Angel's Secrets ~ Fanfiction

Creative Works

A View From Below (Part 2)
By Carla Kozak
©1998
writeangled(at)yahoo.com

Disclaimer: All of the characters from BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox Television and the Warner Brothers television network. I am merely a BTVS enthusiast who has woven these characters into a story of my own. The characters of Gavin Reilly and Siobhan are my own invention, but their destined lines of work are the brilliant creations of Mr. Whedon.
Author's Notes: I am no expert on the Gaelic language, but I do know that its unique spellings and pronunciations can be confusing. So for anyone who is wondering, the name Siobhan is pronounced "sho-VAHN."

. . .

He told himself he didn’t care; there were plenty of other lasses in Galway, just as pretty as Siobhan, and much more eager to share his company. But when he sought them out, they seemed silly and dull, and his life emptier than ever.

Angel hadn’t given much thought to the future, preferring to ignore that empty expanse. Suddenly he was restless and irritable, feeling as though he had an itch he could not reach. He spent fewer nights at the tavern, and more just wandering about, his thoughts aimless and unfocused. He had a desire to run off, but he didn’t know to where, or what he would do when he got there.

He was drawn to Siobhan, and he wasn’t sure why. She was secretive, and did her best to avoid him. Angel could sense that she was lonely, and it occurred to him that he was lonely, too. His usual companions suddenly did not interest him; he had no desire to be with them, feeling even more alone when he was. Siobhan piqued his curiosity. It seemed to him that they had something in common, but damned if he knew what it was. If she knew, she wasn’t sharing the information. So he turned to his old books, and a few new ones, and he continued his nighttime rambles.

Most evenings, he would end up at a cove he knew, where he would sit on a rock and watch the sunset. It was a hidden place, and he’d long ago fixed up a small pit for a driftwood fire after dark.

One night, in that place, Angel’s dissatisfaction with everything about himself and all that confined him seemed to be reaching a peak. He stared moodily into the fire, setting aside his wool coat, hunching himself into the thick fisherman’s sweater that was best for nights near the sea. And then his attention was diverted, by a strange scene being played out on the rocks that rose from the surf.

Damned if it isn’t Siobhan, he thought, and then wondered why he was surprised. The small cloaked figure was grappling with one much larger--fighting well, too, Angel observed, even on the slippery rocks. He had no idea what was going on, but he couldn’t let a young woman be attacked, without coming to her aid--he was not so dissolute that he lacked all honor. Angel ran toward the water.

"Siobhan!" he called, and saw that she, and her attacker, were distracted by his presence. They didn’t see the wave that pounded the rock, and both went under.

"God save us," Angel muttered as he ran. He tossed off his sweater and charged into the icy surf after Siobhan.

He caught sight of her, fighting to keep her head above water in the rough surf. He took a deep breath and swam hard as he could in her direction. And uttered a brief prayer as he caught up with her, and got his arm around her to tow her back to shore.

In a few strokes, he realized that she was aiding, rather than fighting his rescue. Once he’d helped her get her breath, she was able to swim with him, and maneuver through the surf line. Finally they hauled up on the shore, drenched and coughing and shivering with cold. Angel saw that Siobhan was clutching a sharp, stout blackthorn stick.

"Are ye all right?" Angel managed to choke the words out. She nodded dumbly. "Come on then, I’ve a small fire near here," he said, helping her up from the wet sand. She was soaked through, cloak and all. He picked up his sweater, which by luck he’d tossed above the surf line, and led her to the cove.

"Here, take off that cloak and put this on," Angel handed Siobhan the sweater. "And where’s your friend?"

"Far out to sea, I hope," she gasped, "I do not think he could swim, the fool." She took the sweater, and looked at him. "But you, you’re cold too--I can’t take this."

"Look--here is my coat, warming by the fire. I came prepared to aid a lass who’d taken an inopportune swim in the sea. I even had the presence of mind to shed some clothing before taking my bath. Something you did not think to do."

"I had no time," she said with a grin. "I was rather busy, and then I did not expect to see you running toward me screaming like a banshee."

"Screaming, indeed. I was merely calling out a friendly greeting. You’d be better off out of your wet things, but at least put that sweater on," Angel ordered.

Siobhan shrugged herself into his sweater. "Oh, it feels warm!" she said with delight. It was huge on her, of course. She slipped her arms from the sleeves, and did some odd maneuvers. And then, with a grin, and some sleight of hand, her arms were in the sleeves again, and she’d pulled her blouse and shift from the sweater’s rolled collar.

