Chapter 8
He stood by her door. Watching through the tiny window as she repeatedly cursed his name for the simple act of discovering her photo. Every word was spat from her mouth in pure anger and distaste, as the tears continued to fall, never ceasing, not even for a second.
The whole time that Angel watched his eyes held hers, and all he could see was the hatred within them. Finding that picture had been a mistake, there had obviously been a reason behind the slayer feeling the need to keep it hidden. It was so clear now that if anything would worsen her condition, it would be anyone touching something she obviously treasured so much.
And what had he done? He'd basically gone behind her back, all because the vampire had been told it was the only way to put her on the road to recovery. What a lie that had turned out to be. This wasn't anything akin to recovering. This was regression.
More and more Angel started to believe it was her son he'd laid eyes upon only moments ago. One thing was the resemblance. But the other, the one that really made him believe, was this. Buffy's reaction.
It was as simple as that. There were no other answers. The only thing that could explain why she was currently watching him as though she were about to kill him with her bare hands, was because he'd just touched the only thing she had left. The only thing that still made sense to her when nothing else could.
The way her eyes had lit up at the sight of the little boy had been spectacular. Easily resembling a mother's when seeing their child.
That was when he realized it; Angel knew what he had to do. He knew then how to bring the girl in their dreams to the surface. Stepping away from her door, he went to talk to the only person he could think of to help him with his plan.
Had he not been so self involved and preoccupied with the idea of getting so drunk that he'd be staggering to the closest hotel, Lorne would have noticed the way Gunn had been watching him for the past thirty minutes. It wasn't until the green demon got up off the bar stool and started his walk on shaky legs towards the men's room that he noticed Gunn's line of sight. His piercing dark eyes were staring right at him.
"What are you doing here?" Gunn almost spat. At first he was happy to sit there and ignore Lorne, pretending he wasn't there while he continued to down beer after beer. But now he couldn't even try to hide the fact that he was curious.
Lorne paused, averting Gunn's stare by turning his head to the side. He couldn't look anyone (let alone his once friend) in the eye and tell them that this was what he'd become. Even if Gunn had pretty much followed the same destructive path.
So to answer his question, what was he meant to say? 'Just stopping by for a few drinks before getting on my merry way back to New York' Or 'Hoping some homicidal maniac will run in here, and put us all out of our misery.' As appealing as both replies were, he decided neither really suited. Instead he brought his glowing red eyes up to look at him and said "Wasting away." Before continuing his previously abandoned path to the men's room.
Once Lorne was out of sight, Gunn turned his attention back to his almost empty beer. "Me too." He whispered, before asking the bar tender for another.
"Somebody help me!" The vampire snapped, he'd been waiting for at least twenty minutes at the nurses quarters for any one of them to stop doing whatever it was that they seemed to class as work (not that he'd ever considered flicking through magazines while drinking insane amounts of coffee as work) to give him but one minute of their time.
Instead they'd ignored his presence. Choosing to look past him at the clock that hung on the wall behind the vampire, as they made personal phone calls, when ever he'd ask if they were busy.
Now he'd had enough. All he wanted was to speak to the nurse that was meant to be tending to his upset slayer. Margaret, that's who he wanted. But no, talking on phones and reading trash was so much more important to them than his love. An urge to do something he'd regret was undeniable, but as always he had to deny it. Buffy was so much more important than killing everyone in sight.
"I'm sorry sir, we weren't aware that you required our assistance." A blonde, barely twenty nurse replied. Was she even old enough to be a qualified nurse? If not, then why was she working there? That wasn't really important, all that was, was Buffy.
Trying to calm himself as much as he possibly could, Angel asked one of the nurses if he could speak to Margaret. When the blonde nurse who's name tag read 'Rebecca' questioned what it was that he wanted from Margaret, or if she could be of any assistance as she practically undressed the vampire with her eyes, he simply snorted and replied. 'Right now I'm so frustrated that I'd rather tear your head off than hear another thing you have to say.' Ok so maybe those words had just floated around inside his head, and hadn't actually managed to escape his lips. "Margaret, no one else." The vampire insisted before backing away and returning to his spot by Buffy's door.
As he bound Buffy's hands behind her back, Angel kept his eyes closed. The first time he'd seen the nurse sedate her, he'd wanted to hit something. Now he just wanted to hit himself.
"NO, NO!" Buffy begged, unable to stress enough her discomfort at being in Angel's arms. "NO ANGEL, NO!" She wailed, and all the vampire could do was stand there, swallowing the lump in his throat as he bit back the tears that doing this to her brought forward.
"Please, please..." That was the last thing she'd managed to say before the sedative set to work, and slowly the body that had been trying desperately to escape his grasp fell limp in his arms.
"I'm sorry." Angel whispered, as he gently eased her down onto the bed. And waited til Margaret left the room before he joined the blonde, and beckoned sleep to overtake him too.
Echoes. That was all he could hear. What seemed like a child's laugh on replay. It wasn't haunting, it was sweet, and it filled him with love. Could this be the voice of the nameless boy in the photo?
