Part 3
There was only so much cheery sunshine a vampire could take. Angel scowled around his bright office, going back over to the controls and plunging the room into darkness once again. For added measure, he closed the curtains with a dramatic swish. His stilted conversation with Wesley had ruined what little good mood he’d managed to make. It was obvious that Wesley thought he was being irrational and selfish.
The problem was that Angel agreed with him.
His glower increased tenfold at that involuntary admission. It had to be this office, this building. This entire place was evil. It stank of it. He stank of it. It was like working in a bar; the cigarette smoke permeates everything and no matter how many times you shower, it takes days to rid yourself of all traces. Wolfram & Hart had the same effect. Everything he touched felt oily with the filth of evil. It didn’t matter how much he tried to varnish it over with good intentions, the evil was still underneath. For not the first time since he’d agreed to take over this office, Angel cursed his decision. If it weren’t for the safety and future of both Cordelia and Connor, he’d never have taken up their offer. He was starting to think that he’d have been better off rejecting it even if the consequences were less than favorable.
Second-guessing himself might not get him anything but misery, but he still didn’t have to sit around this place and let the stench of his failed life overwhelm him. He strode toward his private elevator and entered, firmly pushing the buttons to the garage. Once there, he climbed into his necro-tinted Mustang and squealed out of the garage for a soul-healing afternoon drive.
Not fifteen yards out of the garage, he nearly mowed over four pedestrians and a dog, not to mention a narrow miss of the limousine parked at the curb in front of the building. He came screeching to a halt, his eyes wide and his mouth dropped open in shock. His jaw snapped quickly shut and his lips pressed into a grim line as he angrily took in the sight that had startled him so much.
Spike. That mouthy, irritating little prick of a childe of his was walking, in broad daylight, no less, right in the front doors of Wolfram & Hart. The sun seemed to gleam off his blonde locks, his once-pale skin now bronzed and glowing. Angel growled involuntarily at the disturbing picture. Even from here and at this angle, Angel could see the stark blue of his eyes, made more striking against the golden tan of his face. The leather duster was still very firmly in place, black jeans, combat boots, and a red shirt completing his traditional ensemble. It was clear that he was still a vampire, because a human couldn’t handle late summer weather in LA while wearing full-length leather. But vampires didn’t walk around in the daylight unprotected. And vampires sure as hell didn’t tan.
What was Spike up to?
With a lurid curse, Angel swerved the car around in the light traffic and sped back into the garage. The tires squealed as he stopped abruptly, yanking the keys out of the ignition and walked determinedly back to the elevator, punching the buttons to his office.
The doors opened to his office just in time for him to hear his secretary’s voice over the intercom for the second time that afternoon.
“Mr. Angel?” She asked in that irritatingly efficient tone of hers.
“Yes, Melanie?” he growled, sitting heavily into his chair.
“A Mr. Spike is here to see you, sir. He does not have an appointment,” she said, the distaste obvious in her voice. She’d left the connection open, and Angel could hear Spike’s voice in the background.
“Oh, c’mon, luv. I can’t be that bad. I haven’t had any complaints before.”
This time the growl nearly turned into a roar. Taking a deep, calming breath, Angel called upon his frighteningly low reserve of patience. “Send him in, Melanie. And I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the evening. Not for any reason, do you hear me? None.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” she said meekly, for once frightened by the power in his tone.
Angel sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, watching with unconcealed anger and irritation as the blonde vampire strode confidently through the door and sat down dramatically across from him, slouching into a comfortable position and draping his lean frame in the chair.
“Nice digs, Peaches,” Spike said with a smirk, reaching into his duster pocket and pulling out his cigarettes. He lit one and the room filled with smoke. The scent only served to fuel Angel’s anger.
In a fluid move perfected by 250 years of practice, Angel had Spike shoved up against the wall with his hands around his childe’s throat before Spike could blink.
