Ats Fic, Part Two
Part Two
Cordelia wakes up. She is *not* happy about the Wolfram and Hart deal. So there's a lot of blowback from that.
Faith is playing super-slayer-secret agent with Buffy, which she has to admit is pretty damned cool. She gets grappling hooks, a ninja posse, the whole nine. Not to mention, you know, lots of confused girls looking for some guidance. Feels pretty good being able to help 'em out.
Angel tries not to yearn for what could have been. He's been offered up happiness before, and had to turn it down, though it hurts him body and long-damned soul. When the pain becomes too much, though, he finds Cordelia. She tells him he doesn't make any sense to her, and to quit brooding before his face gets stuck that way, but she can see the suffering even if she doesn't get it, so usually she ends up comforting him anyhow. She's noble like that.
Connor's first year at Stanford is interrupted by a freak accident, and his parents take him on a clearly bogus trip to "start a trust fund" at some huge weird law firm. Then it turns out demons are real, and vampires, and he has superpowers. Mid-pummelling, the rest comes back, and suddenly his limbs are sure and skilled again, wielding a blade like a musician his instrument.
Faith is rapelling down a wall when it hits her. She swears into her intercom for a solid half-minute. There are a few seconds of staticky silence.
"That means I'm pulling out," she manages. "Go in without me. Holy fuck. I need a goddamned drink."
Cordelia's eyes are full of sorrow and regret when they see him off. Connor tells her it was nice meeting her, and it's nearly the truth -- he had perhaps known her, saved her and commiserated with her for a time, but the woman he had grown close to had never been this Cordelia. Afterwards, she vents to Angel about the shame and anger of regretting things you couldn't prevent yourself from doing. He tells her he thinks he can understand how she might feel.
And Connor returns to college with new memories of people he once hated, or loved, or both. A new understanding of Angel, of Cordelia.
There is one more person he wants to see.
***
"Was waiting for you drop by," Faith says into the darkened room. "Didn't anyone ever tell you sneaking into a girl's bedroom is frowned on?"
Connor moves into the light. "I know," he says shamefacedly. "Sorry. I had to see you."
"Next time use the front door, stupid," Faith replies. "Since you're here, though... how've you been?"
"Good," Connor answers cautiously. "I'm in college now. I have a human family." Faith's eyebrows raise.
"Not bad, junior." She smiles at his flicker of annoyance. "So, the spell breaks, and you come here? Is that a business thing, or just pleasure?"
"My father -- Angel, I mean -- is in danger. I tried to help him, but he sent me away." He holds a hand up to stop her rushing forward. "The dust will be clearing by the time we get back. He'll either have escaped it, or not. We can't change things from here. But... I do want to go back." Faith comes up short at this, blinking in surprise. "I mean, I don't want to give up my entire life. But I'd like to fight with him, while I can. Except, you know. On his side this time."
"You want my help," Faith concludes.
"Something like that," he admits. "He trusts you. I trust you. Not too many of those left." Faith smiles momentarily, as if seeing something far away. Then she turns.
"Slayers Inc doesn't do business with Angel anymore." Faith opens a cabinet, starts pouring liquor into two small glasses. "Company policy is he's evil now, in good with the brass at Wolfram and Hart."
Connor frowns. "You believe that?"
"Oh, sure," Faith replies dryly. "All that stuff about never giving up on someone? Nah, forget that. Seriously, kid?" She downs her drink in one gulp. "I'm just saying, unless you have a hat and pair of sunglasses in those tiny pockets, we should probably sneak out." She holds the other out to Connor. "Liquid courage?"
He smiles and takes the glass.
***
Interlude 1: Angel and Cordelia
"Angel," she starts after the others have gone.
"Cordy," he warns. The illusion can change to accomodate them but it's almost out of juice.
"You just told me we're going to die tomorrow," she reminds him. "That makes this kind of now-or-never, doesn't it?"
He turns to face her, arms folded stubbornly.
She gives him a visual once-over, lips pursed.
"You look tense," she tells him.
"It's a tense time," Angel explains. "Was that it?"
"Oh, put a cork in it, captain." Cordelia snaps. "I'm trying to confess my undying love here."
Angel's hands touch the desk under him. Then he folds them again. Back to the desk.