"How did you do that?" Angel asked, clearly astonished.

"I have my ways of undressing with modesty," she answered. "In front of men who are not polite enough to avert their eyes."

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed. "I guess I did forget my manners there."

"No matter," she said, spreading the clothes on rocks near the fire. She gave a tug under the hem of her skirt, and her petticoat followed the other undergarments. She sat down and pulled off her shoes and stockings. "You were gallant enough to risk drowning, and pull me from the sea. I can forgive a slight lapse of gentlemanly behavior."

Angel put on his dry coat, but followed her lead and took off his stockings. He’d be warm enough by the fire, even if his breeches were wet. There was no way he could shed those. He turned to help her wring salt water out of her long hair, and then he fanned it out in his fingers. The curls caught the firelight and seemed to spark.

"Your hair is so bright," he said, with some awe. "I half expected to burn my hand when I touched it."

Siobhan smiled at him then, and somewhat timidly touched his own hair. "Yours is very dark, and wet," she said softly. "Are ye sure you’re not a selkie, then? Shall I hunt for your seal skin and hide it away so you’ll stay a man?"

Angel returned the smile. "I loved the selkie stories when I was young. Always wished I was one. Guess I’m not, or I wouldn’t have been so cold when I hit that water."

"Oh, dear, you’ve a chill on you still," she fretted.

"No, no," Angel assured her. "I’m warming up fine, with my coat, and the fire. And you sitting close by."

Siobhan ignored the last statement. She gazed around at the cove.

"It’s lovely here," she said. "There’s no wind at all, yet the sea is wild to look at. I think you know this place well?"

Angel said, "I do. I found it first when I was a boy. It was the place I ran to, when I needed to run away."

"And what were you running from?" Siobhan asked.

"Myself, mostly," he answered. "And any troubles I’d gotten myself into. But sometimes I just came to think, or to dream." He laughed then, somewhat bitterly. "It seems I haven’t dreamed in many a year."

"I am sorry to hear that," Siobhan said. "My sleep dreams frighten me, often. But the ones I let myself slip into during the daylight are what keep me going, I think."

"Maybe that’s why I’ve gotten nowhere," Angel said, almost to himself. "No dreams."

Siobhan turned to face him, her grey eyes searching. "Why did you come here tonight, then, if not to dream? Were you thinking--or running away?"

Angel grinned. "I just came to see the sunset. It was a pretty one, too--the sky was all streaked the color of your hair. I think you were too busy to see it."

"I did, actually," Siobhan said. "It was after dark that I found myself hard at work...It’s strange to see the sun set on the ocean. I’m accustomed to seeing it rise there, being from Dublin."

"I’ve never been to Dublin, or anywhere else but here. I’d like to see the sun rise on the ocean, sometime, and compare it to what I know. Maybe not in Dublin, though. Maybe in America. It’s all savage there, and unlike any other place, they say. I’d like to see something new," Angel said.

"Maybe that is where your dreams should take you?" Siobhan suggested.

"Or perhaps my nightmares--who knows?" Angel countered. "You talk as though I have some destiny."

"Oh, I think you do," she said. "We all do. But some of us see ours more clearly than others."

Angel looked at her. "You do. You speak as though you’re under an oath."

She shrugged. "I have certain duties, is all. I don’t like them, but they must be done."

"Ah, you put me to shame, wastrel that I am," Angel sighed.

"I don’t mean to," Siobhan said, earnestly. "I like talking to you. I haven’t sat and shared a friendly conversation in a while. It means more to me than you know."

Angel smiled. "Then it’s happy I am you’ve chosen me to share it with. Look though--should you not be home? Surely it’s past your supper time? Are you warm now? Should we go?"

"I’d rather stay a while, if you don’t mind. I’m not hungry--though you may be?"

"No. I was hoping you’d want to stay a bit," Angel assured her. "I like being with you, too. You’re not like anyone else I know. And I have some bread and drink, if you do get hungry." He pulled a hunk of oatbread, wrapped in his handkerchief, out of one pocket, and a flask out of the other.

Siobhan eyed the flask, and raised her eyebrows at Angel.

"It’s milk," he said. "I’m not constantly imbibing, you know. Though we both could have stood a nip of whiskey, after our little swim."

