Memories Of A Lost Paradise

By DM Evans

Chapter One

Buffy didn't like big magic. It always had bad ripples. Willow and Giles assured her it took a lot of energy for this spell but it was safe, not so much a big magic as just complicated. Buffy liked her alternatives less, hours upon hours trapped on a plane from London to L.A. so she let Willow teleport their group to the City of Angels. Now if she only knew if she were ready to confront one Angel in particular.

The teleportation spell, requiring one of the covens that worked with the Watchers Council in London, had left her disorientated, setting off blips of memory, one by one, as if plucked from the ether she had just recorporealized from and arranged for her in a Viewmaster Reel

Blip, memory one sparked by the shock at seeing a brief glimpse of white-haired Willow, the one Kennedy used to call 'her goddess' until one of the witches took exception to the perceived insult to her religion.

Blip, memory two: Kennedy boarding the plane to Canada, working on a Hellmouth up in the permafrost. Willow hadn't been too traumatized at the growing apart of lovers. Buffy hated feeling grateful to see her go but she had never forgiven Kennedy for the mutiny.

Blip, memory three: Willow, more comfortable with her bi-sexuality, kissing her original love, Xander and he kissing her back. It was true; you never forgot your first love or at least, it was that way for Buffy.

Beside her, Connor gave out a low groan beside her, dragging her out of the memory reel. She looked at him. He rubbed his head like he had a migraine. He looked too young to have eyes older than pyramids. She worried about him, had been worrying for three years now, ever since he had come to London with her and her friends.

"You okay, Connor?" She put her free hand on his bony shoulder, as she shifted her burden against her hip with the other.

"That felt like knives in my brain."

"Tell me about it," Willow groaned.

"Aunt Buffy, my tummy hurts."

Buffy hiked up the three year old she held on her hip, smiling as she looked into the bright blue eyes of her niece. She ruffled Sorcha's long, soft, light brown curls. "Aunt Willow said it'll be okay real fast. If not you tell me, sweetie."

"Okay." Sorcha tucked her cheek against Buffy's shoulder.

Uncomfortable, Buffy's eyes flicked towards Connor. He fought hard not to show his pain at not being the one Sorcha turned to. It hurt Buffy's heart. Connor was the reasons they were all back in L.A. The last three years had been devastating for everyone, particularly Connor.

Buffy stared at the large Queen Anne-styled home that was the centerpiece of the L.A. Watchers' complex where Wes headed the division. Wes and Angel left Wolfram and Hart when Fred died, after Illyria was vanquished. Angel had already wanted out after the spell with Connor had gone awry and his son's mind had come back to itself. What happened to Fred had been the last straw. Gunn and Lorne stayed with the law firm, an uneasy truce between them and the Watchers.

Standing in front of Wes and Angel's home kicked off the memories again. Buffy wondered if her companions had been effected by the spell the same way since no one was moving.

Blip, memory four: Spike pairing up with Angel and Wes, turning into something just shy of being a full blown Watcher. He occasionally seemed embarrassed to be a vampire on the side of good.

Blip, memory five: Spike moving in with Cordy. He had a penchant for finding domineering women. Buffy knew from experience he liked that and it seemed to be working for them.

Blip, memory six: She remembered the last time she had spent in L.A., nearly five years past, back when Connor first remembered who he was after the spell had been broken by the big bad magic from that battle she and Willow had been involved in. They had been in Wales when the battle's side effects had undone spells all over the world. Dawn had been asked to help Connor learn to be a regular teen and it turned into a fateful flirtation, the deep headlong rush into love. One night of failed birth control had left Dawn a scared seventeen year old with a baby growing inside her.

Blip, memory seven: Feeling her fury again over when Giles brought Dawn to London to tell her. Given what happened with Connor's first child, Buffy had wanted Dawn to have an abortion. Dawn had considered it long and hard but finally decided their mother would have been disappointed if she did. Dawn knew her extended family would help raise her child and in the face of such stubbornness Buffy had relented.

Blip, memory eight: Taking Dawn to London to help set up the new Watchers' Council. Dawn agreed eagerly. She a wanted to be a Watcher and study magic. Buffy gave in, knowing Giles and Willow would back Dawn up. Connor joined them, still unable to forgive his father for tampering with his memories, no matter the good intentions Angel had. Connor seemed to deal better with Angel at a distance. With a whole continent and an ocean between them, they emailed daily rebuilding a relationship that didn't involve screaming and flying fists.

Blip, memory nine: Her shock at how attentive Connor was to Dawn. He could be a pain in the ass to everyone else on occasion but he was at Dawn's beck and call. Most teenaged boys would have run off, scared to death to be an expectant father. Connor fell into the role as if his life depended on it. Buffy knew Dawn would have someone standing beside her the whole way and that had been a comfort.

Blip, memory ten: fast forward six months when Buffy came back from a job in Iceland - who knew demons would be in the hot springs in Reykjavik - to learn Dawn had a condition called partial placenta previa. The placenta was covering her cervix, life-threatening to her and her unborn daughter. They put her on bed rest in the Watcher's Infirmary waiting until the fetus was old enough to be taken by C-section. Buffy had been proud of Dawn who refused to have a partial birth abortion in order to be assured she, herself, wouldn't die. They monitored the baby for congenital anomalies, which could happen in previa but the baby looked fine. They wouldn't know if she suffered any brain damage from having a partially pinched off placenta until after her birth.

Blip, memory eleven: Connor doting on Dawn in the hospital every day for nearly three months. She told Angel daily in emails how proud he could be of his son.

Blip, memory twelve: She, Faith and Kennedy needing Connor to help battle back the latest big bad. Too late they learned it was a diversion for a group of mages led by Ethan, who wanted something from inside the Watcher's Complex, something that Wolfram and Hart wanted and had contracted Ethan to get.

Blip, memory thirteen: Pulling Giles from the rubble of the Watchers' library, his ribs, hip and leg fractured, almost watching him die, watching him limp as he would until the day he died. Seeing Robin in that same rubble, his head dashed open, seeing Faith's heart breaking. Being told at the hospital that Dawn had been taken hostage to insure the Slayers wouldn't attack Ethan and his cronies as they fled.

Blip, memory fourteen: Imagining the horror Dawn lived through on the run with those bastards. Imagining Dawn pleading for her life and the life of her unborn child. In her heart, Buffy could hear Dawn telling Ethan that her baby would die if it came naturally, begging to be dropped at the nearest hospital, promising no one would stop him. Buffy dreamed it at least once a week.

Blip, memory fifteen: Hating Ethan more than she had ever hated anything before because he didn't let Dawn go, not until he was safely away. He called the Council and told them where to find her.

Blip, memory sixteen: She, Willow and Connor finding Dawn and taking her to the hospital, seeing no fear in Dawn's eyes as if Connor had gobbled that emotion up, hoarding it inside him as his trembling hand cupped Dawn's.

Blip, memory seventeen: Standing there helplessly in blue paper footies, her hair caught up under a blue paper hat, holding Dawn's hand as the doctor and his team were powerless to stop the natural birth that had started long before Ethan made his call. The baby ripped through the placenta, coming into the world kicking and screaming. The doctor's told them this was the best sign. The blood poured out of Dawn, hitting the cold OR floor. The nurse put the baby on Dawn's chest as the doctor worked frantically behind the blue curtain spanning the young girl's waist. Buffy saw the love in Dawn's eyes just before they dimmed.

Blip, memory eighteen: Being unable to breathe, unable to think until she heard the terrible cry that tore out of Connor. In that brief moment as life left Dawn, his sanity shredded. Buffy didn't have time to say goodbye to her sister or welcome her niece. She had to restrain the anguished boy, realizing only then just how much he truly loved her sister. Later the decision was made, if they crossed paths with Ethan again, he wouldn't be walking away.

Blip, memory nineteen: Connor leaving the hospital only to enter the Watcher's psych ward, an old place, not destroyed by the explosion nearly six years before. Buffy hated the asylum, all cold grey stone and the ghosts of hundreds of years of torment echoing through the halls. She didn't know how Connor could be expected to ever get well there. She understood why he broke. People had cracked for far less than what he had gone through in the three short years he had been on earth. Losing the man he saw as his father, losing his first love in the spell that removed all memory of him from Cordy's mind, losing himself to Jasmine and killing her, losing everything when Angel rewrote his history, losing that good life thanks to more magic, losing Fred whom he cared about even though she had been angry at him for what he had done to Angel. She had helped him to learn about this world and took care of him in those first scary months and he mourned her death and now, Dawn. For a long time he didn't do more than sit and stare and occasionally answer questions as if he were removed from the world and didn't care about his answers.

