25. Lullaby, Part II

"Ahhhhhh!" Darla screamed in agony for what must have been the hundredth time.

She was lying on Lorne's bed in the back room of Caritas, her distress audible to the group that was gathered both inside and out. Wesley stood by her bedside with Fred at his elbow, jointly trying to coach Darla through her labor; it was becoming more and more apparent that it was a fruitless effort. The vampire's labor hadn't merely slowed, it had ceased entirely, and if Wesley didn't already know the child was in jeopardy, the worrisome lines etched across Fred's otherwise smooth brow confirmed it. She removed the stethoscope from Darla's belly and gave Wesley a slight shake of her head.

"It's so faint." She mumbled, referring to the baby's heartbeat. She probably thought her voice was low enough that no one else could hear—however, she hadn't taken into account the multiple sets of preternatural ears that accompanied them, one of which belonged to the expectant mother herself.

"He's dying." Darla choked out; for the first time, she actually looked troubled by the thought of losing her child. Not to mention her use of a proper pronoun. Wesley supposed she had some kind of sixth sense about the baby's gender, since they certainly had no way of confirming its sex at this point. "Isn't he?"

"No." Angel insisted, pausing in the pacing he'd been doing at the foot of her bed. His hands wrapped around the baseboard, clutching so tight around the wooden posts, that Wesley worried they may shatter into splinters.

"You were a much better liar when you didn't have a soul." Darla retorted. "I can feel the life slipping away from me."

Cordelia had been sitting in a chair in the corner, but she stood abruptly, elbowed her way past Doyle, who had been silently observing from the doorway. She hurried out into the hallway, muttering as she passed. "I can't watch this."

"Wes, tell me you can do something." Angel demanded, his eyes pleading in Wesley's direction.

Put on the spot, Wesley felt the color drain from his face. He'd been dreading having to say the bad news out loud. He tried to keep his voice calm. "Angel… I think you need to prepare yourself for the worst."

"A C-section." Angel suggested, turning his gaze from Wesley to Fred, hoping his appeal to her would be more fruitful; she sadly shook her head. In any other case—any natural case—it would have been a sensible idea. But it wasn't mere flesh that protected the baby in Darla's womb. It was magic. And it was impenetrable.

"Doyle." Angel said sharply, finally turning to his best friend, who hadn't spoken for so long that Wesley nearly forgot he was even in the room. "What's going on here? How do we get my son out?!"

Wesley watched Doyle's posture change, the half-demon stood up a little straighter, his mouth opening and then closing again without providing an answer. His eyes darted nervously around the room before he locked them apologetically onto Angel's demanding gaze.

Fred leaned closer to Wesley's ear, "Does Doyle have some kind of OB experience I don't know about?"

For someone like Fred, who hadn't been around for years, Wesley could understand why it would seem curious that Angel would turn to Doyle for answers to a medical conundrum that neither Wesley nor Fred, the resident brains, could solve. But Wesley had been around for years, and therefore, was quite used to Angel looking to Doyle for guidance, whether the other man was qualified to counsel on the matter or not.

"I dunno, man. Not this time." Doyle answered regretfully.

Not this time. That was the phrase that struck a chord with Wesley. It implied what Wesley always suspected—that Doyle generally did have answers; and in this case, he felt like he should. Even though he was no longer the messenger. Even though the Powers That Be now spoke through another.

Doyle's next words were laced with regret and something else. Something like… conviction. "I know this boy can be born. Alive. But, I've no idea how to make it happen."

"Go! Go! Run!" The sound of Lorne's panicked shouts broke the tension in the room; all eyes flew to the open doorway, through which Cordelia and Gunn came barreling, followed closely by the club's owner, his eyes wide with fear. "Get DOOOOOOOWWWWWNNNNN!"

KAAAAAA-BOOOOOOOM!

Doyle was flung backward, along with Lorne—the two demons having been closest to the open doorway. Thankfully, all the more human individuals had been deeper inside the bedroom and had gotten some cover prior to the huge explosion that rocked the building.

There was coughing and sputtering as the room began to fill with smoke and ash. Wesley had thrown his arms around Fred, instinctively protecting her from the blast. He smiled awkwardly as she raised her head and they nodded to each other, confirming that they were both unharmed. Releasing her from his grip, Wesley stood from his crouching position behind the bed, and took a headcount.

Angel was already up and moving; he rushed to Darla's side, checking her over—naturally, she was just fine—immortality had a way of doing that. Across the room, Wesley could see Gunn was helping Cordelia up off the floor, having used his body to shield her from the blast. A few feet closer to the door, Doyle slowly sat up, rubbing at the back of his head. Lorne sat across from him, also trying to shake away the post-blast cobwebs.

