Title: By the Rivers Dark Part 1

Author: Crimsonsenya

Rating: NC17

Pairings: Spike/Connor, Connor/Spike/Lindsey, Angel/Lindsey; Angel/Nina, Wesley/Illyria & Angel/Wesley implied.

Genre: slash, darkish angst,

Warnings: m/m sex, some blood spilled

Summary: Unfinished business and a tangled web of emotions.

A/N: This fanfic is an unbetaed sequel to my fic Stripped down to the bone, though it can be read as a stand-alone too.

Spoilers: Until Ats episode 5. 18. Origin, then A/U, except the 5.17. Underneath never happened and Illyria was drained of her powers and 5.20. The Girl in Question took place.

However, to understand this fic it is necessary to know that in this verse only Connor recovers his memory at the end of the episode 5.18, and that he ends up using ecstasy to deal with his past and the difficulties of moving on with his false life. About seven months after the events of Origin Angel recruits Spike to help Connor to rehabilitate and they become tightly bond by friendship, family blood and desire. This story takes place about six months after the events of Stripped down to the bone, though the focus is not just on S/C.

Disclaimer: All the characters and concepts are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy etc. al. The title comes from a Leonard Cohen song from the album Ten New Songs.

*******************************************

By the rivers dark

I wandered on.

I lived my life

In Babylon.

And I did forget

My holy song:

And I had no strength

In Babylon.

By the rivers dark

Where I could not see

Who was waiting there

Who was hunting me.

*********************************************

Illyria lay on the bed, her bare skin exposed to Wesley’s dark, dilated eyes.

“Without this body you are nothing. The only reason you still exist in this world is because of her. Say it!” Wesley’s voice was hoarse and relentless. She stared back at him with her emotionless blue eyes.

“The only reason I still exist is because of her.”

Illyria’s body arched in anticipation, her hands were tied with ropes to the bedposts. Wesley straddled her thighs, lowered the finely crafted blade and began to carve letters in her stomach: ancient curses, lamentations and love poems in runes, cuneiform, Sanskrit, Latin, whatever he chose each night. In the morning, the wounds would be healed and the writing disappeared, as the winds sweep off the footprints on the sand.

Their days passed in a reserved coexistence from Wesley’s part and a blank stiffness from her part. In daytime, Illyria explored the wonders of the modern human habited world, but every night Wesley returned to his task: he covered her back, her breasts, her arms, her thighs and her bottom with letters and marks. Kissing her felt like broken glass cutting his lips, but Illyria absorbed every twisted, dark, desperate emotion that streamed from him.

“I do not comprehend. These things you have, what you call feelings, they can not be compared to anyone else’s,” she said.

How could she understand that every human was unique, that mourning and sorrow felt different to each individual? Wesley would have preferred to drown her in blood, darkness and pain, so much he hated her, but she was the only thing he had left of Fred –for eternity. Perhaps, when he had torn her flesh enough Charon would accept his offering and permit him to cross the river of oblivion into Hades, in the world of shadows, where he could be free of emotion, free of hurt.

*******************************

Connor hadn’t wanted to go back to college for the spring semester.

“Maybe next fall,” Connor had said to his father, the real one. To the false one he had simply continued to lie about his internship at a law firm.

“That’s not very nice,” Spike had only said and smirked. Therefore Connor and Spike spent their nights as rogue demon hunters, who were not particularly picky about their clients, and the days sleeping and bonding as clear-eyed Connor had deadpanned to Angel.

Angel wasn’t very excited about Connor quitting the law school and he had many times pressured Spike to convince Connor to continue. Spike doubted whether Connor was yet in a stable enough mental state to attend college, and their debates were even more intense than usual every time Angel and he met alone.

“The pouf’s only dream seems to be a perfect, middle-class, all American, average son, who hasn’t got a bloody clue of whom he really is,” was Spike’s true opinion, but to Angel he just retorted.

“Cut him some slack! He’s been to hell and back – both literally and metaphorically.”

When Connor and Spike needed extra cash, they drove to Las Vegas and earned a few thousands on poker. Although it had happened only a couple of times, because Los Angeles brawled still with demons, vampires and other bad guys to fight against for the sake of puppies and Christmas, and Connor and Spike were more than eager to assist –for a reasonable fee. They had moved out from the penthouse Angel had rented for Connor’s rehab to Spike’s flat and they had only bought a new, wider and more durable bed to spend the sunny hours in the most pleasant ways, though Spike pushed Connor out in the afternoons.