Blip, memory twenty: Naming Dawn's daughter Sorcha. Buffy knew Angel and Connor would have liked her to have an Irish name. Buffy wanted to name the baby after Dawn but couldn't find a Celtic goddess of dawn, something she thought Dawn might have wanted given her bourgeoning interest in Wicca. Sorcha meant radiant and bright and Buffy thought that was a suitable tribute to her sister. Buffy didn't know what she would have done without Giles, Willow and Xander and even Faith. They all pitched in to raise Sorcha to the chirpy little three year old she was today.

Blip, present time, thinking on her family and struggling not to get sick after a bumpy ride: Buffy wished she could see nothing but roses and kittens in Sorcha's future but she knew better. Willow and Giles' divinations suggested Sorcha would be a Slayer when she grew up or at the very least something as strong as one, if not actually connected into the Slayer power. Buffy suspected that before the little girl was even born. Her mother was an interdimensional key made flesh and her father a human-demon hybrid. Sorcha didn't have a prayer of being normal but she was, at least healthy and not brain damaged in the least. She was a bright little girl who loved her aunts and uncles.

She loved her daddy, too, but she only knew him through supervised visits at first. Buffy was always encouraged by how just being around his baby would perk Connor up, break him out of his fugue a little. It had taken three years and a lot of therapy but he was back to almost normal. He had been released from the psych ward and for the last month had been living with Buffy, getting back out there fighting the good fight with them.

Suddenly, Connor developed a desperate desire to go see his father. Buffy didn't blame him and Willow leapt right in with a teleportation spell so they wouldn't have to make Sorcha endure hours of flight time and lay overs. It was why she was standing now in front of Angel's new home, dredging up all the old sorrows her heart could hold.

Angel blamed himself for not knowing what Wolfram and Hart was up to. He blamed himself for Dawn's death, that his granddaughter had torn her way out of her mother. He blamed himself for not being there to help. Buffy kept telling him it wasn't his fault but in the back of her mind she blamed him, too, but only for the not being there. He had only ever seen his granddaughter in pictures. Buffy never knew why he felt so unwelcome in London, why he never came to see her and the baby or came to see his son but she had her suspicions. Every email she got from him, and they grew less and less all the time, told her what she really needed to know.

Angel had given up. The fight was gone from him. He didn't care if Spike shanshued instead of him. He didn't care that most of his friends were gone. He couldn't even muster up enough positive emotion to try and bridge the gap between him and his family. He was locked up here in this house with Wesley, who still mourned Fred and Lilah, both of them trapped in their misery, lost in their memories of better days. Even Spike and Cordelia had moved to another bungalow on Council grounds, just to get away from the constant gloom.

"One of us should knock on the door," Willow said.

Buffy tried to move but couldn't. She wasn't sure she could face Angel now that she was actually here. Sorcha squirmed and Buffy set her down. Stepping out from the ring of luggage around them, Connor went up the stone steps, cracked with weeds pushing through the weakened areas. He knocked and Buffy felt better when Wes opened it, but, of course, he would since it was daylight. The Watcher looked nearly as old as Giles but his blue eyes sparked seeing them. He smiled warmly.

"You made it. Please, come in. I don't know if he could contain his excitement much longer," Wes said then smiled down at Sorcha, touching the top of her head. "Hello, little one."

As Sorcha clung to her shyly, Buffy found herself thinking 'He's excited?' Maybe this had been the right thing, after all. Buffy didn't know how she walked inside. Maybe it was the strength she took from the little girl holding her hand. Sorcha didn't know to be afraid. She might sense her family's apprehension but she couldn't understand why. She was just excited to be someplace new and to finally meet her grandfather she only knew from stories.

Willow walked ahead with Wesley. Connor hung back for a moment. Buffy reached back and took his hand, feeling how cool and damp it was. She smiled fragilely, drawing him forward and slipped his hand into Sorcha's. The girl beamed up at her father as she walked between them.

Angel was in the library, light pouring through the windows. Buffy still wasn't used to seeing him like that but she was thankful that Gunn and Angel were at least civil to one another and Gunn had Wolfram and Hart give necro-tempered glass for Wes and Angel's duplex and for the main Council headquarters in L.A. Buffy saw the apprehension in Angel's eyes and she felt better for it. She didn't feel like an island of grief any longer. He slowly came toward them, his face mobile with the struggle to rein in his emotions.

"Connor," he said softly. "Buffy, Willow. I'm so...glad to see you." He knew it sounded lame, almost pathetic. Buffy could see that in his dark, constricted eyes.

Connor broke away from them and went to stand in front of his father. Buffy felt a racing ache shudder through her body, wondering if it was too soon, if they were wrong about Connor's mental state. Maybe he was too fragile for this.

The young man surprised all of them by tossing his arms around Angel's shoulders, hugging his father tight. Angel froze. Buffy saw confusion and joy warring inside him. Joy won as he crushed Connor to him. Neither man said anything. Buffy wanted to slink out of the room to give them privacy and from the looks on her companions' faces she knew they felt the same. Finally Angel let go of his son, patting him on the back. Both men had red, wet eyes they were trying to hide.

Connor came back over to her with Angel right behind him. The vampire wouldn't meet her eyes and she knew it wasn't because of the little girl holding her hand as Angel wasn't looking at Sorcha either. Connor squatted down beside Sorcha, straightening the little bow on the dressy dress she hadn't wanted to wear. Buffy hadn't blamed her. Sorcha was a tom boy and the idea of being in purple velvet with a floral sage green skirt hadn't sat well with the child. She had promised her niece a quick return to her usual jeans and T-shirts once they got where they were going but she had wanted Angel's first time seeing his granddaughter to have an air of formality. Connor had agreed but it had fallen to Buffy to enforce the edict. "Sorcha, this is my dad, your grandad, Liam." Connor gestured up at Angel and Buffy blinked at the name. She hadn't given much thought to what name they'd tell Sorcha to call her grandfather by. When she bought gifts for Sorcha and pretended they were from Angel she always just signed them 'granddad.' Her own father was so far out of her life that she didn't even tell Sorcha about him. If he couldn't be bothered to show up for his own daughter's funeral, he didn't need to be part of his grandchild's life. Occasionally it struck her odd that she cut Angel more slack than her own dad but Angel had been there more for her than Hank Summers ever had.

Angel knelt down, still towering over his son and granddaughter but the girl's eyes fastened on him without fear even when he reach out and cupped her little chin. "Hello, Sorcha. I've been waiting a long time to see you."

Sorcha played with the hem of her dress then lifted it up over her head as little girls were wont to do when they got shy. Buffy was on her before Connor could even move out of his squat. She tapped her niece's hands, settling her skirt back down over her Pull-Ups. Buffy was never so glad as to have nappie-time over and done with. Nappie? She really had been in England too long. Diapers were still occasionally needed but potty training was almost a done deal. She tried to tell herself it was smooth sailing from here on out, raising a child, but she knew it was a lie.

"Good girls don't do that, Sorcha," she said, remembering her mom telling that to Dawnie, even though she knew Dawn had never been a little girl. "Sorry, Angel."

He smiled up at her, looking almost at ease now. "It's all right. But it's better this way," he said smoothing Sorcha's hair, "because we can see your pretty little face."

Sorcha's fingers went into her mouth as she turned to Connor, putting her arms around him. He kissed her head. "No need to be shy, sweetie." He stood, picking her up. "She usually isn't shy in the least. Think you can say hello to your grandfather?"

"Hi." She held out her arms and Angel stood up, taking the child from Connor.

Buffy watched as he held her close like he was drinking her in. Sorcha put her arms around Angel's neck, giving him a sloppy kiss. Buffy could see him melting.

"I hope you didn't mind what I told her." Connor shrugged. "Grandfather Angel just sounded...dumb."

"It's fine," Angel said, his eyes not leaving Sorcha's blue ones. "You're such a beautiful young woman." He smoothed her skirt down where it had flipped up. "It's a pretty dress you have on."

Sorcha's nose wrinkled. "Dresses suck."

"I told Faith not to say that word around her." Buffy crossed her arms.

"You'll be lucky that's the only word Faith taught her," Willow said, rolling her eyes.

"I bet you're tired from traveling," Angel said to his granddaughter then looked at the adults, "All of you. Willow, you look dead on you feet."

Willow nodded. "That spell took a lot out of me."

"We have guest rooms made up here and at the Council headquarters," Wes said, shooting a nervous look Angel's way. "We weren't sure where you'd be more comfortable."

"Here is just fine," Buffy said, glancing at Connor to be sure it was all right with him. He stared blankly at her. She didn't like that look. She knew it could mean an 'episode' was coming on. "Connor, you should get some rest, too, or do you want to talk to your father?"

"No." His attention snapped back to Angel and Buffy hoped they weren't about to see one of Connor's mood swings. "We can talk later. I'm...tired."

Buffy didn't know if she believed that but didn't doubt for a second Connor needed time to pull himself back together. The hard part was over and the harder part was about to begin. "Willow, can you put Sorcha down? It's time for your nap, young lady."

