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Slumber	By : ladycat Category: Angel the Series > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2124 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Angel: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Slumber
- 1
Angel remembers
hearing stories about it. He was in
hell at the time, but children talk and he�s pieced together what happened
after Buffy stuck a sword through his gut.
He remembers being more concerned with Buffy�s aborted run to L.A. and
the problems she faced there�a whole new facet of guilt�but now he thinks about
Joyce. About the woman who was so
frustrated and out of anything recognizable as an option that she said the
unsayable. And then spent the rest of
the summer trying to unsay it and wishing it wasn�t the right thing to have
said.

Angel knows exactly
how she felt.

It�s why he�s
standing here, peering up at a what used to be partpartment complex. It still houses people, though they don�t
pay rent for their crumbling, filthy rooms.
At least, not the kind the city takes its tithe from. Angel stares up at the window he knows is
correct and once again wonders about what he did. He knows it�s the right thing.
But right doesn�t mean �good�, he�s learning, and parenting is fraught
with the kinds of dangers that a champion for light doesn�t know how to
navigate.

He�s terrified, and
he�s lonely. If Cordelia were here, she
might be able to distract him long enough.
But she�s not, and as much as her disappearance worries him, it�s not her
he�s spent the last few hours tracking.

The stair well
contains dirty humans on dirtier concrete.
The smell of urine is prevalent, and inside he roars to think that his
son, who should�ve had the best there was to have, who should be just starting
his senior year in high school, flush with promise and thinking about which
colleges his old dad is going to pay for�that this is his life. Unwashed masses that exist from one toke to
the next. Predators more dangerous than
the face Angel hides, because these seduce so much faster.

His son. His child is here, facing this. Without loving arms to protect and shield
what should be a precious innocent from the horrors of the world. There�s no light here, no hope. And it�s where Connor�s gone to lick his
wounds and try his best to find what he�s never found. Peace.
Safety.

For the first time,
he truly understands the pain Joyce must�ve felt.

The room is on the
third floor, silver flaking off the 306 on the cheap, beaten grain of the
door. Angel touches it, knowing he
can�t go any further. He�s not even
sure he wants to. He can hear Connor�s
ragged breathing, the slight hitch of pain on the end of each inhalation�he�s
hurt. Not badly, the scent of blood is
washed away with stinging antiseptics Angel notes he has to resupply. But Connor�his son�is hurt.

His hand is turning
the knob before he remembers he won�t be able to go in. The cheap lock crumbles under a father�s
fear, the door swinging open. As dirty as
the rest of the building, there�s a pallet on the floor and not much else. A book, a tossed off t-shirt. Connor, sitting underneath the window,
looking up.

�What happened?�

Connor�s face is so
small. His mother�s grace and cunning
lay close along the small frame that is her legacy. His eyes are like looking in a mirror, for all their grey instead
of brown�tormented, hard, and not totally sane. �What?� he asks. His
belligerence makes Angel remember the books he devoured with such enthusiasm
six months before. Things he read for
that far away day when Connor wouldn�t be his baby boy anymore.

�You�re tired.�

Connor�s laugh
shouldn�t be so brittle. So sad and
broken. �You kicked me out.yes"> The antiseptic is still there, but fading under a slow, rising
wave of. . .

�I can�t see the
stars. There were so many at home. I had to learn constellations so I�d always
know where I was. And there were gorana
that would swoop down at night.
Man-eating owls. But I liked
looking at the stars anyway. They were
so calm. Peaceful.�

. . . misery. Exhaustion so deep it smells of cold, aching
tears. The kind of loneliness he sensed
in Buffy, when he saw her after Joyce died.
And in himself. The kind of pain
that comes from self-realization, learning that being unique is sometimes the
worst thing to ever be.

He�s unprepared when
Connor abruptly leans back. It�s so
wildly out of character�so exactly what he wants�that he stays frozen while
Connor shifts and turns. And then
Connor�s practically in his lap, Angel�s arms linked around his waist, head
tucked underneath Angel�s chin. It�s perfect. It�s the connection that Angel�s craved
since the moment his son was taken from him.
It�s unreal.

�I miss the stars,�
Connor says again. He sounds sleepy,
now, like a child. Fretful, though, and
Angel recognizes that tone of voice. It
used to be a wail, not a quiet murmur, but the tone�s the same. And Angel�s response is the same, tightening
his arms to hold his son and murmuring, �Shhh.
Daddy�s here.�

He knows as soon as
he says it that it�s the wrong thing to say.
Connor will be angry at him now, accusing him of patronizing a boat
at
hasn�t been a boy in too many long years.
He�ll lose the closeness that�s almost�almost�soothing enough to replace
months under the ocean.

But Connor doesn�t
do anything but snuggle slightly closer.
It�s wrong, Angel knows that, but habit has him rocking slightly,
thumbs running in fitful patterns. �I
can�t sleep,� Connor murmurs, still so young and petulant. �I�m so tired.�

Angel leans down
closer, gathering his son and holding him close. This is a gift, a precious gift, and Angel doesn�t want to do
anything to disturb it. But Connor is
shifting now, the smell of misery and need rising a h hih higher. Angel�s not above feeling vindictive at the
ribbon of guilt in the morass coming from Connor. But guilt can be for later, when he�s not holding his son and
wishing he could say that he loved him.

�Please,� Connor
whispers. �I�m so tired.�

�I know. But it�s okay now,� he says, repeating the
mindless reassurances he�d given to a squalling infant. �Daddy�s here and it�s okay now. Daddy�s here.�

Connor shifts
abruptly, trying to shove himself deeper into Angel�s hold. �Please,� he repeats. Little boy so scared, needing so much.

>

But he�s not a
little boy and Angel knows what he needs.
He can feel it against his hand and his stomach rolls. Holtz wouldn�t have given this to Angel�s
son and Angel. . . Angel hurts too much
for Connor not to. More guilt Angel can
handle. His son�s sleeplessness, his need,
he cannot.

�Shhh,� he
soothes.spanspan>The backs of his fingers brush
against where he knows he�ll go, feeling heat and hardness. For a moment, he�s irrationally proud that in
this he is truly Angel�s son�then he ignores the thought, not wanting to
compare. Not now. �I can help you fall asleep.�
- 1
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Slumber