With Or Without You - XXXVIII

'You look like

a perfect fit

For a girl in need

of a tourniquet

But can you save me

Come on and save me

If you could save me

From the ranks

of the freaks

Who suspect

they could never love anyone…'

Save Me by Aimee Mann

One month later…

They had been surviving adequately; getting by well enough in her temporary absence, Angel preferred to think. He spent his days working out at the local gym and then ensuring order was maintained in the Summers' home when he should have been sleeping in preparation for nightfall, which brought with it the next shift at the security firm he had acquired a job at. Angel despised his new role patrolling the Sunnydale mall after hours to deter vandals and thieves, but the paycheque it provided was a vital addition to the household. With a string of counterfeit documents in his possession and no real experience of the modern working world, Angel had found himself severely limited in his employment options. He had accepted the first position that had become available to him at a prominent local security firm and quickly come to regret the decision.

The hours, he found, were long, boring and filled with very little action that could be construed as constructive. Angel had managed to slay the odd vampire over the course of the last few weeks, but that fact hardly made the job worthy of anymore merit in his opinion. The once scourge of Europe had been reduced to donning a polyester uniform and keeping the company of a balding middle-aged guard named Duke, whose current favourite topic of conversation was his chronic prostate trouble. If truth be told, Angel was toiling to pass the time before her return and managing to procure very little sleep in the bargain. The dark circles that had formed underneath his once vibrant eyes greeted him every time he chose to look into a mirror.

Dawn had accepted Buffy's absence with a level of maturity that Angel had thought beyond the girl. Although visibly saddened and anxious, Dawn maintained an impressive façade and had managed to go about her business with only a little less dedication than normal. Of course, Spike had spent almost every evening of the last month at the Summers' home attempting to help Dawn with the more mundane tasks of caring for a household, such as cleaning and grocery shopping. Despite his discomfort with the vampire's presence, however, Angel had held his tongue; reminding himself that the house belonged more to Dawn than it ever would to him. Besides which, the sight of Spike donning a pinafore and armed with a feather duster had almost made his being there worthwhile.

Spike had also attempted to offer penance by picking up the slack with the nightly patrols that would otherwise have been neglected in the absence of the Slayer. Angel secretly appreciated this more than anything, finding a sense of peace in the knowledge that the townspeople of Sunnydale would be safe in the care of the vampire until Buffy's return. He knew that Buffy too would be grateful.

Willow had maintained a permanent presence in the Summers' home but the majority of her time was eaten up by her much anticipated return to UC Sunnydale. Both Angel and Dawn were insistent that life continue in as normal of a capacity as possible, equally convinced of Buffy's intention to come home once a time had passed. Since her departure, Buffy had been conscientious in her approach to her family and friends. She ensured to contact Giles by telephone every forty-eight hours with news of her health and wellbeing but no word at all as to her location for probable fear that Angel may be tempted to follow. Buffy spoke little to Giles of what had transpired between them, but Angel had made the decision that the rest of the gang deserved to know the true reason behind Buffy's decision to leave Sunnydale. Their reactions had been mixed but not wholly unexpected.

Predictably, it had been Giles that exhibited the most anger towards Angel and the intricate lie that he had woven. It had irked the former Watcher greatly to know that Angel had given into temptation without knowing whether his actions would bring forth the demon within- who had after all stolen the life of the only woman he had ever loved.

"How could you have been so foolish… so reckless?" Giles had demanded, his fist slamming down on the surface of the table and scattering a dozen scrolls over the floor. "How could you have taken the chance of unleashing that monster upon the world once more?"

"There was never any danger of that happening with anyone but Buffy," Angel retorted, striving to keep calm in the face of Giles' temper.

"And what if you'd have been wrong, Angel?" Giles spat, his face now mere inches from Angel's own, "would you have ever forgiven yourself for the consequences?"

Angel had been unable to answer this question and the dozen more that followed it. The rest of that day had passed in a blur of enraged stares and awkward silences.

Upon returning home that evening, Angel had discovered the absence of Buffy's suitcase and, resting upon their bed, a simple note that he had read only once before screwing into a ball and discarding. There had been little of clarity in the letter beyond the statement that Buffy loved them all deeply and would never fail to uphold her duties. She had neglected to mention her whereabouts or indicate a time as to when or even if she would return, but Angel could not bring himself to feel even the slightest twinge of anger over this.

