A Paler Shade of Green

A/N: Due to continued interest in this strange little fic, I have been prompted to update and post a brand new chapter! (Plus, I’ve been on 2 weeks holidays from work so I’ve actually had time to do it) Much thanks to these lovely people for their encouragement and support:

Wistful-Dreamer – Oh yes, I love Lorne being macho! Or taking the ‘male’ role in a relationship, anyway. Kylar’s so small, pretty and feminine he must make Lorne feel like a big, strong manly man. LOL! I’m not sure about the mpreg thing though...It’s a plausible concept since they’re both demons but poor Kylar has been through enough pain as it is without giving birth!

RazorbladeKisses – Thank you for saying my fic is AHMAZING! That’s a big compliment. I hope you’ve added me on story alert so you know when I’ve updated. :)

PatienceDominique – Of course, there’s every chance of me continuing this fic. And indeed, I just have. Enjoy! ^__^

Lauren – Thank you very much for your messages! Are you PatienceDominique as well? If that’s the case then you get two thank you’s! I’m flattered that you think I’m a genius (but I’m really not – just a girl who likes pretty boys and Lorne and decided to put them both together!) Hope you like this chapter.

I have a confession to make - I didn’t know until just recently that Andy Hallett had passed away and was greatly saddened to learn this. He made Lorne so very real and human (for a horned, green-skinned demon with red eyes) and gave him such a perfect blend of pizzazz, humour and emotion and I miss Lorne, and the whole show. I dedicate this story to Andy and hope he’d approve of how I’m writing his beloved character.

Oh, and you simply MUST check out this fantastic piece of fanart that the wonderfully talented Happy Monkey of Doom made for this fic:

http://muffinpoodle.deviantart.com/art/Kylarkmar-of-the-Muthwok-Clan-150158519

Omg! It’s Kylar!! And Lorne! And Kylar’s in a towel! *huggles them both* Aren’t they gorgeous? Thank you, my dear. I love it to bits and pieces. *huggles you now*

Kay, onto the story!


………………


In the previous chapter: Kylar slowly turns to look at Lorne, seeing the concern in the older demon’s eyes. The compassion. The caring. And then he starts to cry, exactly the way Connor did when Cordelia healed him. Tears pour down his cheeks as he impulsively reaches for Lorne, pressing into his neck, the boy’s whole body shuddering with sobs. Whispering reassurances, Lorne holds him tight with both arms, letting Kylar release his relief at finally being free of his tormented past.


Part 3.


“Feel less icky and contaminated now?” Lorne asks, wiping away the drying tear-tracks from Kylar’s cheeks.
At the concerned query, the young Pylean nods gracefully.

“Much less,” he answers in that soft, husky voice, gazing at the older demon with gratefulness, long dark lashes still wet from crying. “Thank you, Krevlornswath.”

Lorne dismisses that statement with a quick shake of his head. “I didn’t do anything. That aural spring-cleaning...that was all Cordelia. She used to be a divine being, you know.”

Kylar glances towards the door the dark-haired woman disappeared through. “Then I should go and express my thankfulness to her.”

“Oh, she knows. Don’t worry. You can thank her in the morning.” Realising how late it is, Lorne adds, “Even divine beings need rest.”

The two of them are still kneeling on the floor. Lorne cups Kylar’s small face in his bigger hands, his keen red gaze assessing the boy’s emotional and physical state, noting the exhaustion dulling those pretty crimson eyes, the gauntness of Kylar’s features seeming even more stark and pronounced.

“You look tired too, pumpernickel,” Lorne tells him gently. “You wanna go pick out a room now?”

Kylar gazes around at the walls and furnishings, at all the opulent shades of purples and reds, the richness of Lorne’s bedroom both warm and soothing.

“I like this one. The colours remind me of berries.”

“My room?” Lorne questions in surprise. “You want to stay here?”

“If you will permit me. I do not wish to be left by myself in this peculiar dimension,” Kylar confesses. “Not yet.”

“Of course you can stay with me. C’mon,” the karaoke-singing demon says, getting to his feet and holding out his hand to the other young man. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

As he is the host here, Lorne offers Kylar some pyjamas but the kid seems quite happy to sleep in the jeans and top Connor lent him. Lorne’s mattress is a queen size but he thinks it’s a little too soon for them to be sharing a bed so as he promised Kylar, it’s all his. Once he’s tucked the former slave-boy beneath the covers, Lorne wishes him a good night’s slumber, grabs a pillow and blanket, turns the lamps off and makes himself comfortable on the couch. It’s been a long night for them both and after listening to the deepening sound of Kylar’s breaths, satisfied that the teenager isn’t going anywhere, Lorne soon falls asleep himself.

Sometime later, he wakes up with a start, the remnants of a disturbing dream still swirling in his mind – something about snakes and piles of pig intestines, leaving him feeling slightly sickened and unsettled. Moonlight filters in through the window of his darkened room, affording him enough illumination to make out the bed. It looks alarmingly flat. He sits up straight, anxiety flooding his system as he squints at the bed again. It’s definitely empty.

Kylar’s gone.

Where the hell is he? Lorne wonders in rapidly increasing dread. Oh God, something has happened to him!

The older demon is about to leap off the couch and go running along the hall in panic, yelling at the gang to mount a full-scale search and rescue mission when he goes to put his bare foot down and almost stands on Kylar sleeping on the carpet next to him. Dropping his forehead into his palm, Lorne sinks back onto the cushions and curses under his breath in relief, all the panic draining away at the reassuring sight of the boy’s slumbering form. Kylar is on his side, knees up to his chest and slim hands folded under his chin. Most of his hair is swept under his cheek, acting like a kind of pillow, and his eyes are closed, lengthy lashes fanning across the top of his cheekbones. Despite the odd position he’s lying in and the hardness of the floor, Kylar appears to be resting quite peacefully, his expression smooth and relaxed. He’s not restless or mumbling or tensely twitching in his sleep as one might expect from someone who’s been locked in a stable and used as a punching bag for two years, but is very still and quiet, the only sound in the room being his soft, regular breaths. He is turned towards Lorne, as if seeking comfort from the older Pylean’s presence.