Siobhan laughed. "You’re right. I would have welcomed a sip then. And yes, I do leap to conclusions."

"I don’t suppose you’ll tell me just who or what that man was, who had the misfortune of attacking Queen Boudica’s daughter on the edge of the ocean, and of being no swimmer, too?" Angel asked.

"No, I won’t," she said. "I can’t--I don’t know who he was--or, as you say, what. He came at me like a demon. I’m glad he’s dead, and gone."

Did Siobhan put a slight emphasis on ‘gone?’ Angel wondered. No matter. He too was glad.

She gave him a quick glance, from the corner of her eye. "We’ve determined that you’re no selkie, but you do seem to be around when I’m facing trouble. Sure and you’re not an angel sent to watch over me?"

"I’d rather be that than even a selkie," Angel said, and took the opportunity to move a bit closer to her. "It would be warmer and drier, at any rate." His elbows were on his knees, and he dropped his chin into his hands and looked moody. "But it’s better you don’t depend on me--I’d probably fail, as I always do."

"Oh, stop that piteous talk," she said sternly. "Is it really that you fail, or do you just not try as hard as you might?"

Angel sat up. "Again, you see right through me."

Siobhan put her hand on his. "I don’t mean to be lecturing you all the time. I’m not so stuffy as I sound, really. But there are things I must do, and they make me see things differently than most. And I think perhaps the only difference between us is you haven’t found anything yet that has inspired you."

Angel turned to look at her, and said, "I think maybe you’re wrong."

He lifted her hand. It was slim, but very strong. A shiver had run through him when she’d touched him; he wondered if she had felt it too. Angel raised Siobhan’s hand to his lips, then held it to his cheek.

He saw that she was trembling. She said softly, "In one respect, I’m not much different from the other girls. I’ve been drawn to you, and it hasn’t been easy to spurn your attentions. I’ve tried not to flatter myself that they’re any more than interest in someone new, and perhaps that’s for the best. I think I’m meant to be alone."

Angel let his hand drop, and she pulled hers away, too. "I know I’ve a bad reputation, and God knows I’ve done my best to earn it," he said. "If it’s frightened away the only girl I’ve cared to be more than just a passing fancy, then that should be my punishment, not yours. But I’m willing to prove to you I’m not a cad."

"Oh, dear--I didn’t mean that! It’s not easy to explain, and that’s why it’s less complicated if I just avoid having to do so. But truly, you don’t need to prove yourself to me!" Siobhan looked sincerely troubled.

"Siobhan," Angel said with the slightest of grins, "it wouldn’t hurt me to gain a bit of self-respect."

"But being around me could hurt you. Don’t you remember how you found me tonight? My world is a dangerous one."

"And my world has been an empty one. Let me risk something, Siobhan. I’m not afraid. Let me into your world."

There was a sudden silence. Angel felt her hand again on his cheek. And it was she who turned his face to hers, and let her hand run through his hair. Her eyes were soft. He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently. Again he felt that current arc through him.

Angel felt breathless, and his voice was a whisper. "I’m thinking it was you sent to save me, Siobhan of the Shining Hair."

She clung to him then. It occurred to him that this sweet girl had no one to hold or comfort her. Master Reilly provided a home, and avuncular counsel as she went about those "duties" which took her out after dark and exposed her to danger. What strange sort of life was this for a girl? Angel longed to know more about her. He needed to be the one who cared for her. He put his arms around her, and held her close.

"Why does Reilly let you run by night, to find fights with strange men?" he murmured into her hair.

Siobhan kissed him again, more deeply. She seemed to be drinking him in. He sensed that this was new to her, and yet she knew what she wanted. It intrigued him. He would happily be consumed.

"He knows that I must," she answered, sounding resigned.

He set his lips softly on her brow, on her eyelids, and then dropped them to her throat. He felt her pulse there and breathed in her scent, which hinted at an oddly pleasant combination of musk and rosemary. It made him feel a bit light-headed, and he remembered that she wore nothing under the sweater and skirt.

"Siobhan," Angel said, reluctantly pulling himself away, "I must take you home. Despite my good intentions of these past few moments, I’m not known for my self-restraint, and I don’t want to do anything that might hurt you."

"I don’t think you could hurt me," she said. "But you’re right. I don’t want to leave here, but we should go now." She kissed him once more, letting her lips linger on his a moment longer. Then she turned away with a small sigh, and began retrieving her clothes.