Whilst Angel loved his son more than anything, he recognised that this fact alone could not justify the action that had brought Connor into being. Angel knew that whilst pained by his albeit brief relationship with Darla, the route of Buffy's hurt was actually Angel's refusal to share such an important part of his life with her; the woman whom he claimed to be his soulmate. The existence of a child was no small truth to conceal and thus Angel undoubtedly understood the reasons for Buffy's absence.

Xander also had remained more distant than was usual from the group. He had taken up residence in the apartment he once shared with Anya, and begun the process of starting up his own construction business with the financial assistance of one of his many uncles. He and Willow met once a week at the Bronze for drinks but, since the revelation of Dawn's pregnancy, Xander had rather stubbornly refused to set foot in the Summers' home. At Angel's instruction, Willow had informed Xander of the latest development amongst the Scooby gang but his reaction had been one that she had refrained from sharing. Angel assumed that this was in an effort to preserve his feelings and perhaps also to prevent the permanent fracturing of their already tenuous friendship. In reality, Angel cared for little other than when Buffy would choose to return.

Angel had discovered quickly that it was the afternoons that were hardest to bear when both Dawn and Willow were occupied with school, and he found himself facing an empty house. Often, he would retreat to his bed but hardly ever would he find respite there in the form of slumber. His mind raced with thoughts of his last exchange with Buffy, which he replayed over and over again. On one of the rare afternoons that sleep managed to find him, Angel's subconscious was tormented still. He dreamt of Buffy and of his son, the faces constantly shifting and intermingling whilst each shouted blame at him for all in their lives that was wrong. On such occasions Angel had almost wished for the dreamless slumber of the vampire to be his again.

Today, mercifully, sleep had evaded him despite the heavy sense of exhaustion present in every muscle of his body. Angel lay beneath the plum satin covers and stared up at the ceiling, his hands folded above the miracle of his heartbeat. Without Buffy, his humanity was an unwelcome creature indeed.

The sound of the front door lock sliding out of place brought Angel from his reverie. Next came soft footsteps, the owner of whom Angel found himself correctly able to identify even before their head made a tentative appearance around the door frame of the bedroom.

"Angel?" Dawn queried nervously, her eyes screwed tight shut, "are you dressed?"

Angel chuckled softly, pulling the sheets up around his chin so as to cover his naked torso before he replied, "I'm decent. Come on in, Dawn."

Smiling thinly, Dawn pushed open the door and entered the bedroom, seating herself on the edge of the bed without invitation. Angel shot a glance at the digital clock situated on the nightstand and then turned a quizzical expression upon Dawn.

"I have a free last period," Dawn explained, beginning to trace the raised brocade of the duvet cover with her fingertip. Her gaze drifted uncomfortably to the pillow at Angel's side, which had remained without an occupant for the last month. Buffy's nightgown still lay folded neatly atop it as though Angel expected her sudden reappearance at any given moment. Dawn swallowed hard and turned to Angel.

"You really think she'll come back?" Dawn inquired, her voice soft and unsure. Angel blinked in surprise and affixed Dawn with an angry glare that caused her to flinch.

"You don't?" Angel demanded, his mouth pressing into a thin white line. Dawn merely shrugged and her shoulders slumped over a little further.

"I think we haven't given her much of a reason to," she admitted with evident guilt, the sight of which immediately caused Angel's heart to swell in sympathy. He stretched out a hand across the bed and gathered Dawn's into his own.

"She'll be back soon," he assured the girl, who appeared younger than ever in the daylight that filtered in through a chink in the closed curtains. Angel noted how the long braid of her hair seemed to have lost a little of its shine now, and how her cheeks had taken on an almost sunken and pallid quality. He wondered just how much of this was due to the sickness that sent Dawn running for the bathroom at daybreak every morning, and how much was a result of worry for her sister. He knew certainly that she picked her way through her meals and tipped into the garbage whatever she could manage to. Angel knew also that the majority of the daily household chores had fallen to Dawn, who tackled them all without complaint when Spike would allow. Her deep sense of remorse was driving her onward in an attempt to make an unnecessary amends.

