Author’s Notes: Hey everyone! This is just a little Angel story that up and occurred to me overnight (literally), I wonder why so many of them occur at night? Am I that vampire brain-soaked? Yes, I know that’s not a word. So, anyway, I decided to write it! Actually, I’ve been nursing this one in my brain for a while, figuring out how I wanted to write it. It’s going to be bittersweet if not sour no matter how long it is, because as the summary says, there isn’t much winning with a choice like that.
Spoilers: There are spoilers for basically everything to do with Angelus, Connor, Evil-Cordy, and Darla. There, spoiled enough?
Story Notes: Takes place right after Angelus escaped and we found out that Cordy was pregnant with Connor’s child, but before Cordy got total control of Angelus and before she warped Connor, also prior to Faith showing up. Oh, and The Beast is still alive, in all his boneheaded glory, which means total night.
Summary: When you are forced to chose between right and wrong (but it feels so right), between your love and your blood, you can’t win, can you?
Feedback: Yes! Feed the author, please! Critique/Comments/Enjoyment is greatly appreciated, honestly, just drop me a line! Goddess_Delenn@yahoo.com
Distribution: My site, BFW. Everyone else has to ask, all you have to do is click the above link and tell me you want it, I guarantee I’ll say yes, you just have to ask first!
Song For This Fiction: “A hundred days have made me older since the last time that I saw your pretty face... A thousand lives have made me colder and I don’t think I can look at this the same…” from ‘Here Without You’ by 3 Doors Down.
Quote For This Fiction: “Blood is thicker than water.” -Athena. “But blood runs hardest when love is involved.” -Ares in ‘Amphipolis Under Siege’ from Xena: Warrior Princess (RIP, KS!)
Warnings: Sex/Language/Violence: Yep.
Pairing: ?/? & C/C (only mentions and because there is no choice about that.)
Rating: Strong R
Date Started/Finished: April 4th, 2003/Unknown
Cold
By ~Delenn~
Moonlight cascades over her golden form making it seem almost as if the sun were shining. She does not seem bothered by the dark in her low-cut bodice-like top with green tinted silver suit pants and jacket. Swaying her hips slightly as she begins to descend the stairs easily in her stiletto black pumps. Licking her lips slightly she listens and hears movement nearby. Confidently she calls out into the deep building, “I know I’m a little late, Angel, but congratulations on the baby… better late then never-”
Wary of a stranger’s voice, Connor enters from a side room, cutting off her cheerful speech coolly but quickly. He is efficient as he scans the room for other intruders and notices that they are alone together except for Cordelia sleeping peacefully upstairs. “Angel is gone,” he has to worry for Cordelia now, for their baby, Connor does not have time for strangers.
“Oh,” and now that he’s said it, she notices everything all at once. The hotel doesn’t smell like it would have if Angel had been there, the movements of this young man were too noisy to have been the souled vampire, and the building feels like death. She tries for casual wondering who this boy is and why he seems so familiar, “What about the baby?”
Discretely, Connor removes the stake he was carrying from behind his back and sets it down on a table. He isn’t sure who this seemingly young woman is but she puts him off guard with questions about a baby. For a moment Connor had thought she knew about Cordelia’s pregnancy but then remembered hearing her mention Angel’s baby, him. And not him, Connor refuses to be the child of that beast. “Angel doesn’t have a child.”
She makes a soft sound bordering on a whimper and sinks down on the steps right where she had previously been standing. Carefully, she rests her arms on her knees and looks up at Connor, seemingly resigned to the worst. “The baby, it’s dead?”
Now his suspicions have risen, he is wondering how a seeming stranger would know about his brief childhood in this dimension. Having until this moment believed that only Angel’s close friends - Gunn, Fred, Cordelia, and Wesley – had known about him, Connor keeps his reply short but leading into how much this person knows. “No, Holtz took him.”
And now she drops her head into her hands and by the soft noises coming from where she sits, Connor can tell she’s crying… over him? She stays that way; hunched over, crying in the moonlight for a few minutes while Connor debates how to handle this unexpected turn of events. After she has stopped crying, she lifts her head up and brushes stray blonde locks out of her face. Her eyes sparkle with more unshed tears and she can only breathe, “What did Hotlz do to… him…”
Everything about her is so expectant, so needy of him, that Connor decides to answer her question if for no more than the fact that she has showed genuine emotion and caring for his well being above that of his father’s. Conscious that he still must protect his family, Connor ascertains the locations of all the nearest weapons and exits and keeps a sharp eye out for anything amiss on the second floor. “Holtz took the… baby… into a hell dimension and raised the child as his own son.”
