Ceremonies of Innocence

by Persephone

Cat leaned back into the chair stiffly, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear of Angel. No, while Angel had tried to frighten her, the threat he presented was physical harm but the fear her mind was supplying her with was emotional. Rationally, she tried to tell herself that if anyone would judge her, it wasn't likely that Angel of all people would. Yeah, she could tell herself that all she wanted. It didn't make a difference to the irrational, near hysterical portion of her that was shouting at her to shut up and get out, that she had said too much already. Opening up only gets you hurt--it was a lesson that she had learned a long time ago and one that was only in the several months beginning to lessen. But the process was a slow one and she couldn't help but revert back to old habits.

But, she needed to talk. She had said as much to Angel, and in her heart of hearts she felt the truth of those words. In her life, in her world there really was no one that she could talk to. The others were wonderful, and she considered herself blessed to have them in her life; but there were things that they simply could not, would not understand. Darkness didn't seem to be part of their lives. Despair and hopelessness were only words in a dictionary to them. With the exception of Adam, she didn't think that the others could ever comprehend the self-loathing and spirals of disgust that had affected her life. And even Adam, as closed off as he was about his past, shone like a beacon and piller of brightness. The world had never crushed them, never loosed itself on them as it had her.

Angel knew darkness, he knew despair. He lived with it every single day of his life -- unlife -- existence. He would understand, and he would not judge. And most importantly, if she said the wrong thing, if there was the possibility of shocking or disgusting him, she never had to see him again. His was not a friendship that she needed and clung to desperately. Cat could walk out of Angel's life and never look back; never care.

For some reason, that thought only made her more miserable.

"Cat?" There was a gentleness to Angel's voice that was unexpected. Looking into his eyes, she saw the same mirrored there and she sighed helplessly. Once she went forward there was no going back, but she was certain that not a woman alive had ever said no to those eyes. 'And who am I ta break with tradition,' she thought with a sense of bleak humor.

"I dinna know where ta begin," she said at last.

"Wherever it hurts the least."

That earned him a bitter laugh, "That's tough. Maybe the hardest thing of all--trying ta find a spot that doesna hurt. It would be easier if I didna care but..." she trailed off, shrugging.

"I know the feeling." Their eyes met and Cat had that feeling of connection to him once more.

She forced herself to glance away.

"I was in a car accident when I was eleven," she began softly, "Got banged up pretty badly but I survived. My mother...well, she wasna that lucky."

Oh, God. Why was it even now her mind could take her back with such agonizing clarity to that day? If he had asked, she could have told him what the weather was like, the hour they had left, how it felt when their car had skidded off that slippery road and straight into that rock face. She could still hear the shrill wail of crushing metal, her mother's screams ringing in her ears, and the jolting disorientation of that first teleportation. Cat had read that often victims of accidents could only recall the events in bits and flashes.

She only wished she had been that lucky.

"Mother died and father," she paused, staring fiercely at her feet as if she could dam all the feelings roiling inside her, "and father could not forget. Or forgive."

A sharp intake of breath. "He blamed you?" Angel asked slowly.

"Who better? I lived and she died. There was nothing that could be done ta change that but he could make me wish it had been me rather than her every day for the rest o' my life. And that's exactly what he did."

"I started playing my suicide games just months after coming home from the hospital. I remember being scared ta death the first time I ever put a knife ta one of my wrists. Really frightened but it got easier with each passing day."

Cat pushed up her sleeves to show him the chunky, multi-stoned scarab bracelet on her right wrist. "I've worn this since around that time, it was my way of hiding what I was doing. I didna have the courage or the desperation then ta slash my self deeply. All I was doing was giving myself surface wounds--always pulling back and stopping myself before I went too far. All in all, it was rather pathetic."

"So what changed things?" Angel's face was damnably blank. It made her uneasy not to be able to read him, to gauge his reactions--that was how she had gotten by so long. She had learned to read other people and adapted herself accordingly, always one step ahead.

Not this time.

A rueful smile twisted her mouth, "My uncle Connor. He came and swept me back ta New York with him for nearly a year. He saved me. And he damned me."

"He loved me, ye see. I sometimes think if I hadna known that love, if I had just slowly forgotten what it was like ta have someone care and look out for me the way he did. If I had forgotten what a family was supposed ta be like then maybe things wouldna have turned out as they did."