"How have you been?" Angel asked gently, stroking his thumb across the back of Dawn's hand hesitantly. Dawn smiled but Angel detected the tremble in her bottom lip and allowed her a few moments of silence to compose herself.

"Good," Dawn finally replied, "when I'm not throwing up or falling asleep at my desk or worrying about how I'm going to support a baby or if my sister…"

Dawn trailed off and shot Angel a guilty look. "Sorry," she whispered.

"No," Angel said with an audible sigh as he propped himself up on his elbows, "I'm sorry, Dawn. None of us have been there for you as much as we should have."

"Hey, no biggie," Dawn insisted, pulling her hand from Angel's grip and wrapping her arms around her herself in a gesture of comfort, "you guys have lives too."

"And you're a big part of them," Angel promised, his tone containing nothing but sincerity.

"Even if all of this is my fault?" Dawn shot back, blinking to dispel the tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes.

"None of this is your fault," Angel replied quietly, his eyes downcast, "Buffy didn't leave because of you or me… she left because of the lies. She wanted to take care of you but right now she just needs…"

"Time," Dawn repeated, knowing all too well the word that would doubtlessly conclude Angel's explanation. It was one she had heard pass from both Willow and Giles' lips a lot over the last month, but this fact had done little to strengthen her belief in the word.

Angel nodded, clearly not fully convinced by his own assurances.

"I keep thinking… what if she doesn't come back in time for the baby?" Dawn continued, her two upper front teeth sinking into her lip, "I… I don't want to do it alone."

"You're not alone, Dawnie," Angel interjected, "and Buffy wouldn't miss it for the world. Until she gets back you have Spike, Willow, Giles… and me, if you'll have me?"

Slowly, Dawn's lips twisted into a smile of gratitude that Angel was not entirely sure he deserved.

"Thank you," Dawn breathed, her eyes glistening. Angel smiled somewhat sadly and patted the hand that Dawn rested by her side.

"I promise you," Angel began, leaning forwards slightly as he spoke, "we will all make sure this works. You don't need to worry about a thing aside from taking care of yourself."

There was a moment of silence and then Dawn nodded once at Angel before beginning to gather her schoolbag and stand. Angel reclined against the mound of pillows once more in preparation to watch the girl leave, but Dawn hesitated on the threshold of the doorway. Her hand hovered above the door handle undecidedly for a second and then she turned again to address Angel.

"Angel?" Dawn said, her voice a whisper. Angel raised both eyebrows simultaneously, affixing Dawn with a questioning look.

"What's it like…" she continued, "being a parent?"

Angel blinked in surprise, unsure as to how to respond to a subject matter that he had received little practical experience of. He thought back to the first moment he had cradled a newborn Connor in his arms; the feelings of love and joy and peace that had existed immediately within him once that tiny body was nestled in his arms. His thoughts turned unbidden to the night that Connor had been kidnapped; the crippling fear that ruled the heart and mind of a parent. Although in reality Angel had experienced very little of Connor's life, he had truly tasted the role of a father to a greater degree than he had ever deemed possible.

"Scary," Angel finally replied, his voice cracking a little under the strain of his memories, "amazing. To know that you would willingly kill and die for someone you have known for less than two minutes… there's nothing else like it in the world."

With a smile that somehow seemed more genuine than the last, Dawn turned on her heel and exited the bedroom, leaving Angel alone with his thoughts.

When she reached her own room, Dawn closed her door with a quiet click and immediately moved towards her desk. From the shelf next to her computer, a childhood photograph of her and Buffy smiled back at her. The picture had been taken many years ago now, long before Buffy's calling as the Slayer or even the separation of their parents. Although Dawn knew that the image and the memory behind it were fabricated, she still allowed it to remain. Secretly, it was one of her favourite photographs of the Summers sisters. Their smiles were wide and real, and their eyes gleamed with childish mischief as they hunkered down together on the sand of an L.A. beach. Dawn recalled that several seconds after the photograph had been taken, she had slipped a handful of wet sand into the waistband of Buffy's pants. The sisters had then chased each other clear across the beach before Dawn had taken a spill and cut her lip open on a protruding rock. Buffy had then carried the sobbing Dawn almost half a mile back to their parents, comforting her with kind words all the way. This was how it had always seemed to be with the sisters; Dawn fell down and with relentless strength Buffy picked her back up again without complaint.