"What's going on?" Angel demanded gruffly, searching for answers amongst his baffled compatriots, his eyes finally settling on Lorne. "I thought you had double protection sanctorium spells?"

"I do!" Lorne cried with frustration. "But, there's still a teeny tiny loophole."

"Apparently, you can be outside and shove stuff in." Gunn supplied, sidestepping a fiery beam that suddenly crashed down from above; he was careful to keep Cordelia behind him.

"As loopholes go, not so teeny tiny!" Cordelia shrieked, eying the expanding fire around them.

"We have to get outta here!" Wesley heard himself shouting the obvious, although he could see no means of escape from the windowless room aside from the door that led to an even larger inferno.

"Move the bed!" Lorne called back, directing Doyle and Gunn toward the piece of furniture in question. "There's an old loading dock that leads to the alley—we just have to crack through the wall."

The bed was quickly shoved aside and a solid slab of wall was the only thing remaining between them and freedom. Gunn grabbed a Buddha statue from Lorne's dresser and began slamming its big bald head into the wallpaper. Cordelia followed suit, lifting a gaudy brass Rhino and tossing it to Doyle, who morphed into his spikes and got to work beside the other man. Wesley searched for another item to help with the demolition, but found nothing. He settled for circling toward the other side of the room, where Angel was clutching Darla. He took over Angel's position, nodding for the vampire to use his super-strength where it was needed most.

Angel didn't need to be told twice—he shoved the other two men aside and kicked and punched his way through the wall in a matter of seconds. It wasn't just an average feat of vampire strength; this was a man possessed.

A father possessed with saving his unborn child.

The wall broke away, with shards of wood flying. The sound of pouring rain could be heard amidst the crackling of fire around them. Seeing that the hole had grown large enough for escape, Doyle reached for Cordelia and ushered her toward the newly-made exit. As she climbed through the opening, Doyle then held out a hand for Fred, making sure she was next. Lorne followed through the opening as Wesley and Angel switched places, Darla once again held in the arms of her former lover.

They all filed into the back alley which was lit with a row of Chinese lanterns. The rain was coming down in sheets, but after the smoke-filled deathtrap of Lorne's bedroom, it was a cleansing breath of fresh air.

Smoke billowed out behind them, and the glow of fire flickered through the hole in the wall.

Turning back to the makeshift exit, Wesley watched as Angel half-carried Darla. She plopped down on the wet pavement, holding her belly. "Go! Just leave me. It doesn't matter anyway."

"That's not gonna happen." Angel promised, pulling out his car keys and tossing them to Wesley. "Go get my car. It's out front."

Although Wesley was accustomed to giving orders rather than taking them these days, there was no time for proper protocol or second-guessing a good plan. He simply nodded and took off in the direction of the car, knowing that the faster he could supply their getaway, the safer they all would be.

Doyle had been holding Cordelia close to his body, insulating her against the cold, streaming rain. She gave him a pointed look and a subtle nod to Angel who was trying to attend to the immovable Darla. Doyle took the hint, stepping away from Cordelia and crouching down to assist Angel.

"All of you! Go now." Angel instructed, worriedly looking back over his shoulder. He could probably sense that Holtz was close by, closing in on them.

Lorne had gathered a few sheets of cardboard from the ground and used them to shield himself and Fred from the rain—the two of them scuttled off behind Wesley. Gunn looked torn, but finally took off with the others as well.

Doyle was still wearing his spikes, and if Holtz did appear, he was the last remaining weapon Angel had at his disposal. "They'll come back for us." He stated more confidently than he felt; then he turned his eyes on his girlfriend, who still lingered. His eyes directed her down the alley. "Cordy, please."

Risking himself for Angel and the child was one thing, but no one else had to get caught in these dangerous crosshairs. Cordelia must've been able to read the desperation in his eyes, which is why she finally relented and turned to race after the others, her already-ruined heels sloshing through the puddles as she disappeared into the rainy darkness, Doyle's soaked tuxedo jacket doing little to shield her from the elements.

"You're gonna be okay." Angel said to Darla. She lay soaking on the pavement, between Angel and Doyle, her face a mask of distress. The raindrops rolled down her cheeks as if they were tears.

"No. No, I don't think so." She moaned. "Once he's gone, I won't be okay. I won't be okay at all. I don't know what I'll be." She was referring to the baby's soul, which had touched her from within and given her the ability to care. Without that, she'd be what she'd always been. Nothing more than a killer. "Angel... Our baby is gonna die right here in this alley. You died in an alley, remember?"