He hoped as much.
Angel stood dead still in the empty living room within his dream home. The one he shared with Buffy. He had no idea where she was, or what was going on, but he was content to stay there and just listen to the toddler laugh for as long as possible. The sound was so innocent, so delicate, it made him smile.
"He's five years old now, you know." Came a broken whisper from behind him.
Angel turned only to be greeted with her face, her beautiful sad face. She sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with her legs outstretched, yet crossed at the ankles in front of her. A few quick steps and before he knew it he'd taken a seat beside her.
For what seemed like an eternity the pair sat there in an awkward silence, before finally Angel decided to speak up. "I'm sorry I've upset you." He said, his voice dripping with regret for laying hands on her photo.
Her eyes remained trained on her own hands in her lap. "It's okay... here. But out there, the photo... it's just so painful." She just refused to look at him, Angel could see that much.
Pulling his own eyes away, he stared straight ahead, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to make her understand he was only trying to help. So instead he tried another angle. "He's beautiful." Angel referred to the image he'd seen not long ago in the picture.
"He is." She returned. Her eyes slowly welling with tears at the thought of the little boy.
"He's your's." Angel stated, already knowing it was true. But for some odd reason he needed her to clarify it. If he was ever going to get his answers, then here in their shared dreams was the place to look. And what better way than to ask her out right?
"He is." Again she gave him the same answer. Simple, quick, to the point.
He wanted to smile at the thought of her being a mother. Of her holding a child in her arms and loving it with every ounce of her heart and soul. He wanted to but couldn't.
She wasn't happy, something was wrong here. It was either that, or Angel just couldn't be happy about her having a baby to another man. Maybe it was both. Either way it brought up another question he wanted (yet had no right to) answers for. "Is he with his father?"
That was his plan, finding the father, and therefore finding the child and bringing him to her. He just knew that upon seeing her son, the Buffy inside would awaken, and resurface.
Slowly her head tilted, and their eyes met. Her own where overflown with unshed tears. "No." she choked.
Angel felt his heart contract in agony at the shattered look on her face. "Buffy?" He was right before, something was horribly wrong here. And not only that but now he had no idea of figuring out where her son was. He couldn't have stayed with anyone else, all her family and friends were dead. This wasn't adding up, where could he have gotten to?
"Daddy!" Angel looked up just in time to see a beautiful child with grey green eyes, a heart melting smile and chocolate brown hair running towards him. The boy jumped into his arms, throwing his own around Angel's shoulders.
Instinctively, like he'd done it a thousand times before, Angel wrapped his arms around the young man, holding him close, something that felt so familiar. Maybe that was because he was Buffy's after all.
It took Angel a few confusing seconds before he realized what the young boy had said.
He'd called him Daddy...
'He's five years old now, you know.' Buffy's earlier words echoed inside his head. The boy in his arms was five, five! And he'd called him daddy... could it be? "No." Angel said pulling away from the child that knew no better.
The boy looked hurt, confused even. Why was his father pushing him away? "Daddy, are you mad at me?" He questioned a just as confused Angel. Turning to look at the blonde beside him he was shocked to see her gripping her face in pure agony as she bawled into her open hands.
"Buffy?" Angel just looked at her, his confusion more evident than before. "Buffy?" He repeated when she gave him no answer and only cried harder.
Releasing herself from her hands, her face met his and she tried so hard not to notice the look on Angel's face. "I'm so sorry." She blubbered before bursting out in tears again.
"He's mine." Angel whispered. Another piece to the jigsaw falling into place.
One. Two. Three... Four hours... Angel could have sworn he'd sat there staring at Buffy for just that long. Shocked, hurt, but more than anything confused. "How?"
Buffy gave him no reply, all she could do was watch his every move, his every emotional reaction and cry like her shattered world had just been fractured all over again.
"How, damn it, how!" He demanded of her. He knew he was meant to be calm and patient with her, but this, this was just too much.
She only cried harder, and it seemed an eternity before she'd regained herself enough to open her mouth and speak again. "Six years ago, you came to Sunnydale to help me. We... we made love, and..." The tears came hotter and faster than ever before. A secret that she'd kept so long was slowly spilling from her lips, a secret that had torn her up inside over and over again the whole time she'd kept it.
"And..." Angel's voice wavered. He didn't know what to do, what to think. How, how, how! If this was even possible, then how could she have kept something like this from him?
"And I got pregnant. And you can say whatever you want about vampires being unable to conceive but I know. I felt it deep inside... He's yours." She sobbed. "Besides there wasn't anyone else, so he's just yours okay!" Now she was angry, not at Angel, although for a second there it appeared that way.
And yet still her eyes couldn't maintain his. It seemed that Buffy just couldn't handle the disappointment she'd see there, and above all the hatred. Maybe she had a valid reason for that too. Maybe it was due to the fact that in the last two years she'd seen enough pain and suffering and above all hatred, that anymore would well and truly send her beyond the point of no return. And then speaking to her, even in dreams, wouldn't be an option.
