Title – Father

Disclaimer - not mine.

Rating - PG

Spoilers - everything ever. In this one, especially spoilers from the latest "Angel" episodes.

Pairing - Buffy/Angel.

Synopsis – Angel and Connor have a first talk.

Feedback - always.

AN – Buffy's pov in the first part, Angel's in the second.

"Dad?" he says that word again, only this time it's in a form of a question and I think only a part of me is actually listening, the other part seems to be wandering anywhere but here. What do I tell him? I don't even know what to tell him, he's my son and I don't even know. He feels more a stranger to me than my own flesh and blood and it frightens me.

What was the entire point of me having a part in a life different from the one I used to have, if not to grant me the opportunity to start fresh, start from blank, from nothing, without having to drag my past around wherever I go? Why can't I rid myself from it, why can't I just get a break *once*, why am I doomed to fall back over my past mistakes for the rest of my existence?

It was different with Buffy. I could just take her into my arms and she would know it was me because in her heart, she's already known the moment I stepped into the room. But that is Buffy, my Buffy, my girl. She would always know me, no matter where I'd be, what I'd look like, she would always know.

But Connor... we never were on the best of terms while I was alive, not literally, of course, but at least there in being. Now I'm standing in front of a person who thought I was dead for three years. I don't even know how he has taken it, a part of me insists I should trust Buffy while the other part simply shudders at the possibility of my death being an answer to my son's prayers...

"Connor..." I utter his name with trouble and it feels strange to merely speak it out loud. I did that before, so it shouldn't be a first, but... I'm looking at him now, and he's standing right in front of me, and he's not a 'maybe' anymore, he's not a work of my imagination... he's my son. And he's right there, and he's real. So real all I suddenly want to do is hug him. I have to inwardly laugh at the thought, he's in his twenties and in my mind I view him as though he were a child. Maybe because the only time he *really* was my son was when he was a baby. Maybe the father in me still steadfastly declines the fact he's lived over twenty years in which I did not take any part.

"Are you real?" he asks me and I need a few seconds to take in the full weight of that question. His large blue eyes are staring at me suspiciously, like a wild animal that's not yet sure whether or not it's going to attack. And at the same time, I understand he wouldn't be my son, if he looked at me now any other way.

"Yeah," is all I can bring myself to say, trying to ignore the disturbing oddness of this conversation. And apparently, this reply was enough for him, because next thing he says is the exact thing I've been expecting him to.

He looks at me, hard and grave and I feel his gaze has condemned me for every single thing I've ever done. And with his voice only slightly above whisper, but nevertheless strong and somewhat accusing, he asks, "So where the hell have you been for the last three years?"

Too late.

This is the first thing that springs to my mind as the blow of his words strikes me. That's what he told me, years ago, when he jumped back into my life after I'd thought him to be lost forever on me, when he returned from Quortoth and I tried to reach him for the first time ever. He said... too late. I smirk at that and the smirk must show on my features because I watch silently as his expression changes consequently. 'Too late'... well, that's just a shorter wording to what he just said to me moments ago. Where the hell have I been?...

"What did you think?" his words draw me away from my thoughts and I look at him. "That I would just take you back like nothing's changed?"

"Connor," I try to reach him or at least insert a word of my own, but he darts back and cuts me off and I'm glad, because I don't know what to say.

"You're my father," he states simply, but I can't detect a single emotion in his eyes, or his voice, as he says that. "Or at least, that's what you claim to be. You *call* yourself a father and yet you deserted me not once, but *twice*." His voice is rising and becoming more aggressive and I feel a pang shooting through my chest with each and every word he speaks. Will it help, if I tell him neither one of those times was my fault? Will it help *me*? Did *I* ever think so, that it wasn't my fault, even if rationally I knew it wasn't? If anything, in my eyes, I can safely claim the undeniable title of the master of walking out on the people I love most.

He watches me for a few moments, then walks past me and sits down on the couch. "When I was five, or six... I don't remember, Holtz started teaching me how to track. He'd tie me to a tree and run away, and then I'll have to get free and find him. The least it took me was five days, that's only when I got pretty good."

I gape at him, and I think my jaw is dropped open and I look like your ultimate idiot because I still haven't processed everything my son has just told me. I've had my share of dreadful perceptions and possible ideas running through my head about what my son must have gone through in that hell dimension. But I always had some twisted source of comfort from the fact Holtz maybe managed to shelter him from part of it, that he was a family to him, some resemblance to humanity and love and warmth.

