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Chapter 1

“So Angel has a son.”

“Bugger that he has a son—the son of a bitch had all of your minds wiped to erase the son?”

How many times had the resigned statement and subsequent question been repeated, in private and in this company, since Wesley had discovered and shattered Angel’s betrayal? The stunned faces gathered in Wesley Wyndham-Price’s office reflected that, despite the repetitive nature of the questions, no answers were, as of yet, forthcoming. Thankfully, Angel would be away in meetings for the entirety of this week; all of them would need the time. It was becoming clear that Wesley’s instructions to Illyria, to push away the memories and cling to the realities created by Vail along with Wolfram & Hart, were going to be impossible to follow. For all of them, except Illyria, the ache of trust lost, so soon after the loss of one of their own, was acute and all-encompassing. For all of them, including Illyria, the betrayal weighed heavily.

Spike, of course, had had no memories stripped or replaced; all he was able to feel in that regard was a deep kinship stemming from fellow feeling. He too had had his mind magically violated several times over by Willow, and technologically violated by the Initiative. If anyone outside Angel’s group of friends could understand the vast impact of an invasion like the one undertaken by Wolfram & Hart on Angel’s orders, Spike could. Aside from that, his trust had also been violated. He had chosen to stay, had signed on to help his grandsire come what may, regardless of the hostilities and history that lay between them. Angelus had no sense of loyalty, but Spike had somehow managed to convince himself that perhaps Angel was different. To find that, even with a soul, Angel still repaid devoted loyalty with selfish service to his own self-interests was not necessarily unexpected, but disconcerting nevertheless.

Gunn, so recently rescued from Wolfram & Hart’s suburban hell, had felt alongside his return with Illyria the return of his memories. The shock of the mental violation, coupled with his memories of torment, had initially sent him into near catatonia. He had finally managed to struggle his way through, the tough street fighter scrapping his way to the surface yet again and allowing him to reestablish himself, bruised and beaten but far the wiser.

Lorne felt the violation just as deeply, and perhaps more so. To strip an empath demon of his emotional history and experiences, to bury them under layers of falsehoods and create fake emotions and experiences to conceal them, was a violation of the highest order. Not only had Lorne’s mind been defiled, but his very nature as well. The fact that a trusted friend, for whom he had sacrificed much, had been his violator shook Lorne’s faith in Angel to the core.

Illyria had known of the layering of Fred’s memories, that something had been removed and something different put in its place. While it should have had no effect on her, she remained troubled by how much of her host remained inside her in this shell. The soul was gone, burned away—that much was certain—but certain softer feelings, inappropriate for a being such as herself, somehow managed to survive. If for no other reason than that his trickery had thrown her strange new existence into even more tumult, Illyria found herself with curiously strong feelings of displeasure towards Angel. Seeing the effect that his deceit had on Wesley, however, spoke to the softness inside her that she was unable vanquish. Despite her own best efforts she found herself drawn to the damaged creature her shell had once loved.

Wesley was, for all intents and purposes, a broken man. Shattered by the knowledge of what he had done and what had been done to him, he had retreated into himself, rarely leaving his office except to observe Illyria’s training, speaking only when directly addressed, and avoiding Angel at all costs. At first it was the guilt that kept him away—the knowledge that he had been responsible, however unintentionally, for the loss of his best friend’s child, was a painful blade in his consciousness. Second to the guilt, however, came the anger—this man had tried to murder him, and by hiding his son’s existence had hidden that fact as well. Wesley and Angel had managed to somewhat move beyond Angel’s attempt on his life, and Wesley likely would have worked with Angel knowing the truth of all of the events. The fact that his free will had been stripped from him and his choice taken away, however, smacked of a hubris that he hadn’t expected to see from Angel again since the debacle with Darla.