Sorcha didn't fuss as Angel set her down. Buffy took that as a sign the girl was exhausted because she usually fought nap time.

"No problem. Wes, where were you planning on putting Sorcha?" Willow picked up Sorcha.

"One of the spare bedrooms only has a twin bed. We put a rollaway in there, too. We figured that would be best for one of you to stay with Sorcha."

"I'll take that room for now," Willow said and Buffy knew that was for the best. Sorcha still wasn't entirely comfortable around her dad since he had been out of her life for most of it.

"We were planning to meet Spike and Cordy for dinner later but if you think you'll be too tired, we can order in," Wes said.

"We can play it by ear," Buffy said.

"Okay, follow me. Leave the luggage. I'll bring it up later," Wes said.

"You guys go ahead. Angel, you and I need to talk," Buffy said, forcing him to meet her gaze. She wasn't going to let him out of this.

"Come with me," he said and she heard the lack of enthusiasm. This was going to hurt.

Buffy followed Angel to his part of the home and realized it wasn't really a duplex, more like a house with a small apartment added on. Compared to the sprawling old time luxuries of Wes' side of the house, Angel's apartment was what a real estate agent would call 'cozy.' The living room was open to the 'galley' kitchen. Worse, there were no signs Angel lived in it. The place could have been ready for viewing by potential renters. The Angel she knew liked eclectic things, Asian art and leather furniture. Spike's crypt had more homey touches than this. Dingy white walls, furniture from the Good Will, no knick knacks, no books, no art.

Horror poured through her veins like liquid fire. She realized now how far Angel had sunk, how broken he was, almost as fragile as his son. Why hadn't anyone told her it was this bad? Wes should have called her or Cordy or even Spike.

Wes, maybe she could forgive. She knew he hadn't recovered from losing Lilah and then within a year, Fred. If it wasn't for rebuilding the Watchers' Council, Buffy didn't think he could find the will to live. Cordelia always seemed to think Buffy made Angel worse each and every time she spoke to him and not telling Buffy was her way of protecting him. Why hadn't she been the one to take the first step and dig deeper than the emails he sent to find out how he really was? Spike still cared about her, having settled into a friendship with him, distance helping to ease the strain of a failed love or maybe he was still too jealous to tell her.

"She's beautiful," Angel said so softly Buffy barely heard him.

"More than you know," she said, trying to figure out how to say what she felt, what she was thinking without sounding like "Bitch Buffy." But there was no way of not being hurtful. Still, she had been subjected to enough interventions to know they were painful and she had never found them to be helpful. She didn't want Angel to feel how she had with Xander and Mom at her throat like she had when she first returned to Sunnydale after running away, or when her friends found out Angel had come back from hell. It hadn't helped her. It only hardened her, made her less likely to share. She didn't want to subject Angel to that.

"I'm sorry, Buffy, for not being there." He sat down on the orange, gold and green flowered couch.

That alone, his giving up dominance, the lack of pacing and posturing told her that there was nothing left in Angel that could fight. He was going through the motions. Buffy knew how that felt, how empty and alone it was. Out of that same darkness, she had reached to Spike. Who did Angel have to turn to? She didn't want to think about it. She sat on the broken down refugee from the 70's couch. "I just wished I understood why you never came to visit us." It was the least provocative thing she could think to say.

"You were better off without me." His eyes remained furtive.

Buffy clenched her fist, wanting to hit him. He was provoking her. He had to know that. He wanted her to scream, to guilt him further. He was living for the shame. She had seen this in him before and damn, if he wasn't making her do what he wanted. "How can you say that? We all needed you. I needed you." Her voice broke and she hated herself for it. She didn't want raw emotion ruling her. "I lost my sister. She was made from me, my blood, a pinch of my soul, maybe and she died. It was like losing part of myself. I needed you there. Why didn't you come?"

Angel propelled himself to his feet and Buffy just watched him pace. At least that was more normal for him. "I couldn't make it."

"Somehow Spike made it across the Atlantic." She pressed her fingers to her lips, wishing she hadn't said that. She didn't need to throw Spike back in Angel's face but it was the truth. Spike was the only one to come from L.A.

Angel gave no signs the barb had hit him. "I wasn't wanted there, Buffy."

She got up, her legs shaking. "What are you talking about?" She knew, deep down, what he meant. Spike had told her how Xander had once barred him from attending Joyce's funeral. She knew how much Xander hated Angel and always had. Angel was in charge of Wolfram and Hart and somehow missed that Eve and her cronies had gone around his back and hired Ethan. He blamed Angel for Dawn's death. Even if he didn't, Xander wouldn't have wanted Angel there. Buffy knew the hatred had its tangled roots in love and jealousy. Xander might be Willow's first love but Buffy was his. Unrequited, dismissed with all the lack of caring and obvious, 'oh my god, no,' a shallow teenager could muster but it didn't matter. It still colored everything between her and Xander. "What did Xander say to you?"

Angel made an abrupt motion with his hand, waving her off. "It wasn't just Xander. I'm used to ignoring him. It was everyone else. How could I face you, Buffy? It was my organization that caused Dawn's death."

Buffy caught hold of him, making him face her. He pushed her away and she grabbed him again, more firmly this time. He wasn't going to run from her. "I know the truth, Angel. You were a pawn. You, for some unfathomable reason, won't admit it. Maybe you feel you need to suffer but I don't. You couldn't possible know everything that was going on. The order didn't even come from the L.A. branch. Eve did it from another dimension entirely just to hide it from you. I don't blame you for what happened to Dawn."

His eyes reminded her of the night on the bluff when he had gone to greet the sun. "You're the only one, then."

"Giles and Willow don't. Anyone who does is an idiot. Xander blames you for everything. I know you don't pay him any mind."

"Spike blames me," Angel broke in. "He loved your sister, you know?" Buffy nodded. "He saw her as the kid sister he never had and apparently wanted."

"I know." Buffy swallowed hard, pain washing over her. "When I was dead, he looked out for her. That was his grief talking, Angel. He wouldn't be here helping you if he still felt that."

"I wouldn't bet on it. Then there's Andrew." Angel shook his head. "I never listen to a word he says but it's there in the background all the time. First his hatred for Connor for 'stealing' Dawn and then her death. I even asked Wes to send him to Cleveland to help the Watchers there but Wes didn't and you know why? Because he blames me and himself not just for Dawn but for everything. For Lilah, for Fred, for Connor."

"So what are you saying? You two are just locked here together in hatred, like Moby Dick and Ahab?" Buffy asked then her face wrinkled as she tried to think if that was the right analogy. "Because if you say yes, I'll believe it. Look at this place, Angel." She waved her hands around. "This is a jail cell, no, worse. Prisoners usually put up a thing or two to let someone know they're alive. This is a tomb and you've buried yourself in it."

He pulled away from her, retreating down the hall into his bedroom. She pressed against the door as he tried to close her out. The flimsy wood shuddered between them then he relented. The bed wasn't made. The sheets and the bedspread looked like they came from the same Good Will as the couch and the walls were as unrelentingly white and unadorned as the living room.

"You can't close me out, Angel. I'm not going to let you. So, some people blamed you for Dawn's death, so what? I didn't. I told you that. I begged you to come and you didn't." Buffy felt her features turning to stone in spite of herself. "Those people didn't keep you away. You've been alive for nearly three centuries. You don't get that old letting other people make up your mind for you. You wanted to stay away so you could be selfish and brood here, taking all the blame because that's what makes you feel alive."

"You think you know me?" he growled, taking a step toward her.

"You have a better explanation? I'd like to hear it." She shoved him back and he put the bed between them. Buffy took a deep breath, trying to regain control. "Okay, forget that for a moment. You didn't come to Dawn's funeral because you didn't want to cause a scene. Fine. What about afterwards? Didn't you think I might have needed help raising your granddaughter? What did I know about raising kids?"

"You had Giles and Willow and Xander. You had all the help in the world," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"They aren't her blood, Angel. They love her, of course, but she needed her real family. I needed help. I'm a Slayer. I could be killed at any moment. I'm out there trying to do my job and I'm thinking, 'who'll take care of Sorcha if I die?' You should have been there to help." Buffy brushed at her eyes, furious with herself. She promised herself she wouldn't use tears as a weapon and in truth she wasn't. She didn't want them to tear out Angel's heart. She wanted them to stop but they wouldn't.

"Look what happened the last time I took care of a baby." His voice was so heavy with self-recrimination Buffy shuddered at hearing it.

"Speaking of your son, don't you think he needed you, Angel? He was so lost."

"On the best of days, I made Connor insane, Buffy. He hates me," Angel said.