“What the bloody hell, Angel?” Spike growled, struggling against the stronger vampire’s hold. “Can’t a vamp come for a friendly visit to his grandsire?”
“Shut up, Spike,” Angel spat, tightening his hold on the other vampire’s neck. “Explain yourself. NOW.”
The last word was underlined with a flash of amber fire and the promise of swift retribution if Spike dilly dallied any longer.
Angel was nearly at the end of his control. Spike had better explain himself, and quick. None of his usual bullshit would be tolerated. Angel was his sire, goddamn it, and he wasn’t going to put up with Spike’s antics. Not this time.
***
The only indication that Cordelia was in sensory overload was the slight whitening of her knuckles as she gripped the coffee mug in her hands. What Wesley had just told her was mind-boggling, and she had yet to remark on anything he’d told her.
Wesley just sat in silence, feeling wholly inadequate to console her. How did a friend go about comforting someone whose body had been the source of destruction of her family’s happiness? Especially when said friend didn’t remember any of it?
“This Jasmine,” Cordelia said, wanting some clarification, “she possessed me, and then I gave birth to her? She needed human DNA to become corporeal?”
“Yes,” Wesley said, nodding when he couldn’t think of anything else to add.
“This is. . .unbelievable, Wesley. I don’t know what to think,” she admitted, staring down at her reflection in the dark liquid in her mug.
He sighed. “I don’t blame you, Cordelia. I would have a hard time believing it, too. But I’m not lying to you. That’s everything that I can remember.”
A disturbing thought suddenly occurred to her. “Who was the father of this evil baby, Wesley?”
He raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. “Father? I . . . I don’t know, Cordelia. We never found out if there even was one. She could’ve just planted the pregnancy within you.”
She pursed her lips and frowned in disapproval. “It’s not like you to leave loose ends like that, Wesley. I’m sure that Angel would’ve wanted to know who knocked me up. I mean, look at what he did to Wilson, and we weren’t nearly as close then.”
He started to look really confused, as if he were truly doubting what he believed to be the gospel truth. “Angel was really angry then, Cordelia. He felt like you’d betrayed him somehow. We didn’t know you weren’t you when you announced your pregnancy. You kind of threw it in his face.”
“Why would he be angry with me if someone forced this on me? That would be the same as saying that it was my fault I was raped, and Angel would never do that, no matter how angry he was.”
“You’re right about that,” Wesley conceded. “I have to admit that that whole time period is kind of fuzzy for me. It was a difficult time for all of us.”
Fuzzy memory, my ass. Cordelia thought wryly. More like altered memory. “I must’ve been willing, or at least the possessed Jasmine in me was willing. The father must’ve been someone that he was really close to, someone so close that he’d feel betrayed if I slept with him.”
She considered the options. Obviously not Wesley. Gunn maybe, but that wouldn’t anger Angel so much. The only human left was . . .The answer hit her like a ton of bricks, her breath leaving her in a whoosh and making her light headed. “Oh, god.”
She looked at him with wide, stricken eyes. “Connor!” The very wthought of exploiting that boy’s innocence was enough to make her stomach roil, but the answer rang disturbingly true.
If it was possible, he looked even more confused. “Connor? Who’s Connor?”
She was stunned. “Who’s Connor? What do you mean, who’s Connor? You don’t remember him?”
Wesley raised an eyebrow, his look concerned. “No, Cordy. Should I?”
Her expression turned thoughtful. There were so many things here that didn’t make sense. She had no doubt that Wesley was telling her what he knew, what he remembered, but there were some glaring holes. Holes that stank of memory erasure. Selective memory erasure.
Whatever the hell was going on, Wesley was obviously an innocent pawn in all of it. She left the disturbing topic behind them for now, determined to find answers to how all of this started.
She changed the subject back to the other stomach lurching aspect of Wesley’s story. “Explain to me Angel’s takeover of Wolfram & Hart again. Why did he do it?”