The result of all of these interior motivations was a rather confused, disheartened, and directionless crew. They still came to work, went about their daily business as though nothing had changed; however, none of them could truly trust Angel. It was this distrust that left them wandering the halls in Angel’s absence and gathering, although with no previous plan to do so, on the couches in Wesley Wyndham-Price’s office long after Wolfram & Hart should have been empty for the day. As they looked at each other, the silent questions that had echoed through their heads began to tumble out.

“Yes,” Wesley answered Spike as he placed the agreement Angel had signed on the coffee table, “Angel did arrange to have all of our realities shifted in order that Connor be given a happy, normal family life.”

“Stupid git and his bloody ‘normal’ lives. Buffy’s the Slayer, but she should marry some normal bloke that she can get herself killed trying to protect. Kid’s born of two vampires, obviously he should be given to the soddin’ Bradys to raise. Bloody hell, I know the man has daddy issues, but not everybody wants a fucking suburban life.”

“Be that as it may,” Wesley interrupted, more than a little amused at Spike’s rant and relieved at the break in the tension that the diatribe seemed to have caused in the room, “what concerns me the most is not only that Angel ordered all of our memories blocked and saw it through, but that he was willing to write the case off when it threatened to counteract his will.”

“Why does that surprise you exactly, Percy? He made sure none of you lot knew I had a soul, didn’t he? Seems the poof’s right eloquent with the silences when it’s something that goes against the way he wants his world set up.”

“You omit that he asked your trust of him even while the demon murdered his son,” added Illyria, not quite willing to participate in the discussion but still interested in the tide of near-rebellion that seemed to surge under the surface of the discussion. “Why a leader should ask trust, rather than demand obedience, is beyond me, but it seemed important to him somehow.”

“So he did all this to protect Connor, but when the only way for Connor to survive was to break the spell he didn’t want it broken? Ain’t no way that’s right, man—why protect him just to have him killed?” asked Gunn, still struggling to put the pieces of the story together from Wes’s recollections and Illyria’s occasional input.

“I don’t think that Angel meant that he be killed. I simply think that, at that moment, keeping the spell intact was more important than anything else. I don’t doubt that he has real affection for the boy, but his continued insistence on us trusting him does concern me. Before I was content to trust him based on all that has passed between us, but after this…”

“You mean after you kidnapped his son and he nearly killed you in the hospital? After you only came back to help so you could mack on my girl?” Gunn winced even as the words were spoken out loud; it seemed that along with his memories his bitterness toward Wesley had also returned.

“Not exactly what I meant, Gunn,” Wesley answered tightly, “but yes, in light of getting my memories back, I am less inclined to trust him. I also think the rest of us should be wary; a scheme of this magnitude could still be only a smaller part of something larger. This is all that I could find in records, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that this is all there is. Lorne, is there anything you can do to read Angel—maybe let us know what is in his head, just to put our minds at ease?”

“It’s not that I haven’t tried, scrumptious, but there’s no way for me to come out and just ask him to sing, especially not now. The on-staff psychics won’t go near him, and he’s not exactly the randomly musical sort. If I ask him to sing, Angelcakes will know I’m suspicious and that’s not a fire I’m ready to climb into just yet.”

“If this is all you found in contracts,” remarked Gunn, picking up the contract with Angel’s blood signature, “then there ain’t nothing else. I know that much for certain about this place—anything else that’s going on with him is all in his head. We’ve reached the end of the paper trail.”

Frustration was palpable in the room as each tried to find a way to have Angel tip his hand, to reveal something of what was going on. Finally, Illyria broke the silence.

“Perhaps I could provide some assistance. I pulled this one you call Gunn out of the other dimension.”

“Illyria, there’s a large difference between a shift between dimensions and a shift across time. You yourself told me that the world is as it is; how can you possibly be of assistance in this case?”

“Foolish creatures. The world is as it is only because you lack the capability to change it. Nothing is unknowable. You walk this world as though there are no others and so you are stuck blindly wandering down whatever paths you have set yourselves upon. You would do well to remember that I am unlike you. I wear this shell but I am a god…I need not follow a path set down by others and tread by blind fools.”

