Avoiding DisasterBy Queen C
Angel’s POV
There are moments in everyone’s life that help define who we are. These moments shape us, creating strengths and weaknesses in our character that otherwise wouldn’t be there. They can be something as mundane as a traffic ticket to something as drastic as a marriage or divorce. Good or bad, it doesn’t matter. Each has a way of getting under our skin, into our psyche, and burrowing there. Most people don’t ever realise what those events are. They just continue along, day to day, doing the best they can with what they have.
That’s not the case for me.
When you live as long as I have, you usually have a lot of free time on your hands. Now, how you spend that time depends on who you are. Some would learn new languages. Others would travel the world. Then there are others, such as myself, who just wish that it were over. Who bury their heads in the sand and wait for the end to come.
The only problem is, the end doesn’t come. That’s part of being immortal. It just goes on and on and on, until it becomes too much and you finally end it yourself. Either you greet the sun, ‘accidentally’ fall on a stake, or just lose your will to live and wither away.
I didn’t used to feel that way, you know. Even after I was cursed with my soul and spent eighty-plus years in gutters, I never once wanted to be dust. Human, sure. I wanted to be human so badly I could taste it. Especially after meeting Buffy.
In fact, the only time I can ever remember wanting it to be over was when I was being tormented by the First. But, hey. *You* get tortured by the First Evil and see how well you fare, ok?
Now, though. Now it’s different. Now, the thought of surviving one more instant is just unbearable to me. Oh, sure, I’ll do it. Too many people are relying on me for me to just lie down and die. But, that doesn’t mean that I’m ever going to be happy again. And that certainly doesn’t mean that I can’t wish for a death that’s never going to happen.
Why do I feel this way, you ask? What could have possibly happened to cause such a Champion to fall? Well, I’ll tell you right now that it wasn’t just one thing. No, it was actually the accumulation of several events that all managed to merge together and strike me at one time.
First, there was the death of my son. Which, yes, definitely horrible in and of itself. After all, he was my flesh and blood. He was my redemption in human form. He was my world. But, even that wasn’t enough to cause me to lose hope. It was that mixed with something else. Or, rather, someone else.
See, there was this girl. She said her name was Dawn and claimed to be the sister of my beloved Buffy. Now, you know that’s a lie and I know that’s a lie. After all, Buffy didn’t have a sister, right?
Wrong.
Buffy did, in fact, have a younger sister. Granted, she was originally a glowing, mystical object known as the Key. But, these monks came along and made her human because this Hell God wanted to use her to open a portal. You know, I really hate portals. Nothing good ever comes from them.
Ok, I’m digressing. My point is, Dawn was real. She had the memories of everyone from Sunnydale, myself included. She also had memories of something that never happened. Apparently, she remembered Connor being killed, but only after he’d murdered all of his friends and family, excluding Dawn and myself.
How do I know all of this, you ask? Well, it’s quite simple. You see, the moment that Connor died here, in this alternate dimension where Dawn never existed, something happened. I’m still not entirely sure what. Perhaps the spell the Oracles did ended. Perhaps, since Connor died anyway, they decided Dawn had paid her price. Whatever caused it, in that instant, when I looked from my son’s lifeless eyes to the devastated face of the girl I’d never met, everything changed.
I remembered.
I remembered everything. Dawn as a young girl, following Buffy everywhere she went. Buffy’s sacrifice to save the life of her sister. Walking in on Connor and Dawn kissing. Seeing the loving glances they would exchange when they thought no one was looking.
Unfortunately, with the good, came the bad. I saw Connor’s murderous rampage and the look in Dawn’s eyes as she ran him through with the sword. I relived the agony that I suffered for all those months, knowing that virtually everyone I had ever known was gone forever.
And, last but certainly not least, there are my final memories of Dawn. Crying in my arms, her entire body shaking from the force of her sobs. Lying beside me, watching me when she thought I was sleeping. Lying beneath me, moaning in pleasure as I moved inside of her, her heat surrounding me.
I remembered it all, every last detail.