I don't have that now.

"Connor..."

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me. *I* don't feel sorry for me." He looks at me, as though inspecting my reaction to the fullest. He doesn't even blink, his eyes don't disclose a shred of emotion, like the words he's just spoken couldn't be further from him.

"I never hated him for that, you know. I never hated him for anything he's done to me."

*Anything*??? There was more? Of course, there was more... But it doesn't matter, because I want to say that I hate him enough for both of us, he really doesn't have to. But instead I don't say anything. I just listen. I don't think I ever just *listened* to my son.

"He trained me well, I have to give him that," he goes on, the same calmness carries each word that only indicates of indifference. But I know, the fact alone that he tells me those things, means they do have significance. "He trained me well enough to ensure my loyalty for him only. He trained me well enough to betray you, and well enough to drive me to kill you."

I still want to say something, I feel the words push through my lips, but I still can't. And then he says quietly, "He also trained me well enough to be able to find you." He looks at me for another second and then adds, "This is the only good thing that came out of that."

I swallow hard and again, don't say anything. I feel inside it's better to let him do the talking for now. I'm not sure how to take that phrase and I'm not sure if it really means the world to me or is it just another elusion that's going to explode in my face in a few seconds. With my son, it's a little hard to tell...

"I wanted to kill you," he notes unwaveringly, leaning back on the couch, "I hated you in ways you couldn't even imagine. I never hated Holtz for *anything*, but God, how I hated you. Do you know why? Because *you* were my father. He was a man I called 'father' because that's what he taught me to do and for so many years, he was all I knew. But he never deserved to be called that way, he never did anything to be called that way. But you did. You gave life to me, you took care of me, and you loved me, he never did any of those things. He never did anything but control me and mold me into what he wanted me to be to execute his thirst for vengeance, while you... you took me in and you loved me even when I tried to kill you, plainly because I was your *son*. And that's why, *you* I held responsible for *everything* that ever happened to me first in Quortoth, and then back in Los Angeles."

I knew that. I always knew that, and he knew that I did. I held myself responsible for everything, I didn't need him for that. This is why I never killed Holtz, because in my eyes, he never *really* was the one to blame, never mind how much I would like to shed that responsibility from myself and place it on someone else. Not Holtz, not Wesley, nothing would do until I didn't admit it was all my fault. I wouldn't be a father if I didn't think so. Every child blames his parents for his problems, it's one of the stages of growing up, and I did that, too. But what different in this version is that my child really does have too much to blame me for.

"When I first came back, I was drawn to you like a magnet and I thought I wronged Holtz by doing that and I *forced* myself to hate you even more. I didn't know it was exactly what he had in store for me, that it was exactly where he wanted me, torn between you two. All I *wanted* was to be with you, but at the same time I hated you too much to allow myself to do that, and first and foremost, I was too loyal to *him*. Even by the time everything was uncovered, inside, I still refused to see his true face, like a dog refuses to turn on its owner even after being abused. He taught me to hate you, so that is what I did, and him aside, I hated you enough for myself. I never let you get close, and I never again allowed *myself* to. I didn't trust you, never again, because I didn't see you then in the light I see you now. I saw you the way Holtz would probably want me to."

"What changed?" I ask, speaking for the first time, and it really is the only important thing I had to say so far.

He chuckles, turning his eyes away from me for a second. "Three years is a long time to think. You're familiar with the saying that you only know what you've got after you lose it. I'm pretty sure you do," he glances up the stairs and I know he can read my mind precisely. "Like father, like son, I guess, because I only learned that after I lost it, too. Besides," he smiles again, "never underestimate the love of a woman. Let's say a certain influence can be helpful when it comes to seeing certain things you refuse to see."

I smile, too, nodding to myself. I only know too well what he means.