Sure Angel was upset; he had every right to be. There was his son, in front of him, a son he never knew existed until now. And still the only thing on his mind seemed to be the word son. He had a son, a son with Buffy. So she'd kept it from him, sure that had been a big mistake, but he knew now, and that was something.
He wasn't mad at her, and even if he wanted to be, Angel knew it was something he wasn't allowed. He couldn't cause her any more damage than what had already been done. And he wouldn't. Instead, as the pair watched the boy burry himself in his toys and play, he turned to her and said "Tell me all about him... every detail." A smile crossing his handsome face.
Her frightened eyes scanned his for a brief moment before welling with tears all over again. One more time Buffy lost control. "No, no... I can't. I can't go there... it... it's like when I'm awake. It's so dark Angel. No!" She rambled on and on. And yet again Angel was at a loss for what to try next.
That was when a sickening feeling slowly crept through his body, sending cold chills through him. "Where is he?" Angel questioned, and with each second that passed him by in silence, he couldn't help but let fear overwhelm him.
If Buffy had of spoken in that moment, not a word would have been audible. As her tears returned so furiously that all Angel could do was watch on in horror.
"Damn it Buffy, tell me where he is!" He insisted. This wasn't a game. And although he knew that Buffy wasn't exactly playing with him, he had to know what the hell was going on. "Tell me!" He demanded of her once again, only this time raising his voice.
Her eyes met his again, and all Angel could see was emptiness within them. "He's... dead." The sound that escaped her lips when she spoke those two words was so devastating, so heart wrenching.
The boy disappeared completely out of sight. Solid steel barriers shot up in a circle around them. Angel sat there, on the living room floor next to her, on the verge of losing control. Buffy's words played over and over in his mind. And still he couldn't understand what was happening.
Was it real? Was the boy he'd just discovered to be his own really gone? Could she be right? Was he... dead? "No, no!" Angel's head shook from side to side. There was no way he could discover something so amazing as fathering Buffy's child only to have it ripped away form him. No way at all.
"You're lying." He whispered, his frightened eyes scanning her face, taking in the turmoil that hung within her own.
With a crashing sound, similar to the waves on the shore just outside their beachside home, those steel walls fell away and all Angel could do was scream. "No..."
How could anything hurt so much? Especially considering Angel had just met the victim he seemed to be grieving. The answer was simple... That little boy was beautiful, he was Buffy's... he was his own son. He was made out of love, and he didn't deserve to be dead. If he was five years old then he was meant to be at home, playing with his toy soldiers, coloring in a picture, drawing on the walls, climbing a tree, or helping his mother make a mess in the kitchen. Damn it he was meant to be alive! Not dead, not ever dead.
Why was this happening? Why him, why now? Why his son... Questions went unanswered, as Angel just couldn't think of why anyone would ever want to harm an innocent little boy. Then he remembered what he'd done so many years ago minus the soul. He'd killed so many innocent children in the name of art. He'd taken pleasure in watching their parents suffer. Suffer just like he was now.
In a micro second he jumped to his feet. Looking up, straight up to the ceiling he shouted to no one in particular. "I'll get you for this... I'll kill you!" He choked, biting back the tears. He couldn't cry, couldn't allow himself to feel pain when she was there, she needed him, needed his strength.
She who had kept such a big secret from him. A secret so beautiful that he'd discovered too late. Angel had never gotten a chance to know his son. As angry as he was he wouldn't blame her without discovering her reason. And the fact that she was so sick was the only thing stopping him from walking away. No for now he'd give her the benefit of the doubt. He'd be there for her. He'd try to understand why, at least until he got his real answers.
And the first one he wanted, he didn't see being a problem. "What's his name?" Angel made a point of not using past tense when asking about the boy. Even if Buffy herself had stated that he was dead, he didn't want to act as though the boy was just a painful reminder of a past that had destroyed her.
He waited patiently for her to say it. But when thirty seconds passed Angel turned to find her gone.
"Laim honey, go wake up daddy and tell him breakfast is ready." Came a sweet voice from the kitchen. One that bubbled with happiness. A voice that to this day haunted him, yet at the same time made him feel more alive than a beating heart ever would.
"Okay." their son replied. Another angelic voice. Angel felt his heat swell at the sensation of hearing two precious angel's carry out a simply day to day conversation.
Liam. She'd named him after him. He remembered telling her years ago of his real name. All Angel wanted to do was find a hole, burry himself inside and cry until there were no more tears left to shed. But unfortunately the dream he seemed to have no desire of ever leaving had other ideas. Before he knew what was happening, he was in bed, just coming to as though he'd been asleep for hours.
The weight suddenly shifted on that same bed, and in seconds he had a toddler jumping on top of him, demanding him to wake up with a smile on his face as he did so.
Sitting up so he could get a look at the situation, Angel realized exactly what was going on. He was falling in love all over again. Only this time with Liam, his own flesh and blood.
Pulling the child into his arms, Angel held him close. Not wanting to let go, not even for a second.