She pulled on her stockings demurely, barely raising her skirt, stuck her feet into gritty damp shoes, and gathered the other articles into a small, neat bundle inside her cloak. Angel stood, taking her bundle under one arm, and reaching out with the other to hold her hand. They walked away from the little cove and headed toward town.

"I think I am beginning to feel responsible for your safety, Siobhan," Angel said. "I sense that you don’t want me to pry into the nature of your duties, odd though they are. And I want to respect that. But I admit I’m wicked curious."

"I’d worry about you if you weren’t. I am a strange one, I know. And though I assure you it’s not your business to look after me, still it is comforting to know that you do." Siobhan moved closer, and leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked.

He slipped his arm around her. "Would you let me help you? Not that I have any idea how I could."

She was silent for a while. Then she said, "I’m afraid I’d have to put you to a test."

Angel stopped, and turned to face her. Her eyes searched his. "If you’re willing," she said, "look for me tomorrow night. If you watch what I do, and ask no questions till I say you may, and make no attempt to stop me...well, then we shall see if you could be of assistance."

Angel said, "I’ll do my best."

Siobhan smiled. "That’s all that anyone can ask of you." Her tone became more serious then. "I’ve dealt with loneliness for many years now. I’d thought I’d mastered it. But it’s been more difficult since I met you. I fear that my reasons for reaching out to you are quite selfish."

Angel set the damp bundle down, and drew her into his arms. He tilted her chin up, saying, "Would it help if we took a vow to ease each other’s loneliness? And if it will make you feel better, I will promise not to let myself get hurt when I am with you." When she gave a small nod--and he swore he could see stars in her eyes as she did so--he solemnly kissed the top of her head. "Consider it done. We are now joined, for good or ill. You’re a brave lass, Siobhan." He took her arm, and the wet clothes, and they continued on.

He delivered her to her house then, hoping for another kiss, but the door was opened immediately by Master Reilly. "Siobhan!" the old man exclaimed. "I was worrying over you."

She quickly reassured him. "All is well, Uncle. Don’t fret. I seem to have acquired a guardian angel."

Master Reilly looked at his former pupil, who rather sheepishly handed him Siobhan’s bundle of clothes.

"So he hasn’t quite lost all of his potential?" the teacher mused. "Well, we shall see. I do thank you, lad, for any aid you have given Siobhan."

"I was happy to be able to help her," Angel said. "And I will see her again soon, I hope."

He turned to go, but Siobhan exclaimed, "Oh! Your sweater! I will give it back to you when I see you next."

"No, keep it," he smiled at her. "It looks better on you."

. . .

Then the mountain rose before me,
By the deep well of desire,
From the fountain of forgiveness,
Beyond the ice and the fire.

Angel remembered what happened next with resignation. He had walked home, under the blaze of a splendid sunrise, with a spring in his step, and more hope than he’d felt in a long time. He remembered planning to speak with his father, to see if they somehow could ease their differences, and wondering if he could help his mother work through her pain. Naively, he assumed his very willingness would make things work out.

But back at his parents’ house, nothing had changed. His father already was half drunk and beginning to rage, and his mother had hidden herself away to lament, and Angel began to doubt. Who am I, he thought, that I can make a difference? What power do I have? His family had self-destructed, and he had been of no help to them.

So he slept a while, as the sun lost itself in heavy clouds. He slept in patches during the day, but each time it was a fitful, troubled sleep, and he finally gave it up.

"I need to see Siobhan again," he told himself. Was all that had happened the night before real, or just the quickening of blood in the presence of a pretty girl? How could such an innocent offer salvation to a hopeless lout of a man?

Now the revisited scenes became familiar again. They were the ones Angel had replayed a thousand times. How he had left his home, with a purpose and a destination and all good intentions, only to meet with a distraction.

It had seemed harmless enough. He saw a few friends, who urged him into the tavern. Some upstarts, new in town, were challenging the locals to various tests of strength and skill, in the form of cards, dice and arm-wrestling. Angel somehow was convinced that he was needed to uphold the honor of Galway.

"Just for a few moments," he agreed, "for I’ve someplace to be."

But the minutes lengthened, the drinks flowed, the challenges turned to fights, and Angel, accompanied by the one of his friends still standing, was forced out of the pub.

And instead of seeking out Siobhan, Angel found Darla.

. . .

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