26. Dad
The storm continued to rage outside as the Angel Investigations team trudged exhaustedly back into the Hyperion's lobby. All of them were soaking wet, save the child, whom was still bundled in Doyle's jacket and held protectively against Angel's chest. Fred and Gunn, who were loaded down with bags of baby supplies, unloaded the items on the countertop, and then turned to eye the wreckage left behind by the earlier events.
Cordelia stopped a few steps inside the doorway, wrinkling her nose at the mess. "Can we sue Wolfram & Hart for damages?" She asked incredulously. "Look at this place."
"Reckon they had some help from Holtz." Doyle answered. "At least they cleaned up a bit."
"What part of this is clean?" Cordelia was aghast. "I mean, that blood is never coming out of the tiles. I vote we just move."
"Ah… I meant, the bodies." Doyle clarified, his hand resting on the small of Cordelia's back, which was still covered by his tuxedo jacket. "Last time I popped in, there were a lot o' them."
"Oh." Cordelia answered a bit more sullenly.
Wesley had made a beeline to the front counter, and then darted into his office, searching madly for the precious scrolls and papers he'd been forced to abandon during their evacuation from the premises. The others could hear things being tossed about as he frantically searched for something in particular.
The sound of the front doors whooshing open behind them, caused all parties to whirl around in defensive positions. Doyle had long since abandoned his spikes, but felt them reflexively pop back into place as he sensed a new demon presence among them—hidden behind a large black umbrella. Gunn had instinctively raised a crossbow toward the uninvited visitor, while Angel had swung the baby away, protecting him like a lion would protect its cub.
"Hey, is that anyway to welcome a houseguest?" Lorne commented, lowering the umbrella and shaking the droplets of rain onto the tile floor.
"Houseguest?" Gunn questioned, eying the lanky demon in their doorway, who was also in possession of a suitcase. Where he'd procured this suitcase was anyone's guess, seeing how his club had been burnt to a crisp.
"Doyle invited me." Lorne said, closing the umbrella and sticking it in one of the empty pots by the front door. "And seeing how my only other offer came from a marginally attractive Mulix demon, I decided to give this a try."
"We destroyed the guy's club—twice." Doyle reminded the others, losing the spikes in favor of his human face. "It's not like we don't have room."
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like." Angel agreed distractedly, without looking up from his son's face.
Wesley reappeared from the depths of his office, in a tizzy. "They're gone!" He shouted, slapping his palm against the empty reception counter in frustration. "Not just the scroll itself, but all my notes on the translation. All of it's been stolen."
Doyle tried his best to look sympathetic to Wesley's plight, but he was actually very much relieved. When he'd discovered the scroll was missing, he hadn't considered any of the additional notes Wesley might have had lying around. Knowing there was nothing left of the Nyazian prophecy for Wesley to investigate made Doyle rest easier. One less thing to worry about—the potential threat from their inner circle was nullified; he could simply focus on the threats from outside, of which there were many.
"Wes, would you mind lowering your voice?" Angel objected, lightly bouncing the baby in his arms. "You're gonna upset him."
"Sorry." Wesley replied, lowering his voice, and his eyes, reticently.
By now, Lorne had removed his long trench coat, tossing it over one of the cages that had been left behind by Wolfram & Hart. The folds of wet fabric deftly covered the label, which had said "baby." He then made a beeline for Angel and the baby, holding out his arms with enthusiasm. "Alright, hand over the little nipper. Let Uncle Lorne have a gander." Angel turned away, curling tighter around the infant. "Oh, come on, I'm sure everyone else's already had their turn."
"Still waiting, actually." Cordelia sniffed, shuffling further into the lobby and removing Doyle's soaked garment from her body—she tossed that item on the second cage, labeled "mother." "As if I'm any dirtier than that gross old jacket of Doyle's."
"Hey…" Doyle sulked. "That jacket's my signature look!"
"Well, your signature look has holes." She pointed out unapologetically. "And unless Angel puts an actual diaper on the baby, it'll smell a whole lot worse than it already does."