"I remember." Angel replied, keeping his eyes focused on her as if Doyle wasn't even present.

"We did so many terrible things together. So much destruction, so much pain." She reminisced, and Doyle couldn't be sure, but he thought there may have been at least one real tear mixed in with all the rain drops. "We can't make up for any of it. You know that, don't you?"

A beat of silence went by as Angel absorbed her words, and then he answered. "Yeah."

"This child, Angel—it's the one good thing we ever did together." She said, her voice starting to fill with acceptance as Angel took her hand in his own, raised it to his lips and kissed it softly. "The only good thing."

As Angel buried his face in his hands, still holding Darla's in his own, Doyle could see his friend take a heaving breath. Angel was feeling a grief that Doyle knew firsthand—one he'd felt for himself. One he didn't wish for any man, least of all his best friend. But, he also saw something else—the resolve in Darla's eyes.

Doyle knew what she was going to do even before she reached out to grasp a nearby shard of wood. "You make sure to tell him that." She requested, before plunging the wood through her chest and turning her body to dust.

"Wahhhhhhh!"

A naked infant lay writhing on the ground where Darla had been only seconds prior. He kicked his tiny legs and screamed to the heavens as the rain washed the remains of his mother from his tiny body.

It had all happened so fast—neither Angel nor Doyle had really had time to process what had happened. Therefore, it seemed like the two of them knelt there for a small eternity, gaping at the baby, frozen in an awed silence. For Angel, there was the shock of Darla's loss, tangled around the joy of becoming a father. For Doyle, there was pure astonishment that he was finally laying eyes on the miracle child whom he'd seen in his vision so long ago. This baby, for which he had sacrificed so much. It seemed fitting that Darla would make the ultimate sacrifice to bring him into this world.

Connor continued to wail and squirm, and only then did it occur to Doyle that leaving a screaming newborn in a puddle of rainwater, probably wasn't the best idea. He quickly shrugged out of his brown leather jacket, his white tuxedo shirt becoming nearly translucent as it immediately became soaked straight through. "You should pick up your son, Angel." He instructed gently, as he held out the jacket in offering.

Reaching down slowly, Angel slid his hands beneath the child and raised him upward, allowing Doyle to wrap the folds of brown leather protectively around the tiny body, tucking it in at the edges. Seeing Connor nestled within the cocoon of beat up leather, Doyle shook his head in wonder. "You're a dad."

Angel's eyes were fixed on his son's face as he held the infant close and carefully stood up. Doyle followed suit, standing beside his best friend and watching the hesitant smile that flickered over his lips.

Somehow, in that single moment, Doyle knew everything that came before had been completely worth it.

As would whatever that came next.

… which as it so happened, was Holtz.

The vampire hunter stepped through the battered hole in the wall, training a crossbow directly on Angel and the baby. Doyle was standing there in his spikes, prepared to leap in the way, should an arrow leave the bow. The acts of sacrifice on Connor's behalf may never be done, and if Doyle's final stand was in this alley, along with Darla's, then so be it.

He was anticipating the pain and the probable death that would follow, what he hadn't expected was for Holtz to lower his weapon. The man's gaze was still steely, hatred still visible in his vengeful eyes, but he didn't take the easy shot. He appeared to be letting them go.

The screech of tires behind them, redirected Doyle's attention to Angel's car, which had just pulled up to the mouth of the alley—through the rain, Doyle saw a couple stray Grappler demons lumbering about, but they weren't in attack mode. They were waiting for a signal—one that wasn't coming.

Doyle suspected this wasn't an act of mercy—in fact, he was certain this was only the beginning of a much more brutal attack. But, whatever Holtz's motives for not firing on them, they had only one play.

Placing a hand on Angel's shoulder, Doyle silently urged him toward the getaway vehicle. That was all it took—Angel turned his back on Holtz's steadfast gaze and calmly walked through the alley, past the Grapplers and got into the car with Doyle jumping in behind him.

Wesley hit the gas and they drove off into the rainy night. Four humans, two and a half demons and one newly born miracle.

A/N - Truthfully, the only reason I edited out Lorne firing his electrician was because it was boring and unnecessary, not because I wanted to mislead you into thinking the club wouldn't explode. So, maybe the guy lingered out in the parking lot, saw Doyle and the gang arrive and snitched anyway? hehe. We'll go with that.

In terms of wanting to compare this story to the events of the original... I wouldn't worry *too* much about that. If I'm doing this right you should be able to enjoy this story whether or not you watched season 3 (or if you watched and forget most of it). Hopefully it's just same enough and just different enough to hit that sweet spot. ;) Thanks as always for reading!