"Liar. You've told me how much you loved Connor. You said you knew he understood you truly loved him, at the end. You told me that he was reaching out to you for help before you had that spell cast on him. Well, he needed his father, Angel." She reached out to him and he backed away some more. Her hand dropped, slapping into her thigh. "He needed you for these last three years languishing in that mental hospital. I've been there, too. I know how scary that is. He needed his father and you weren't there."

"I wouldn't be the father he wanted. His father is dead," Angel snarled.

"Really? That's why you emailed about him all the time, asking questions, avoiding suggestions that it would be helpful if you came to England to see him? That's why he greeted you today with a hug, because he hates you. He needed you and you abandoned him. You abandoned us all." Buffy turned, stumbling out of the room. She caught hold of the door jamb. "I'm sorry, Angel. I didn't want it to be this way. I wanted to tell you that it didn't matter, that things could be different now."

"But they do matter," he said.

"Of course they do," she snapped. "But they can be forgiven. I do forgive you, Angel for not being there. Connor does, too, or else we would never have come but I need to understand why you left us and why you still aren't letting us in."

Angel hung his head, turning from her. Buffy sobbed and ran back to the main part of the house then out the door into the back yard. She didn't know what else she was expecting. She had made a horrible mess of things in a matter of minutes. She had failed herself, failed her niece and Connor. She had failed Angel as much as he had failed her.

Chapter Two

Angel didn't know how he could hold in all the misery that bubbled in him. It was easier to forget how much he had screwed up when all the evidence was neatly hidden away in London. Buffy had been too easy on him. She should hate him for deserting her. She was right. There was no reason for him to not have been there except for his fears. Could Buffy understand that? Yes, she probably could if he would only tell her.

He destroyed everything he ever touched. That was as true now as when he was mortal. He destroyed his family. He ruined his reputation, turned his back on all his father had wanted to give him, building the older man up as a monster in his mind. Angel didn't know now if his father had been too harsh, too overbearing all his life or if he had made the man that way by being such a huge disappointment.

As Angelus, he savored all he destroyed. He had set out to be the worst of the worst and damn, if he hadn't been good at it. He had gone down in the books as the Scourge of Europe. The Watchers knew and feared him. He lived for destruction until that fateful night when he, himself had been destroyed.

Then came nearly a century of crawling on his belly, hiding from himself. Every time life threatened to grab him and make him live again, he ran off . It lasted until Whistler dragged him out of the filth and showed him the brilliant life of a young Slayer at the moment her destiny became known. Even that didn't make him live again, not right away. It was gradual. He watched her in L.A., had her leave him only to follow her to Sunnydale. How ironic it wasn't until he moved to a Hellmouth that life trickled back into him. He got an apartment, cleaned up but still he was a mere shell of himself, waiting for someone to breathe life into him.

He had nearly destroyed Buffy before he truly got to know her. He knew only that he loved her but the century of fear and self-revulsion kept him from helping her. He had considered the Master a joke when he was Angelus but as Angel the elder vampire made him quake. If not for Xander, he wouldn't have gone to her aid. More bitter irony, the mortal jackass was braver than he was.

He still didn't know why he didn't just disappear when she left that summer to be with her father in L.A. The Master was gone. She didn't need him. He knew loving her was wrong. He should have just cut and run then, sparing both of their hearts before the roots of love went too deep. He knew he'd destroy her just by being what he was, the curse aside. He hadn't even known about the loophole then but still he couldn't give her up. Like a drug, she was what kept him going.

And it destroyed them both. Maybe they both had come back from that fateful day when he awoke Acathla but neither of them were the same. Buffy had looked him in the eye, her soul shredding, as she sent him to hell. He remembered every moment there. Some times things that are terribly traumatic get washed away by the brain. It was the only way to save itself. Buffy told him that it was that way with Connor. He only had vague memories of anything that transpired once Jasmine was 'born.' Angel wished it was that way for him, that hell was some vague blur. Instead it was a full throated scream in the back of his mind that he had to work on drowning out.

They limped through another year before he destroyed her completely. Running to L.A. hadn't helped and once there he left his usual path of destruction. Doyle died for him. Cordelia was driven mad by Wolfram and Hart just to get to him and was saved just barely, left changed but oddly for the better, only to sacrifice half her humanity and nearly her life down the road. Kate was all but destroyed by associating with him and his world. Jealousy and revenge against Angel ate Lindsey alive, taking a page from Holtz's book. Would Fred had been better off if he hadn't found her and brought her back only to die horribly here? And what of Wes? If not for him, Wesley might have just given up totally on the demon world and gone and lived a normal life. Instead he turned the 'rogue demon hunter' into someone far more competent before turning on him and forging Wesley into steel in the fire of his rage against him.

How could Buffy think that she would have been better off with him there? She had all the proof she needed to the contrary locked up in an asylum. Connor would have been better off if Holtz had just taken him to Utah and never saw him again. No matter what Angel had tried with his son, it only went from bad to worse. He was afraid to keep on trying, fearing his next attempt would destroy Connor completely. The boy had gotten better without him. It would never have happened if he had gone to England to be there with Connor. Couldn't they see that?

Angel wanted to tell Buffy that there was nothing she could say that could hurt him more than he was hurting himself. She would never know how much it was killing him to watch his grandchild grow up in pictures. Each email with the digital photos felt like someone yanking his fangs out slowly, taking hunks of jaw with it. At least with Connor, his son had grown up instantaneously from his point of view. There was nothing he could do to be there, no matter how much he wanted to be. It was his fault he hadn't seen his granddaughter, smelled her, felt the softness of her hair, watched the light in her eyes until today.

The truth reverberated in his mind. If he had contact with her, he'd destroy her. His mere presence would poison her life. By the mere fact of the genes they shared, her life would be a hard one, full of fighting, ripe with death. She was already in training. He had seen Sorcha in her tiny 'karate' outfit. She looked adorable but she was a weapon waiting to be honed to her deadly potential. A Slayer in a toddler's body. He'd blink his eyes and she'd be a teenager, out there killing his kind.

He heard the door to his apartment opening. The woodsy smell of aftershave told him it was Wesley and not Buffy returning to finish him off, as much as he would like that. He lumbered out of his bedroom. Wes stared at him, probably not really wanting to be here. "What?"

"Everyone's awake. We decided to order in Chinese. Spike and Cordy are on their way. You really should join us," Wes said.

Angel nodded. His family was already here. It was too late. His infectious devastation was probably already in the works. "Should I bring my gift now or should I ask first? I don't even have the right to..."

"Angel, bring the gift. Mine is already on the table and it's all Buffy can do to keep Sorcha's little fingers off it and I have even less right to be playing nice at this late date. We can't let this second chance pass us by." Wes leaned on the doorjamb. "It hasn't escaped my notice we're turning into bitter old men, shut off from the world. The kind of man I saw my father become, the kind I promised myself I'd never be."

Angel looked at his shoes as if he'd find answers in the pattern of the cheap carpeting left over from the days of psychedelia. "Think it's as easy as just going down there with gifts?"

"No, but it's a start, unless you've discovered a way to rewind the past and live it again," Wes said wryly.

Angel snorted. Wes knew that he had once done just that. God, what he wouldn't do to do that again. He'd save Connor and it would be his child who was the three year old. Dawn and Fred would be alive. Cordelia wouldn't be a shade of her former self. All it would cost him was his grandchild. Angel met Wes' eyes. He hadn't seen them this bright since before Fred's death. Hell, since before Connor was born. He ran a hand through his thick hair. It was longer than normal. He hadn't been keeping up with it. He could only imagine what he looked like. There was a rind of fuzz on his chin. "Am I really welcome?"

"I think Buffy will honestly kill you if you don't show up. Connor would be crushed." Wes surveyed him. "And in case you're wondering, you might want to take a brush to your hair."

Angel managed a sheepish look. "Thanks. I should have had it cut. Without a mirror...there are definitely things I miss not having someone to point out I look like a freak."

"I've always wondered how vampires handled grooming." Wes had that curious look Angel had long ago associated with him.

"We tend to be somewhat communal for a reason. Spike and I would help Dru and Darla and vice versa. It's easier for the guys. If we keep our hair short, it's usually okay." Angel disappeared into his bathroom. He stared in the mirror that reflected nothing but the shower curtain behind him. He rubbed some gel on his hands and smoothed the pelt on his head. He went back out. "Better?"

"Much."

Wes turned on his heel and headed out. Angel took the gaily wrapped gift out of his closet and followed. Everyone was in the living room except for Spike and Cordelia who obviously hadn't arrived. Sorcha was playing on the floor with a doll of something not quite human in a pink tutu. Beside her was a red dog with yellow splotches. Her pretty little dress had been exchanged for bib overalls with flowers embroidered on the pants and bib. She looked up, her eyes bigger than the gift in his hands. Buffy swooped in, grabbed the gift and stuck it up on the shelf.

"Not until after dinner," she said and Sorcha pouted.