Dawn laid a hand across the still flat plain of her stomach and sighed heavily as she continued to gaze at the photograph. Sinking down onto the chair in front of her desk, Dawn had reached for the telephone and started dialling the number from memory before she had completely finished making her decision.

Dawn knew that she had taken so much from Buffy over the years, and scarce once considered the possibility of what she might give back. Given the current circumstances, now seemed as good a time as any to change this natural order of things. Despite the truth and sincerity behind Angel's words, Dawn knew that there was one thing at least that she could do to lessen the burden that Buffy bore.

On the twelfth ring, the telephone receiver clicked and a familiar voice, slightly coloured with annoyance, answered.

"Hello?"

Dawn paused, her mouth instantly dry and fear gripping her heart. The agitated voice repeated it's greeting with even greater hostility and, realising that soon the opportunity would have escaped her, Dawn finally spoke.

"Hi Dad…"

x-x-x

Darkness had fallen upon the town at an alarming speed and Kyle had come to regret his decision to walk back from band practice with as much haste. The tuba tucked underneath his arm was impossibly bulky and Kyle knew that the eight blocks he had yet to conquer on his quest to reach home would prove difficult as a result.

Grumbling all the while, Kyle hefted the instrument into his other arm and resumed a slow walk that gave him little hope of reaching home before dawn. Wishing that he had retrieved his MP3 player from his locker before setting out, Kyle began to hum somewhat tunelessly for company. It was as he had reached the second chorus of a Britney song that he was ashamed to even recognise that Kyle first heard it. The shrill scratching sound of what appeared at first to be metal against metal, accompanied by a heavy panting not dissimilar to the laboured breaths of an animal. For a moment, Kyle froze with his hands tightening in reflex around the body of the tuba, which he would not hesitate to employ as a weapon should the need arise. He was barely a block away from the high school thus Kyle briefly considered the possibility of returning there at break neck speed. He knew, however, that his father would not take too kindly to being disturbed during the biggest game of the season in order to collect his snivelling son, who could easily have walked the distance home. And so, shuddering involuntarily, Kyle continued. He had barely gotten five more bars into the song before the growling started up.

Before he could consider his actions further, instinct kicked into action and Kyle had flung the tuba to the sidewalk in order to break into a run. He dared not glance over his shoulder as he tore down the deserted street, the sound of his feet slapping the pavement not succeeding in drowning out the ferocious snarling that pursued him. Kyle whimpered, cursing his rotund frame as he recognised the unmistakeable sound of his hunter gaining on him.

Without the clarity of calm thought to guide him, Kyle turned down a corner he did not recognise and found himself immediately staring at an eight foot brick wall. As an almost delighted series of howls resounded at a distance that was all too close for comfort, Kyle flung himself at the wall. His fingertips slid uselessly across the red brick and missed the top of the wall by inches. Kyle cried out in terror and repeated his futile effort, all the while muttering profanities under his breath. On his fifth attempt, and with the terrifying sounds almost upon him, Kyle managed to grip the top of the wall. The boy grunted as he dangled feet above the floor, struggling to maintain an adequate hold on his only avenue of escape. His trainers scrabbled at the face of the wall but failed to find purchase. Kyle screamed, tears of frustration and fear stinging his eyes as he attempted time and again to force his body upward and out of danger.

However, despite his panic, Kyle was struck by the sudden descent of silence. He panted heavily, his chest heaving with the very effort of breathing whilst his blood thundered in his ears. Kyle cocked his head to one side, straining to detect the sounds of the hungry animal whilst still hanging from the precarious ledge. There was a remarkable stillness, a sense of overwhelming calm, and then something stirred amongst the shadows of the garbage bags that hunkered against the sidewalk. A great hulking mass of fur that quivered as it rose impossibly onto its hind legs, and regarded Kyle through narrowed eyes possessing of a keen intelligence and insatiable lust. Kyle's bottom lip trembled and the tears spilled freely down his cheeks.

Closing his eyes against the sight before him, Kyle released his grip and tumbled to the ground. Sobbing, Kyle curled his knees into his chest and pressed his back against the wall that had proven to be his defeat.