Title: Baby Doll
Author Restive Nature
Disclaimers: I do not own any of the characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. They belong to the almighty Joss and I just play with them for my own amusement before putting them away neatly.
Spoilers: Buffy Season Three "Amends"
Summary: A teenage girl with mysterious ties to Angel helps him with his Christmas Amends.
Chapter Two
The Gift
Angel made his way back to the mansion, entering the living room to find that the fire he’d left had pretty much burned itself out. There were a few glowing embers, deep in the pile of ash. Angel grimaced ruefully to himself. That was how he felt sometimes. That often, there were deeply hidden sparks within the dead body, taunting him. Could they burn, ignite the life around him? Or would they burn out, useless lumps of charred wood? And if they did burn, what would become of him, to whom all flame was deadly. Sometimes he wanted to burn, just to know that he was capable of feeling something. Physical, mental, it didn’t matter. As long as it wasn’t the all-consuming guilt that overrode his soul.
Angel shook his head. It was difficult work, keeping his maudlin self at bay. He knew that he had love now to keep him going. To keep him strong, but in the dark of night, by himself, it was easy to forget. He knelt down before the fireplace. With ease, he used the poker to stir up the ashes and embers, making way for more wood. He waited until the fresh kindling began to burn, then expertly arranged the logs. He pulled back from an especially nasty snapping log. How many mothers since the dawn of time had warned their children, don’t play with fire? It seemed an especially good lesson right at that moment.
Angel rose and made his way to the sofa, his soft footfalls echoing in the cavernous room. He plunked down into the seat before the coffee table. The minimal light from the fire caught in some of the silver of the gift still lying there. Tempting him. With a sigh, he finally pulled the gift onto his lap. He steeled himself against whatever it was that Dylan believed he needed to have. The gift was flat, moderately large and if his fingers weren’t deceiving him, felt like something framed. With a strange snapping sound, the tape broke under his probing fingers. Angel unfolded one end of the wrapping paper, neatly done up, and extracted precisely what he surmised it to be. A picture frame. And once he’d pulled it completely out, his jaw dropped.
It was a portrait. Of him and Buffy. Angel stared at it, mesmerized. Never had he and Buffy ever posed in such a manner, that he could recall. Staring up at him from the frame, was the two of them. In the picture, Angel was behind Buffy, his arms clearly wrapped around her, though it only showed them from the shoulders up. It was as if the two of them were posing for a photograph, but at the last second, were captivated by each other. Angel’s face was caught in a semi-profile, smiling gently down at his beloved. Buffy’s face was slightly tilted toward him. But her eyes. Oh, her eyes sparkled up at him, love, mischief and purity of soul beckoning him, just as she did whenever she came near him. But it wasn’t a picture. Someone had painted this. Angel’s eyes flickered momentarily to the bottom right, but he saw nothing. Until he looked closely at the fabric of what he assumed was his clothing.
He turned the portrait sideways, to make out the signature. It was done in such a way that it looked like embroidery along the seam of the fabric. D. McKenzie. Dylan had painted this. Angel was stunned. He’d always enjoyed drawing or sketching. He’d never stepped into the realm of color and paint and depth of emotion like this. Everything he created had only ever been to satisfy his needs for a creative outlet for his memories. Or, in Angelus’ case, to torment someone. He’d never created something solely for the purpose of pleasing someone else. Oh sure, people would admire his sketches. But they were never about wanting someone else to see. To see what, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was an artist’s light that shone; giving life to things not her own. Perhaps it was the risk of putting herself out there for people to judge. It was something Angel was unable to do with his art.
His eyes moved back to the portrait. It pricked in his mind, this strange feeling that he should have recognized this moment in time. But he did not. And he wondered how Dylan could have known about him and Buffy being together like this. To his knowledge, she’d never seen them together before today. It came back to him, what Buffy had said. Dylan attended Sunnydale High School. Perhaps she’d seen them together in the library. Or maybe at the Bronze. They had been together at a few places aside from the cemetery, his apartment and her bedroom. The multitude of possibilities was kind of nice. Most of those places had some good memories. He spent a relaxed few minutes, picturing himself and Buffy in that pose in each of those places. But none of it clicked.