"Do you hate him for that?"

She shook her head, "I canna hate Conner and believe me, I tried. I was a little hellion back then and I tried every way I could devise ta make him angry in the hopes that he would stop caring about me. Because I didna deserve it. 'Twas my fault that my mother was dead. I had learned my lesson well, had it worn inta me."

"But Conner, he's verra stubborn. Probably the most stubborn man I've ever met. I pushed and he pushed back. He didna give up, not once. He made me love him for trying, for caring enough ta try and save me. I started ta trust again, ta open up. And then Father came ta New York; he wanted me back with him. Where I belonged," her mouth grimaced at that.

"I remember begging and pleading with Conner not ta let him take me," Cat sighed at the memory, "And I dinna think I remember ever seeing Conner so helpless before or since. I wasna verra kind ta him, I'm afraid. There was nothing he could do; my father had legal rights ta me and if he wanted me, then he could damn well have me. But then....then all I could see was the betrayal."

Cat closed her eyes at the memories of Conner's entreaties and her own bitter words. 'I hate ye. I hope ye die. I hope I ne'er see ye again.' Angry words, the words of a lost child but still cutting words. They had never spoken of that night when those viperative words had been exchanged but Cat was fairly certain Conner remembered them. She would never be able to assuage her own guilt at hurting him thusly, guilt that didn't even begin until she was over the Atlantic again, sobbing her heart out for her uncle and fearing that she had caused him him to hate her.

"I love Conner," she said quietly, "He's more dear ta me than any flesh and blood father could be but sometimes...sometimes I'm so angry at him still. For so many reasons. For caring, for not being able ta save me--"

"For making you realize what you were missing?" Angel interjected.

She glanced at him sharply then nodded. "Yes. Maybe for that most of all."

"When we returned ta Scotland--I think that I thought perhaps things would change. I wanted so badly for things ta be different between us. I would have given him the world for just one kind word, just one. But it never came. The hope that he actually wanted me died within a week of our return. He didna want me, not really. He wanted me for appearances, he wanted me ta be his good, obediant little daughter. And so I did the only thing in my power I could do: I rebelled."

"If he wanted a proper daughter then I would be the worst, most useless creature on the face of the planet. I would ruin my life ta get even with him though at the time I didna see it as such. And that's exactly what I set out ta do. I let my grades go, cut school, and when I was there, I began hanging with the sort of people I knew he couldn't stand. People I had no business being with," she admitted regretfully, "only I was too blinded ta see it."

Angel was studying her detatchedly; she was grateful for that. Now that she was actually talking, the words were coming out in a gush. However, she had the feeling that one wrong look from him would probably shut her up and she would never get through this. And she did want to get through this, much more than she had ever realized. It was painful, it was like tearing open a barely scabbed wound but it was the most agonizingly dear sense of freedom she had ever experienced.

"The suicide games started up again. I was still only inflicting superficial wounds on myself. Mostly because I was angry and damned if I was going ta roll over and die for my father's satisfaction."

"Those were terrible days. My new 'friends' had gotten me started on drinking and parties. I'd come in at 4 a.m. if I came in at all, usually completely sloshed and there would be Dad, ready for a knockdown fight about my behavior," she ran a hand over her cheek self-consciously in memory, "Sometimes quite literally. The tension was so bad in the house that I didna always come home. Once I slept in a Edinburgh alley way just ta avoid him. Really stupid things like that."

"Things had been boiling ta a head for a long while when the final straw fell. It was at one of those parties I used ta like so well. A bunch of us all sitting around in a condemned house, getting sloshed on alcohol when someone brought out a stash of acid."

She buried her face in her hands, feeling herself transported back to that dingy room. Hearing slurred voices and seeing the cigarette, sometimes marijuana smoke floating above her head. Now, her out of control behavior gave her a rush of shame but things had been different then. She had been different. It was why she was able to differentiate between Angel before and after the gypsy curse. Because she understood quite intimately what it meant to be someone else.