"What?"
"Not that you didn't already know it," she continues. "At least, at one point. And then... it all got ruined again. But Angel," she swallows. "It didn't change anything between us. Not a thing. At least not on my end."
"Oh," Angel responds eloquently. "Thanks."
She raises her eyebrows at him.
"Oh!" he says. "No, I... Cordelia," he takes a deep breath. "You... you have to know. How much I care about you."
Cordelia writes the letters L-O-V-E in the air pointedly. Angel chuckles.
"Yeah," he admits. "Cordelia Chase, I am... I am in love with you." It feels like the weirdest thing he's ever said. He wonders how it all seemed so obvious with Buffy, and then with Cordelia it had to be staring him in the face for years before he put it together. Possibly the love of clothes shopping, he ruminates. Or just the love of sassing her employer. That seemed like a definite possibility. And now they were really almost out of time.
"Well all right then," a smile quirks at her mouth. "That's all I wanted to hear."
"We are going to die tomorrow," Angel feels compelled to remind her.
"I know," she tells him, now smiling broadly. "I just... really like the whole man-driven-by-a-great-and-terrible-purpose look on you. Very sexy." And now he can't help smiling either.
"Go enjoy your day," he tells her. "I'll be waiting."
***
"Connor," Steve's voice is hushed with awe. "Your, uh, your girlfriend's here." Connor looks past Steve at the black Camaro gliding down the drive. They're leaving metaphysics, textbooks in hand. The two other boys turn to investigate, then they all watch, unwilling to look away.
Faith coasts to a stop, leaning over to open the passenger door. She slides her sunglasses down for a second to wink at him.
"That's Faith?" Andrew asks. He doesn't even want to blink. "Dude. Connor."
"Sorry, guys," Connor pats Andrew on his way by. "Looks like my ride is here." He slides smoothly into the seat beside her, and Faith lays one on him, a real whopper with plenty of tongue. As she turns back to the wheel, she sees the other boys in the corner of her eye and has to stifle a snort of laughter.
"Very mature," Connor observes as they drive away. Faith gives a toothy grin.
"Did you see how low-cut my shirt is?" she asks gleefully.
"Yes," Connor answers pointedly. Then, begrudingly, "...it was pretty funny."
"Funny?" Faith inquires innocently.
"And very hot," he adds. "Not to mention totally gratifying."
"Better believe it," Faith nods.
"So what are we dealing with?" Connor wastes no time. "More Wolfram and Hart agents?"
"Nah, nothing that urgent," Faith turns right on a red. "Demon crime ring's been running human-fights. We're the only ones who can stop it. Personally, I'm hoping we go in and tear shit up."
Connor nods. "We're sure the info is good?"
"Straight from the powers," Faith nods. "Cordy's vouching for it. Plus we got the recon to back it up. Boss says we rendezvous downtown, load up and head in."
"Do you have to call him that?"
"Would you prefer Captain Dad?" Faith smiles at his displeasure. "Commander Cool? Ooh, or Admiral Angel!"
"That's terrible," Connor says honestly. "I think he'd be embarrassed by any of them." Then he frowns, considering. "I'm breaking out Commander Cool if he starts sending me on stakeouts again."
"As long as Spike doesn't tag along, I ain't gonna complain," Faith opines. "Chaperone, my ass. He sits in the backseat and gets wasted. And last time he had that nasty-smelling sandwich."
"I don't know what gave Angel the idea that we'd need watching over," Connor sniffs, indignant.
"As if we can't control ourselves," Faith agrees, sliding one hand up Connor's leg.
***
Interlude 2: Spike, Gunn
"That whole time," Spike says mournfully. "Coulda told 'er. Why didn't I tell 'er."
Gunn takes the bottle. "Scared I guess?" he says helpfully. Spike looks affronted.
"Oy!" Then he relents. "Maybe. And now she knows and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it."
"You did kind of make a splash," Gunn agrees. "And they do own every airline."
"Bollocks!" Spike execrates. "Bollocks. Not that I know what I'd say even if I could talk to her."
"Have I mentioned how much I love talking about Buffy when we drink?" Gunn asks cheerfully.
Spike sticks his tongue out at him. Who says vampires have to be mature.