Doyle's plowed together with concern; he moved toward his best friend and the baby, gesturing to the package of diapers that had been dumped on the countertop along with the bags of bottles and formula. "Ah… she has a point there, man." He said anxiously, his hands fumbling for one of the tiny plastic diapers. "I could show ya how—y'know, I used to help out with my baby cousins back in Dublin. Sure it's like riding a bike."
Holding up the tiny folded diaper, he pointed toward the sticky tabs on the side. Without missing a beat, Angel swiped the item out of Doyle's hand and stomped away. "I can figure it out." He grunted, as he continued toward Wesley's office and disappeared over the threshold.
Wesley's eyes went wide as he registered what was going to happen next. "Um… on my desk?" He asked fretfully, scrambling after Angel and the baby to observe the diaper-changing proceedings.
"AHHHHH!"
Doyle jumped at the unexpected sound. He twisted around to see that the scream had emanated from Fred. She stood frozen, her eyes wide with fear and her index finger directed toward the rear courtyard.
"Bogie at the backdoor!" Gunn shouted in warning, causing Doyle to call on his spikes and rush forward, searching for the unseen attacker. A moment later, a demon came catapulting through the back door, roaring its head off—and then its head actually came off. Doyle wasn't sure where Gunn had gotten the cleaver he'd thrown at the beast, but he was awfully glad it was handy. He was doubly glad that Gunn had such an impressive throwing arm, for that matter.
"Nice throw." Doyle complimented the other man, as he stood between Fred and Gunn, staring down at the demon carcass.
Cordelia had been halfway up the staircase, but she leaned over the banister to see what had caused the commotion. "Like I said, there are lots of things coming for that baby." She reminded them, tapping the side of her head emphatically.
From the back room, they could all hear the baby's shrieking cries. It was hard to imagine that something so small could cause so much trouble, but Doyle knew this was only the beginning. The tip of an apocalyptic iceberg. In what was becoming a rather nerve-wracking habit, he had to wonder if he had any hope of controlling Connor's destiny.
The stakes were higher than ever, and all it would take was one mistake…
"What, what, what? What is it? You can't be wet again. I just changed you." Angel told the fussing baby in his arms. "Ah-hmm, are you hungry? I got a bottle all ready for you."
From several feet away, Cordelia rolled her eyes for the billionth time. She'd given up trying to help, having been shot down at every attempt. Even Gunn had offered his services, but Angel was unwilling to give up the child to anyone in the room, no matter how unhappy the baby seemed to be in his own arms.
Lolling her head to the side, Cordelia rested against Doyle's shoulder—he was seated next to her on the sofa. Both of them had changed out of their damp wedding attire and into some spare clothes. Although Doyle hadn't actually lived in Room 505 for quite a while, it still held some of his belongings. Not that Doyle owned very much, having given just about all his old possessions to the East Hills Teen Center, but there were still a couple boxes of odds and ends that he was unwilling to trash, give away or stuff into Cordelia's already-cramped apartment. And thankfully, a few pairs of sweats were included with the non-clothes items, which is what they each donned at the moment.
Doyle leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, an effective way of communicating his love and support without interrupting their boss, who was pacing the floor in front of them, listing off possible threats to Angel's baby, while Fred dutifully scribbled the items on a white board. Gunn sat on the other end of the sofa with his feet up on the table in front of them. "Frank." He added, pointing to the board. "Ya'll should definitely add him."
"Yeah. Good call." Doyle agreed, lifting his own legs to rest on the table beside Gunn's.
"Frank?" Wesley asked skeptically, even as Fred's marker swiftly added the name to the board.
"Local mobster, specializes in kidnapping." Gunn supplied the additional info.
"I see." Wesley responded with a nod of his head, allowing Frank's name to stay on the board, beneath such other more familiar players as Wolfram & Hart, Holtz and The Scourge… the last one was a particularly unwelcome sight for Cordelia. Neither she, nor Doyle, would ever forget what had happened the last time they'd faced those demon fanatics—or what they'd almost lost on that fateful night.
"I think that's all we can guess at for now." Wesley decided, looking over their rather lengthy list of threats, knowing that there were probably far more than could fit on a single board.
