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Author's Chapter Notes:
The characters aren’t mine. I suspect you knew that. Also, some dialogue is bastardized from the episode ‘Not Fade Away’. I am making no profits from this venture, so please don’t sue. I see enough lawyers at work.

A/N: I'd just like to take a minute to thank everyone who reviewed, and those who have stuck it out and read each chapter. This has been a much more daunting process than I'd imagined, and knowing that there are people paying attention has really helped. Also, Kate, many thanks for suggestions, listening while I babble about the plot, and calming me down when I wig. You're Shiny!
Angel

I knew as soon as I stepped into Spike's apartment that something was wrong. Wesley was calmly tending Illyria, as he had been all day and night according to Gunn. Gunn and Lorne sat at either end of the small couch, both looking uncomfortable and lost. What was left of my team, my friends, was a sad sight.

And Spike and Lindsay weren't there at all. Son-of-a… After all the time I spent convincing Lindsay to help, the little weasel bailed on me. Spike, I wasn't that surprised about. He could be out getting cigarettes, or hopping a plane to Italy, you never knew with him. He'd either be late, or he wouldn't show.

There were no greetings when I came in, none of them even acknowledged me, really. Suddenly, I felt awkward. I mean, I've been wrong before. In hindsight, eating Gypsies, not a good idea. Not researching the curse they placed on me, also not smart. But this battle is what Cordelia wanted me to do, this would put me back on the path to redemption.

Then again, even if I lived, it was unlikely that they would. Were their lives less worthy than mine? Of course not. I just didn't see any other way to do this, any other way to loosen the grip Wolfram & Hart had on this dimension. Any other way to redeem the mistakes I've made the past two years. I didn't know any other way to free Connor, and begin to make things right with him.

Searching for something to say to them, some way to reconnect, my focus landed on Wes and Illyria. “Do we know who did this?” I nodded towards Illyria, laid out unconscious in the small bed.

Gunn looked up at me warily, fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie. “It was Hamilton.”

“You didn’t know?” Lorne sounds snide, and exhausted, and so unlike the fun-loving Host of Caritas that my soul aches for him. He’s never wanted to be a fighter, and here he is, stuck fighting my battles. If there were a way to keep Lorne out of this, I would. He never really chose this path, he just kind of ended up here, because we're his friends.

I shake my head, not knowing what to say. I did what I had to do, but I’m not proud of it. “He brought Drogan.”

Lorne shakes his head, and Gunn returns to the contemplation of his cuff. Neither of them has anything else to say to me. Wes is still fussing over Illyria, and ignoring me. I prefer that, really, to seeing the heartbroken wariness in his eyes. He's been distant ever since Fred died; but the way he's been since regaining his memories is worse. He's defeated, and we haven't even begun to fight.

I’m distracted from the need to explain myself to them by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. I turn to find Spike in the doorway, with a large blue duffle bag. “Spike, nice of you to join us.” I can’t help being a little snide, we’re all so wrecked, we’ve been through so much together. Spike just showed up here to get in the way, and get in fights, it seems.

Spike ignores me, and my attempt to bait him, and brings the duffle to Wes. Wesley nods his thanks, and opens the bag, silently removing a note and some herbs. I start to get nervous at being left out of the loop, and open my mouth to speak, when Spike motions me into silence with an annoyed look. So I wait, getting more nervous as the moments tick by while Wes does…Whatever it is he’s doing.

Another unfortunate side effect of having Spike around, is the closeness he and Wes have developed. He’s superficially comfortable with Gunn and Lorne, in a comrades-in-arms kind of way, but it seems like he and Wes have some strange bond, and I don’t like it.

There’s a burst of light from whatever Wes did, and suddenly I sense another heartbeat in the room. I spin around, and find Willow Rosenberg standing by the door. She waves at me a little sheepishly, and I remember the beginning, the timid Willow of my first year in Sunnydale, what feels like a million years ago. “Hey, Angel.”