Wesley let her earlier question go as he answered this one. “As I told you, Wolfram & Hart offered him an opportunity he couldn’t refuse. Their resources are fathomless, and he knew that his fight could be infinitely more effective if he used what they were offering him. They’d basically said that he had done them a favor by ending world peace with the destruction of Jasmine, and they were bowing out of the LA scene. He could take it and do as he wanted.”
Wesley looked down at his own drink as he paused. “And the most compelling reason he accepted the deal was because they promised they could heal you. It wasn’t until a month or so into the takeover that they told him you weren’t ever going to wake up and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it.”
Cordelia didn’t buy that for a minute. Angel had had multiple opportunities in other instances to gain access to a wealth of information far greater and far less tainted than that of Wolfram & Hart, but he’d always refused on principle. She didn’t doubt that he cared about her, but him putting her in Wolfram & Hart’s less than clean hands was a ludicrous idea. There had to be another explanation. He had to have had another motivation besides what Wesley had told her. And Connor seemed to be the answer to that question.
Knowing what she knew about Connor and his attitude toward Angel, she wouldn’t be surprised if he had had some sort of emotional breakdown and Angel had opted for a cleansing of his memory and mind to heal him. Only someone like Wolfram & Hart could manage to arrange that, and Cordelia knew that they’d hold an offer like that over Angel’s head until he couldn’t help but accept.
“I have to see Angel, Wesley,” Cordelia said, her eyes searching his. She saw the questions in his eyes, the ones that wondered how she’d woken up and escaped from the hospital. Something was holding her back from answering those questions, though. Her forced coma was something that she knew Wesley had nothing to do with, but she was still wary of letting him know. She didn’t know what he might do if he went looking for answers, and she couldn’t afford to upset the apple cart just yet.
“Cordelia,” Wesley said, obviously uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “Angel has been different in the last few months. When we found out you weren’t you, something inside him died. He’s been regressing to his darker nature, much like he was when Darla was back and he fired us.”
She gasped involuntarily. “He’s gone beigey again?”
“Not completely, but he’s rapidly approaching that state. I found some information lately that led me to a cure for his curse, and I made his soul permanent just this afternoon. I was hoping that it would allow him a chance for some happiness and reverse this downward spiral he’s been set on.”
“Wesley,” she breathed, “That’s wonderful! Angel’s soul is permanent. Wow!” The excitement permeated her; she couldn’t help it.
He smiled too, but it was less enthusiastic than it should have been. “Buffy’s coming to L.A., Cordelia. To be with Angel.”
She forgot to breathe for a moment. “Oh.” Her attention turned downward again and she swirled the liquid in her half empty mug.
“Well, I’m happy that he’s getting what he’s always wanted,” she said with false cheerfulness, her heart crumbling at Wesley’s news.
“He doesn’t know you’re awake yet, Cordy,” Wesley said, hoping to give her some encouragement.
“That won’t change anything, Wes, and you know it. He’s always wanted Buffy and I’m happy for them. Really. Either way, I still want to see him. I have to see him.”
He frowned, wanting to argue with her about Angel’s true desires, but knowing she wouldn’t believe him. “Very well. He’ll be home in a few hours. We can go over to his place then.”
“Great!” she said, the word sounding so empty and broken. Her heart felt battered and her soul was torn. Angel didn’t love her; he’d forgotten her. And she was still so very much in love with him.
***
Angel eased his grip on Spike’s neck and let him slide back down to the floor.
“Talk, Spike,” he ordered, backing up to lean on the edge of his desk, his arms folded across his chest.
Spike glared at him and adjusted his wrinkled shirt. “Nice way to treat a relative, Peaches,” he complained.
His only answer was a low growl of impatience.
“Fine,” he said, leaning against the far wall and taking on a defensive stance of his own, albeit one with much more nonchalance than Angel’s.
“That little bit of jewelry you sent Sunnydale way awhile back? The one for a Champion?” he smirked at that. “Well, you’re looking at the Champion that used it. It turns out that the little bauble packed quite a punch. Made me nearly invincible. Oh, I can still be staked, I suppose, but the sun is harmless. And the best part is, I still have my soul.”
