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 Beholder
Chapter 7 Author Dark Rhiannon Email darkrhiannon@aol.com Silence was golden. Sadly, Xander Harris seemed unaware of that fact, Angel thought, glaring at the boy. He'd rambled on for the last hour on a variety of topics, from science fiction movies to comic books. His firm ensconcement in pop culture practically precluded dialogue between the two of them anyway—not that it seemed to matter to Xander, who continued blithering along on his monotonous monologue about…what *was* he talking about anyway? "And then Neo doges the bullet, and Trinity is all like, wow, how did you do that, you move like one of them…god, she is so hot. That black vinyl catsuit is just too tight for words and light glistens off it like an oil slick till it looks like it might peel right off and I can't wait for the new movie…I've been watching the old one over and over again…" Angel's attention floated away yet again as he considered what he was about to do. He'd built a life in LA—or as close as he came to one, anyway. Naturally or unnaturally taciturn, it wasn't easy for him to reach out to the humans whom he encountered. Cordy had coaxed him slowly out of his shell, forcing him to attend parties, go to bars, exist in something other than shadows. He was grateful to her, to them all, for tolerating his moods, allowing him into their mortal lives, and offering him their friendship. And now he was leaving them. * Buffy hissed at the unaccustomed soreness in her arms as she stretched her muscles. She'd let herself go, this last month. The strength was still there, but some of the suppleness was missing. She knew it would return in only days—one of the many benefits of being the Slayer and not a normal human who had to work out daily to stay fit. No, she burned more energy, healed faster (though not with less pain), and grew new muscle and bone miraculously fast. It didn't preclude scarring, as her face could now attest. She rose gracefully from the last yoga stretch and padded into the kitchen. Here, in her home, she left the detested cane. Here she could walk in confidence, or try to anyway. *It's just like walking downstairs at night, Buffy,* she told herself. *You just forgot to turn on the light. That's all. Nothing to it.* "Ouch! Damn." Someone had left a chair pulled out from the table. It wasn't by much, just enough to stub her toe on. Rubbing her foot against the calf of the other leg, she pushed in the chair before continuing on to the refrigerator, feeling carefully for the milk inside. She grabbed it and moved to the counter, sweeping her hand lightly across the surface before placing the carton upon it. She paced to the cabinets, reaching up for the door of one and fumbling slightly before opening it. She grabbed a box of cereal, confirming by smell that it was the box of Cheerios that she sought. Buffy had never before been as aware of the myriad scents surrounding her, but she'd grown used to them now. Having lost her vision hadn't sharpened her other senses so much as it had removed interference for them. Without the distraction of images, Buffy was far more focused on sounds, textures and scents. Those already keen senses seemed more so in the darkness. She grabbed a bowl and spoon and moved back to the island. After opening the box, she poured the cereal carefully into the bowl, stopping when her fingers found the circles mounding slightly. With one finger resting lightly on the surface of the cereal, she poured milk slowly in, again stopping when she felt the liquid buoying the grains. Eating wasn't nearly as difficult as it had first been for her, Buffy thought absently as she crunched each mouthful. Learning to feed herself blind with her hands wrapped in layers of bandages had been tough, but once her hands had healed, she'd discovered she was much more able to judge the distance to her mouth accurately. She ate with neat precision, finished, and moved to the sink to rinse her bowl and put it into the dishwasher. Breakfast accomplished, she was about to go in search of Giles for another cemetery reconnaissance when she heard rapid footsteps approaching down the front walk. The door slammed open and Willow's voice called, "Buffy! Are you here?" "In here, Will," she replied, turning to face the door to the hall. She heard Willow move closer, practically running toward her. "I found it, Buffy!" Willow announced, panting slightly but sounding quite pleased. "I found the spell…the spell to make you see!" "What?! Oh, my god, Willow, are you sure?" Buffy could barely speak, she was so overcome. "Well, it doesn't restore sight, so much as it lets you share it with someone else. It's called the Eye of the Beholder. The ingredients were all pretty easy to come by and it doesn't seem to be all that hard, although the cantrips can be a little tricky to the uninitiated…" Willow's voice continued