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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: No Tomorrow Author: Zyre Pairing: Angel/Connor Rating: PG Setting: An alternate ending to 'Home' Snip, snip. There's hair everywhere; Connor has thick hair, much like his dad, though you wouldn't know it to look at him. It's the first haircut Angel's ever given his son. Snip, snip, snip. He holds still as damp locks fall to the floor at his feet, and then runs the comb through Connor's hair once more, raising the scissors. He's a little surprised, still, that he convinced Connor to come home with him. It's a small victory, he knows, and he may still have to go through with the stabbing and erasing, but for now everything is calm. Everything is calm on the outside, anyway. Connor hasn't said a word since Angel bundled him up and brought him back to the hotel. There isn't much to say, he supposes. Snip, snip. Not after Connor tried to blow up a store full of people along with himself and Cordelia. It's almost as though the boy's got a bit of Angelus in him, willing to hurt those closest to him as a means to an end. Angel's a little disturbed when he realizes that he finds that thought somewhat comforting. At least he'll better know what to say. Angel tries not to think about that. He concentrates on what he's doing, trying his hardest to make everything even. It seems kind of Zen-like; he could get lost in the repetition, the soft strands crisscrossing as he runs the comb through them, the way the scissors vibrate just a little in his hand as he snips chunk after chunk away. Snip, snip, and he's done. He combs through Connor's hair once more, knocking the last few bits of hair to the floor as he does, and tucks a bit behind Connor's ear. The boy stiffens at that and Angel sighs. "All done," Angel says softly, setting the comb and scissors aside. Connor still hasn't moved. It would be unnerving, but Angel can appreciate wanting to sit still and alone in the dark. Kind of his trademark. He begins to walk away in search of a broom when Connor finally speaks. "You didn't kill me." It's a statement, almost a challenge. "No." Angel has gone completely still, his eyes fixed on the door in front of him. "Why not?" There's no emotion in Connor's voice. "I couldn't." "You should have." A pause. "You're weak." Angel finally turns around at that. "I guess I am." Connor stands slowly, the towel draped around his shoulders falling to the floor. Their gazes lock for a moment. "I killed her. To save everyone." He looks away, and Angel catches a hint of sadness around his eyes. "And you couldn't do the same thing." "I wasn't saving the world there, Connor. I was saving you. If it had been the world, I would have, and you know it." Angel takes a step towards the boy, frowning a little when the boy steps away. "Connor, I'm not going to hurt you. I just spent half an hour around your head with a pair of scissors and you're fine." "I know," Connor says softly. He runs his fingers through his short hair and goes still. "Then what are you afraid of?" Angel steps forward again, until only the chair is between them. "I," Connor says, his lip curling up, "Am not afraid. Of anything." Angel smiles a little. Despite the steady voice and well-practiced sneer, Connor looks more afraid than ever. The chair between them is easily pushed aside and Angel holds a hand out to Connor. "Come here." Connor turns away, a bit like a wary fawn. The muscles in his neck and arms tense. "It's okay, Connor. Come here." Angel took a step closer, willing his son to hold still long enough. "Why didn't you just kill me?" The question is startling, and Angel furrows his brow a little. "I love you." Connor flinches a little, and Angel steps forward again. He can see so much pain and anger and uncertainty in Connor's face. His eyes are narrowed, but not dangerously so. "You," Connor says, raising a hand. "You don't know anything about love." Angel smiles a little, and with one more step he envelopes Connor. "I know a lot about it, son," he whispers. Short, wet strands of hair are tickling his cheek, and he closes his eyes tightly, trying to rationalize the thing he's about to do. Connor begins to pull away, and Angel knows it's now or never. He cups Connor's face with his hand, meeting the boy's hesitant gaze, and then bends to kiss him. The boy goes completely still in his arms, and Angel is suddenly terrified. He holds still as well, afraid that any movement could be the wrong one. What if Connor runs? What if it's too much too soon, or too little too late? What if Connor doesn't understand? And then the boy wraps a tentative arm around Angel's waist and kisses back. His lips are soft, pliant beneath Angel's, and he's shaking. Angel slides his hand back to rest on the base of Connor's neck, holding him close and safe. Connor parts his lips, and Angel feels his tongue, warm and soft and unsure, pressing against his own. Angel pulls Connor as close as he can, their bodies pressed tightly together, and tries to put every bit of love he's ever felt behind the kiss. Angel feels the wrongness after a moment. The soft, nagging urge to stop because he should, because it's the right thing to do. And then Connor makes a sound, halfway between a moan and a whimper, and Angel knows he's not ready to stop. His son, his boy is showing him love. It may be the wrong kind, but it's love and Angel figures he's willing to take what he can get. Moments pass unchecked, and Angel can sense the atmosphere shifting. He finally pulls back, just enough so that their lips are still barely touching, and smiles a little. "Love you, Connor," he whispers, his eyes never moving from Connor's. Connor meets his gaze evenly for a moment and then nods slowly. He licks his lips, and Angel smiles. "Come on, you need some sleep." He leads Connor towards the bedroom, keeping his arm securely around his son's waist. Connor stays silent for while, leaving his arm around his father, and Angel feels a rush of hope. Maybe everything will work out. He leads Connor over to his bed and drops down to his knees, untying the boy's shoes and pulling them off. He glances up and is met with an almost amused look. "What?" Connor shakes his head and shrugs. "Nothing. I could do that on my own, you know." "Yeah." Angel stands with a smile and pulls Connor's shirt off. "But I haven't been able to do this since you were small. I missed it." "Oh." Connor looks bemused but he lifts up each leg as Angel pulls his pants off. "Do you want pajamas or something?" "No." And Angel can appreciate that, too. He smiles and pats the bed before turning away to fold Connor's clothes. He hears rustling behind him and for a second he's afraid that he's about to eat stake. A glance back and he sees Connor staring down at the bed, like it's going to maybe eat him up if he gets in. "It's okay to sleep, you know," Angel says softly, and Connor turns to him. "I know." He glances back at the bed. "Do you think any of those people are? The ones I...I almost hurt?" Guilt. Angel sets down the clothes and walks over, pulling the covers back. "They are. With their families." He places his hand on the small of Connor's back and the boy finally climbs in. "It might be kinda hard for them, but they're sleeping." He pulls the blankets up and tucks Connor in, trying not to think about all the times he never had the chance to do this before. Connor looks exhausted, And Angel flicks off the light, trying to decide how best to spend the rest of his evening. "Dad?" Angel stops short when the whispered word floats through the room. "Yes, son?" Silence, and Angel's afraid he lost it. And then... "Would you stay tonight? Just here, by me?" He nods, of course, and makes his way back through the dark room to sit on the bed beside his son. -End Feedback |