“Willow? What are you doing here?” I knew Giles wouldn’t send me any help if I asked, plus it would blow my cover, and calling Buffy seemed like a bad idea in general. Especially with Spike here. I never even thought of trying to get to Willow directly, I’m ashamed to say. After what happened with Fred, I didn’t think she’d come.

“Spike called me.” Willow smiles at Spike, who is lounging in the armchair he’s pulled in from the bedroom. For the guy who’s just pulled off the big coup, he looks surprisingly un-smug. He meets my eyes calmly, with a little nod, and returns his focus to Willow. I can feel her shifting nervously, waiting for my response, so I turn back to her, and motion for her to continue.

Willow nods and looks around the room, looking at Lorne, Gunn, and Wes in turn, before she meets my eyes. “First, I’d like to apologize. About Fred.” She sighs. “I don’t think I could have done anything, but Giles should have called me, and I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help. I mean, maybe…” She shakes her head and sighs. “Anyway, I’m sorry. She was a great person.” We all nod, but no one responds, because there’s really nothing to say. We all miss her, and we probably always will.

“I brought backup.” Willow continues, with a calm I’d never have credited to her. “It’s not much, only six Slayers, but…”

“There’s six, now?” Wes asks, and for some reason I see red.

I turn back to Wes, irritated. “You knew about this?”

Wesley nods, no regret or irritation, or even any concern present in his face. “Spike was with me when he left to go meet Willow, and asked me to accompany him.”

My anger fades in the face of Wes’ calm, seasoned with apathy. We have some more help, and I’m grateful, but it still pisses me off, a bit. And how the hell did Spike get Willow’s number, when I didn’t even have it? When she moved from Sao Paulo to Rio, she hadn’t bothered to let me know, and I was left trying to pry information out of Giles.

I try to calm down and focus. “Well, I hope they’re ready. We’re killing them all tonight.”

I can feel the crackle of energy in the room, the increased heartbeats of the humans, and despite myself I’m happy to have caused a stir. “Tonight.” Spike murmurs. “I was hoping for another day.”

Willow nods, and walks past me to perch on the narrow arm of Spike’s chair, patting his back as she sits. “Angel, I don’t mean to take over or anything, but if you’re supposed to be undercover bad guy, maybe you should tell us the plan and get back to Wolfram & Hart. We can take it from there.”

I’m annoyed, I can admit that, but I can’t show it. And that makes it worse. I’ve been agonizing over this for months, how to take out Wolfram & Hart, and I made the grand sacrifice; Connor got his memories back, and I gave up the Shanshu. And a twenty-three year old witch is trying to take over. I’ve been alive longer than she’s had a goddamn country of origin, what right does she have?

I take a deep, useless breath and try to stay calm and clear. “I want everyone to take a day off, relax, do something for yourselves. We’ll meet back here tonight, and…”

“No, we won’t.” Spike and Willow being buds; I could handle that, I missed a lot in Sunnydale the last few years. But the two of them ganging up to shoot me down is just creepy.

Spike takes the backup role, and lets Willow be the one to confront me. “Angel, you wanted everyone to stay away from you, so that no one would be suspicious, right?” I nod, gritting my teeth. I really don’t like where this is going. “There are guards all around this building; why do you think I came in the way I did? It certainly didn’t do anything to conserve my strength, doing a spell that big. If you come back here, they’re gonna suspect, and they’re gonna be ready for you, for us. Please, let’s just get this all out on the table quickly, and get you on your way. Once you walk out the door, you’re cut off until it’s time to fight.”

Cut off. That’s exactly how I feel right now. Whether they intended to do it or not, Wes, Willow, and Spike have set themselves up as a united front against me. Gunn sits quietly; an attentive audience, still on the fence about his role in this little drama. Lorne looks more interested than I’ve seen him in weeks, and that decides it for me. I’m a control freak, I get that; but this isn’t the time. If we’re going to win, we need to be smart, and I’m not thinking entirely straight.