Part of me really wishes that I didn’t. At least then, I could try and continue my life, carrying with me the eternal sadness that comes from losing a child. Now, though, I have that sadness twofold. I’ve lost Connor twice. And, to make matters worse, I never got the chance to tell Dawn how sorry I was.
When I think of how Spike and I treated her in that alley. The things we said... well, let’s just say that we made our glory days as Angelus and William look mild.
I guess it really doesn’t matter, though. I could apologise for the rest of my unlife and I would never come close to righting this wrong. After all, she gave up everything so my son would be alive again, and all I did was threaten to kill her and forbid anyone from speaking about or to her.
However, regardless of whether or not I can make a difference, the fact is, I have to try. If not for her, than for my own peace of mind. If I want to *ever* have another moment’s peace, I have to tell her how sorry I am, for everything.
This isn’t the first time that I’ve tried to find her. Almost immediately after Connor’s death, I went looking for her. Using the same method as my son did, I questioned, threatened, and tortured every contact I had until I was finally told her last known location. However, by the time I’d gotten to the cockroach-infested shack that somehow passes for an apartment, she was gone. And, from the faintness of her scent, she’d been gone for some time.
So, I went back home and did the only thing I knew to do. I brooded. And, after brooding for nearly two weeks, I came to a realisation.
If I want to find her, I’m going to have to think like her.
The only problem is, how can I, a nearly three hundred-year old vampire, think like an eighteen year-old girl?
See, that’s just it. I can’t. It is impossible for anyone who isn’t a young woman to try and think like a young woman. So, once again, I find myself back at square one.
You know, this isn’t supposed to be so hard. I’m a detective, for God’s sake. I *own* a detective agency. Yet, I can’t seem to figure out where to begin searching for a mere girl.
Of course, she isn’t a mere girl any more than Connor is... was a mere boy. No, Dawn is special. Even if you forget that she’s not completely human, she’s still different. She’s the Slayer’s sister. She’s seen things in her short life that most people can only have nightmares about. And, through it all, she’s survived.
However, knowing all of this does me absolutely no good when trying to find where she could be. Now, I’m betting that she left California. Probably wanted to get as far away from the memories as she could. But, where? New York? Maine? Washington D.C.? Florida? Where would she go to disappear and start again?
Well, I guess the Powers That Be are looking out for me again, because while I’m pondering this impossible question, my cell phone rings.
Frowning, I walk across the room and pick it up from my bedside table. I can’t figure out who would be calling me. The only people who have the number are all downstairs. And I consider not answering it.
Then, curiosity gets the better of me and I press the little green button, hold the phone to my ear, and say hello.
For a moment, no one answers. I repeat my greeting, then prepare to disconnect the call, when I suddenly hear a voice that brings tears to my eyes.
It’s Dawn. She whispers my name, so softly that even I, with my advanced hearing, nearly miss it. Fortunately, though, I do hear her soft voice and immediately take my thumb away from the little red button that will disconnect us.
Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I try to think of something to say besides her name. However, all of the plans for apologies and pleas for forgiveness disappear when faced with the real thing. So, I do the next best thing.
I ask her where she is and tell her that I’d like to see her.
She calmly replies that she’s only in town for one night, that she’s just passing through, but if I really mean it, she’ll be at a certain club until two.
Quickly, I write down the address that she gives me and tell her I’ll be there in half an hour. She laughs, as though she doesn’t believe me, and tells me fine. Then, the line goes dead and, once again, I’m alone with my thoughts.
I sit there for a minute, looking from my cell phone to the plain piece of white paper with an address scribbled on it, trying to determine why I’m so shocked that she didn’t think I would show up.
I mean, why should she believe me? Or trust me, for that matter? I’ve certainly done nothing to deserve it. In fact, I’ve done just the opposite. When she was all alone in the world, I threatened her and shoved her away.
Wonderful champion that I am. When faced with the challenge of actually helping someone, I instead told her, in graphic detail, what would happen should she ever darken my doorstep again.
Suddenly, I realise that time is slipping away, and if I don’t get moving, my one opportunity will be gone.