Angel sat on the couch with Connor who still looked weary. He thought that might just be how his son looked now. Connor always did have sleepy eyes and a mouth that always seemed to hang open in a perpetual state of bemusement. Now, he had Dru's eyes, that slightly vacant look that said just how tenuous his sanity was. Willow was draped on the wing back chair, looking wrung out as if she should still be asleep.

Sorcha popped up and ran over to him climbing onto the couch next to him. She plopped her doll into his lap. "She's Fizz."

Angel picked up the ballerina, examining her carefully, much to Sorcha's delight. "She's very pretty."

"She's a Tweenie," Connor offered and at Angel's upraised eyebrow, "It's a kid's show."

"Don't worry, you'll get real familiar with it real fast," Buffy said, ruefully. "We brought DVD's."

"What does Fizz do?" Angel gingerly touched Sorcha's bunny soft hair.

Sorcha took the doll back and made her dance. "She dances. You like dancing?"

Angel nodded. "I like ballet very much."

"I like to dance. Do you dance?" Sorcha's eyes fastened on him.

Angel smiled. "No. That's scary, not as scary as Wesley but pretty scary."

"I heard that."Wes frowned, sitting on the love seat with Buffy.

"You dance," Sorcha proclaimed, slipping off the couch.

"That was her non-negotiable voice," Willow said with a lazy grin.

Angel felt a frisson of panic at the idea of dancing where someone could see him. "I wasn't kidding about being scary."

"You danced fine with me," Buffy reminded him.

Angel shook his head. "Slow dancing. That's different. That's not dancing. That's just..." He looked at Sorcha who was heading his way with the stuffed dog and he edited his thought, "you know what it is. You've never seen me fast dance and that's not likely to change."

Sorcha tossed the dog into his lap and clamored back up on the couch. "That's Doodles. He likes pancakes."

"Pancakes?" Angel turned the toy over in his hands, wondering what he was supposed to do with it. He knew nothing about playing with children. The only time Connor had liked him when he was a baby was when Angel showed him his game face and Angel knew that would not be appreciated now.

"Lots of 'em." Sorcha snuggled into his side, sending a wave of parental pride through him.

Angel slipped an arm around her. "Do you like dogs?"

She nodded. "Want one. Aunt Buffy says no."

"Not until you're older," Buffy said with the weariness of someone who had had this argument many times over.

"She's not at all shy, is she?" Angel asked.

Connor laughed. "No."

"Usually she's Cordy-brash," Buffy said. "Kinda like me at that age if Mom was to be believed."

"In other words, a princess." Angel smiled his first true smile in what felt like years. No, he corrected himself, it had been years.

Buffy's eyes narrowed but she grinned. "Watch it, Mister."

"Fizz likes being a princess," Sorcha said, hopping back off the couch. She grabbed Angel's hand and pulled.

Curious, he got up and let her lead him behind the couch. She tried to pull him down so he sat on the floor where she had a mess of coloring books and crayons. She gave him a book and a box of crayons.

"Sorcha, I'm not sure he wants to color," Connor said, looking over the back of the couch.

"It's okay. You want me to do this one?" Angel tapped the picture of a winged faerie. Sorcha nodded and handed him a purple crayon then pressed his hand down to the fairies' hair. "Purple hair? Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"If you say so." Angel began meticulously coloring the faerie's hair, shading it as he went with a practiced artistic hand. It was easier than talking. He could sit and play with his granddaughter all night. That would keep him from having to say anything to Buffy or his son. He wanted to nurse this simple moment for all it was worth.

It ended quickly enough when Spike swaggered in and said, "Well, here's something I never thought I'd see."

Angel scowled up from his coloring book. He wanted to say something but he didn't. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep the snap from his voice and he didn't want to scare Sorcha. For whatever reason the little girl seemed to like him and as much as he knew he should frighten her away for her own good, he just couldn't do it. Spike was carrying a couple gifts which Buffy spirited away before Sorcha could hold out her hands for them.

"Unca Spike!" Sorcha bubbled, jumping up. She tossed herself into Spike's arms.

"'Allo, ducks." He kissed her cheek.

Angel felt sick from the jealousy welling up in him. It was his own fault, not Spike's. He cut himself out of Sorcha's life. He had no right to be jealous of Spike but he was. He was even jealous that Sorcha had a British accent, even if it was more like Giles' and Wes' like than Spike's.

"You have Peaches coloring." Spike scooped her up.

"Don't teach her to call me that, Spike," Angel said lowly, setting aside his purple crayon and getting up. He felt a hand in the small of his back and he turned, thinking it was Cordy who had fallen into the role of referee between the two vampires. However, it was Buffy behind him and for her, he let the tension go.

"Like it'll matter," Spike said, his eyes hard and Angel knew the implication. Spike didn't believe he would ever have further contact with the child. That if Buffy hadn't brought Connor and Sorcha to him, he would never have seen them.

The door bell cut off anything he might have had to say. Wes popped up from the love seat. "That'll be dinner."

"Come on, let's get you set up." Buffy held out her arms and Spike plunked Sorcha into them. "We have a special table for you."

Angel watched as Willow laid out part of the newspaper as a table cloth and the coffee table became the 'special' table. Buffy sat the girl down at it then followed Wes and the huge bags of food into the kitchen. Angel went with them as did Cordy and Willow. "Does she like Chinese?" He kept his voice to a whisper, just for Buffy to hear.

She nodded. "She likes the eggs rolls and honey chicken or moo goo gai pan. She's not so crazy about the rice." While the others started getting down bowls and plates, Buffy diced the sticky breaded honey chicken hunks into tiny pieces for Sorcha then did the same to the egg roll.

Wes put him to work carrying bowls of soup to the living room where Connor and Spike were setting up trays for everyone to eat off of. Angel just sat and let the conversation wash over him. Everything was kept light and superficial as everyone danced around the strains in the fabric of their extended family. He and Wes were still being judged as to their fitness to be invited back inside. Wes was making a better effort to win his place back than Angel was. Angel was content to just watch Sorcha ignore her fork and pop bits of chicken and whatever the green stuff was inside of an eggroll into her mouth with gummy fingers. It took a while for it to sink in how quiet Connor was being. Of course, his son was always taciturn and it was hard to shoehorn in conversation once Willow, Spike, Cordy and Buffy got going. Angel glanced over and saw Connor silently watching him. His son's face was inscrutable. He wanted to say something, smile encouragingly, anything but what he did was drop his gaze to his hands.

Angel felt Connor's eyes staying on him. He heard Spike laughing and joking with Buffy. He felt like he had when he found Darla, Dru and Spike in China, on the outside, unwanted with Spike in his place as head of the family. He wasn't needed here, or required. It would be easier on everyone if he would just go.

The phone rang. Angel answered it, grateful for a break in the tension. Why wouldn't Connor just look away and eat his orange beef? The boy could never be easy. "Hello...yes, Lorne." Angel couldn't' keep the irritation of his face. "I'll be right there."

"Angel, what's wrong?" Wesley got up, anticipating danger.

"There's been an incident at Lorne's club, Foawrs. Lorne needs me there before things get ugly. He sends his apologies for breaking up the family reunion."

"Do you have to handle this personally?" Disappointment and anger mixed in Buffy's eyes.

"We've renamed Lorne's bar the Phoenix Rising for as many times as it's been blown up or burnt down. Lorne wouldn't have called if he didn't think it was in imminent danger of returning to ash," Wesley said.

"Do you need me to help?" Buffy asked. Connor and Willow looked just as ready to throw in if need be.

Angel offered a weak smile. "You're still tired. I can handle a few Foawrs."

"Are you sure, Angel? I could at least go with you," Wes said, "Or Spike."

Spike curled his lip. "Bloody hell. When those giants aren't busy busting up a place, they're out to buggar all the livestock they can find."

"No cussing," Buffy snapped.

"And I'd best get there before any of that starts. You guys stay. There's no sense in everyone missing out on tonight. I'll be back as soon as I can." Angel didn't give them time to argue more, heading for the door. He stopped when Sorcha slithered out from the table and fastened onto his pants.

"No go," she begged.

Angel stooped down, stroking her hair. "I don't want to go, Sorcha. I'll be back soon, promise. You should finish your dinner."

"Come on, baby." Buffy took Sorcha's hand. "Your grandfather needs to hurry, big bad business."

Sorcha looked up at him solemnly. "Come back."

"I will."

Angel left before his heart broke. He didn't want to go. He couldn't stay. Lorne's call was just a good excuse. He got in his Super Bee and drove for the club. He wanted to just keep driving. He couldn't let himself get too involved. His son and granddaughter were better off without him. It would only hurt them in the long run if he was in their lives. All he ever had done was bring misery to Buffy. She didn't deserve it. He had no business trying to be part of their world like he had tonight.