on, but Buffy's attention had wandered from the spell details. To see again, however it happened. To not be crippled by lack of sight, to be able to fight. It was a dream she'd been afraid to even contemplate. And now, she could actually see again…today? She shook herself and attempted to focus on Willow's words. "…seemed to have trouble actually performing it. The participants experienced some kind of trauma, but I think that may have just been confusion because they were both able to see and were trying to swap vision rather than restoring vision to someone who was blinded…" Buffy interrupted sharply, "So you can do it then? You have the stuff you need?" "Well, yes, I have all of it here, Buffy," Willow replied. "But shouldn't we wait till Giles gets back?" "No. No! I want to do it now. What do I have to do?" "Well, we need to decide whose eyes you want to use. Do you want to try it with mine?" "Yes! I mean, yeah, if you're ok with that, Willow?" Buffy paused, wondering if her friend would mind, if they'd share something besides just vision. "How does it work, again?" "I'm not entirely sure, but it seems to link your vision to mine, so you see what I see." "Ok, what do we do?" "Well, let's go into the living room and sit down. I'll cast a circle to protect us and we can go from there." Willow's footsteps moved towards the living room and Buffy followed eagerly. * "I can't believe this," Cordy fumed, pacing back and forth in front of Angel. "You're leaving? Leaving LA? What about your mission? What about helping the hopeless? Angel, you need to stop thinking with your…" Wesley interrupted her briskly. "Yes, well, um, Angel, while I can certainly sympathize with your desire to help Buffy, the fact remains that you are needed here." "By whom, Wesley? Cordy hasn't had any visions that truly required my help in the past month. The M'fashnik demons were easily dispatched, in fact, I think you killed three of them." "Oh, yeah, sure," Cordy interjected, "justify it that way, but we all know the truth, Angel, and the truth is…" Angel moved with lightning speed to loom before her. "The truth, Cordy?" he hissed, rage suffusing his features. "The truth is, that if I had been in Sunnydale, as I was supposed to be, Buffy would never have been blinded! I let your vision go without even questioning it and you, you never mentioned it! And now Buffy is blind. My Mate is trapped in the dark…forever…because of me. So don't preach to me, Cordelia, because I'm not in the mood to listen." Wesley attempted to soothe the vampire, "Angel, we're certainly not questioning your sense of responsibility toward Buffy, but she does have other friends to help her through this painful time and it may not be the most prudent situation to have you so close. Comfort can easily devolve into a more intimate situation and we know how dangerous that can be with you and Buffy." Angel looked startled, then a bit guilty at Wesley's words and Cordy pounced. "You didn't! You were only there for two nights and you already hooked up with her? Angel are you insane?" Angel backed up a bit at Cordy's attack, then stood firm. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I already know that the curse is not in danger if I'm with Buffy, so that argument is pretty much moot." He moved away from his friends, pacing swiftly in his agitation. "This isn't a democracy. You can handle the visions just fine without me, Wesley. Cordy will tell you what they are, and you, Gunn, Fred and Connor can take care of them. You don't need me, and frankly, Connor will probably be happier with me two hours away. If you see something that really requires my presence, Cordy, I'll drive back. I'm not going to the other side of the world, you know." "I know that you care more about her than you do about us," Cordy said angrily. "Yes. I do. You are my friends and…I love you," Angel admitted. "But she is my reason for existing, my reason for fighting. Without her…" his voice trailed off as he remembered the terrible grief and rage he'd felt when she'd died. "I can never let that happen to her again," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. Wesley looked grim but accepting. "Angel, you know that regardless of whether you go to her or stay here, one day Buffy will die…again. She is mortal, you are not. It is inevitable," he said sadly. "All the more reason for me to be with her now, Wes," Angel said. "I'm not waiting for some promised shanshu. I'm going to be with her now. Whether she wants me there or not, whether you understand or not, I've finally realized that I need to be with her…I *have* to be with her." "She's going to break your heart again," Cordelia said grumpily, but then threw herself into Angel's arms. "Please be careful, Angel. We love you and we want you to be happy…just not too happy, ok?" Angel smiled down at her lovely face. "I know, Cordy, I promise I'll be careful." He hugged her