Something about the way he is speaking is starting to trigger alarms inside her head, she knows there is something about all this that she is missing. However, the overwhelming fact that Holtz took the baby is shutting down her more logical thought processes, leaving her only to wonder how long it really has been. “Oh,” she figures that saying ‘oh god’ would be inappropriate, yet she is struck as with what to say. “Oh…”
Connor watches her reaction closely, but she only stays where she has been sitting, staring no longer at him but beyond and through him into some oblivion only she can see. Crystalline tears spill over her eyes and trail down her cheeks, but she seems unaware and relived enough that Connor is not dead so that she is not weeping. Abruptly Cordelia calls him from upstairs, weakly, “Connor… Connor, what’s going on?”
In a moment of indecision of what to do, Connor stands there, unsure if it is wise to leave a stranger sit there unsupervised yet at a loss of how to check on Cordelia without tossing this saddened young woman out into the night to be prey for vampires. As he is debating this all momentarily, her eyes snap back to focus and she looks at him with a much different expression, as though something is finally dawning on her. “Connor…” she says his name as though sounding it out for something and stares at him questioningly.
Yet Connor has been reminded of his duty to protect his family and realizes he must go check on Cordelia first and worry about everything else second. He rushes up the stairs, calling back, “Just a second,” to both the supposed love of his life and the woman downstairs.
Only once he is out of sight does another almost unnoticeable sound become apparent. Someone has been coming up the walkway very silently, too silently to be human. Closing her eyes, the young woman stands and listens to the unperceivable sounds coming from behind her, unafraid.
The first thing she feels is a cool breeze against her neck and she tenses. His hands roughly grab her hips, and he trails them slowly up her body, over her flat stomach. Pausing briefly to cup her full breasts, thumbs rubbing hardening nipples, then quickly running his hands back down to her hips, making her shiver slightly at his touch. Strong arms encircle her petite waist, spinning her around and forcefully crushing her body against his.
Both can hear the bones shifting in his tight grasp as she tilts her head up questioningly and his mouth descends to plunder hers. One slim leg pulls off the ground to wrap around his waist, and he hoists her into the air in response, she can feel every inch of his hard body pressing into hers. Pressed tightly against his chest, her full breasts heave in a flush of panic or excitement, it’s impossible to tell.
Still, she makes no move to escape his punishing grasp or lips, and instead wraps her arms around his neck, digging her fingers into the soft flesh there. Finally, she pulls away and stares up into the hard brown eyes of her captor in amazement as his grip loosens.
Her reprise is short-lived as his face shifts into a demonic mask and he tilts her head to the side forcibly before biting deeply into her neck. Moaning, head tilted back with her eyes closed, her hands came up as she pushes at his chest in protest.
A wooden stake hits the door just above the entwined pair with a loud whoosh. He retracts his fangs and yanks back from the woman and out of harms way, while she uses the opportunity to sink to the floor, as though weakened. From the staircase, Connor’s chilled voice cuts through the whispers and tension in the room, “Angelus, stay away from her!”
Casting his smoldering glance from the young man with the crossbow to the fallen beauty, the vampire offers a casual grin. He steps back just enough so that the angle is wrong to be shot by the crossbow, yet stays just inside the building. “Mmm, she’s delicious,” he notes with a wink towards the shaking woman. “Better keep away from her, junior, she’s mine.”
There is a blur of black as the vampire disappears into the night; easily avoiding the stake shot his way. Within a second, Connor has rushed to her side feeling an immense swell of concern at her well being; remembering the dangers that are Angelus. He attempts to pull her small hand from her neck but she resists and he lets her, trying to be comforting. “It’s all right, I won’t hurt you. Let me see?”
By the time the petite blonde has looked up, Angelus is long gone, but her features remain a mask of confusion, one hand resting up against the wound in her neck and her gaze steadily on Connor. In contradiction to his soothing words, she seems almost angry, refusing to let him see her bite mark. “You lied to me, you said Angel didn’t have a son… you’re Angel’s son.”