“You’re human. You need light. That’s how you get your stack of vitamins A and D and whatever.”

Therefore, Connor practiced on the roof of the apartment building or walked on the beach, but still, he remained much paler than an average Californian, yet another point of complaint for his dad.

Connor complied on the daytime outdoor activities as he complied to Spike’s caretaking in general, but he was a child of night. He loved going out in bars, pubs and nightclubs; no dive was rough or sleazy enough for him not to pop in. The intoxicated people, the play of shadows on bare skin, the neon lights, the hypnotically seducing or exploding aggressive music, the whole enticing nightlife made Connor feel like he was not different from all the others. Everyone was as artificial as him –and as dark. One night, they could party at a club that played drum 'n' base and trance, similar to the one Connor had frequented, when he used X. Then the next night, they could attend a gig with a roomful of punks, and the third night they could have a drink in a smoky gay jazz club. However, they went out often also for strictly business. They hung out, talked to people, listened to the rumours, bought drinks to possible connections. Only after hunting well done, they could purely indulge themselves in having fun.

Connor still had nightmares, mood swings and times of depression, but Spike had become his anchor to reality; the simple contact of Spike’s cool velvet skin under Connor’s fingertips calmed him down when woke up terrified. Connor didn’t know how to express his gratitude, but somehow, he was sure that Spike sensed the whole complexity of Connor’s feelings with his almost clairvoyant perception when Connor crawled on his knees, howling like a wild beast, opening himself to Spike in every way he could in his tangled and troubled reality. Spike was the best friend he never had had before, his brother, his family, and the one person in his entire lifetime, who, Connor knew for certain, loved him all the way.

************************************************

At the entrance of the Irish pub, Lindsey inhaled the familiar scent of tobacco and beer. “Damn, it is good to get out of Eve’s new flat!” The retro 60s decoration of her apartment made him simply sick. Eve had gotten him out of the torture room, where he had been held as Senior Partner’s captive for eight months, and, if the price was to play the role of a passionate lover, he had to admit it was a pretty decent price to pay. Lindsey needed his escapades though, like the ones he had with Lilah, when she was released from hell to fulfil some bidding of the Senior Evils. Lilah had found out of Angel’s son’s condition and they had taken their sweet revenge on Connor, or had it been a favour, to provide Connor with drugs he needed to bear his past?

Lindsey took the risk of being captured every time he ventured out the flat, even if he was tattooed with brand new, more powerful protection spells. The pub wasn’t a very classy one; the clients were mostly blue-collar workers and poor college students. It was a place, where he could have played his guitar in the old times. The pub was half empty. He walked to the counter and ordered a whisky on the rocks, while letting his gaze slide across the room. His heart skipped a few beats, when he recognized the person next to him.

“Well, isn’t it the other vampire with a soul?” “Is Angel around?” raced through his mind, but he tried to hide his nervousness. The vampire lifted his eyes from the soccer news with slouch slowness.

“Bloody hell! The cowboy with visions.” His lips curved to a sly smile. “Thought you were having the time of your life in one of the various hell dimensions, or wait, I forgot, L.A. is one of them.”

“Didn’t feel like home, too boring. I came back.” Lindsey turned his back to the counter to look at the students playing pool in the corner. Two girls that had probably been spending hours dressing up to impress, and a guy that at the moment was leaning over the other girl to improve her grip on the club. Both girls’ body language showed Lindsey that they were the ones to be played instead. The young man was indeed hot: graceful movements, silky long auburn hair brushing his shoulders, black leather pants and wrists, nice ass, a tight, dark blue t-shirt with a Lizard King print that gave promise of the lean muscles beneath.

Suddenly, the familiarity of the figure struck him. “Fuck! Connor! Where’s Angel?” Lindsey eyed the room frantically.

“The soddin’ bloke knows about Connor? I’m going to kill that Eve bitch!” Spike brawled in his mind, as he noticed Lindsey’s reaction to his boy. Spike did his best to remain calm from the outside when Lindsey continued to speak.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, with the new hair and all.”