to him for a moment, grateful for all that she'd been to him in the long years he'd spent away from Buffy. He couldn't truly blame her for the accident, he took that blame upon himself. He was the champion, it was his responsibility. "Wes," he said, turning to the ex-Watcher and clasping his hand. "I need you to guide Connor, to Watch over him. Without me here to react against, I think you'll find that he steps up to the tasks easily, but make sure that he gets out, too. He needs a life besides fighting and I'm counting on you to take care of him." Wesley blinked, momentarily overcome by emotion at the trust Angel was placing in him. "You want me…*me* to watch over him?" Angel gazed at him. "I know that you've never done anything without thinking of him first, Wes. I am…grateful for that. You aren't afraid to do painful things in order to protect him…that's what he needs. And he needs to be free of me, of the baggage that we have. I trust you, Wes, with his life." Wes nodded, his expression serious. "I will not let you down, Angel." The unspoken "again" was reflected in both of their eyes as they embraced solemnly. Angel packed quickly, years of experience enabling him to choose the things that mattered and discard those that didn't. He said his farewells to Gunn, Lorne and Fred quickly, but paused outside of his son's room. "C'mon in, I can hear you out there, you know," called his son's voice. Angel opened the door and walked in. Connor had not done much with the room, yet it bore his stamp regardless. Weapons, carefully cleaned and neatly arranged in easily reached locations throughout the room, spoke of a meticulous nature and eye for symmetry. Angel realized, looking around, that Connor had, consciously or not, arranged much of the room exactly opposite to his own. The realization brought a grim smile to his face. "I wanted to stop by and see you because we need to…" "Yeah, yeah, I heard you talking to the others," Connor interrupted rudely. "I always knew the mission meant nothing to you…it's all about the girl, isn't it?" he sneered. "Connor, that's not true and you know it, or you should. But I can't stay here, not like this, not when she needs me more. Besides, now we have you," Angel said. "Me? What do I have to do with it?" Connor questioned skeptically. "You are a champion. You are everything that Wes and Cordy need. They don't need me anymore, now that you are here, fighting together with them," Angel said with quiet pride. Connor looked surprised, then disbelieving. "Oh, yeah?" "Yes. I've watched you, I've trained with you, fought by your side. You are a warrior, a champion, Connor. You don't need me here, getting in your way, and I *am* needed elsewhere. Now I can go, knowing that you will take care of everything here." Connor was trying to control his face, but his proud reaction to Angel's words showed despite his efforts. "You really think I can…" "Yes. I do. You're every bit as strong as I am, Connor. You can go into the light, where I cannot. You need some experience with this world, but Cordy and Wes can supply that. I have…faith in you…son." Tears welled up in Connor's eyes as he stared at the vampire who was his father. For his entire life, everything he'd done had been in reaction to the knowledge of who his true father was. At first, those actions had been based upon hatred, then reluctant admiration. But now, looking at Angel's calm, proud face, Connor was forced to accept the love that stared back at him. Angel loved him. Was proud of him. Trusted him with the friends whom he valued above all things. Connor took Angel by surprise, rushing forward to clasp the vampire in a tight embrace. "Dad. Please don't go. Stay. We can fight together, side by side." Angel wavered. His son held him. Connor wanted him. He shook with suppressed emotion and Connor looked up into his face. Angel's usually closed expression showed the internal strife he felt. That, more than any words, convinced Connor of the depth of his father's feelings. With unexpected grace, the son released the father. "I understand, Dad. You're a champion, and you're needed. But we… I'll miss you." Angel's tears spilled at last. "Connor…" His son was attempting nonchalance with noticeable lack of success. "It's what, two hours away? That's not so far. It'll be fine." "I will be back, Connor. Whenever you call, if you ever need me…" "I'll always need you, Dad. But maybe, maybe I need this, too." Angel pulled his son into his arms, holding that miraculous living flesh close to him and drawing a deep breath, full of the scent of his son. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Connor's head, memory of the once tiny baby's scent mixing with the newer teen's until both were branded upon his mind. Then he turned and strode from the room. Connor watched him go, tears finally welling from his own eyes in the empty silence of his room. to be continued... |