I nod, and quickly outline my plan, as rough as it is. When I get to my explanation of Lindsay and Lorne’s roles, Spike interrupts. “And that’s where the Slayers come in, mate. Don’t think Mr. Greengenes over there wants to go in all on his lonesome, and your Okie’s unavailable at the moment.”

Before I can ask what the hell they’ve done with Lindsay, Willow cuts in. “I need Lorne out of the fighting, to set up a hidey-hole in case the battle drags on, maybe some type of medical care unit? I was thinking we could use your hotel.” I can’t argue with that, Lorne’s hard to kill, but he wouldn’t be much use on his own, anyway. I nod, because that’s all I can do, and I don’t care enough about Lindsay, honestly, to get into it with Willow. “Is that all right with you Lorne?” Willow asks, and I can see the relief in Lorne’s eyes as he readily agrees.

I briefly mention the role I had hoped to convince Illyria to play, and they all seem hopeful that she’ll come through. “And if not,” Wes adds, “I’m sure Jezebel can handle it.”

Spike snorts, and Willow thumps him on the back of the head. I don’t even bother to open my mouth; they’re not likely to tell me, anyway. “Listen, what I said before, I meant it. I want you guys to take the day off. Go out, do whatever you want. Live today like it’s your last. Because it probably is.”

Gunn frowns, and meets my eyes for the first time since I came in. “Angel, if we’re planning to assassinate the power elite of the apocalypse tonight, shouldn’t we be cowboying up?”

“Angel’s right. The more normal you all look, the less they’ll suspect what’s coming. If you’re all alone today, they can’t think you’re planning anything.” Willow pipes up, and I wonder when she started channeling Buffy. General Willow is a person I never expected to meet.

“Besides, I have another player we need to round up, Angel, and this is on you.” She meets my eyes, and I see wary affection and hesitation in her face. “We need Connor.” I tense up, unwilling to put my boy in danger again, but she shakes her head before I can protest. “I know you don’t want him to get hurt, or even be involved in your fight, but it’s his destiny. I’ve had people researching ever since Spike called me. He needs to be here for this.”

I want to scream and argue and throw the couch at her. The howling demon inside me wants to drain her dry, make her go away. But seeing her empathy and regret for asking me to do this, asking my son to fight alongside me, makes the hurt less. Willow wouldn’t put Connor in danger just to get back at me for something, so she’s telling me the truth. And all I can do is agree. “I’m going to see him today. I’ll ask.”

Willow nods, smiling a little. “Good. I wasn’t looking forward to tracking him down and looking like a crazy person when I explained why he needed to come with me to fight monsters.” Spike chuckles, and I can’t help joining in.

I’m about to issue some last minute instructions, to wish them all luck, since I won’t be seeing them again until we’re on the battlefield, such as it is, when Spike’s cell phone beeps. He flips it out of his duster pocket, and all his attention is focused on the tiny machine as he pushes buttons. A grin blooms on his face as he looks at it, and Willow leans over so she can see whatever it is he’s looking at.

“Oi, Red, it’s private!” Spike yelps, turning the phone so she can’t see it.

Unfortunately for him, it seems she already has. “Aww, Spike, that’s so cute!”

“Take that back!” He blusters, the smile wiped from his face, but as he’s attempting to stare Willow down, Gunn decides to jump into the fray, plucking the phone from Spike’s hand. He takes a look at the screen, and snaps the phone shut as if he was sorry he’d looked. It would be funny, if I could forget everything else going on, and stop wondering what all the fuss is about.

And suddenly it clicks. Buffy. Spike called Buffy, or maybe Buffy called Spike. I know Buffy must have called him; hell, I gave her the number. Buffy must have sent Willow to LA. Buffy’s sending Spike text messages that Willow thinks are ‘cute’?

Spike’s spent a lot of time needling me about his physical relationship with Buffy, and yeah it pissed me off, but I figured it was just his way of deflecting attention from the fact that she didn’t love him. Maybe I’m wrong. He’s in my heart. What the hell does that mean, anyway? Maybe they’re friends, now?