Finding it sweetly touching that Kylar would prefer to sleep closer to him instead of on the bed, Lorne allows a slight smile to grace his lips, his fondness for this beautiful small-horned forest creature increasing with each passing moment. Leaning down on his elbow, he reaches over the edge of the couch with his other hand, carefully brushing a wavy lock of hair out of the other boy’s face, the berry-brown stands like silk to the touch, Lorne grazing the back of his knuckles against Kylar’s cheek as he does so. The eighteen year old’s pale green skin is velvety-soft with the flawless smoothness of a child half his age. Though he has reached the stage of puberty he’ll never get rough stubble or have to shave, like human teenagers do. Pyleans are generally a bare-faced species with no eyebrows and little to nothing in the way of facial hair. Only those born with large amounts of testosterone and a bulky, masculine build are able to grow beards, such as Lorne’s cousin Landok.

Or his mom.

Lorne grins, imagining what his dear old battleaxe would say about him having emotional feelings for a boy-child. The fact that there’s no word for ‘gay’ in the Pylean language explains it all. No doubt if she knew about his sexual orientation – or the ambiguity of it, anyway - Lorne’s mother would think of even more inventive ways to spit upon his name and express her shame at having eaten the wrong son.

His smile falters as he dwells upon how lucky he is to have escaped that dreadful world. Kylar wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t just stumble across an open portal like Lorne did; he had to keep trying, he had to be patient and wait many months before he could get out of there. That he eventually did is not as uplifting when Lorne thinks about the horrors Kylar endured in the time prior to his escape. While Lorne was living in the land of the free, performing classics for his adoring fans, buying outrageously colourful suits and gulping down cocktails like they were going out of fashion, he was blissfully unaware of the shocking ordeals Kylar was going through, and had already been through, all in the hopes of getting to this place and seeing him again. Lorne’s ignorance in the face of such suffering makes him feel like a selfish asshole however he honestly didn’t believe there was one person on Pylea who was worth thinking about, even for two seconds.

But he was wrong. There is one person worth it and he’s on Lorne’s floor right now, curled up protectively in a ball like he’s trying to keep the cold out, a habit born from living in a cave for so long. Now knowing exactly what terrible things this sweet boy experienced, Lorne is determined to do his best to make up for it. And one of those things includes teaching him how to sleep in a proper bed.

He strokes Kylar’s cheek again, trying to subtly wake him, and the teenager stirs, his lashes beginning to flutter. Suddenly, he reacts violently, whacking Lorne’s hand away while simultaneously twisting aside, springing into a crouching defence position far quicker than someone who’s just been asleep ought to be able to.

“Hey, it’s okay, Kylar! It’s just me,” Lorne quickly assures him, holding his hands up. “It’s Lorne. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Crouched like a tightly wound spring, Kylar stares at him in disoriented confusion and then quickly looks around himself, his eyes huge and alarmed, as if he doesn’t know where he is or what’s going on. Then gradual realisation fills his face and he slumps to his knees, lowering his head so that his long hair curtains his expression of embarrassment, tiny horns peeping abashedly through the waves of mulberry.

“I apologise,” he says awkwardly to Lorne. “I thought you were a giant centipede. They would sometimes crawl on me while I slept. Their bite burns for days.”

“No, I’m the one who should be apologising,” Lorne returns guiltily, an anxious crinkle between his smooth brows. “I shouldn’t have startled you, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

“Do not fret about it. I startled you when I crept into your chamber without knocking so I suppose we are even now,” the young demon concedes, looking up with a faint smile, proving that unlike most Pyleans he actually knows what a sense of humour is.

“I guess we are,” Lorne relents with a wry grin. “Anyway, the reason I woke you was to ask why you’re down here and not on the bed where you should be.”

“I am used to sleeping on firm surfaces.” Sparing a glance at the queen-sized mattress, Kylar admits, “It feels strange. Like I am sinking.”

“That’s kind of the point. It’s meant to be soft and snuggly. Give it a few nights. You’ll soon realise how much better it is to sleep on than the ground.”

“But it is so big.” Kylar drops his eyes in shyness. “And you are so far away.”

Again touched that Kylar wishes to be near him, Lorne offers, “You want me to come and sleep up there with you? Will that help?”

“It will,” Kylar replies in a timid tone, no more than a whisper.

Lorne climbs off the couch and gives Kylar a hand up from the floor, leading the boy back over to his bed. The older green-skinned male has not shared his bed with anybody in...well...ever, so this is a first for him. When he’s spent the night with someone, be it a woman or man or hermaphrodite – human, demon or otherwise - he hasn’t ever trusted them enough to bring them back to his own room. He usually takes them to another hotel that’s not The Hyperion because he prefers the gang not knowing about it every time he gets laid. Not that this is in any way a sexual situation but it’s still somewhat intimate and personal, climbing beneath the sheets with another person, even if they are fully clothed. He settles on the left of the mattress while Kylar curls up on the right, neither of them touching. Utilising his fatherly instincts, Lorne pulls the covers up to Kylar’s narrow shoulders, the younger boy pulling them up even further, over his ears, like he’s trying to keep them from being frost-bitten. It will probably take him a while to realise that they have central heating in the hotel and such measures are not necessary but Lorne secretly thinks it’s adorably cute how Kylar’s all rugged up like a caterpillar in a cocoon, only his eyes and horns showing. Lorne would like to gather this shy little caterpillar into his arms and hold him close but he isn’t sure if that’s what Kylar needs. Kylar turned to him earlier and let himself be embraced but that was when he was crying. He’s not crying now and the last thing Lorne wants to do is frighten the child or make him uncomfortable by being too touchy-feely when it isn’t wanted or required.