Suddenly his eyes lose their spark and darken as he looks away from me, inhaling a deep breath. "When you were... when you were dying, I ran away. I couldn't stay there because I couldn't watch... it. It's funny how I was so set to kill you myself a few months before and suddenly I can't as much as bear the thought of someone else doing that. Only then I realized I wasn't ready to lose you. But even then, I wasn't ready to tell you that either." He pauses for a while and we just look at each other, I'm trying to guess what he's about to say next while he is probably trying to resolve how to say it. "Next minute I know, you're not there anymore, and I think I felt an emptiness that moment like I never did before. I took you for granted, I let myself treat you like..." he stops in mid sentence and slightly grimaces at what he was about to say next. Instead of completing his thought, he averts his eyes momentarily and begins a new one. "I felt free to hate you, to ignore you, to disrespect, unappreciated, you name it. But I always knew you'd be there, that you would have me and love me, no matter what I do, no matter if I deserve it or not. I even knew you were watching after me, that one time when you kicked me out. You were always there. You were always my father. And suddenly, I didn't have you anymore, I didn't have a father, even in theory. And I knew I would never have you again, and... I would never be able to tell you I'm sorry."

He looks up at me as he says that, looks me deep in the eyes, as though he expects me to understand he's periphrastically saying that now. And all I can do is assure him with my eyes that I know.

"I only had her left, the only and the truest link to you," the familiar spark enters his eyes again and I know we have the same 'her' in mind that moment. "And hell, she wouldn't take any of my crap anymore." He laughs and I smile accordingly, I know her well enough. "She actually put me in my place pretty fast though I figured she'd do it much sooner since I had pushed the line long enough already. I don't remember exactly what she said to me that night on patrol, but it was something along the lines of, 'Your father had a good side, and he had a bad side, so do we all, so deal with that. Starting now, you either listen to me or you don't, your choice, but if you have nothing but crap to say about him, you'll shut up, and if *you* can't bring yourself to see how the good in people outweighs the bad, especially in your father, then *you* don't deserve to be called his son.' That's it, that's pretty much what she told me. And since then, I listened, because I think the part that got to me the most was not to be called your son. Back then, I didn't really know why. After I'd listened, I did."

"Connor..." I don't even care I'll soon wear out his name but for some reason, I can't seem to be able to move past it.

He cuts me off again and I don't fight him because what he says leaves me speechless. "But you weren't there, for *three* years, for me to tell you that." He rises to his feet and paces over to the window, drawing the curtain aside and letting in a crack of sunlight. He slowly turns back to me, gazing thoughtfully as it falls on my face. "You were too busy living a life away from me, and from her, a life that didn't include us." He lets go of the curtain and the sunlight disappears behind it. Did he really find another thing to hate me for?

"I know it wasn't your fault, I grew up enough in three years to establish a mind of my own. But I can't really get past the fact you weren't there for me, again. You were the only father I ever had and I never had you. She doesn't care, she does, but she'll take you back no matter what because she loves you more than anything, and she knows what she misses when you're apart. But you see, I don't, because normally a person doesn't remember his life from when he was less than a year old."

"I can't... undo that, Connor. I can't give you that." I stand up, and walk over to him. I put a hand on his arm and to my ultimate surprise, he doesn't flinch, only casts down his eyes. "I need you to know I never wanted things to turn out this way, I never meant for any of it to happen. I never meant to lose you and I never meant to leave..."

"I know," he nods. "But it doesn't matter because you did. I'm going to be twenty-two soon and altogether, I maybe spent a year of my life with you when I should have spent all of it. And still, I never saw anyone as my father the way I saw you. I never... loved anyone as a father the way I-" he gazes at me with caution, probably wondering whether or not he should have been so open with me and I strive to appear the least affected not to make him feel even more uncomfortable. I don't want him to back down from this, I don't think the part in me that *is* a father will be able to stand it.

"Connor, I... I think me promising to stay will only make things worse. It isn't up to me to keep that promise. I take a chance by making it to Buffy and... I can't make it to you." I put a hand on his shoulder and urge him to look at me again before I say anything. "I don't know what is going to happen to me tomorrow, Connor. And I don't know what will happen to me today and same goes for any other day. You're right saying that we lost an enormous amount of time that should have been ours and I can't bring that back, too. I'm as useless in that department as in any other."

He nods silently and turns away. And as I see a grown up man in front of me, I also see my son, and I see where and why I hurt him like no one else can. I feel a pain in my chest when I realize he wasn't even expecting me to say anything else and I want to, say *anything* else, but I can't. There is nothing to say that would not be a lie and I think he's been lied to enough already. So I just wrap my arms around him and hug him.

THE END