Here was where he belonged, in the night, under the stars, or the light pollution as the case may be. He belonged in battle, not with a happy family. He let the Manx giants kick him around Lorne's place a little before luring them outside and letting them really cut loose. He enjoyed prolonging the battle. Each blow was just punishment for breaking his promise to himself to keep out of their lives for their own good. By the time all the Foawrs were dead, Angel staggered half blind from the beating he took. Blood ran in his eyes and his fangs felt loosened in their sockets. The pain gave him something to concentrate on, something other than the spun-glass look of fragility Connor wore, the anguish in Buffy's eyes, the sweet innocence of Sorcha.

He dragged the heavy blanket he carried for emergencies out of the Bee's trunk and draped it over the car seat so he wouldn't get blood all over the interior of his car. He drove to the beach. The soft sounds of the waves lured him down to the surf. The waves looked inviting. He could just disappear under them again and this time never come back. It wouldn't be fair, though. He couldn't put any of them through the pain of not knowing what happened to him. It was better to just cut them out, let them think him the villain. At least they wouldn't be tortured with thoughts of trying to find him.

Angel trucked back to the dry sand. He looked up at the cliffs. He remembered going over them, the rage in his son's eyes. He recalled all of Connor's mocking words, his own words thrown back at him. He had been too stunned by the sheer strength in his child's slight body, the poisonous fury that consumed him, to fight back like he should have. Angel couldn't get the image of Connor's face staring up at him through the waves as he tried to drown him, just a little, trying to slow him down. He had been a lousy father. What kind of man did that to his son?

Angel shivered, remembering the pain of the taser, the brutalness later as his son welded him into the coffin. How could he trust a man like that with a little girl? Angel half thought he should just grab his son and disappear. Let Buffy and her friends raise Sorcha. The child might be better off that way, with neither of them in her life. Connor was just a phantom in her life as it was, a supervised visit once a week until recently, nothing more. It would hurt for a while but it wasn't uncommon to sacrifice an infected limb to save a life.

Angel sat on the beach, mulling over his family situation until nearly dawn. He was smoking slightly as he raced back into his home, his head still throbbing and oozing blood. Buffy was waiting for him in the living room. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles, threads of crimson running through their whites.

"You should be in bed," he said.

"This was coming back as soon as you could?" Buffy got to her feet, her body trembling with exhaustion.

Angel touched the wound on his forehead. "I ran into unexpected problems."

"Lorne said you left the club hours ago."

Angel grimaced. He should have known they'd check up on him. "Ran into trouble again after that."

"Did you think to call?" Frustration laced her voice.

"I lost my cell phone." Angel patted his pocket and was actually surprised to feel nothing. His cell phone was gone, probably lying on the beach. He was constantly losing them and the smaller they got, the faster he lost them. "Sorry. Did she like her gifts?"

"What do you care?"

Angel sighed. "I care, Buffy. I...just...there was trouble. I'm sorry. Don't tell me you never had that happen."

"Of course it happens. I just don't think it did tonight. You couldn't get out of here fast enough."

"That's not true," he lied. "Buffy, you're exhausted. I'm in pain. I don't want to stand here arguing, waking up the whole house. Get some sleep. You can yell at me all you want later."

He walked past her, heading for his part of the house. He should have just gone there in the first place but he had wanted to try to sneak a peek at Sorcha.

"We told Sorcha she had to wait for you to open the gifts," Buffy called as he walked on.

He paused for a minute, feeling pain for being the reason Sorcha was denied her gifts but said nothing. Angel locked his place up behind him, trying to make it a sanctuary from the trauma of seeing his family again. The only thing wrong with that was most of the problem was locked up inside of him.


Chapter Three

"Thank you for bringing us, Wesley," Connor said as he watched Sorcha toddle just ahead of her grown ups inside the arboretum of Los Angeles County. "It's very pretty here."

"Buffy said you and Sorcha like to hike in the woods. It was here or Griffith Park. I thought Sorcha might like the waterfall and the peacocks," Wes replied.

"You weren't wrong about the peacocks," Buffy said, chasing after Sorcha who spotted the birds and was off like a shot.

"So I see. Peacocks can get a bit aggressive," Wesley warned as Buffy snared the girl.

"That girl could find trouble anywhere." Willow smiled softly.

Connor moved closer to Willow. "Could you and Wes take Sorcha for a few minutes. I need to talk to Buffy."

Buffy looked back hearing his soft words. She knew he was having trouble today holding it together.

"Of course." Willow stroked his hair back. "Angel will come around, Connor, promise."

Connor bit his bottom lip, not looking at her. He moved closer to the showy pink trumpet trees heavy with blossom and waited for Buffy.

Buffy put her hands on his shoulders. "What's wrong, Connor?"

"I think we made a mistake." His eyes were watery. "Dad doesn't want us here."

"Angel does want us, Connor. He just can't admit it yet. He's afraid," Buffy said, praying she wasn't wrong.

Connor shook his head. "He's given up."

"Yes, Angel has so it's up to us to show him there is hope. I know this is hard on you. We can leave if you want but I think we should try just a little harder," Buffy said, hoping Connor wouldn't simply shatter.

"I should have let you bring Sorcha alone. You were right, it's too soon for me," he said.

"You're doing great. Think you can just concentrate on the gardens? Try to forget Angel for a few hours and just enjoy yourself. If you're feeling really bad, we can go home and you can get some rest."

"I want to stay. I like it here." Connor suddenly leaned closer, kissing her cheek. "Thank you, Buffy, for everything. I'd be lost without you."

Buffy smiled at him. "Come on, little brother. Let's look at the flowers."

They poked around the park for another two hours. Sorcha even bore up to the historical stuff Willow managed to wheedle them into seeing. Buffy didn't like Connor's near total silence and blank expression but Sorcha was so excited that she didn't seem to notice. Buffy wanted to kick Angel's ass for him again just for upsetting Connor this much. Her heart could handle a little more breaking. She was used to gluing it back together. Connor had so many pieces missing already that if he broke again, she might not be able to help Humpty Dumpty him together again.

Connor took Sorcha upstairs for her nap when they got home. Buffy wouldn't have been surprised if he laid down for one himself. Willow disappeared with Wesley in a pleased tizzy over some kind of spell book the man wanted to show her. Buffy wasn't surprised to find Angel wasn't in the main house but was shocked to see he wasn't in his apartment either.

She popped into the library long enough to ask Wes for suggestions and he directed her to the Watchers Complex's gymnasium. Buffy left the house, crossed the wooded courtyard ripe with the scent of eucalyptus and found Angel right where Wes said he would be, beating the crap out of a helpless punching bag.

"I have half a mind to hang you up there and treat you the same way," she said.

Angel steadied the bag with one hand, wiping his sweating brow with the other. His eyes were still blackened but already they were beginning to fade. "What did I do now?"

"You could have come to see us off before we headed out or given any signs that you were still alive and cared." Buffy moved right into his personal space. "Connor is ready to go home or have another break down thinking you don't want us here. I've spent three years watching him inside that rest home, Angel. I'm not ready to see it again. All he needed was a simple bit of interest to make him happy."

Angel walked away from her. "Sorry. I slept through you leaving. I was going to come down...I just...I didn't want Sorcha to see me like this, all busted up. By dinner, I won't look like a monster."

Buffy considered that and thought he might actually meant it and had been trying to do a good thing. "Okay, I can understand that. But you should have said something to me or Connor. He's not the son you remember, Angel. Connor needs more reassurance. If he's not taking a nap now, you might want to come over and talk to him. He wants you to but I can tell you he's not going to make the first move. He's too afraid."

"So am I," Angel said in a whisper. "If he's not asleep, I'll talk to him. What about Sorcha's gifts? Did I miss that?"

"No. We're doing it after dinner tonight. I think we had best eat in again. Connor didn't look well at the gardens today, even if it was what he wanted to do. I don't think he'd do well out at a restaurant tonight," Buffy said and watched Angel swallow hard. She knew it was killing him to hear how bad off Connor was.

"Okay...just no Mexican. It was Fred's favorite. Wes can't stand the smell of it now and to be honest, neither can I."

Buffy went over and put a hand on his back. "Thanks for the warning. I'll suggest fried chicken. Sorcha likes that. Connor will eat anything or nothing as the case may be."

Angel nodded. "That'll be fine. I need to shower. I could meet you back at the main house, see if he's awake."

"All right. Just be patient with him, Angel. Soft voice, if you can. He doesn't like loud sounds." Buffy tried not to sound accusatory, like she expected him to yell at Connor. "Sorcha's full of loudness but he's okay with that. It's men's voices that freak him out."

"Thanks for telling me. I didn't know." Angel wilted.

"It's not that I expect you to yell at him or anything but you can be intimidating without even knowing it," she said, sounding sheepish.

Angel turned to face her fully for the first time. He caught her hand. "Is this as good as it's going to get for him, Buffy?"