After all, Kylar has spent so many years alone, relying on nobody but himself – sleeping by himself - and overt physical contact would probably seem invasive and threatening to him, especially since he’s been abused and beaten in the past by a man who claimed full ownership of him. Even if it doesn’t scare Kylar to be touched by another person, Lorne senses that the other boy isn’t interested in that; he just wants company and safety in this strange plane of existence that is light-years away from what he’s used to on their home world. Since Lorne is the older one out of the two of them, it’s his job to provide that sense of security and protection, something he can do simply by being here.

“Are you warm enough, snow-pea?”

“Yes. I am warm,” comes the calm response from under the covers.

“If you get cold just tell me and I’ll turn the heating up, all right?”

“All right.”

“If you need anything during the night, anything at all, please let me know. Don’t be afraid to ask, okay?” Lorne assures him. “I’m here to help.”

“You are extremely hospitable,” Kylar comments, never having been the object of such concern before.

“Yeah, well. That’s why I’m called the Host.” Lorne shrugs sheepishly. “It’s kinda my job.”

“You are very good at your job.”

“Oh, you’re not just a duty to me, Kylar. I /want/ to take care of you.” Realising how that sounds, he speedily adds, “Not that I think you NEED taking care of. Hell, no. You can quite clearly take care of yourself. You came out of Pylea alive and with your head intact, for starters. What I meant was, you’re new to this world and you don’t know anybody so you might want someone who’s familiar with this place to guide you and keep an eye out for you; teach you about the potential dangers you need to be careful of and generally make sure you have everything you need to survive here and live comfortably. You know what I mean?”

Lorne is aware that he’s babbling but Kylar doesn’t seem to mind. In a surprised voice, the teenager slowly replies, “You wish to be my guardian.”

Making a face of anxiousness which he’s thankful Kylar can’t see in the dark, Lorne questions hesitantly, “Is...is that okay with you? If not, just say the word and I’ll step back.”

When he feels a small hand slipping into his own Lorne is the one who’s filled with surprise. Kylar’s fingers are thin and delicate but they wrap around Lorne’s with sure firmness.

“I would like you to be my guardian, Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan,” the eighteen year old says softly. “I would like that very much.”

Hearing that makes Lorne’s chest glow so warmly it’s a wonder it can’t be seen shining through his pyjama top.

“I won’t let you down, darlin’. Not for one second,” he avows, squeezing Kylar’s hand, feeling a fierce defensiveness he’s never felt for anyone before. “Nobody will ever hurt you again, I swear. I’d die before I let that happen to you.”

In that same soft, certain tone, Kylar answers, “I know.”

Realising that he’s now solely responsible for Kylar’s well-being, Lorne wants to hug him more than ever, to cement his promise by enfolding the teenager in his protective embrace but refrains from doing so, fearful of further scaring this already-damaged young man.

“You may hold me if you wish.” Kylar’s words are whispered yet they are strengthened with inner courage. “I am not afraid of you, Lorne.”

“How did you know I...?” Lorne starts to ask in astonishment, but then stops with a shake of his head. “Right. I keep forgetting I’m not the only Empath around here anymore. C’mere, you little mind-reader.”

He gently pulls Kylar closer and wraps both arms around the youth’s fragile figure, smiling in the darkness at Kylar’s innocent perceptiveness. He’s going to have to keep his thoughts shielded from now on in case Kylar reads something Lorne doesn’t want him to read because, let’s face it, what goes on inside Lorne’s devious horned head is not always PG rated. It is now, though. Now, he’s only thinking about how he’s suddenly gained a surrogate son and how unexpectedly happy that makes him.

His voice lowering to a murmur, he says, “Good night, Kylar. Sleep well.”

Kylar snuggles sleepily into his chest, the scent of his hair as sweet as wildflowers.

“Sleep well, Lorne.”


………………


The next morning Kylar awakens, finding Lorne still sleeping deeply, the younger one resting his chin on his own hand and watching his handsome idol for a while. Lorne is lying on his stomach but his arm is draped over Kylar’s middle and Kylar leaves it there, liking the warm weight. Upon Lorne’s lips there is a small smile and with a smile of his own Kylar wonders if the older male is dreaming and what it’s about. He wonders with slightly flushing cheeks if it’s about him. He could probably use his empath abilities to sneak into Lorne’s head and find out but he will never do that without being asked. It’s like spying, an invasion of privacy. Whatever Lorne’s dream is about, it appears to be a good one and that’s all Kylar needs to know.

The eighteen year old watches and waits to see if Lorne will wake but it doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon and Kylar doesn’t want to rouse him out of his rest if he needs it so much. The boy is used to rising early but apparently Lorne isn’t so Kylar decides to let his new guardian get some more sleep and slips out from under Lorne’s arm, noiselessly leaving the room. Finding another vacant bathroom down the hall, Kylar uses it to wash his face, tidy his hair and empty his bladder, too shy to pee in Lorne’s toilet in case Lorne hears him. He is still amazed at how clean everything is here, the white ceramic commode with its water-flushing function a far cry from the stinking, open waste pits back on Pylea. When he pads downstairs he locates the gang in the kitchen getting ready for breakfast. Kylar stands at the doorway politely until Fred notices him and invites him to the table. He thanks her quietly and takes his place between Fred and Cordelia, who scoots her chair over to make room for him. Head of the stove, Angel cooks delicious scrambled eggs for everyone, though he doesn’t partake of them, the vampire sticking to coffee instead.

Kylar doesn’t say a whole lot as he’s eating but listens to the others chattering and teasing each other as they reach and jostle for toast, bacon and orange juice. Still trying to decipher the colourful and peculiar American language, he doesn’t understand half of what the humans are talking about but their voices are affectionate and sociable and he can plainly sense the close bond between them all, a bond that has resulted from shared experiences and losses and triumphs. One day he hopes to be able to talk with them like this, to exchange jokes and banter in such a joyful manner. Kylar can’t even recall the last time he laughed and doesn’t even know if he still can but it comes so easily to these people and he finds the sound of their chuckles and giggles to be like music, warming his soul and lifting his spirit.

After breakfast, the girls wash the dishes and Kylar helps to dry up, and even though Fred and Cordy try to shoo him out of the kitchen the boy courteously but firmly insists he will do his part in this household, stating that he is well used to doing chores, no matter how menial. Cordy and Fred give secret, small smiles to each other after hearing this, thinking that the Pylean will make a great boyfriend for somebody one day.