It is not a question but a statement and Connor recognizes it as such, conceding her that point. Wondering if she has been badly wounded by the monster that is his father, Connor still does not care to explain how he never wants to be considered Angel’s son. He respects her wishes and does not attempt to tend to her wound again, instead he asks suspiciously, “And who are you?”
Smiling slightly, she removes her hand from her neck and stands without his offered hand of assistance. Running her fingers though her hair, she does not allow Connor to look at her neck, but it is not a matter of refusing his help, her whole demeanor has changed to one of commanding. Still her voice is calm and light as ever and her eyes are smiling even if her lips are not, “I’m Darla.”
He’s heard that name before, had it drilled into his head as synonymous with everything evil. Yet, she doesn’t seem evil, this Darla, she seems bright and full of light. She cares enough about his well being to cry over him, that he knows, something that doesn’t lend towards the heartless and soulless theory. Testing out an idea that he has only thought inside of his head until now, Connor quietly tells the stranger, “My mother’s name was Darla.”
There is a pause. Glimpses of emotions flicker across Darla’s face as she patiently tries to decide how to answer, allowing him time to think over what she’s said… what he’s said. She’s still shaken by her meeting with Angelus, unsure of what she wants now. Carelessly, Darla tosses her head back, shaking out her hair even though fixing it is a lost cause. Smiling almost playfully, Darla sighs, blowing out the air for much longer than necessary. “I know.”
Connor wonders how Darla could have possibly known that she shares his mother’s name. Inside his head, Connor hears the echoing voice of Angelus; ‘Better keep away from her, junior, she’s mine.’ Understanding comes quickly as he realizes that this woman knows him far to well for a complete stranger, didn’t cry as though he were an acquaintance but as if he were…family. He’s struck silent as to what he can say to her now, his mother. It does occur to Connor that asking straight out if she is evil would be slightly rude and not likely to get a straight response. With a calm exterior belying his concerns, Connor points out, “I thought you were dead.”
Her laugh is light as he speaks, as though she had expected his words as a possible response but not the most likely one. Connor amuses her, reminds her of people long dead: the old Angelus and herself the first time around. Yet it’s not really him Darla is laughing at, she is laughing at death. Having been through various stages of it more than once, she no longer finds it interesting, simply amusing that she is back again and that nobody expected it. “Well,” she concedes, “I’ve been there, done that… more than once actually.”
However, Connor’s eyes are held steady at her bare neck, slightly wider than a moment ago, and he can’t quite find the words he wants, or the questions. Where twin puncture marks should be there is nothing, just a pale expanse of throat without even a scar. Slowly, her hand follows his eyes until her fingers just brush lightly over her neck. The amusement is gone, her expression blank, even to Connor’s well trained eye. He backs up until the crossbow is within reach and Darla is not before speaking, “I guess that answers one question.”
“Connor, it’s not what you think…” Darla trails off, her hand still lingering on her neck as she remembers her brief encounter with Angelus. There is no doubt in her mind that was her lover there, no insanity, no soul, just her precious boy. Yet standing in front of her is her other boy, one she promised to love, died because she loved, and Darla wonders how she can explain anything to him without giving the game away. Finally, she settles for a version of the truth, “I’m not the same vampire. I have a… conscience I suppose.”
Looking up sharply, Connor meets the eyes of the woman who brought him into this world steadily. It’s hard for him to understand why anyone would want to be born here, or why it’s a good thing that she saved him, except for her dying. Thinking of Cordelia and his pending family, Connor decides it’s a good thing if only for that. Still, there’s a creature standing in front of him in the guise of a mother he never knew. “Why should I trust you? Even if I do believe you, a conscience, Angelus had his soul and we can see how well that turned out.”
Sinking back down, Darla threads her hands through her hair, not looking up at the accusing eyes of a teenager. A teenager, she doesn’t understand how it could possibly have been that long, she wanted her new un-life to allow her to raise him, with Angel. Instead, everything she’s wanted for almost a century is being offered to her and something she’s wanted only for what seems like a year is the only thing holding her back. It’s confusing, even to her. Figuring the truth can’t do much damage at this point, Darla reveals, “This isn’t how I wanted things to go. Actually, I was expecting you as a baby so I wouldn’t have to explain all this. I guess that’s not even a relevant point… Connor, I want to get to know you, I can’t promise you anything else than that. I’ve lived four hundred years and the best I can tell you is that I want to try.”