She wanted to tell him a sweet lie, that it would only be better from here. "I don't know. The doctors don't know. They think he'll get better but he could just as easily get worse. He needs you to at least talk to him."

"I will. I promise."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Angel didn't keep his promise and he hated himself for it. By the time he was done with his shower, and his bruises had faded to the point Sorcha was likely not to notice them, Connor was asleep. Angel refused to wake him. Buffy went and prodded the young man awake but by then Angel had disappeared into the Watcher's Complex on the pretense of working on something. He didn't come back until they were sitting down to a few buckets of fried chicken.

"Not that piece, Sorcha," Buffy said, as her niece grabbed a breast out of the bucket.

"Lots of crunchies," Sorcha protested.

"That's the spicy one. Give it to your dad. He's the one who likes stuff that's hot enough to melt your teeth." Buffy pried the chicken out of Sorcha's strong little fingers. "I'll find you one with lots of breading."

"Here, Sorcha, how about this?" Willow held up a piece totally covered with breading, so much so it ha long fingers of crispy breading.

"Thank you, Aunt Willow." Sorcha sat down with her dinner.

Angel sat on the couch with Connor. "Hot enough to melt teeth?"

Connor held out his plate. "Want to try it?"

Angel shook his head. "I don't eat."

Connor stabbed a finger at Spike who sat on the floor, his back to the love seat with Cordy sitting above him on the furniture The vampire had a plate of chicken and onion rings. "Spike's eating."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Spike's weird."

"Well, yeah. He's a vampire. That's a given." The corners of Connor's lips twitched with amusement.

Angel glowered. "No, it's not. If I eat a small piece, will you be happy?"

Connor shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt."

"Give him a neck," Spike said, around an onion ring dripping with barbeque sauce.

"There are no necks in here," Buffy said then her face screwed up. "Man, I sure hope there's no necks."

"Ewwww." Sorcha giggled.

"I'm with you there, sweetie," Cordy said.

"Here, try a spicy wing." Buffy handed Angel a wing on a plate then sat beside Sorcha to make sure the girl didn't try shoving huge pieces of chicken into her mouth.

Angel nibbled it. "I can almost taste this. How hot is it?"

"Mouth blistering, just like Connor likes it." Willow grinned. "I think he finds British cuisine...disappointing."

"Very," Connor agreed.

"We just prefer not to burn away our taste buds." Wesley smirked.

"Yes, because we want those intact to taste our blood pudding." Buffy shuddered.

"Ummm, my Mum used to make a great blood pudding," Spike said, his eyes closing in delight.

"No such thing," Willow countered.

"Crunchy?" Sorcha twisted around, waving a piece of breading at him.

Angel smiled and took it. He obliged her by eating it. "Thank you."

"Play later," she insisted.

"Okay," Angel said.

Angel listened to everyone bantering back and forth as he did his duty and actually ate the chicken wing. His stomach roiled at the introduction of solid food. He ate so rarely. He had no idea how Spike stood it.

The room felt like it was closing in on him while cutting him out simultaneously. No one was addressing him directly. He knew he should just start talking, try to get into the flow. He promised Buffy he'd talk to Connor but he knew nothing they had to say to one another should be done in public. Did he just ask his son to get up and follow him somewhere more private? Connor looked too content to bother. Angel could see he was irrelevant, had no place in the dynamics of his one-time family. Buffy was wrong. He wasn't needed. Angel got up and went outside, staring up at the moon. He could barely see it through all the light pollution. If he wanted stars, he would have to paint them in by memory. He could just live in his memories, be someplace in time when he still thought he could love Buffy without harm, when he thought he could be a good father to Connor. He would rather be lost in the paradise of remembrance than be forced into his bleak reality.

"Please, don't go."

Angel looked over his shoulder, unprepared to see his son there, looking like a kicked dog. It gutted him. He felt weak. He wanted to fall into the grass and just let the earth swallow him. He should have been laying in the ground over two hundred years now, maybe it was time. "I was just going to the headquarters." He gestured across the way to the big stone building. "I might be needed."

"You're running away. I can't..." Connor's voice broke. "I thought you were having fun, that you liked Sorcha."

He turned to face Connor. "I have no right to it. You're better off without me."

Connor came down the back steps, crossing the yard. "I've always thought that. I thought that the only part of my life that wasn't a lie was the time I spent in Quor-Toth and everything here wasn't real. But it was. The lies were Jasmine...and the spell you cast over me. The time I first spent with you, tricking you, that was a lie, too. But when you came back, that part wasn't a lie."

"And you hated it and I was a lousy father. I threw you out and I made one half-assed attempt to get you back. I never took the time to try and make you feel welcome or safe. I wanted to shove you into the mold I had in mind for the perfect son and when you didn't fit, I had no patience for you. You don't need me around, Connor," Angel said, his voice gravelly.

"I was wrong about not needing you," Connor said, oddly persistent.

"No, you weren't. I've destroyed everything I've ever touched. I destroyed you."

Connor was so close now, Angel could feel his breath on his neck. "No, you didn't, not alone at any rate. You helped. So did Holtz and Cordy and Jasmine, even Fred and Gunn. I destroyed myself. It's my name, after all. I'm the Destroyer."

"Don't say that. You're more than that." Angel stroked his hair out of his son's eyes.

"Maybe, but it's a part of me. What have I touched that I haven't destroyed? Don't you understand I need you?" Fat tears, glistening in the moonlight, spilled down his cheeks. "I'm afraid, Dad. I'm not well. I'm never going to be normal. The doctors said I could live back in the world now but too much stress...and I won't last. I'm scared to death. No one trusts me alone with my daughter. I don't blame them. I need you. I need someone to help me stand on my own again."

Angel caught the sob percolating up out of him as he grabbed onto Connor. He crushed the young man to him. Connor had only ever asked for his help once before and actually meant it. The last time he was begging Angel to kill him. Now he wanted his father to help him live. Connor's tears burned into his chest and Angel fought back his own tears. His son finally needed him and he still felt like running. Angel knew if he did, that would be the end. He had broken enough minds in his time to know one more huge disappointment and Connor might never recover.

Angel tucked his chin on top of Connor's head. The wind shift just a bit and he caught the scent of Buffy on the breeze. He looked up and saw her on the back porch. He said nothing, turning his attention back to his son, feeling the young man's heart hammering as Connor balled his hands in shirt. Angel felt Buffy's hands touch his as she tried to embrace both men at once. Angel shifted, letting her into the circle.

Finally, Angel let his arms drop, daring a step back. They were too close to breaking through and he couldn't allow that. Connor let him go but Buffy clung like a burr. The fire in her eyes could be seen in the dark.

"You're not running away again, Angel. This time I won't let you," she told him. "You just heard how much your son needs you." She rested her calloused hand on the wing of Connor's too-thin shoulder.

"Have you figured it out yet, Buffy? Running is what I do best." Angel couldn't pack more self loathing into his words if he tried.

"That's not true," she said in a small voice, doubting every word.

"Really?" You don't know me as well as you think then, Buffy." He stomped away and this time it was Connor who stopped him, chucking him into a Eucalyptus tree. Angel rubbed his shoulder and continued his tirade. "I'm a runner. I have been since I was mortal. I was some grotesque Peter Pan, drinking and whoring, hiding from growing up, running from responsibly. Darla offered me the ultimate chance to run and see the world. I saw she had money just from how she dressed and I jumped at it. No more being bound to what I could steal from my father and friends, never getting further than a few miles outside of Galway."

Angel tried to step away from the tree but they penned him in. "Of course, I didn't know she meant to kill me first. The running stopped once I was Angelus. The demon is the only part of me that had an ounce of coward. Liam's a coward. He runs. Surely the First Evil showed you that, Buffy. Once I was cursed, the running started again. I ran all the way to China, then to America, hiding and moving any time anyone tried to bring me back into life. I was running from life but didn't have the guts to end it. I finally ran out into the streets, hiding from the sun where I could, living in filth, eating rats. Why don't you ask Faith how much of a runner I am? She knows. She lived it with me in that Orpheus trip."

Angel saw Buffy's face crumble at the reminder that no one knew him more intimately than Faith. "I'd still be in the gutter now if not for Whistler, taking me to meet you, Buffy." Angel paused, knowing he was shouting. Connor's face registered nothing but curiosity. Buffy was a poem of pain. She knew most of this terrible talk. "And what good was I to you? I let you face the Master alone. I murdered Jenny, tortured your Watcher then abandoned you to run off to L.A. I wasn't even there when you died or when you were resurrected."

"You died?" Connor interrupted Angel's bilious flow.

"Twice," Buffy replied, her eyes never leaving Angel.

"I've only died once." Connors' voice was so soft Angel thought he imagined it.