When the table has been cleared and all the plates put away, Kylar wanders over to a big cabinet that Wesley has opened, marvelling at the enormous range of fancy and dangerous weaponry stored inside, but not daring to touch any of them.

Eyeing off a massive sharp silver sword with a decorative hilt, he murmurs in fascination, “So big and long.”

Overhearing this Gunn cheekily remarks, “Yeah, that’s what SHE said,” and smirks, holding his hand up for Wes to high-five for his witty hilarity, but the Englishman just arches an unimpressed brow at him, not sharing Gunn’s frat-house sense of humour. Thankfully, Kylar misses the innuendo completely, being the naïve little thing he is, and he watches as Wesley and Gunn select some weapons to train with; the Brit choosing the enormous sword Kylar was just admiring and the black guy some type of medieval war-axe, Gunn twirling it around and testing its heaviness. Sensing two presences behind him, the demon boy turns to find Cordelia and Fred standing there with excited grins on their faces.

“Hold your arms out like this and stand still, sweetie,” Fred instructs. The slim teenager poses there in bewilderment as the girls stretch a plastic tape printed with numerals down and around of all his limbs, his waist and chest and from the top of his head right down to his feet, recording numbers on a notepad.

Standing there stiffly, Kylar delicately clears his throat. “May I enquire as to what you are doing to me?”

“Taking your measurements,” Fred answers, looking concentrated on the task as she scribbles in the pad. “My goodness, your proportions are almost scientifically perfect, did you know that? You’re like, one in a gazillion. That’s extremely rare.”

Kylar just blinks in confusion, remaining as still as a tree.

“Of course, we’ll have to go a couple of sizes larger than what you are now, to allow for muscle growth and general filling out...”

“You need a new wardrobe so we’re going to buy you one. That means clothes,” Cordy informs him. “We’d ask you to tag along but boys generally don’t like shopping and besides, you’d kinda stand out. You know, in amongst all the pink-skinned humans.”

“You can put your arms down now,” Fred says, gently pushing at his wrist. “We’re done.”

Lowering his arms back to his sides, Kylar glances bemusedly between the two females as they chatter about styles, designs, brands, labels and colours, not understanding a word of it, only knowing that he won’t have to ask that strange Connor child for any more clothing because soon he will have his own.

“I do not have any way to pay for this new ‘wardrobe’, as you call it,” he interrupts anxiously. “I did not receive earnings back on the farm. I am afraid I am as poor as the dirt.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ky. As your guardian it’s Lorne’s job to pay for your personal expenses but we’re chipping in too. Consider it our ‘Welcome to This Dimension’ gift,” Cordy breezes. “Besides, we just like to shop.”

“Trust me, they love this stuff,” Angel seconds, dropping his black-clad form onto the circular lounge in the lobby, a cup of warm pig-blood in his hands. “Just let them do what girls do.”

Angel is a champion so he must know what he’s talking about, Kylar decides, glancing at the noble vampire and then back at the young ladies, nodding his consent for the clothes-buying. Before Fred and Cordy leave to make their purchases, Kylar hesitantly pipes up, “Excuse me Cordelia, may I please speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course.” Cordy gazes at him with interest. “What’s up?”

“In private, if you do not mind,” Kylar whispers, timidly sparing glances at the other men in the room.

Cordelia takes his thin arm and steers him over to a corner so they can converse without being eavesdropped on.

“I wish to thank you for last night,” Kylar begins with gratitude. “What you did...it has helped me very much. I am no longer haunted by the memories of my past. I feel lighter. Like I can breathe again.”

“I can see that. And you’re very welcome.” Cordy’s pleased expression saddens somewhat. “Kylar, when I was taking your pain...I saw everything you’ve been through. I didn’t just see it either – I felt it. The things they did to you...nobody deserves that. I just want to say that I’m so sorry.”

The young demon nods and lowers his eyes, accepting her sympathy with his usual modest grace. “Do not be too sorry for me,” he replies humbly. “I will be all right.”

He glances back up. “Because of you I am already starting to heal.”

“Well, if you think you need any more healing, let me know, okay?”

“I will. Thank you once again,” he says solemnly, gazing at the attractive dark-haired woman with reverent respect. “I know you said otherwise, but you will always be the Princess of Pylea to me.”

Cordelia stares at him, like she’s not sure whether to smile or cry.

“Aw, Kylar. Could you be any sweeter?” Her heart swelling with affection, she pulls him in for an impulsive hug. In a secretive whisper she grants, “You can still call me that if you want. Just don’t tell the others.”

When she pulls back to look at him, he’s smiling shyly and it makes him look even more beautiful. Knowing that he really will be fine, Cordy gives him a cheery, confidential grin and then catches up to Fred, eager to hit the stores and give the credit card a work out. Even though it’s not for herself she’ll just be happy to be shopping and spending money.

Lorne finally emerges from his bedroom, dressed in a yellow shirt and light tan pants, looking casual yet chic, his blond-tipped hair meticulously styled as usual. He greets everybody gaily, winks at Kylar – making the younger Pylean blush and hide behind his lustrous berry-coloured locks – and then grabs a piece of toast and a cup of coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste of the beverage.

“Ugh, who made this undrinkable swill?”

“I did,” Angel answers, sounding insulted. “You don’t like it, Lorne, get up earlier and make your own. With how late you sleep, anyone would think you’re the vampire around here.”

“No offence, Angel-cakes, but I really need to teach you how to make good coffee one of these days. Besides, since you don’t age I need beauty sleep more than you,” Lorne declares, plonking down on the couch next to his boss, observing as the other two males start their daily training routine, something Lorne doesn’t do because A) he’s lazy and B) there are enough buff tough guys in the hotel already. Lorne is not and will never be one of them. And he’s perfectly fine and dandy with that.