"I had never tried anything harder than alcohol before. Always turned drugs down when they were offered before but that day I'd an exceptionally nasty argument with my father. My grades were on the skids and my teachers had started making a few phone calls. We argued, he slapped me, and I left the house in a rage. All I wanted was an escape, from him, from myself, from life. So," she swallowed, "so I took the acid when it was passed around. My first and only experience with drugs."

"I dinna remember much about the rest of the night except a sort of fuzzy feeling. But I do remember the next morning when I woke up next ta one the guys from the party," Her voice caught though she tried to make it sound light, "My first time and I dinna even remember it."

Cat happened to glance at Angel as she said those words. The vampire actually paled, if a vampire could do such a thing, and cringed in his seat. She felt his reaction as if he had acutally slapped her. Her neck tingled as she felt the blood rush to her face in humiliation. 'What the hell am I doing telling him this?' she thought furiously. 'God only knows what he must be thinking of me.'

"Cat?" Angel queried, interrupting her bleak musings. He seemed concerned though it was probably just a good face for her benefit. Underneath, he was probably recoiling in disgust at what she had told him.

"Ye probably are thinking that I'm quite the little slut," she said without rancor. All the hurt his reaction had caused, she squelched. 'Did ye really expect him ta understand? Vampire or no', he's still a person and people canna help but judge. It's why ye never even talked with Conner about this--because for all that he's an Immortal, for all that he's lived for over five hundred years, there are still some things that even he couldn't understand. Or abide with.' He thought so well of her, cared about her as if she were his own child. If he knew what she was telling Angel, it would wound him deeply. Angel was...well, she wasn't sure how to classify him yet--friend, passing aquaintance, complete stranger? Maybe intimate stranger? 'That sounds like some cheesy potboiler romance novel,' she rolled her eyes. 'I am so sick of labels.' "And I canna say that I blame ye much, Angel. It was wrong of me ta burden ye with this and I apologize."

"Catriona," Angel replied quite firmly, "I am thinking nothing of the kind."

"Oh really?" She asked skeptically, "And what was that look of yers about a minute ago?"

His face fell and he glanced away. "It's not you. I was just ... thinking."

"Remembering," she corrected him gently, really recognizing for the first time the abstract expression in his dark eyes. Because of all the Immortals in her life, it was a look that she was well aquainted with.

"Yes," he agreed. It was clear that whatever he was remembering was not a happy memory. His eyes became hooded, "You're not the only one to have a bad experience in the intimacy department."

Her curiousity piqued at that. "What happened?"

Angel waved her off. "Another time," he replied. She blinked at the assumption that there would be another time, "Finish your story."

"I dinna even know why I'm telling ye this--it's no' like ye even like me," she sighed.

"I like you, Cat," he said quietly.

She glanced at him sharply in disbelief. He met her gaze with a steady one of his own. He was being truthful, even without lowering her shields to scan him, Cat could feel that he was being honest when he said that. A strange surge of elation rushed through her.

"I like ye too, Angel," she felt shy all of the sudden.

Cat saw the disbelief that had probably been written on her face moments earlier suddenly mirrored on his. He looked vaguely uncomfortable.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Well, this is strange," she ventured, "One minute we're fighting and me pouring my heart out ta ye, then we're part of a mutual admiration society and canna get a word out."

Angel chuckled, then winced clutching his wounded side.

"Bad?" she asked sympathetically.

"I'll live," his mouth twisted, "Sort of."

"Are ye sure that ye're up ta listening ta me ramble? We can always do this later," she replied a little too eagerly.

"Cat," he reproved.

She sighed again, this time in resignation."So where was I?"

"Your forgettable first time?" he answered gently.

"Ah, yes," she let her head hit the back of the chair rest, "There wasna much I could do at the time but get up and out of there as fast as I could. I ran home. Thank God, my father wasna there--I honestly think if he had been there waiting on me that morning, I might have done something completely rash. As it was, I went up stairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I don't think I've ever cried so much at one time in my life as I did then--not even when my mother died. I lost something of myself that could never be replaced or repaired, no matter what I did."

She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them and letting her chin rest. 'Please,' she prayed, 'just let me get through this next bit without falling ta pieces.'

"For awhile I tried ta pretend that it didna happen. That didna work very well as ye might expect," she said wryly or tried to at any rate. Unfortunately, her voice wavered far too much for comfort, "but it became near impossible when I started getting sick a month later."