Angel couldn’t help but snort in derision, but he refrained from commenting.
Spike glared at the rude noise. “You’re not the only soul-having undead fighter in the world anymore, Angel. Get used to it.”
This time Angel couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I’m still the original,” he said, trying not to sound like a petulant two-year-old.
Spike rolled his eyes. “And that’s a good thing?” he said, his scarred eyebrow raised. “Seems to me like it took you a hundred years to make that soul at home in your body. And it’s so flighty, always wanting to go on vacation and leave Angelus to maim and kill in its wake.” He whistled low and long as his eyes roved over the rich opulence of Angel’s office. “He would’ve loved the power you have at your fingers these days, Peaches.”
Angel ignored that last comment. “And what, you had no trouble adjusting to a soul?” Angel scoffed, knowing that Spike couldn’t have had an easy time of it.
“Of course I did. I’m undead, you moron, not meant to have a soul. It hurt like hell. I nearly ended my own life a couple of times there at the beginning. But I had someone that helped me get through it.”
Angel clenched his teeth. “Buffy.”
Spike smiled wistfully. “Yeah, she’s a piece of work, my girl is.”
“Your girl?” Angel said scornfully. “Then how come she’s coming here to live with me?”
Spike straightened up like a shot, coming nose to nose with Angel in a nanosecond. “She’s what?” he whispered.
It was Angel’s turn to be smug, and damn, it felt good. “Wesley found a way to make my ‘flighty’ soul stick around for good. I called Buffy, and she’s moving up here.”
Okay, so Spike didn’t have to know that she wasn’t too excited about it. Let him think she was dying to jump him.
The younger vampire took a moment to calm his rapidly rising anger. Then he remembered something he’d heard recently. Something about Angel’s affections having shifted from Buffy to someone else. “What about the cheerleader, Angel? She screw you over for that pansy-assed ex-watcher?” he mocked.
Angel vamped out in his rage, grabbing Spike by the throat again. “Do not talk like that about Cordy!” Angel released him with a shove. “She’s in a coma. She’s not going to wake up.” His voice broke on the last words, a telling sign of the true nature of his affections, even if he wouldn’t admit them to himself.
Spike snorted disdainfully. “So you go crawling back to Buffy. I’ve got news for you, Angel. She doesn’t love you anymore.”
“And just who do you think she does love? You?” Angel scoffed in disbelief. “She feels sorry for you, maybe, I’ll give you that. But in love with you? Face it, Spike. You’re not man enough for her,” Angel challenged. “She’s always wanted me, and only me. You were just a sad attempt at replacement when I wasn’t available.”
His eyes nearly crossing in an attempt to control his fury, Spike stood his ground. “We’ll see about that, Peaches. She doesn’t know that I’m alive. She thinks I was killed in the explosion at the Hellmouth. When she sees me again, we’ll see who makes her heartbeat speed up, her breath catch, and her thighs tingle. Last I checked, you didn’t do anything of the sort. Even that lousy peck in the crypt when you came to SunnyD wasn’t enough to light her fire.”
He smirked confidently, then shoved his face in Angel’s. “There’s no way I could miss the smell of her when she’s all hot and bothered. She’s been that way for me more times than I can count. Face it, old man, you’ve lost your touch.”
Angel didn’t dignify Spike’s rough talk with a reply, and the two vampires stared at each other with amber fire flashing between them. After a moment of tense, non-verbal confrontation, Spike turned and walked out of the room, back down and out into the sunlight where Angel couldn’t follow.
Showy prick, Angel thought jealously. That little upstart was going to throw a monkey wrench into his well-developed plans. Angel, despite his grandstanding, knew that Spike held a very special place in Buffy’s heart, and it was going to be difficult to beat that. After all, he didn’t have a flashy re-emergence from hell going for him this time.