Wes and Gunn begin to spar, the sound of clanking metal and male grunts echoing around the lobby. Normally Kylar is not interested in watching warriors duel as all they do is show off and act conceited at their magnificent prowess and strength but Wes and Gunn do not act like that. They’re not showing off for anybody. They’re serious about what they’re doing, not trying to really hurt each other but practising and perfecting their skills. Sitting down to watch, he curls up on the floor near Lorne’s legs, leaning back against the couch and peering shyly up at Angel beside him.

“Is it all right if I sit here?” Kylar nervously asks the handsome Van-tal, not wanting to disrespect the owner of the hotel who has so kindly and graciously allowed him to stay. “You do not think it impolite?”

“He prefers firm surfaces,” Lorne explains. “Creature of the wild, you know.”

“Sit anywhere you like. In any way you like,” Angel declares casually, stretching out his legs and tucking one hand behind his own head. “We aren’t big on rules and formalities around here. Just make yourself at home like everybody else.”

Smiling bashfully, Kylar softly replies, “Thank you, Angel,” his ruby-red gaze lingering a little too long and a little too admiringly on Angel’s classically chiselled face, or so Lorne thinks anyway, the older demon experiencing a pang of envy, wishing Kylar wouldn’t look at his blood-drinking boss like that. Just because Angel killed a stupid Drokken – which are famous for being notoriously hard to destroy – it doesn’t mean everyone should fawn over him like some kind of pale, nocturnal God. Besides, Lorne has killed things too. Bugs, mainly, and the occasional hell-spawn but still, the whole Angel the Great Drokken Slayer thing is totally overrated in his opinion.

Unaware of Lorne’s slight jealousy, Kylar turns back to Gunn and Wes, absorbed by their duelling, sword against axe. The way they move, ducking and twisting and spinning – it’s almost like a dance and he finds it enthralling and not at all boastful, which is why he can watch it and not leave in silent disgust. Noticing Kylar’s sustained interest, Wes comes up to the boy when he and Gunn take a break.

Wiping his sweaty brow with his shirt-sleeve, the Englishman inquires, “Do you know how to use a sword?”

The teenager shakes his head, ripples of purple-brown swaying silkily about his face and down his back. “I do not.”

“Would you like to?”

Glancing at Wesley’s muscled arms, Kylar admits, “I am not a warrior.”

“Neither was I, once,” Wes reveals. “But I am now. And with the right training you can be too.”

“He doesn’t like violence, Wes. Or killing,” Lorne reminds from his spot on the couch. “Part of the reason why he left Pylea.”

“It’s not like Pylea here, Kylar.” Wes looks intently at the red-eyed youth. “All of us at Angel Investigations, we don’t kill for sport or fun. We do it to save people’s lives or to protect our own. I’m sorry to say it but if you’re going to live here amongst us, you need to know how to defend yourself. Or you won’t last a month.”

“I see his point, dragonfly,” the older Empath relents with a regretful face. “LA is full of nasty creatures, like lawyers, and we tend to get attacked on a regular basis. I’m no warrior either, believe me, and my best weapon is my voice but in a fight, I can come out the other side not dead.”

Wesley finishes with, “Even if you just learn the basics of self-defence, it’ll make a world of difference when you go out on those streets.”

Wanting to live in this world much longer than a mere month, Kylar gives the other man a decisive nod and stands up. “If you will teach me, I am willing to learn.”

Wes smiles in a chipper manner, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. “Excellent. Right this way.”

He puts his hand on Kylar’s shoulder, bringing him over to the opened cabinet Kylar was peeking in earlier.

“Choose your weapon.”

In awe of all the choices, Kylar breathes, “Any of them?”

“Any you like.”

Since Wesley is holding a sword, Kylar decides to select one too; a slightly smaller but no less dangerous-looking version with a shiny steel blade that has scrolled patterns all over it and a brown leather-bound hilt. Kylar knows he’s not very strong and this one looks like the lightest of all the options available, whilst still matching Wes’s weapon-style.

“Don’t touch the edge. It’s razor-sharp,” Wesley warns him and Kylar gulps, sure he’s going to cut himself sooner or later. Being careful not to make contact with the business side of the blade, he wraps his long, slim fingers around the handle and takes it off the hook. Kylar gives a soft exclamation, surprised by how much weight it has. Or perhaps it just seems that way to him because his arms are so thin, due to being practically starved back in the forest on his home world. When he was working on the farm he was fed every day and despite the beatings he was a lot fitter than he is at present. Now, he just feels weak and wasted away. He turns the sword upside down and lets the tip of it rest on the floor, finding that the bottom of the handle comes up to his chin. The weapon is almost as tall as he is! Probably just as heavy too, at least until he gains some weight. How is he ever going to wield this burdensome object, let alone defend himself with it? But he told Wesley he would learn, so learn he will, and when Wes starts to describe some very simple moves Kylar listens, uses what little muscle he has to pick up the sword and determinedly begins to train.

Connor gets over his mortification at having believed Kylar to be female and comes down from his room to watch, curious about the newest member of the household. He observes the Pylean training with Wes, impressed with Kylar’s fluid, elegant movements, even if his sword-handling ability is nowhere near the level of the bigger Englishman’s. The demon lacks upper body strength and seems unsure of the sharp, heavy weapon in his hands but as he sidesteps and ducks, he’s light and agile and this quickness will serve him well in battle. Connor can tell Kylar has potential by the instinctive way he seems to anticipate the attack, from which direction it will come, sometimes before Wes has even raised his sword. Connor guesses this uncanny talent was what kept him alive in the wild woods of Pylea; knowing when he was being hunted and being able to avoid getting caught. It’s a form of sixth sense. Kylar probably doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

When the long-haired teen stops for a rest and to have a drink of water, Connor approaches him, making sure he looks friendly and not like the ferocious demon-hunter he normally is.

“Hi.”

In a shy tone, Kylar replies, “Hello.”

“Sorry about last night,” Connor apologises with a shrug of embarrassment, thinking it best to explain his bizarre behaviour now so they can both get past it. “Thought you were a girl.”