This makes him uneasy, a long conversation, seeming openness, it’s alien to him and he can’t afford to find out how it all works. Not with Cordelia and his child depending on his silence for their lives. All Connor really knows is that he would die for them but he would prefer not to, he wants to protect them at all costs. This woman presents a risk he can’t afford to take, a chance he won’t allow himself to grasp. “It’s late. I would ask you to come back tomorrow, but I think maybe it’s better you don’t come back, Darla.”
Looking up, her head tilted slightly to the side, Darla seems to be seeing him and more, everything he’s trying to hide feels too open to him. A slight smile graces her face at this, knowing that she can still make men squirm and fear for their secrets, but she doesn’t want him to squirm. Taking a sniff of the air, Darla stands up and turns to go, pausing before the door to speak. “I created you, Connor, I’ll always know you. I’ll go, and you’ll be able to find me if you want, but do me a favor. When you go upstairs, don’t tell Cordy that I was here, and don’t tell Angelus she’s pregnant… he always liked babies.”
She’s gone before Connor can even begin to guess how she knew all that. He’s left feeling naked and confused, wondering how powerful she is. Four hundred, over a hundred years older than Angelus, which begs the question, how much difference does a hundred years make? Is she more dangerous, a threat to his family? Shaking himself as if to rid the powerful presence of Darla, Connor absently straightens his hair before going upstairs. He never had any intention of telling Angelus about his child, but now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t want to tell anyone about Darla either; his two little secrets. Cordelia moans his name from upstairs and he strides purposefully there, “Coming, Cordy.”
All he can hear is her. She’s been invading his head steadily the entire time that he has been free, but now there is more than distant memories to grasp onto. And there is no doubt in his mind that it was her, right down to the scent.
He can feel her breath cascading over his skin, still taste her. Her little gasps and moans are fresh in his ears, and the feel of her cold, powerful; blood sliding down his throat is enough to make him weak in the knees. He’s long since realized that there is nothing on this earth that he craves more than her, not blood, not death, it’s only her. Always has been, always will be.
Now his only question is what to do about it. She knew it was him, just as he knew it was her, no reincarnations or souls for either of them, just the real thing. But he can’t decide if he should wait for her to come seek him out, as he knows she will, or if he should just give into his cravings and go to her.
He knows either option will lead to the same enjoyable outcome; it’s been too long without her, and she always did like when he was in control. Yet, he stays because he is unsure of one thing. It is obvious that she wants him; she’s just as trapped in him as he is in her. But what does she want with Connor? Connor, the unknown equation.
Angelus wishes that she had never died for Connor, that he had killed the child, or let Holtz. Hell, he would be perfectly happy if junior had stayed in that hell dimension to rot for the rest of eternity, instead of ruining his plans.
“Wonder if she’d be pissed off if I just killed him already,” but he thinks she would be. What he doesn’t get is why. He won’t test it yet, though, because he’d rather not make her angry before he’s reminded her how much she missed him.
So, while he is sitting here, brooding, debating the pros and cons of all these options, he can hear her blood singing in his veins. The bond to his sire, stronger than ever without the soul trying to dissuade it, with her so close, all he can think about.
Trying to shake off the cloud her presence is creating in his head after so long without her, more lifetimes than he likes to think about, Angelus tries to remember that things are different now. He has to look at them entirely different, because he isn’t even sure that she still feels about him like she once did. The soul that was in his body did some things to her that Angelus would like to kill him for; he can’t even imagine the tortures she’s thought up.
But now he’s hungrier than before, despite the fact that he already caught a meal before going to the hotel, so he’s going to hunt someone else down. Of course, he’s lost track of whether it is daytime or nighttime, because it’s always dark, and he’s always feeling wide awake, so of course he’s hungrier than normal.
It takes Angelus only a few seconds to find a suitable meal and convince her to come with him. It’s like they can sense some lingering feeling of the soul on him, champion of the night that he was, and so they feel safe, not seeing the demon beneath. He lets his accent come out more, because he’s tired of trying to get rid of it, and it always makes them melt. “We should be getting you inside, it’s dangerous out in the dark for a pretty little lass like you.”