Finally, with deliberate care, he stood and shuffled over to the mantle. He centered the portrait there and gazed at it some more. He was pleased that his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. The love between them was still shining through the portrait. He backed up, and could still see it. It occurred to him then that he shouldn’t have waited to open this. Buffy would have loved it. And perhaps wanted it for herself. He chuckled, deep in his chest. Yes, she was a possessive girl. But he also knew that she wouldn’t begrudge this gift.
Angel nearly smacked his forehead, he felt so suddenly stupid. He spun around and snatched up the card. Buffy should have this portrait. It didn’t come from any time that held bad memories for them. It wouldn’t be a reminder about the painful things. He was almost certain that it had been painted from a time before the badness had started. A plan began to form in his mind. He’d track down Dylan and see if she’d recreate this masterpiece. And it would be his gift to Buffy. For her love, her friendship, for all the things that she tried to be for him. For her strength. It was a good plan. And now that he had it in mind, Angel couldn’t wait. He grabbed up his coat again and as it swung around his body, his arms roughly thrusting into the sleeves, he caught sight of the fire burning merrily.
"Why do I even light these?" he laughed aloud. He slipped the card from Dylan into his pocket, then knelt to bank the flames for the second time that day. He certainly didn’t want a fire burning up his new possession. Just to be safe, Angel removed it from the mantle and brought it to a table on the opposite side of the room. He propped it up and with one last tender glance, ventured out into the cold. ‘Time to go hunting,’ he thought to himself.
It was remarkably easy to track her down. A stop at the nearest gas station, a quick thumbing through the phone book and there was her address. Angel noted that she appeared to live a few streets over from Willow. He memorized her address and let the heavy book fall back to its carefree sway under the battered telephone. As he began the trek to Dylan’s place, he mulled over why her name was in the phone book. If she was still in school, shouldn’t she be living with her parents? There were many possibilities to consider. It was most likely that she had her own telephone number. From what Buffy had let slip, not that she was secretive about it, most teenage girls loved chatting over the phone. And it was a very common occurrence for parents to set up a secondary line for their children. Just so they didn’t have to deal with the hassle of answering the phone every two minutes.
Angel arrived at the McKenzie household and took a moment to absorb the feeling emanating from the building. He could sum it all up in one word, lonely. The house was void of Christmas decorations. The new fallen snow had no tracks in it. No one had been in, out or to the house at all this day. And a solitary light burned in what was most likely the living room. Angel wondered if maybe the McKenzie’s had left after he’d seen Dylan this morning. That was plausible. They maybe had relatives to visit. With a mental shrug, Angel decided that the only way he would find out was to go to the door and knock. That, or call. And he’d seemed to leave that notion behind at the gas station.
He sensed the movement in the house moments after he employed the brass doorknocker. The door swung open just a little as familiar eyes peered out into the night. There was a pause, and Dylan let the door open fully. She stared at him, bewildered, not understanding why he was there. He tried to remain… peaceful. He didn’t want to alarm her. "Hey Dylan," he greeted her softly.
"Angel," she replied. She moved a little forward and rested against the doorjamb. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to say thank you," he smiled, picturing the portrait in his mind.
"You’re welcome," she made it seem like a question. She tilted her head, studying him. "But I kind of get the sense that that’s not the only reason you stopped by."
"No it’s not," Angel nodded. "I actually have a favor to ask. About the portrait."
"Oh, okay," she bit her lip. "Why don’t you come in then?" She stepped back to allow him entry. He entered swiftly; letting her shut the cold air out. He turned back to her.