Kylar smiles, the olive-skinned boy not taking offence. “That seems to happen a lot on this dimension.”

Gazing interestedly at the other teenager, Connor asks, “Do you like LA?”

“It is...unusual. Many bright colours, strange scents and lots of noise. But I am enjoying my experiences here very much, thank you.”

“Better than Pylea, huh?”

“Yes.” Kylar lifts the plastic cup to his lips, taking a sip, one baggy sleeve falling down his skinny arm.

“How did you get those?” The brunette boy motions to the white scars revealed on Kylar’s slender wrist.

“Chains,” Kylar returns quietly, dropping his eyes. “I was a prisoner there. A slave.”

“That sucks,” Connor mutters. “I grew up in a hell dimension, too. Qor’toth. I wasn’t a prisoner but I felt trapped there. I couldn’t leave. It was dark. Scary. Things kept trying to kill me.”

Shrugging, he concludes, “I eventually found a way out. Came here. Started over.”

Kylar starts to view Angel’s son in a different light; his story very familiar to Kylar’s own. The other boy’s sentences are short and to the point, not expressing a lot of emotion but Kylar can read between them, at the pain behind the words. Connor was also an outsider, once upon a time. He has suffered and known the cold loneliness of the night but to look at him and how assuredly comfortable he is now, it’s as though he’s always lived here, always been part of this world, part of this close-knit and supportive group, more like a family, something which Kylar has so desperately longed for and dreamed about. To fit in. To belong. To be accepted.

“I know what it’s like to be new here. How weird everything is,” Connor says sympathetically. “You feel like a freak for a while. But then you start to get used to it. Then you start to feel free.”

“I must admit I am feeling a great deal freer already,” Kylar remarks in a soft tone, glancing towards the yellow-shirted figure sitting on the lobby lounge next to Angel.

Connor follows Kylar’s line of attention and sees Lorne, who hastily averts his eyes and takes a swig of his drink – now alcohol instead of coffee even though it isn’t yet lunchtime - the older demon acting like he wasn’t just staring at Kylar which is a futile gesture because ever since he walked downstairs he’s been doing precisely that.

“You interested in sensory training?”

Connor’s query brings Kylar’s attention back to the half-human boy with the piercing blue gaze. “What is that?”

“Where you rely on senses other than sight,” Connor embellishes. “Most of the time it will be dark and you won’t be able to see your attacker. You need to be able to smell them, to hear their breathing, or if they don’t breathe – like vampires - you need to sense their presence, where they are in the darkness, when they are coming for you.”

“Is that what you do?”

Connor nods affirmatively. “You’re empathic. You should be good at it too. In fact, you’re already doing it.”

Kylar appears surprised. “I am?”

“Yeah. I saw you just then. With Wes. You just need to focus it more.”

“Okay,” Kylar agrees readily. “Show me how to do that.”

Connor gets a blindfold and after making sure Kylar is okay with wearing it, he puts it on the young demon, tying it at the back of his head and covering his crimson eyes so Kylar’s focus shifts to what he can hear and smell and sense, rather than see.

“Be gentle with him, Connor,” Angel warns before they begin. “He’s not like you.”

“I know, Dad,” Connor tosses back impatiently. “Don’t worry. I won’t break him.”

“You better not,” Lorne growls, fully in protective guardian mode and glaring at Connor ominously. “Or I’ll break YOU.”

Rolling his eyes at the lame threat, Connor ignores the other demon and turns to the younger blindfolded one. Standing in front of the temporarily handicapped Pylean, Connor starts moving from side to side, breathing a little louder than he normally does, just to give Kylar a chance of sensing him when normally he prides himself on being undetectable. When he knows Kylar is tracking him – the long-haired boy’s head turning towards his movements - Connor begins to attack, but carefully, darting forward and lightly tapping Kylar on the arm, shoulder and face, Connor instructing him to block each tap. At first Kylar reacts long after Connor has made contact, swinging out into empty air, but gradually the thin teenager learns to predict each attack, anticipating from which side Connor will strike at him and blocking the blow with one raised arm or dodging aside to avoid being touched. He doesn’t block or prevent every one but he’s improving by the minute. As Kylar gets better at it, Connor hits harder, the taps turning into slaps and then into light punches which grow in force, Kylar’s defences strengthening accordingly too. By hitting harder, Connor wants to fire the passive boy up into being aggressive and punching back, the vampire slayer offering curt words of encouragement when Kylar does just that, commencing to lash out at Connor and occasionally actually connecting with the other teen.

“Yeah. Good. Hit me back,” Connor directs, jabbing his fist forward and having Kylar stop it with one arm while striking out with the other, the Pylean managing to punch Connor in the ribs. Of course, to Connor it only feels like being hit with a stray tennis ball and not at all painful but he admires the kid’s guts and daring, taking on someone who could snap his scrawny limbs like sticks of kindling. Not that Connor would do that. Kylar might be a boy but he’s still the prettiest thing Connor’s seen in a long time and he doesn’t want to disfigure that pale green beauty so as they fight, he’s extra-cautious to hold his own supernatural power in check. With Angel, Lorne, Wes and Gunn watching, the two young men of different species trade blows, Kylar gaining more and more confidence as his predictive abilities increase, taking Connor’s punches and returning them as hard as he can, both of them breathing fast and starting to sweat, Kylar’s purplish-red tresses turning damp and clinging to his face and neck in dark wavy strings. Launching forward again, Connor lands a hard hit on Kylar’s stomach, unintentionally winding him and knocking the frailer adolescent down. As Kylar thuds back-first to the floor Lorne gasps out loud, just about dropping his cocktail.

“Ouch,” Gunn winces.

“Connor!” Angel calls out scoldingly. “I told you to be gentle!”

“Sorry,” Connor apologizes to Kylar, hoping he wasn’t too rough on the kid. “You okay?”

Kylar is lying there on his back, panting and holding his sunken belly, long hair spilling around his head like a halo on the floor as he catches his breath. With one hand he lifts the blindfold up to his horns, scarlet eyes burning up at Connor.