“Well, excepting the whole trail of fools, Highness, it’s a right interestin’ offer. I’m guessin’ you’re going to work some mojo with time, given how fun that seems to be for you?”

“Wait a moment, Illyria. Are you saying that the world isn’t mutable, that the choices we make effect nothing?”

“In your grief, Wesley, you see the situation as best assuages your own soul. Predestination is nothing but the will of humans bent to serve the will of those greater or more powerful than themselves. Anything beyond this moment diverges into any number of paths; all is mutable, but all endings are visible.”

“And how can you follow our path? If all is mutable, then any choice that is made could change the outcome. How can you can move forward and tell us what shall happen? Why would you help us?”

“Time is easily manipulated. Humans are so dogged in the treading of paths, it proves easy to follow its footprints forward across the ages. The ends of Angel’s actions are written in time itself. I can simply follow this path forward to its conclusion, or the conclusion of Angel’s presence, and return with this knowledge. Surely this should be sufficient for you know whether your obeisance to your leader is well-placed. I will help you because Angel has proved himself an unworthy leader and that weakness pleases me. I know that Angel wishes me destroyed. I wish to know whether I survive and if I am forced to remain in this helpless cage of flesh.”

“Then this could work, right? Illyria lets us know what’s going on in Angel’s head, and we get back to the business of helpin’ the helpless?”

“Charlie boy, you lot haven’t been near the helpless since you signed on to this bloody devil’s playground. How much of that is because of the way this place works, an’ how much of it is by Angel’s plannin’ is the question we need Shiva here to answer.”

“I’m afraid Spike is right. Nothing about this place allows us any similarity to what we once were. I know that we believed that we could work greater good with greater resources, but it does rather seem as though we are now the resources being exploited, instead.”

“So it’s a yes to Highness’s plan, then. Move forward, check out the possible nasty, and then on with life, or unlife as the case may be.”

“I don’t see that we have any other option. Illyria, how quickly could you begin you reconnaissance?”

“I can begin to shift as soon as you deem it necessary; I need only to know when you wish me to begin.”

“Should we call in any reinforcements? Perhaps Buffy…”

“Buffy doesn’t need to know word one of any of this until we have somethin’ a little more certain. She may not be exactly thrilled with the poof as CEO of Evil Inc. right now, but she ain’t going to be quick to believe he’s gone ‘Angelus’ bad again either. ‘Specially without the gettin’ laid to make him crazy. And then there’s the problem with her not knowin’ I’m back among the non-dusted, least I don’t think she does. Don’t know how she’ll take it, and don’t think it’ll be good news to break ridin’ along with the bad about His Royal Gitness. Better hold off ‘til we have some solid proof to take to her; soon’s we get that, we’ll face down the wrath and be rollin’ with slayers a-plenty.”

“So it’s the five of us, then. Until there’s proof,” sighed Wesley.

“Probably best that way, mate. Least for the time being,” agreed Spike.

“I’m in; don’t like the way any of this is turnin’ out, but I’m in,” promised Gunn.

“Happy to help, crumpet. There may be something along the way that will let me in Angel’s head, but for right now I’ll do what I can from the outside.”

“I’ve already sworn my assistance. I wish to make the investigation and be done with this; this lengthy focus on human concerns is beneath me.”

“Tomorrow then, while Angel’s still out of the office. We’ll meet in the lab; Illyria can shift during her testing session with Spike. After that, we’ll decide on whether any information needs to be disseminated further. Until then this will remain strictly between those of us in this room,” Wesley concluded.

A small cough from the doorway made them all start, turning apprehensively as one to face the intruder. Spike’s view was blocked by Lorne, and he tensed to move beyond the barrier presented by the demon; the next sound he heard froze him momentarily in his tracks. A bright, chipper, California-girl voice, asking in a tone generally reserved for her slaying quips “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to share with the rest of the class? ‘Cause, not to be boasty Buffy, but I’m fairly certain I sort of started the whole ‘distrust the evil empire’ movement.”





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