"Um, just a word of warning," he half-smirked. "Vampires can’t enter your house unless you invite them. I think you know I won’t hurt you, but in the future…" he trailed off suggestively. She looked up at him, sadness in her eyes.
"I know." Two simple words that held a wealth of emotion. Angel felt bad, seeing that emotion in her face. Obviously the past had scarred her more than he had thought. "Would you like to sit down?" she gestured to the living room and then followed her guest inside. Angel took a seat at one end of a large sofa, set against the window. Dylan chose a chair close by. Angel had made a sweeping glance around the room, surprised to see that there were no decorations inside either.
"I suppose I should make this quick," Angel began. "I should have waited until tomorrow, but I was anxious to talk to you. I hope you’ll give your parents my apologies for bothering you today." Dylan gave her head a little shake.
"They’re… not here," she whispered. Angel squinted at her, sensing immediately that something wasn’t being said.
"They left you alone on Christmas?" he asked softly. It didn’t seem right to him. But thinking about Buffy and some of her friends, he’d come to realize that family just didn’t mean what it used to. "Or do you not celebrate Christmas?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think about what he’d said. As she averted her eyes, he’d realized he’d managed to offend her. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude."
"It’s okay," she shrugged. "Just didn’t feel like celebrating this year." He could relate to that.
"Oh," he muttered. "Will they be back soon?" He saw her wince and wondered how bad relations in her family must be for her to dread their return.
"Hopefully never," she murmured. That did it. His mind was screaming at him that something wasn’t right. And in his newfound sense of purpose, he wanted to do something about it. But the truth was, he didn’t quite know how to go about it.
"Dylan?" he finally began. "They don’t… hurt you, do they?" Again, there was shock in her eyes.
"Oh, I’m sorry," she gasped. "No, I should have explained. My parents… passed away this past summer." Again, the pause, something not being said.
"I’m sorry," he murmured, leaning forward to gauge the depth of her pain surrounding the incident. "How?"
"Not long after I… got home, they were out late, at a party," she explained haltingly. "Their car broke down. Instead of calling for help, they decided to… walk home. They were… attacked."
"Vampires?" he didn’t really have to ask. But she nodded anyway.
"The police found their bodies on the side of the road," she continued. "The official report was that they were attacked by a rabid dog. We buried them. I wasn’t sure, you know, if I’d see them again."
"Did you?"
"The next night," she confirmed. Her parents had been turned. "They came to the house. Tried to get me to invite them in. I didn’t, of course. They went away after that. I think… I hope Buffy got them." She shivered, the pain of having to contemplate her parent’s death twice, still an uneasy thought.
"I’m so sorry," again all he could do was apologize, sympathize. But it did make him wonder why she was able to trust him.
"It’s okay," she gave him a sad smile. "I’ve been learning to deal with it. One day at a time."
"I guess that’s all you can do," Angel nodded, sitting back. He wondered if she’d been able to talk to anyone about it. It was never good to keep feelings bottled up inside. He was a walking example of that. But in reality, who was there equipped to deal with his entire emotional and psychological trauma. "Things will get better if you want them to." Even as he said it, he could feel the déjà vu sliding over him. He jerked his head a little, trying to identify why those words were important.
"Oh, you do remember," Dylan chuckled. He glanced up sharply at her. How had she known what he was feeling? They studied each other. "Or maybe you don’t."
"Remember what?" he cast his thoughts back over his most recent time as Angelus. But nothing was clear. Dylan pushed herself up from her seat and made her way to the bookcase. She knelt before it, perusing some of the albums lined up in the bottom shelf. Finally, she pulled one loose and brought it back to the sofa. She set the large, white book in his lap. Resuming her seat, she nodded at it. Angel carefully flipped it open. He was surprised to see what looked to be photos of a funeral. He flipped through a few pages, before coming to some group photos. And finally saw what had been eluding him.
"Oh."
Chapter Three
No comments:
Post a Comment