“Sorry, can’t say the same. Well, maybe yours is longer too,” Spike smirked, “Cowboy is sweating. Probably thinks Peaches is here too.” Now he was truly amused to see where this encounter would lead.

Connor bagged three balls in a row and turned his face to check if the vampire had been watching. When Spike smiled to him, Connor felt a pleasant tingle in the pit of his stomach. Spike had been the one to teach him how to play in the first place. The vampire too had company, which wasn’t very rare, and Connor believed it was because they looked good together. Connor had noticed that the combination of danger and sexuality was a definite hook for women, men and vampires alike. The two of them didn’t mind the attention, but Connor realized he had met this man before. “The guy with the huge belt buckle.” Memories flashed in his mind. He was surprised. Both Spike and the man kept looking at him, as he left the disappointed girls to finish the game by themselves and grabbed his beer before walking over to Spike, as casually as he could.

“Shit!” Lindsey thought when he saw Connor approaching. He expected the brooding bulk of a vampire dad to throw his ass across the bar in any minute. Was it about half a year ago the last time he had met Connor? He had heard from the club that right before Christmas someone had come for the boy with a fight. Lindsey had drawn the conclusion that it must have been Angel, and later, Eve had informed him that Connor was living with Spike, but apparently, she wasn’t familiar with all the details. Now Angel’s son was coming to him, no, to Spike, and he wasn’t a disturbed college student on ecstasy giving blowjobs to strangers for payment anymore, but a confident-looking, hot package of young man, gifted with a pair of hypnotic, stormy blue eyes and an animal grace that draw Lindsey’s eyes to him like a magnet.

Connor went straight to Spike, who was standing now too. Connor pressed his groin against the vampire’s and slowly adjusted his parted lips on Spike’s mouth. Spike cupped Connor’s bottom with both hands and pressed him even closer, as they engaged in a long, fascinating play with their tongues. Lindsey couldn’t point which surprise was bigger, meeting the two in general or seeing this, no matter what, his cock stirred alarmingly. “ Angel’s family is surely intimate,” he almost said aloud.

Connor pulled back. His nod to Lindsey was barely visible.

“Connor, may I introduce you to Lindsey MacDonald. He used to work for the same firm your daddy’s running now. He and your dad go way back,” Spike said with a pretended formality and a barely hidden glee, lifting his scarred eyebrow and curving his lips to a mischievous smile, sensing the man’s discomfort. Connor stretched out his hand.

“We’ve already met, but it’s always nice to get a proper introduction,” Connor said in his most polite nice-to-meet-you-at-my-grandmother’s-birthday tone, and Lindsey made his best effort to regain his coolness.

“Names aren’t always needed.” He tried to sound ambiguous, as he shook at Connor’s hand. Lindsey could play along. He’d played games all his life. The boy’s palm was dry and cool and Lindsey noticed his black nail polish. He could still remember the sensation of Connor’s long, fine fingers stroking him and the touch of Connor’s lips, now full and extra rosy after passionate kissing, on his cock. Connor had a mouth of a woman, but he knew, what to do with it to make a man moan. “Would it feel like kissing Darla? At least his mouth is nothing like his father’s.” Lindsey thought of Angel for a moment: the straight line of his mouth, his hard lips, the one sided smirk, and the fangs that burst out when he came.

“You have coins for the jukebox?” Connor had turned back to Spike, the nimble fingers exploring now the left pocket of Spike’s duster.

“Here.” Spike handed him a five-dollar bill. “I’m out of fags. Get us a packet.”

Connor went past Lindsey to the bartender, without glancing at him, and bought a packet. Then he walked to the juke in the back. Spike folded the paper he had been reading and left it on the counter.

“Nice to see ya, mate. I’m off to the loo. Even a vampire needs to get rid of booze.” Now Spike left him too. Connor had chosen Ramones’ Pet Cemetery, and after Spike came back, they left together walking side-by-side, hands brushing. Lindsey was stunned.

“What the hell happened? What’s up with Angel?”