"Sick?" He echoed. The knowing glint in his dark eyes told her that he had an idea of just what she meant by 'sick' though he seemed to be waiting for her to elaborate. 'Damn, is he really going ta make me say it?' she thought irritably.

The air of silent expectation surrounding him told her the answer to that.

"Pregnant," she bit off, "I was bloody pregnant! Satisfied?"

Angel ignored that last question. "What did your father say?"

She laughed bitterly. Angel flinched at that harsh sound. "What didna he say? I believe that 'whore' was the kindest word he had for me. He wasna quite what ye would call understanding about the whole business."

"In fact, he wanted me ta have an abortion. Didna want ta have ta go through the shame of being the grandfather ta a bastard."

"So did you?"

"No," she shook her head emphatically, "I told him that it wasna his child, it was mine and if I wanted ta keep it I damn well would. He threatened ta throw me out of the house but I turned the tables on him by reminding him how 'shameful' it would be ta throw his pregnant daughter out on the streets ta fend for herself."

Angel studied her, "I'm going to ask you something and I want you to be honest about it."

"What?" she asked warily.

"Did you decide to keep the baby because you really wanted it?" he hesitated, "Or was it just because you wanted to spite your father?"

Cat expected to find herself angry at that question and was surprised when she wasn't. "Both," she answered honestly. It wasn't something she was proud to admit, "I could claim ta have done it only because I wanted the child, which I did, but it wouldna be the whole truth. I did it ta spite him as well. A small measure of payback for all the hell he had put me through."

Tears rising fast now, she asked in a small voice, "That's terrible, is it no'? I'm horrible."

"No," Angel leaned forward, catching her hand, "It sounds human."

She was grateful and almost desperate for the understanding he was giving her. Clutching his hand tightly, she continued the words coming faster now, "I stopped drinking as soon as I realized that I was pregnant, stopped partying. I even began paying attention again in school. I realized that for the first time in my life I actually had something that was wholly mine and no one else's. And I was determined not ta screw that up."

She fell silent, head bowed. Angel let his thumb caress the back of her hand, feeling in waves the sorrow emanating from her, the utter despair that had been lessened with time but never completely vanquished. "What happened?"

"I got a stomach ache one day and didna think much of it. I thought it might have been from stuffing myself on ice cream and french fries the night before. Anyway, I went ta school, hoping it would ease off as the day went on. Well, it didna. I got halfway through the day when I started having abdominal pains. Really ripping pains. And I--I started bleeding--"

Drops of wetness rained against Angel's hand, "Oh, God there was so much blood, Angel. Someone noticed and the whole class went ta hell, with people screaming and crowding around me and ...and all I could do was just lay there, realizing that I was miscarrying, feeling that other life in me just drain away."

Her voice caught, breaths coming in rapid sobs at the memory. Swiping at her hot, teary eyes, Cat found herself being propelled forward by a gentle pair of arms. She resisted, trying to struggle against that iron grip.

"Cat," Angel whispered against her hair, "It's all right. It's all right. Just cry."

Ceasing her struggles, she allowed him to pull her against him, feeling him stroke her hair as a measure of comfort. More than anything else she just wanted to let herself cry in the comfort of his arms and forget. But she had to finish this before she could even hope to begin laying this secret to rest.

Against his shoulder, she tried to choke back her tears, "After that, everything began ta fall apart. I didna ken who I was or even cared. All I could think about, all I could see was all the things I had lost in my life--mother, Conner, and now the baby. It hurt so badly and I couldna see how anything would ever get any better. It was like I was cursed or something and all I wanted was ta make the pain stop. So I took a kitchen knife and I-I- "

"You cut yourself," Angel finished for her, his voice filled with horrified pity.

"Yes. No games, just one clean slice. It--it didna hurt as much as I thought it would. I thought I would be afraid but all I felt was tired, just sort of heavy, ye know? And with each passing moment, I seemed ta be getting lighter and lighter like I was floating. I should have died. I almost did."