***
A sewer is not a cosy place to live, but Connor's slept in worse. They sprawl across various chairs and one sofa, elated from the evening's adventures. Freeing human captives, killing sadistic demons, and no complications from any of the assorted bounty hunters and hired agents on their tail. Cordelia leans on Angel, bone-tired.
"You guys are gonna wake me up if the world ends, right?" she asks, yawning.
"No problem," Angel promises her. "Is the hot plate working yet? I could really go for a cup of goat's blood."
"The hot plate won't be working until Mr Brains-of-the-Operation hooks us back into the power line," Spike complains. "Figure that's sometime after the forces of evil route us from our den and brainsuck us all to high heaven."
"I can't do everything all the time," Wesley defends himself. "The Umpqua syndicate was our priority. If you're too tired to make a fire, I'm afraid you'll simply have to choke your plasma down at room temperature." He smirks. "Just pretend it's from a half-day-old kill." Spike huffs in disgust.
Gunn's last to return. "I got beans, corn, and asparagus," he tosses the cans onto the de facto kitchen table. "We can always catch a few frogs and make stew again." The humans groan. "Hey, we could always try rat."
"In Q'ortoth we would often eat small lizards and crawling bugs for sustenance," Connor nods.
"Then I vote you not be the chef," Faith replies. "Anyone else with me? You can really only do so much with lizard."
"I require 600 calories of nourishment," Illyria declares. "In what form I care not, but hasten. I hunger."
Connor sits up after dinner, outlining his thesis and supports for the midterm. Faith is on watch, so that works out well. She carves a stake to keep herself occupied, still alert. Wesley works on the nightly enchantments to hide Connor from hostile gazes as long as he remains within halls of knowledge or sacred ground. A faint scar on his belly marks the day he died, for nearly ten hours; the scar above his heart marks the ritual that returned him. Spike and Gunn are already out, having claimed the southwest corner as the bachelor section. Cordelia is falling asleep on the tattered sofabed. Angel isn't yet tired enough to join her, but he's getting there.
Connor sits back and decides he's done enough for one night.
"It's Tuesday, right?" he asks the empty air. "Mom watches that Real Housewives show."
Angel gazes at him with hurt and love, awkwardly patting his knee as they sit at watch. "I'm sorry you're not with them."
Connor gives a perfunctory smile, dismissing this. "That's not what I meant. It's... it's okay." Pain passes over his features. "I mean, they're fine. And I get to send them a letter every once in awhile. It could've been way worse." Faith is eavesdropping, though she misses some.
"Still. I've had to leave the people I love before. It's. Hard." Angel makes his pained concern-y face. Or possibly his pained feeling-guilty-for-no-reason-again face. Or gastrointestinal distress. Angel has a lot of pained faces. Connor can feel the guy's sincerity, though, which is kind of nice.
"Angel," Wesley's carrying papers and sounds concerned. Angel turns.
"Wes? Something wrong?"
"Not..." Wesley considers. "I think you should see this. I've been working on the scrolls we stole from Vale, and I think I've found something in the ." Angel stands, reaches for the papers Wesley has tucked in his arm. "Oh," Wesley starts, looking at Connor, "I think maybe you should see this together."
Connor and Angel look back at him, confused.
"Not that I have the most unblemished history with these things," Wesley explains, "but I believe the prophecy concerns Connor."
***
Interlude 3:
"How can I have allowed that to happen? How can I have let the shell mistake itself for me? How..."
"Feeling a bit out of control?" Wesley suggests, not humorlessly. "As if your body is being taken over by someone other than yourself?"
"Jest not!" Illyria turns on him, teeth bared in fury. "It is the most vile infection a being such as myself can suffer."
"And yet you were so pleasant to her." Wesley responds. "Crawling inside her, consuming her slowly. Letting her linger in torment, slowly losing herself to the fever and crying with the pain of it. You--"
Illyria hits him.
Just once, and not very hard. At least, not hard enough to kill a human. Wesley notes this absently as she collapses in front of him. She edges closer to his seated form, and holds him like his ghost would have. He wraps his arms around her. His jaw throbs with pain.
"It hurt so much," Illyria admits quietly. "Knowing she'd never see my parents again." She might actually be crying. All Wesley can tell is that she's trembling.