It takes me mere moments to leave my room and make it to the lobby. Calling over my shoulder to my friends, I tell them that I’m going out for awhile. Then, I shove past the front door, climb into my car, and speed down the road.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the many years I’ve been on this earth, it’s that you can only learn from your mistakes if you correct them when you can. So, as I run every red light in town, I make a decision.
No matter what Dawn Summers needs, no matter what ordeal she’s forced to face, no matter how great the pain or potential loss, this time she isn’t going to face it alone.
Dawn’s POV
I don’t know why I’m doing this. I must be the most gullible, naive person on the entire planet. Either that or I’m just plain stupid. I haven’t decided which.
I mean, what? Do I *honestly* think that Angel’s going to swoop in here and try to save me like some broody, bad-haired superhero? That he’s going to show up, grovel at my feet, and then be at my beck and call for the rest of my life?
Actually, yeah, I do. I mean, realistically, I know that he’s not going to do any of that. But, that doesn’t stop me from hoping. Because, honestly? Hoping is all I have left.
Why’s that, you ask? What happened to my steely resolve after Connor’s second death? My vow to move beyond all this pain and make a new life elsewhere? Well, I’ll tell you what happened.
See, I did leave L.A. Just got on a bus and started heading east. I figured all these bad things had happened to me on the West Coast, so I’d see how much damage the East Coast could throw at me.
I really need to learn to quit tempting fate.
So, I’m on this bus that reeks of Aspercreme and dirty feet, squeezed between the window and this man that weighs at least four hundred pounds, when I suddenly realise exactly what I’m doing.
I’m not going east because I want to start over. I’m going east because I want to escape the West.
Now, normally this wouldn’t bother me. I mean, come on. I’ve been through my own personal hell these past two years. I deserve a break, don’t I?
But, apparently my conscience didn’t agree, because the farther I got from L.A. and Sunnydale, the more I’d hear Buffy’s words to me, “Dawn, the hardest thing in this world...is to live in it. Live. For me.”
I got off the bus at the stop before Bakersfield.
Unfortunately, I had spent most of my money on that bus ticket, so I barely had enough for a small meal at the restaurant in the bus depot. After I ate, I tried to decide what to do. I knew I could most likely convince someone to drive me back to L.A. But, being eighteen and female, I’m pretty hesitant about riding with truck drivers.
Of course, that’s when fate decided to intervene.
As I was sitting on one of the benches, my head in my hands, someone approached me. Glancing up, I locked eyes with this elderly woman that somehow seemed eerily familiar. She smiled at me, and asked me if I was all right.
For some reason, looking into her kind blue eyes, I could no longer keep all the pain inside. Shaking my head, I began sobbing.
Quickly, she sat beside me and took my hand in hers. Squeezing it gently, she whispered words of comfort to me until I began speaking.
My voice seemed to work on its own accord as I whispered my tale of sorrow and woe. I told her about Connor’s death, about my friends turning on me, about losing everything I had. I told her everything short of the paranormal stuff, and she simply nodded and continued to squeeze my hand and pat my shoulder.
Finally, when I’d told her all I could, and my tears had eased away, she asked me if I wanted a place to stay. She told me that she was all alone, that everyone she had ever known was either dead or had been removed from her life for so long there was no hope in reaching them again, and that she could certainly use a young pair of hands to help out around the house.
As if in a daze, I agreed. I don’t know why, really. You would think with everything I’ve been through that anytime anyone offered me help, my instincts would kick in and I would run. And, who knows? Maybe they did. Maybe my brain was screaming to walk away as quickly as I could and I just chose to ignore it. Because, at that point, it really wouldn’t have mattered if she had taken me home and sacrificed me to some demon. I was just too tired and drained to care.
So, making what could have easily have been the dumbest mistake of my life, I climbed in the car with this elderly lady and rode thirty miles to her home.
It was a quaint little cottage that reminded me of something you would see in the movies. A long, front porch wrapped around the front of the house, with a swing in the corner. There was a chimney sticking out of the red roof, with smoke billowing from it, and every window had matching curtains hanging from the inside.
