knowing, from the expression on his face, what he would say next.
"I killed someone, too," he said.
She could see the effort the words cost him, and any lingering doubts she had about him, about the whole crazy situation, faded quietly away. This was something she knew about, something she could do. She could help Connor walk the thin line of becoming what he was meant to be without returning to what he was. She could be for Connor what Angel had been for her. And maybe he could help her, as well.
She looked at Doyle, who met her gaze with a somber one of his own. Seeing her suspicions mirrored in his face as certainty, she said to Connor, "No, you didn't."
He blinked, and she could see how fiercely he hung on to his control. "I helped. I stood by and let it happen. Isn't that the same thing?"
Faith met his desperation evenly. "I don't know."
Connor looked down. "Feels like the same thing."
"It can, at that," Doyle said softly.
They were all quiet a moment, until Connor took a deep breath and raised his head.
"I'll fight with you," he said, looking at Faith. "As long…as long as you can promise that you won't let me—"
"That's why I'm here. Why we're all here," she added, nodding at Doyle and Elena. "To watch out for each other." As soon as she said it, she knew it was true.
Connor gave her a small smile.