“I have taken much worse beatings than that, spawn of a Van-tal.”

Now it’s Angel who gasps, leaping up in defence. “WHAT did he just call my son?”

“Unbunch your panties, Angel-hair. A Van-tal is a drinker of blood so essentially he’s saying son of...well,” here Lorne indicates to Angel. “You.”

“Oh,” Angel utters, sitting back down and thinking to himself that Lorne’s race has an odd way of addressing other people. He watches in trepidation as Connor extends his hand to the red-eyed teenager on the ground, Angel not sure how the proud Pylean will react to the offer, whether he might see it as patronising or offensive, but Kylar surprisingly accepts the assistance, gripping Connor’s wrist as the other boy pulls him up from the floor, helping him to stand.

“Another bout,” Kylar demands challengingly as he pushes back his hair and straightens his spine, not ready to quit yet.

Connor grins, starting to like his new sparring partner. “Let’s do it, demon,” he rebounds, not saying the word as an insult, like he once did to Lorne, but in the same friendly manner as ‘bro’ or ‘dude’.

Kylar grins back, snapping the blindfold down again. He never realised that sparring could be such fun!

“Aw, look at that. Your boy and my boy...getting along like a house on fire.” Lorne shakes his head in amazement. “Never thought I’d see the day when Junior makes friends with a green-skin.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when Connor makes a friend, period,” Gunn comments, coming up and joining the conversation. “He doesn’t normally play well with others, does he?”

“Not usually,” Angel has to agree, also astounded by how quickly his son and the eighteen year old Pylean are bonding. Loner-boy Connor spending time with anyone and not wanting to dismember them...Very uncommon occurrence indeed.

Kylar would have liked to train to all day with Angel’s son, honing this skill he didn’t even know he possessed, but after an hour of practising he’s drained both physically and mentally, even though Connor has been taking it easy on him. Not used to concentrating so hard or for such a lengthy period of time, Kylar develops a headache, beginning to stumble and lose his co-ordination. Noticing this, Lorne instantly comes up and announces that it’s enough for now, removing the blindfold and leading an exhausted Kylar back upstairs.

While Lorne hovers outside, Kylar has a quick rinse in Lorne’s shower to wash the sweat off and refresh himself but after he’s dressed and is walking back into the bedroom, he is overcome by a spell of dizziness and faints dead away, collapsing like a tower of cards. Luckily, Lorne is there to catch him and help him up onto the bed. When he comes back around Kylar sits up, insisting he is fine but Lorne knows better, able to feel the teenager’s lingering headache and giddiness for himself.

Rather concerned about the other boy, Lorne gives him a couple of pain-killers and a wet washcloth and then calls in a demon doctor, one who specialises in non-human patients, getting him to check Kylar over. Being a demon himself, the doctor puts Kylar at ease and the young Pylean lets himself be examined from head to toe, getting a bright light shone in his eyes, his throat peered down, his limbs felt and manipulated, his joints and muscles tested to see how well they function. The doctor asks Kylar whether he smokes, takes drugs or drinks alcohol as well as other general questions about his health, eating habits and sleeping patterns, nodding sagely when the eighteen year old explains where he’s come from and that both food and sleep were very hard to obtain there. Kylar’s stomach is prodded, not that there’s much to poke at there, and then the doctor proceeds to investigate his lungs, placing a stethoscope on his chest and telling him to breathe deeply. The doctor checks the left lung first and then the right, walking around behind Kylar to listen from the other side. When Kylar’s lengthy hair is pushed aside and his shirt lifted at the back Lorne has to hold in a hiss of shock.

There are rows of pale, slightly raised scars criss-crossing the teenager’s skin, elongated and thin, clearly made with a whip or a switch of willow.

There is not one square patch of skin under that shirt that’s untouched or unmarred, the many marks overlapping, built up over the weeks and months, formed from countless separate whippings. Staring at the mess that is Kylar’s back, Lorne’s gut twists nauseatingly. When they were in the bathroom last night Kylar never turned around and his hair was hanging down to his waist like a veil so Lorne did not see these scars before and had no idea they were even here. He heard the boy’s terrible story, heard how he had gotten beaten by his master, even felt it for himself when he was inside Kylar’s head but seeing the actual damage done to this child’s body, seeing what was permanently left behind from such vicious brutality is thoroughly sickening.

“I need a cigarette. Be right back,” Lorne blurts as he makes a hurried exit, getting out of there before he pukes all over the carpet. Once in the hotel hallway, he practically runs to the stairs, taking them three at a time, reaching the ground floor and cutting across the empty lobby, finally bursting through the doors outside into the garden courtyard. Leaning over in the bright midday sunshine with his hands braced on his knees, he drags in uneven breaths, shutting his eyes and concentrating on the spring-fresh scent of flowers and plants until he has his roiling stomach under control.

Eventually straightening, he swallows and fumbles in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one and drawing on it long and hard, exhaling a cloud of grey smoke into the air with a heavy sigh. “Shit,” he curses softly, rubbing his face with a shaking hand.

“You all right?” Angel is standing in the open doorway, looking at him in concern.

“Not really.” Lorne glances away, the cherry end of his cigarette glowing orange for a few seconds and takes another puff.

Angel is tactfully silent, waiting for the other demon to say more.

In a sudden vent of anger, Lorne spits, “I fucking HATE Pylea!”

“Yeah, it does kind of suck,” Angel mumbles ineffectually. He steps into the courtyard closer to Lorne, being careful to keep in the shadows of the trees and out of the sun. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“I just saw what Kylar’s former ‘master’ did to him.” The green-skinned demon’s voice is hollow. “He’s got whip-scars from the back of his neck all the way down to his tailbone. Hundreds of them.”

Angel’s brown eyes widen in shock. “Jesus.”

Turning to the vampire, Lorne chokes out, “Oh, Angel. What that poor creature has been through...It breaks my heart.”

“He’ll be all right. He’s not there anymore.” Angel clasps Lorne’s shoulder comfortingly. “Plus he’s got you taking care of him now.”