"You weren't dead long, Connor. Just until Wolfram and Hart cast their spell," Angel said weakly, "Barely longer than when Buffy died the first time."

"You didn't run then. It would have been easier to let me die," Connor said.

Angel took a deep, unnecessary breath in. Leave it to his son to argue, to find the holes in his story and rip them asunder, exposing the underlying lie. Why couldn't he just leave it, as his father was a no-good shirker? That's what Connor had always wanted to believe in the first place. "No, I saved the running for later, for now. All I've ever done is bring misery into people's lives. It's better if I just keep running."

"Are you done now?" Buffy asked.

Angel nodded. He knew she was going to hit him even before the fist came at him. This was almost the same argument they had had Christmas Eve and she had hit him then, too. His head hit the tree, the bark tearing his scalp. He landed hard, a root assaulting his tail bone.

"I wish I had done that," Connor muttered.

"We've had this talk before, Angel, whether or not you are a worthy man. The Heavens opened up and it snowed in southern California. The skies darkened so the sun wouldn't kill you. How many signs do you need before you believe that you have a purpose here." Buffy's fists clenched and unclenched like a pounding heart. "Yes, you've done terrible things but I'd be dead and gone many times over without you. Remember killing that demon and feeding me its heart so I wouldn't go insane from uncontrolled telepathy? I'd be a gibbering idiot locked away if not for you, worse than being dead. You saved the world time and again. What more proof do you need?"

"You tried to break into Quor-toth, a place so terrible there are no passages into it. You told me you tried. That's not running or did you lie?" Connor's eyes were fierce blue slits.

"I didn't lie."

"I need to know, Dad, are you going to run or are you going to be part of our lives? You just told Buffy she was the one who made you live again. Are you just going to walk away from her and forget that? For once in my life, I was able to admit that I need you. Does it mean nothing? Because if the answer is yes, we'll pack up, spend a few days with Spike and Cordy and go home and you won't ever have to see us again."

Angel heard the dead, matter of fact tone of his son's voice. It wasn't a bluff. He picked himself up off the ground, rubbing his battered head. "What do you think I have to offer?"

"You told me you weren't getting older when I told you I needed to figure out my life. The implication was you would be waiting for me. Has that changed?" Buffy's voice trembled as if she was afraid it had.

"You told me it would be years, if ever." Angel hated throwing her words back at her but they had hurt. They had been just one more nail in his coffin.

"Fine. Given what Buffy's told me about the curse, maybe it's just as well you don't love her any more," Connor said.

"I didn't say that."

"Then you do." Connor pushed into Angel's personal space. "The doctors told me I'm a borderline personality, just this side of being a sociopath. That won't ever change. Do you think I don't know how everyone looks at me when I'm with my own daughter? I know they're afraid I'm going to wig out and do something to her. I'm scared to death to be alone with her because I just don't know...there are days when nothing seems real."

"You told me," Angel said, not wanting to hear it again because the pain was too much, like dunking a hand into fire. He wanted his son to be healthy and happy and he didn't see how he could help that. "And I'm scared, too. Don't either of you understand? I'm afraid if I'm with you, something worse is going to happen to you or to the baby. It's paralyzing. You want me to be there, to be strong for you two but I'm not. I think about the miasma of death and destruction that has always surrounded me and then I think about bringing it near that beautiful child and I panic. It feels like I can't breathe and my heart's beating a hundred miles an hour and I know it's all in my head because I don't breathe. My heart doesn't beat but the anxiety is there just the same. Every time I try to live a little, something comes along and crushes that little bit of life."

"So you're not coming back inside," Connor said. "You're going to walk away even though you really want to be with us?"

"I'm humiliated because I wasn't there when you both needed me so much. How do I take that back?" Angel asked.

Connor shrugged and turned on heel, heading for the house. Buffy looked at Angel, shattered. "You always used to know the right thing to do and say. This is so wrong, Angel."

She hadn't taken two steps after Connor when he blurted out, "I love you both so much." They froze and Angel made his choice. "Do you honestly want me back?" He knew he sounded small and weak but at this point, he didn't care. He needed to know.

"We're here, aren't we?" Buffy asked, frustration leaking back into her voice.

"I can't lose either of you again. I won't survive it." Angel hoped they believed him.

"I'm pretty familiar with loss," Connor said with that flat tone that Angel was hearing too often, hating it each and every time. "You know Buffy is, too. None of us will survive alone."

"What he's saying is, Angel, we need you. Maybe you are weak. We all are when we're alone. We're not asking you to drop everything and come back to London with us," Buffy said. "We're just asking for you to stop being a zombie, roaming through the fringes of our life." She held out a hand to him.

Angel went to her and took it. "I can do that. I want to. Seeing Sorcha, realizing how much I had missed and this time it was my own fault, it was too hard."

"She can be a scary little kid. She loves so freely and fiercely it can be overwhelming," Connor said. "And she really likes you. I haven't seen her take to anyone so fast."

Angel knew Connor really had no idea how his daughter acted with people, having really only been out in the world with her little more than a month. Buffy's eyes backed him up. "I can feel that and I'm not sure I'm deserving."

"That's not up to you. Sorcha loves who she loves," Connor said then made a face. "Of course, she really likes Uncle Spike, which I wasn't sure about there being two vampires in her life but Buffy said it's okay."

"I'm not so sure about that but that's not for me to decide either," Angel said.

"Damn straight," Buffy said, without malice. "She adores Spike. Of course, he sends her gifts a lot and I'm kinda glad he's over here because he spoils her rotten as it is. If he were in England with us, I don't even want to think about it." Buffy herded them both back into the house. They all paused at the door to the living room, looking at the tranquil-appearing sense. Angel could sense the underlying tension.

"There you are, I thought we'd have to send a search party out," Cordelia said. "Poor Sorcha's been dying to get to those gifts and it's already past her bed time."

"Sorry, kiddo," Buffy said, ruffling her niece's hair. "Tell you what, you open the gifts and then you can play with them tomorrow and I promise I'll read you your favorite bed time story."

Sorcha considered that then nodded her agreement. She took Cordelia's hand and led her back to the love seat. "Sit, Aunt Cordy." She then directed everyone else to various seats, including putting Angel on the couch.

Buffy brought the gifts over with Connor's help. "Why don't you start with the one from your grandfather?"

Sorcha tore into the bright paper with abandon.

"I found shopping for toys was a bit...confusing," Angel said.

"What's confusing, Peaches? They have age limits right on the box." Spike smirked at him.

"Thank God. Maybe I should have said scary. Toys nowadays seem awfully complicated," Angel fretted, wondering if he had made a huge blunder with the gift.

"That's because the average three year old is smarter than you," Spike said and Cordy elbowed him.

"What is it?" Buffy eyed Spike in warning as well as Sorcha got the paper off her gift.

"Pictures," Sorcha replied.

"It lets the kid doodle and it talks and teaches them words that goes with the doodling stencils...like I said, confusing." Angel hunched in on himself.

"I think it's cool. She'll love that," Buffy said. "We like Vtech toys like that. Between Giles and Willow, I don't think there's anything but intelligence builder toys in the house."

"Thanks, Dad. Buffy's right, she'll enjoy it. What do you say, Sorcha?" Connor prompted.

"Thank you," Sorcha said, already reaching for the next box with the typical greed of a child.

"I found toy shopping as daunting as Angel," Wes said, gesturing at the box Sorcha had. "But it is age appropriate."

Sorcha cooed excitedly at the plastic multi-colored kaleidoscope of gears that would allow her to build her own designs. She was equally excited by the doll Spike had gotten her.

"The bloody thing teaches kids how to speak Japanese," he said.

"Oh good. I'll be listening to it all day just so I don't know less than my niece," Buffy moaned.

High-end clothing from Cordelia rounded out the gifts. Angel saw the irritated look Buffy had in her eyes at the implication that Cordelia didn't think she could dress Sorcha right. Neither woman said anything but Angel knew women well enough to read the body language.

"Come on, sweetie. Time for bed and that story I promised you," Buffy said, scooping the girl up.

"No." Sorcha pointed at Angel. "Granddad read."

Angel's eyes widened. "Me?"

The little girl bobbed her head.

"She'll make you read it at least twice. Her current favorite is Fox in Socks." Connor grinned.

Angel followed Buffy up to the spare bedroom, feeling ridiculously nervous as Buffy got the little girl ready for bed. Sorcha bounced in, not looking particularly tired but given all the jet lag, she had to be messed up internal-clock-wise. She gave his cheek a big kiss as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'll be downstairs if you run into trouble," Buffy said, smiling at him as if she expected him to be hollering for help in under three minutes.

"I think I can handle this," He assured her and started reading to his grandchild. As she settled down, her big blue eyes, closing, he couldn't imagine anything more perfect. Now if he could only kill the voice in the back of his head that warned, trouble was on the horizon

 

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