****************************************

Wesley sat by his desk, translating a codex on ancient prophesies from Aramaic to English. Computers were indeed handy. He drowned himself on his work and spent most of his day in the office. Otherwise, he would be sitting home, drowning himself in something liquid and burning instead. There was nothing else for him. Almost all his friends were gone, and the woman he had loved destroyed. Gunn had left W&H soon after Fred’s death. Wesley was glad they didn’t have to see each other ever again. Gunn’ s way of dealing with the guilt had been to join Anne’s centre and to be a legal advisor to the kids. “Maybe if I save enough of them…” was the last thing he had said to him and Angel. Lorne had left them too. “Don’t look for me,” he had muttered and then he had been gone. After last Christmas, even Spike had ceased to annoy Angel with his presence, though Wesley had found out the reason pretty soon. There were only two champions, the word equalled contempt to him now, left; Angel and he were holding the fortress, fighting evil with evil, and Wesley didn’t recognize the man he saw in the mirror every morning.

Angel entered Wesley’s office. If he wanted to talk to Wesley, all he needed was to pick up the phone, but since Wesley was the only person he could even remotely trust in the whole damn building, Angel visited him as often as possible.

“Is Illyria around? I have something she could do,” Angel asked. Wesley looked tired and pale. Nowadays, his stubble was constantly in dire need of shaving, and his shirts and pants were wriggled for the lack of ironing. Angel was relieved for the fact that Wesley had at least cut down on drinking, but his eyes reflected still more death than life. Wesley stopped typing and stretched his arms.

“No. She’s at Spike’s playing Crash Bandicoot with that Connor kid.”

“Again?” Angel muttered.

“She says, it is boring and repetitive, but, anyhow, she feels a strange compulsion to keep on. Her majesty wishes to explore this need.” Wesley couldn’t help somewhat dismal grin.

Angel hadn’t wanted to present Connor again to Wesley and Illyria or to bring him back under the influence of W&H, but Spike had insisted.

“Bugger it. If you want us stayin’ in L.A. and if you want to keep seein’ him, we can’t make him disappear. Wouldn’t that be suspicious? The watcher isn’t a dummy. We’ll just say, that Connor and I, we met again, and I became his mentor,” Spike thought a while, “in the sense of ancient Greeks. Then I’ll just say I want to be on my own and no hard feelings.” Angel had hated to admit that Spike was right.

“Why didn’t you stay in the penthouse, instead of that dump of yours?”

“It’s not a dump, it’s a low-rent flat,” Spike had answered.

“And the difference is?” Angel had frowned his brow.

“Connor chose to move in,” Spike had said and looked at his grandsire straight in the eyes.

Angel couldn’t protest on that. He had decided to let Connor choose freely, how he wanted to live his life, as long as it didn’t involve drugs and slimy bastards pimping him. The only thing he was worried about was Illyria hanging around Spike’s flat, because that would finally lead in Wesley spending more time with his son too. Whenever Illyria was at the premises, she liked to stay near Wesley, until he got irritated and ordered her to the lab. She still had a connection to Fred’s scientific memories and she could help out with research, but as she hadn’t forgot her status of the aeons old goddess, she wasn’t very eager to work for any other than Wesley. At the office, Wesley’s manner with her was indifferent and distant, but Angel could smell their scents mingled similarly to Spike and Connor’s, in a way, that usually implied sex and Angel knew the other couple was on it like bunnies. Furthermore, she still lived with him, though Angel had offered Wesley to get her other accommodations.

“What if we drive to the mall and get a cup of coffee for you?” Angel asked. Wesley took rarely breaks and Angel suspected he didn’t eat enough, because the wrists peeking from his sleeves were bony and his cheeks hollow.

“There’s not much meat on him, he would break so easily. If I lay on top of him, his hipbones would press sharply on my stomach, and I could trace all his ribs with my fingers… He would probably feel under me like my son feels to Spike when Connor lies under him, except the stubble that would burn deliciously the skin of my neck.”

For once, Angel was grateful he was a vampire, because otherwise, he would have flushed red with his thoughts. To his amazement Wesley complied and they ended up on Dunkin Donuts at the nearest mall. Wesley ordered a triple espresso and a sugar glazed donut.

“How’s it been with Nina?” Wesley actually found Angel dating the werewolf amusing. Angel had a serious thing for blondes.

“Fine.” Angel replied, picking at the white paper napkin on the tray.

“What’s wrong?” Wesley asked right away.