As expected, between the accent and his good looks, she’s already nodding and taking his arm, no matter that somewhere warning bells have to be going off in her head. She’ll follow his face anywhere, even if, like now, it’ll lead to her certain death. She’s muttering under her breath, little praises, “Oh thank you… like a hero… thank you… you’re right… so dangerous…”
He’s only half listening, still thinking about his sire and not caring about this stupid little girl. Now he’s wondering if he should find Darla and leave this pretty thing as a present; catch himself a different meal. But she’s probably making just as good use of the never-ending night as he is, and he’s hungry now. There’ll be plenty of time to find a proper present later.
Turning a corner, towards a darker alley than even now is normal, she pauses, steps faltering to keep up with his. The girl looks around quickly, almost jogging to keep up with his rapid pace. Finally she looks up and catches his blankly determined look, “Umm… we’re going the wrong way…”
He really doesn’t care, and he’ll tell her that, flashing a smile that will reassure her long enough for him to slip into game face and press her up against that strategically placed wall so that he can bite her. By the time she looks up again, he repeats himself, “I really don’t care,” before pinning her body above the ground with his, “and I don’t think I’d be worrying about that either, if I were you.”
Without bothering to try and stop her scream, he bites down on her neck, and she does scream. In the crowded neighborhoods of L.A., nobody cares, no faces appear at the lit windows, and if anything, people go out of their way to avoid looking out at the sound of her shriek.
But soon he’s taken enough blood and she slumps, lifeless, silent. People go back to their business, pretending ignorance, and Angelus pauses only to wipe a small dribble of blood from his face before reemerging into the nearly empty streets. He shrugs apologetically at the body, “Told you it was dangerous,” before promptly forgetting all about the girl.
Maybe he’ll go find some demons, remind this city that he’s the one who owns it now, and nobody else. Sure, he’ll have to kill a few, but that has never bothered him, and with any luck enough will remember him and know him that the news will spread that he’s back. Quickly he decides that this is the best course of action, “Then I’ll go find Darla a proper present, after everyone’s reminded that I’m in charge here.”
Lying thick with thoughts in his bed, their bed, Connor is being steadfastly avoided by the magical world of sleep. In this never-ending night, his body is on constant alert for possible predators, possible threats towards the woman sleeping fitfully beside him. The woman whom he should be sleeping peacefully and blissfully beside right now.
Instead, Connor lays wide-awake in the dimly lit expanse of their room, contemplating. It is not so much Cordelia and their child that he loses sleep over - although, admittedly, he has lost more than his fair share worrying over them - but the most burning problem tumbling around his mind is that of Darla.
The mysterious stranger, wary visitor, supposedly conscience-bound vampire; his mother. He is not sure which it is that bothers and confuses him the most. Surely she was a surprise guest, and a much more surprising connection to him, both which put him on edge and off guard.
Why. Why was she, a four hundred year old self-professed vampire with a conscience, sitting on the stairs of this damn hotel and claiming that she wanted to try to get to know him? Why was she alive - or unalive - and here, looking for him? Why had she cried when she had thought he was dead or lost to Holtz, his adoptive father?
And how. How did she know about Cordelia's pregnancy and that nobody else knew? How come she'd correctly guessed that he wouldn't mention her visit, even to Cordelia, his love, the one he was supposed to - and, up until now, had - told everything to? How come she'd known of him and where to find him but not anything else? How had she known that he was who he was simply by hearing his name? How had she stayed so calm after an encounter with that monster Angelus?
Ahh, Angelus. The counterpart of the bastard who had bore him, and from all of Holtz's many, long, and unforgiving stories the counterpart to Darla as well. But she hadn't cried over Angel, had she -she'd cried over Connor himself - so why would Angelus have mattered?
But Connor well knew the answer to that. Angelus made all the difference. He was what Connor had always known Angel was deep down: a murderer, a killer, a monster. The one who killed Holtz's family right alongside Darla and loved it.
So why did Connor trust her then? Why was he even sparing Darla's reappearance a second thought. She died to plunge him into a world he never asked for, a life he never really wanted, with more guilt from his parents than he could easily handle. A monster, like Angelus.
Only she hadn't seemed like Angelus.
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