“I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had to look after anyone but myself,” Lorne admits, his brow creased in fretful anxiety. “What if I screw him up even more?”

“Won’t happen.” Angel’s tone is firm with belief, knowing how much of a fatherly figure Lorne is to everyone else in the hotel. “Anyway, I don’t think he’ll need that much looking after. He’s a tough kid. He survived this long on his own, didn’t he?”

“That’s true,” Lorne concedes in admiration. “And he learnt how to work a portal, recalling all the words from memory alone which is not a simple feat considering there are no vowels in them whatsoever.”

“See, he’s smart too. Also astonishingly polite and well-behaved for a teenage boy,” Angel remarks musingly. “You won’t have the kind of problems with him as I’ve had with Connor.”

“God, I hope not,” Lorne wryly retorts, trying to imagine Kylar attacking him in a fit of rage and just not seeing it.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. And so will he.” Smiling assuredly, Angel gives his friend one more boost before leaving him alone. “It’s good that you’ve finally found someone, Lorne.”

Through a mouthful of smoke Lorne mutters to himself, “Hey, he found ME. I did exactly jack.”

Grinding out his cigarette butt with the sole of a shoe, he sighs, heading inside the hotel and back up the stairs.

When Lorne returns, Kylar is sitting on the bed, his shirt thankfully pulled back down. Lorne doesn’t think he could regain his composure twice in a row. The doctor packs the last of his instruments into his black bag and clips it shut.

“Can I have a word with you?” he asks Lorne.

“Sure.” Trying to hide his apprehension, Lorne glances at the subject of conversation. “Won’t be long, Kylar.”

The eighteen year old nods courteously as Lorne and the doctor step outside into the hall and close the door.

“So, how is he?” Lorne prompts, desperate to know if Kylar’s all right.

“Well, his iron levels are dangerously low, and he’s lacking vital minerals, such as calcium and magnesium,” the doctor tells him. “It’s little wonder he’s fainting. Your son is weakened and extremely emaciated. He needs to gain weight immediately.”

“I’m working on that, believe me. And he’s not my son. I’m just his guardian.” Lorne looks at the doctor in worry. “Apart from the skinny situation, is he okay?”

“Mentally, yes. I didn’t find anything of concern there. He’s intelligent and has a healthy emotional state. But physically, there are a lot of scars.”

Lorne grimaces. “Saw those. I don’t suppose he told you that he used to be a slave?”

“I guessed as much.” The doctor’s voice is grave. “The scar tissue around his wrist is consistent with handcuffs and there’s a lot of past trauma; fractured ribs, fingers and both arms. His nose has been repeatedly broken. One of his pupils is permanently larger than the other, caused by a hard blow to the eye socket area. His sight wasn’t affected, fortunately.”

That sick feeling starts to come back and Lorne closes his eyes for a moment, realising just how horribly and frequently Kylar must have been bashed. “Anything else I need to know?”

“It’s not all bad news,” the doctor offers optimistically. “His injuries have healed well. He has no infections or diseases. He’s had a back tooth knocked out but the rest of them are in excellent condition. And he’s young. There’s no reason why he can’t fully recuperate. He just needs rest and lots of fruits, vegetables and dairy foods. Some muscle-building training exercises when he’s up to it.”

“Got all that covered. In fact, he wanted to start training straight away.” Lorne makes a remorseful expression. “Of course, the sword he picked was heavier than he was and we wore the poor boy out completely – which is why you’re here - but it’s a positive sign, right? If he wants to do it?”

“I’d say very positive. If he’s got the motivation to recover, then he will. You just make sure he eats and give him these twice a day.” Lorne gets handed a bottle of pills. “I’ve given him a vitamin shot already but he’s going to require a lot more to get back on track. I’m certain he’ll do fine, however, don’t hesitate to call me if you feel he’s not making progress.”

“I will. Thank you so much,” Lorne replies gratefully. The demon doctor bids him good day and Lorne takes a second to say a silent prayer, inexpressibly glad that Kylar isn’t in worse shape after all he’s suffered through. Opening the door to his room, Lorne smiles as his new ward glances up inquiringly, wanting to know what he and the doctor were talking about.

“Don’t worry, parsnip. He says you’re gonna be A-Ok. I just need to feed you, that’s all.”

Kylar peers at the bottle containing yellow pills that Lorne is holding. “What are those?”

“Multi-vitamins. Medicine. It will help you get strong again.” He indicates to Kylar’s arm, his sleeve still rolled up, a red dot welling from the puncture site on his light green skin. “Needle didn’t hurt too much?”

“No. It was nothing.”

“It’s still bleeding. Let me get something for that.”

Lorne goes to his medical kit in the bathroom – a necessity in these dangerous and violent times - and returns with a tiny piece of sticking plaster, carefully placing it over the spot of blood on Kylar's bicep. Sitting next to Kylar on the bed, Lorne runs his gaze down Kylar’s slim arm, taking his small hand and inspecting it. The boy’s red nails are dark at the base, almost Gothic-black, and prettily oval-shaped. His fingers seem perfectly straight with no obvious kinks or bumps. You can’t even tell they were broken. Again greatly distressed by how much Kylar has suffered, Lorne unthinkingly lifts the teenager’s hand up to his lips, gently kissing those fine, slender fingers and nuzzling his cheek against them. Kylar looks at him with big surprised eyes.

Realising what he’s doing, Lorne hurriedly lets the kid’s hand go. “Sorry,” he says abashedly. “I’m a little over-affectionate, I know. I keep forgetting you’re not used to that. Just tell me if you want me to back off, okay?”

“I do not mind,” Kylar huskily answers and for a second Lorne could’ve sworn Kylar was looking at his mouth. Of course, that makes Lorne stare at Kylar’s own lips, at how sweetly they curve and how softly shaped and full they are, their rich colouring like ripened plums.

Oh God, to kiss those lips would be absolute heaven...

Quickly coming back to his senses Lorne clears his throat, and his inappropriate thoughts.

“How about we start fattening you up, huh, kiddo? Ever heard of pasta?”


………………


To be continued!