Frowning, I asked her about the smoke, and she laughed. She told me that, at her age, she became cold quite easily, especially in a house with such a draft as hers had, so she kept a fire going as often as she could.
I’m not going to bore you with the details of the interior. Let’s just say that, for how cozy and warm it appeared from the outside, it was twice as much inside. If you want a better idea, pull up images of any elderly loved one you’ve had that you used to visit as a small child. Remember the comfort and security you felt there? That’s how it was with this woman’s home.
I’m not sure how long I stayed there. It may have been weeks, or possibly even months. She didn’t really celebrate any holidays, except for Christmas, and that was fine with me. Holidays are to be spent with loved ones and I no longer had any of those.
I do know that we fell into a rather easy routine, considering our age differences. And, surprisingly enough, we had a few things in common.
She’d lost her mother suddenly when she was a teenager, and her older sister had basically been the one to take care of her. She said she saw her father from time to time, but he wasn’t around regularly. She had a journal she wrote in from time to time, although she admitted to having been much more devoted when she was younger.
Mostly, we watched television together, played cards, and talked. She also taught me how to sew and cook meals that normal people would eat, not some of the concoctions that I’d been infamous for.
It didn’t take too long before the pain and betrayal I’d felt at the hands of my friends and family was pushed away, replaced with love and devotion I haven’t felt since my own mother died. I still thought of everyone, Connor especially. But, with time, I began to move past all the pain and remember him for what he was... a wonderful person with a heart of gold.
Of course, all good things must come to an end, and one rainy night it did.
I had been out in the garden, picking various vegetables for some stir fry we were making, when the sky opened up and, without warning, began pouring buckets of water down. Scrambling to my feet, I covered the food as best I could and dashed back into the house, laughing at the droplets that were dripping down my back and tickling my skin.
Entering the kitchen, I placed the vegetables on the table and called for the woman... Joan. Not getting an answer, I began searching the house, panic filling me with every step. I knew she never went outside after dark. She said it was too difficult for her to see and she wouldn’t know what was coming until it was too late.
Finally, I found her, sitting in her chair staring at the fire. Her knitting needles were in her lap and a serene smile was on her face. However, when I softly called her name, she didn’t acknowledge me.
Tears in my eyes and thinking the worse, I knelt beside her, glancing at her face. Finally, she turned her head, giving me one of her trademark sweet smiles.
“There’s something I need to tell you, Dawn. Something that I should have told you about long before now,” she whispered, slowly covering my hand with hers.
Puzzled, I asked her what it was.
She shook her head, using her free hand to motion to a bookcase in the corner of the room. “There’s a book over there I want you to get for me. You’ll recognise it when you see it.”
Not bothering to question her, I quietly stood and went to the large shelves that housed hundreds of books. Frowning, I began skimming through the titles, assuming I would see some classic literature that I dearly loved.
That’s when I saw it.
It was behind Gulliver’s Travels, tucked away in a corner where anyone just glancing wouldn’t think to look. With shaking hands, I pulled it out, blowing dust off the flowered cover.
Looking over my shoulder, I stared at the woman I had come to consider my friend. “You stole my journal?” I asked, betrayal lacing my words. “How... why...?”
Joan chuckled, shaking her head. “No, child. Not yours. *Ours*,” she answered softly.
Still not understanding, I held the book against my chest. “No!” I cried, “It isn’t *ours*! It’s *mine*! People don’t share a journal.”
“They do when they are the same person,” she replied quietly.
Frozen, I heard her words echo in my ears. Looking back down at the worn copy clasped tightly in my hands, I noticed the ageing of the cover. My journal, which was tucked tightly upstairs under my mattress, still looked brand new.
As if in slow motion, I opened the book and, through the tears that clouded my vision, I began reading the first entry.
“I should have known better than to threaten the Oracles. I should have known the price I was going to pay was a lot greater than anything I could imagine.”
Unable to continue, I took in a ragged breath and backed against the bookcase, staring at the woman before me.