"But I botched it up. I had cut myself deeply all right but not deep enough ta kill me within a few minutes like I'd hoped. Father came home and found me in a pool of blood, barely hanging on by a thread. He bandaged my wrists up and got me ta the hospital. I dinna remember much about that time," Cat admitted, "but I do remember verra well waking up ta find myself tied down ta my bed. They had put me inta the psych ward at the hospital. It was only temporary--just until they felt I was well enough ta enter the clinic Father had committed me ta."

"He had you committed?"

"Yes, and it might have been the smartest thing he ever did. Oh, I willna lie ta ye and tell ye that it wasna scary. Or that I wasna frightened of just about everyone in there, of the thought that I might be just as mad as some of them. I was. But one day when I was in the middle of detox--I think I had been dry for almost three weeks, I began ta realize just what a mess my life was. Because I had let it happen, because I had willingly chucked everything of importance, dwelling on the things in my life that were never going ta get better or change instead of what I could do. What I could make of my life. They say when ye hit rock bottom, the only place ta go is up and that's what I did. I'm still climbing and it doesna get any easier but it does get more worthwhile," She smiled at him through her tears then exhaled shakily, "It's funny, Angel, but ye're the first person I've ever shared this with. And, it feels so *good* ta just let it all out. I get so tired of hiding all the time, of not being honest."

"I know the feeling," he said ironically.

Cat pulled away from him, one hand automatically swiping at her wet cheeks. "A bargain, then? I ken that there maybe things that ye canna share or maybe dinna want ta share. The same is true for me. But in everything we do share with each other, we're honest about it?"

Of course, she thought, that was assuming that Angel still wanted to have anything to do with her after all this. She could understand if he didn't; being friends with a basket case was likely to be high on anyone's list. However, at this one moment, she felt closer to him than any other person. That they understood each other in ways other people couldn't. It was important, she knew, to have that understanding. And rare. Rare enough that she couldn't let it just slip away into the night.

"Why would you want to be around me?" Angel asked, at length.

"Because, well, because," she stumbled in surprise, "because ye're good--and dinna start with the 'I'm a wretched vampire' bit. I dinna have the strength ta argue that point with ye at the moment. Because I can talk ta ye, Angel, and so far ye havena shown any judgement. Ye *listened* and that was what I needed. And because ... because I need ye. And ye need me, too."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," she said defiantly, "Ye're lonely, Angel. That's why ye've been letting me babble on so. It's why ye were looking for me earlier, at least partially. I can see it in yer eyes. Ye need a friend, Angel. And I'd like ta be that friend."

"Most of my friends have a habit of dying--usually at my hand," he replied with seeming lightness but his dark eyes were serious, warning almost.

She met his gaze steadily, warning and all, "Maybe I'm not afraid ta die."

Tightening the latches on the doors, Angel glanced at the wall clock. Almost six. The sun would be rising soon. He checked the windows, tugging at them a few times experimentally. As if most humans could wrench out the welding he had placed there. As for anything else....Well, most of those were nocturnal guests and those he could handle.

He glanced at the figure on the couch. Most of the time.

Crossing the room to stand beside her, Angel pulled the quilt closer around the sleeping girl. She stirred, face flushed with sleep before subsiding. He stared down at her, listening to the gentle sound of her breathing fill the apartment. He wasn't quite sure what had happened tonight, how things had gotten away from him. Somehow from intending to send her away at the first chance, he had found himself finding excuses for her to stay. Like arguing it was far too late and she was not in any shape to go wandering around London unescorted. Like she wait here until the sun rose before venturing out again. Because he was concerned about her. Because...because...Oh Hell, because he liked her. A lot more than he wanted to.

And that was not neccessarily a good thing in his book.

He had tried to argue with her, to explain to her just why she shouldn't be friends with him but she had bulldozed her way over every objection he raised. It was her life and she would damn well throw it away if she wanted, Cat had countered at one point. No good would come of it, he thought gloomily. Sunnydale looomed in his mind and he shivered.

Still...

Angel couldn't help but smile at her tenacity or be touched by her courage. He had shown her the truth of his nature and she hadn't run screaming in fear. No, she wanted to be *friends*. Because she needed him. Not for help with the supernatural, not as an ally in a fight but as a 'person'. A friend; not something he had a lot of experience with outside of Sunnydale.

He had a feeling life had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated. Again.

To his surprise, Angel found himself almost looking forward to it.

Previous Part | Next Part