Spike’s look is calculating, as if he’s deciding whether wrestling the phone away from Gunn will draw too much attention from me. Gunn looks like he’s ready to hand the phone back and change the subject to something more important, and my curiosity is killing me, so before either of them can make a decision, I bolt across the room and pluck the phone from Gunn’s fingers.

“Oi, what the bloody hell is wrong with you people? Can’t a bloke have a bit of privacy in his own bloody home?” Spike’s really pissed off, and nervous now, so I open the phone and take a quick glance before he can take it back.

The message is short and simple, and unfortunately will probably be burned on my eyes for the rest of my life.

S- Dont dust. Luv, B

I hurl the phone at Spike, then turn and walk away, because it’s the only thing I can think to do. If I stay, I’ll kill Spike, or die trying.
-------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, I'm standing in a little coffee shop on the Stanford campus, watching Connor study. He must get the book smarts from Darla, because they sure as hell don't come from me. She’d be so proud if she could see him now; 17 and already in college. I can picture her bragging over him, although I can’t really see her being maternal, the bragging I can picture clearly.

She’d have kicked my ass six ways from Sunday for losing him to Holtz. Then again, she’d have gotten a good laugh out of how he hated me. She always did love a good drama, especially with lots of bloodshed. She’d really enjoy the big fight I’m about to start, and Darla might even have joined in, but only if she knew she would come out on top.

I haven’t said it to anyone, but I didn’t expect to survive this fight. Maybe I will, now, with the extra help from Willow and the Slayers. What the hell do I do when it’s all over?

I guess the best place to start is here, with Connor. If I can make my peace with him…Even if we never talk again, I need to know that I tried to meet him as a father, and as a friend. The rest will sort itself out. I hope.

So I square my shoulders and walk out from behind the pillar I’ve been not-exactly hiding behind, and walk up to my son. He doesn’t notice me at first, he’s engrossed in whatever is spread out in front of him, so I say “Hi”. Not the most original opening in the world, but it gets his attention. When Connor looks up, I’m almost as startled as I was when he walked into my office at Wolfram & Hart. His serious face seems far older than 17, and his eyes are Darla’s. Maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking of her today, wondering if I’ll see her in Hell, or wherever I end up, but I can see in Connor’s face every feature he inherited from his mother, and for the first time in a long time, I can think of him as more than just my son. He’s Darla’s son.

“Can I sit?” I’m trying to be casual, because I don’t want him to notice how desperately I just want to stay here for a while and look at his face and remember his mother. Connor recovers pretty quickly from his surprise at seeing me, and is polite, if not warm at all.

“Sure. I’m surprised to see you, Angel. What brings you here from LA?” He sits back in his chair to give me his attention, and his posture reminds me of Darla, suddenly everything he is and does makes me think of her. This isn’t what I wanted; I just wanted to check in on him. I did tell Willow I’d bring him back to LA with me, but I know I can’t ask. He’s the last surviving piece of Darla, and if I die, he’s my legacy as well. I can’t put him in danger. Screw destiny, Connor’s staying here. I suppose it’s fitting, in a way. When Darla dusted herself, my main concern was for him; now that I’m here to say goodbye to him, I can’t stop thinking about her.

I sit across from my son, and start to talk. Just chit-chat, at first, but I soon find myself telling him about my life. I tell him more than he ever needed to know about Spike and Buffy, for no good reason really, just because it made me furious and I don’t know what to say. And when he asks me if I haven’t moved on myself, I tell him about Nina.

“So, she’s a werewolf?” Connor’s arched eyebrow must be something he’s inherited from me, or picked up from one of his new parents, I know I never saw Darla do that.

“And an art student.” And I like her so much, I feel like bragging a little that she chose me. Trouble is, I’m not in love with her, and I know it. “She does this great pottery. She made me a vase.” I can’t help but chuckle, because I sound his age, and I know it.