“You can’t be me,” I denied. “What are you, some kind of shape-shifting demon?”
The woman laughed, shaking her head. “No. I am you. I’m not certain how it happened, I just know it did. I saw you sitting on that bench and thought I’d finally gone around the bend. But, then I realised... this was my chance. My chance to try to right all the wrongs,” she said.
Frowning, I hesitantly took a step closer. “Wrongs? What wrongs? You have a nice home and have lived a long time. Where do I... did you... we go wrong?” I questioned.
The future Dawn motioned me closer as she continued her story. “Sixty years ago, I was sitting on that same bench, feeling sorry for myself, and that was where I made a decision. If my friends and family wouldn’t help me, yet their memories wouldn’t let me leave, I would end the memories. So, doing things that I’m not proud of, I got the money to return to Sunnydale. Once there...” Her voice trailed off as tears entered her eyes. After a moment, she continued. “Once I arrived, I began a search-and-destroy mission of all of the Scoobies. One by one, I found them and ended their lives.”
Horrified, I shook my head. “No. I would never...” Yet, I knew what she spoke was the truth. Months before, when Connor had still been alive, the thought had crossed my mind. Unable to take my own life, I had entertained thoughts of taking everyone else’s. And, the only thing that had stopped me had been my love for Connor.
With him gone, it was easy to see how I could have decided to do it.
Nodding for her to continue, I sat in silence and listened to her confession of murder and revenge. She had killed everyone in Sunnydale, then gone to L.A. and done the same there. And, once she was finished, she proceeded to find someone who could kill the Oracles for her.
For nearly an hour, I was witness to her baring her soul. She had been alone since that day, never trusting anyone enough to get close. She had accumulated quite a bit of money through theft and investments in her twenties, so she had paid to have this home built. She said that, if she couldn’t have a family, she at least wanted a family home.
Once she was finished, she sat back in her chair and stared at me. Perhaps she was trying to gauge my reaction, or perhaps she already knew what my reaction was going to be and she was just waiting for a response. Whatever the reason, she sat there and stared, allowing me time to collect my thoughts.
Finally, I shrugged. “The past is the past,” I said. “You can’t change it and you’ve already prevented it from happening again.” I wanted to assure her that she had made up for it. That, by saving me, she had done good.
However, apparently redemption isn’t what she was after. Shaking her head, she sighed. “It’s too late for me, child,” she stated. “My time has come to pay for my crimes. You, on the other hand, have a choice. I’m giving you all the money I have saved. Take it and do what you will. Start over somewhere fresh if you choose. Or, go back and try to fix the injustice you’ve been dealt. Don’t let Spike and Angel threaten you again. *Make* them understand. Make them find a way to help.” Closing her hand over mine, her eyes drifted shut. “Do it for me,” she whispered.
Then, she was gone.
Alone again, I sat there holding her hand until it was cool and clammy while I tried to decide what to do. Finally, I realised that I had no real choice. At two pivotal moments in my life, I’ve had people tell me to live for them. Both my sister, who sacrificed her life for mine, and my future self, who tried to save me from the life she had led.
So, rising to my feet, I began the process of packing up. I didn’t take much. Just her journals, the cash she’d said I could have, and a few knickknacks that I particularly liked. Then, putting all of my belongings in the back seat of her car, I headed back to L.A. to face my demons.
And that’s what I’m still waiting to do. Sitting at the bar, sipping a coke, I find myself glancing towards the door, wondering if Angel is going to bother showing up. If he doesn’t... well, I guess I’ll show up at the Hyperion and *make* him understand, like my future self said. I mean, I only told him I was in town for one night to try and make him come. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be.
Fortunately, I’m not going to be forced to put that plan into action just yet, because he just walked through the door.
Looking around, his eyes lock on me and he gives me a sad smile before making his way through the crowd to my side. Rising to my feet, I motion towards a table in the corner and he nods, looking decidedly out of place in this type of environment.
We sit down and stare at one another for a moment, neither sure how to begin. Then, he says the words I’ve been waiting for so long to hear.
He asks me if I want to come home.