"It's over now," he tells her, still trying to comprehend. "You're... just you, now."
"Illyria," she draws back, narrows her eyes and cocks her head at him. Then she looks away. "Noted physicist. Winifred Burkle. Ruler of demon hordes."
Wes has a bit of a chuckle at that image. "I didn't get the impression she was very approving of demon hordes."
"She was not," Illyria agrees. "I feel her awakening within me. Such hurt. Such... love."
Wesley holds her tight and can't help his thread of hope.
***
A child of three fathers, Innocence, Vengeance and Atonement, born of death and beloved by it; shall seek refuge in human law but fulfill instead his bloody inheritance. In the coming of the Great Day, he shall throw back the armies of Hell once in morning, once as sun is high, and last at sunset, in aid of his family.
Connor reads it over carefully, arms folded, and then again to be sure. Wesley, holding the paper up by his right shoulder for Connor's inspection, sighs to himself.
"And you think that's me?" Connor asks skeptically. "beloved by death? really?"
"It's not a judgment thing," Angel reassures him. "It just means you were beloved by someone who killed a lot of people -- in this case, Jasmine."
"Three fathers," Wesley states clearly. Both turn to him. "Holtz, Angel, and the man you now call your father. Holtz -- vengeance. Angel -- atonement. Your father -- innocence. It all fits." Connor makes a grab for the translation again, frowning as he scans it.
"Born of death," Connor realizes. "Darla."
"Shall seek aid in human law but fulfil instead his bloody inheritance," Wesley finishes. "You can see how we'd think it was you, yes?"
"So, what does it say I do?" Connor asks uneasily. "Throw back the armies of Hell three times in one day?"
"Actually, the Great Day is much less literal than that," Wesley begins. "It can mean any period of up to five years. It simply means, once at the beginning of things, once at the height of the battle, and once to bring conclusion."
"So I have two battles coming?" Connor interprets. "And they're both connected to some army from Hell I've stopped once in the past five years?"
"Were there really that many?" Angel asks aloud.
"So... lots of fighting?" Faith asks from the doorway.
"Lots of dying?" Cordelia asks in displeasure, eyes closed on the couch.
"And lots of killing,"Connor says with satisfaction. "Cool. I'm in."
BONUS SCENE: Interlude, Sam and Dean Winchester
"Carl!" Dean greets him. "You're wearing the melancholic expression of a dude who found his dirt. Lay it on me."
"Hey Dean," Carl replies reluctantly, sliding into the booth. "Hey Sam." Sam nods back.
Dean slides a jigger of whiskey across the table. "Good to see you, Carl. So what's the situation on this prophecy?"
"It's..." Carl seems at a loss. "I found it."
"...And?" Dean prompts after a moment.
Carl takes the shot, puts the glass back down on the table, and sighs at it. "Word is it's about your brother."
Sam starts back. Dean raises a hand in protest. Carl cuts him off.
"I'm just telling you what I heard. New guy's even been passing around a translation. Here," Carl hands him a scribbled note. "That's the full Child of Three Fathers prophecy. Now if it's all right with you, I'm going to go ahead and make my exit before the punching begins." Sam grabs the note out of Dean's hands. Dean stares angrily at the table as Carl walks off, double-checking to make sure he's out of sight before catching his brother's eyes.
"Sam, no," Dean explains emphatically. "There can't be another goddamn prophecy about you. You're all prophecied out. You're done! Your every shoplifting transaction has been foretold in some ancient scroll of Hanna-Barbera somewhere." Sam looks very uncomfortable. "No, I just mean, come on. How many could there be about one guy?"
"It fits, though," Sam says slowly, reading unwillingly. "Dad was always, vengeance first. And Bobby is obviously atonement, because of Karen." He points out the line to Dean.
"Yeah, and innocence? I mean, who..." Dean looks into his brothers eyes. "Oh, for Christ' sake, Sam. I haven't been innocent of shit since I was nine years old."
"That's not how it means that, Dean," Sam responds. "And the rest works, too. Born of death and beloved by it? Azazel. Dude, it even talks about when I tried to become a lawyer. It... has to be me."
"I don't want to hear it!" Dean tells him. "There's somebody else. There's gotta be."
As it turns out they are both correct.