“But it’s the wolf part that joneses you. There’s some full moon loving, am I right? Fur flying…” Connor’s face has a knowing look I don’t care for, and the abrupt turn in the conversation is rather disturbing. Now he really sounds like Darla, too. And as much as I loved the depraved, kinky part of her, seeing it in our son is sobering.

It takes me a second to realize that he’s stopped talking, and I respond with the ever popular “huh?” Does he actually expect me to give him details, or is he just messing with me?

“Vampires really don’t understand the concept of jokes.” Well, I guess that answers my question. Whew.

“I understand jokes.” I’m still recovering, so I’m feeling a little defensive. He managed to rattle me. Darla was really good at that. “I was at the first taping of the Carol Burnett show. Tim Conway was on fire. It was special.” He’s giving me a weird look, but it doesn’t remind me of Darla. For some reason, it reminds me of Buffy. She used to make this face, sometimes, when we were dating, that said ‘I’d forgotten how old you really are, until you said that’. Connor’s making the exact same damn face. With Darla’s eyes. It’s freaky.

“I know you’re my father.”

Well, that was an abrupt change of topic. I have no idea how to respond, so I sit in silence for a second. Then, I decide to just go with it, and let him steer the conversation. He probably has questions, things he needs to say. “You got your memories back.”

He nods, hunching forward to avoid my eyes. “And they’re mixed in there with the new ones.” He meets my eyes, then looks away again. “Kinda like a bad dream I had, I guess. A very strange, and violent; at times inappropriately erotic, dream.”

Connor looks up again, and as much as I want to justify my actions, I keep my promise to myself, that I’ll let him lead me to whatever topic he chooses. “You probably have a lot of questions.” Ask me anything you want, and I’ll answer. Just, please don’t tell me you hate me, that you never want to see me again.

Those deep bottomless blue eyes turn away from mine as he answers. “No…I don’t wanna make a thing. I get what you did. You know? And I’m grateful. That’s as far as I wanna take it. Okay?”

It’s not a complete brush off, he didn’t tell me to get lost, but there are very clear ‘do not enter’ signs in his face and posture, and I let it go, and turn the conversation back to a less serious topic. “So, what are you working on?”

We talk about resumes, and the internship he’s applying for, which is with a museum, of all things. He’s thinking of majoring in history. Possibly art history, or military history, which I just don’t see the connection between. Well, he has years of school left, plenty of time to decide. Darla would have made some comment about the beauty of violence, which is just another little piece of her I see in him. Although, that may be me, it feels like an Angelus idea on closer inspection.

He jokes around, doing his best to lighten the conversation, and I go along with it. I head off with a hand shake and no promises on either side. I never even hinted at asking for his help. I just couldn’t. He has his whole new life ahead of him.
-----------------------------------------------------------

On the plane back to LA, I let me thoughts drift to the Shanshu. Signed in blood, I gave up my claim on the reward. If Spike becomes human, and ends up marrying Buffy at noon on the beach, I have no one to blame but myself.

What would I have done as a human, anyway? I have none of the documentation people need to get through life in the modern world. What the hell would I do with my time? I’d have to work, but who would hire me? The Watcher’s Council, probably.

How could I be Connor’s father as a human? I was turned 250 years ago, but I was 27, and I don’t think I can pass for much older than that. Connor’s almost 18. I’d be more like his older brother. Then again, he has real human parents, and it’s not like I really raised him.

The more I think about it, the more depressed I feel, so I return my focus to the fight. Killing Hamilton won’t be easy, but it’ll be very satisfying. And, after today I never have to deal with Harmony again, which is one big plus. That is, if I survive today. I don’t feel good about our chances, but I’m not counting on being destroyed, which is more optimism than I had yesterday.

The plan is simple; kick Hamilton’s ass all over the building, send Harmony on her way, and meet up with the others. Hopefully, Willow doesn’t kick my ass too badly for not bringing Connor back, and at least some of us make it out.

I consider briefly, now that the time is almost here, calling Giles and asking for more Slayers. The thought’s rejected almost as soon as I think it. He’d help Spike before he helped me, and the last chance he had, Giles almost got Spike killed.





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