“We’ve been out many times by now, but I don’t know…” Angel rolled the napkin in a tight joint.

“Heat, but no fire?” Wesley assisted, after all the years they’ve known each other, Angel still felt awkward confiding in him.

“Yeah. We’ve had sex and all, but as you see, no perfect happiness.” Angel turned his head and extended his hands.

“And you think that, maybe, you should let her go, ‘cause after all, there’s no future for you in the long run?”

“You’ve always had a way with the words, hadn’t you?” Angel asked, a boyish smile playing on his lips, which had always sent a jolt through Wesley.

“That’s what you pay me for.” He laughed dryly.

****************************************************

Illyria had finally ceased playing, and, now, she was watching her favourite show, Stargate: SG1. She sat on the couch completely immobile, with her head inclined to the left.

“These small humans travel through minute worlds and I wish to know, whether they remind any of the innumerable worlds I have travelled to.” She had explained Wesley after the first episode she had seen. Spike was in the kitchen mixing his favourite blood cocktail, as the doorbell rang.

“To what do we owe this honour?” Spike courted in a Victorian manner at the door. Connor came to the living room, buckling his belt.

“Wesley, Angel. Hi!” he nodded to them, “I don’t think you will get her out of here for another half an hour.” Connor smiled. Wesley joined Illyria on the far end of the couch and Angel followed Spike back to the kitchen.

“Where are you going tonight?” Angel asked him, as he had guessed from Connor’s attire that they weren’t going to kill any slimy demons, he didn’t like the petulant sound of his own voice. Angel pondered how weird it was that Connor’s clothes were something Angelus could have worn, but usually, his accessories were more like Spike’s could have been. Connor was wearing black slacks and a tight button-down mesh shirt. The colour was dark, almost ruby plum, which obviously was his favourite, because he varnished his nails often with a similar shade. He wore the polish now, too, and he had applied black eyeliner and even silver glitter on his eyelids. What more, he had filled his fingers with rings (courtesy of Spike), and his shoulder length hair was being held back with a black ribbon. At least, he didn’t wear a rainbow hair like Spike did nowadays. “Connor has created himself as William did, when he became Spike.” He realized, but Angel didn’t know, who his son had become. Yet, to be sincere, Angel had to admit that Connor seemed to live the happiest time of his true life: he had Spike to love him and he was allowed to hunt and hit the bars, as much as he wanted to. Connor smiled quite often, not much to his father though.

Spike felt almost sorry for his grandsire, he looked wretched and lonely, and Spike had noticed his eyes had popped out, when he’d seen Connor. It was unbelievable, how empathic Spike had become with Peaches after he had given him to his son.

“Isn’t he absolutely dazzling?” Spike asked, “The Latinos call him El Lindo Angelito de Muerte, and the vamps have christened him as The Lost Daywalker,” Spike continued, tasting his drink. “The beautiful little angel of death” Angel savoured the words in his mind. They called him the little angel without knowing, who his father was. Angel felt a sting of pain in his heart. All he wanted to do was to run to his son, lift him in his arms, press the lithe body to his chest and shout out to the whole damn world: “He is mine, my flesh, my blood, mine!” This urge had been burning in him, ever since he had seen Connor standing in the lobby at Wolfram & Hart, calling for Dad; but all Angel could do was to take the offered mug of blood and sit opposite to his grandchilde by the kitchen table, wondering who, in reality, was the lost one. For a fleeting moment he even considered taking Spike to get a piece of his son, but there was no point in making Connor hate him more for violating again what was his simply for such a short-lived pleasure. Angel sighed.

“So what have you planned?”

“Connor wants to hang out at this rock club that has an old school Goff night, and then, who knows. We never plan the fun that far ahead.” Spike shrugged his shoulders. Angel stared quietly at his mug.

“Look, Peaches. Why don’t you and your wolf girlfriend join us tonight?” Angel seemed genuinely astonished. “Why not? Two birds at one shot,” Spike continued but Angel still hesitated, “Come on, we’ll let you choose, where to go after mingling with those gloomy Goths. I can assure you, you’ll fit perfectly in.” Spike grinned. Angel sat still for a few seconds.

“Alright, we’ll pick you two up in an hour,” Angel answered. He could never resist the change to be with his son.