"Fred, why don't you begin tracing those baby cult websites?" Angel called, pacing the perimeter of the group, while still bouncing the crying baby in his arms. "And Gunn—we're gonna need some serious firepower. This is a war we're dealing with, swords and crossbows won't cut it."
"I know some guys who can hook us up." Gunn answered, pushing himself off the couch and heading toward the back door. A bright flash of blue filled the room, halting him in his tracks. "Whoa. Everyone else see that?"
"See what?" Wesley replied, blinking rapidly. "I can't see a bloody thing."
Before everyone could start to panic, Lorne appeared at the top of staircase. "There you have it—one mystical dome of protection, compliments of the Furies. Way safer than the sanctuary spell I had at Caritas." He declared, sashaying down the steps and toward the group. "Nothing gets in or out."
"Until something big and powerful comes along and tears it down, which judging by the crowd of big and powerful things waiting outside, shouldn't be too long." Fred announced, peeking out the front windows to see the various huddled shapes waiting in the shadows. She shook her head, letting the curtain fall back into place and then continued her trek toward her laptop, which was in Wesley's office.
"I didn't say it was a permanent solution. But it'll bide us some time while we think of one—so, anyone think of one?" Lorne asked as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
"More weapons for starters." Gunn remarked. "There a fire escape in this bubble?"
"Of course, what would a magical barrier be without an emergency exit?" Lorne replied amiably. "It's down in the sewer—I'll show you how it works." He started toward Gunn, waving his hand around the expansive hotel lobby as he walked. "Y'know this hum is going to drive me absolutely bonkers. Can we kill the fluorescents? Really bad for the green complexion."
"We ain't got no fluorescents—maybe your ears are still ringing from the big bang." Gunn suggested as the two of them exited down the basement steps.
"Oh dear, that reminds me… the Toth demon." Wesley muttered to himself, lifting the dry erase marker and adding the new item to the list on the board. "It has a sort of fluorescent gleam to its face—and a habit of trying to destroy those who are named in prophecies."
Angel was now pacing in and out of the kitchen area, still rocking the baby. "Come on, it's a nice babba. You wanna stop crying and take your babba, yes you do… please?"
Cordelia's eyes followed the father and son as they moved out of her view, the baby's cries echoing ceaselessly through the recesses of the hotel. "Do you think Angel will ever let us have a turn?" She whined to the half demon still nestled beside her on the sofa. "How's the kid supposed to bond with his Aunt Cordy and Uncle Doyle if we never even get to touch him?"
"Just give Angel a little time to adjust." Doyle responded, his gaze stretching toward the kitchen entryway and then rebounding to Cordelia's face. "Not that I can speak from experience, seeing how I never even had a dad, but I'm sure it's scary even in the best o' circumstances. There's no harm in him bein' a bit clingy."
"Papa Bear will have to unclench eventually." Cordelia insisted. "Not just because I wanna hold the baby—there are other reasons, too. Like, when it comes time to fight. Juggling a kid and a sword—not recommended. Or, what if he's sick and needs to go to a doctor during daylight hours, huh? What happens then? But, most importantly… I really wanna hold him!"
Doyle's eyes lifted back over to his best friend who came back into view, still negotiating with the infant about drinking his 'babba.' His eyes glazed over with wistfulness and a gleam of admiration.
"If something was wrong with the boy, not even daylight would stop Angel." Doyle assured her, leaning his head back and letting a satisfied smile fall over his lips, even as he watched Wesley add more names to the ever-growing list on the white board. "Don't worry, Princess. I have it on good authority that you'll hold that baby… some day."
"Too ra loo ra loo ra, that's an Irish lullaby..."
Angel had been singing over the baby's crib, as the infant continued to cry and fuss. He broke off, leaning his head against the railing in defeat. Doyle had been quietly observing from the doorway, but once Angel's shoulders slumped, he entered and cleared his throat to announce his presence, although Angel undoubtedly already knew he'd been standing there.
"That's a good choice o' lullabies, if I do say so myself." Doyle remarked, pacing over to the crib and leaning over the opposite side, dangling a finger down at the baby kicking around inside. "I was worried you'd go with Manilow; that'd only make him cry harder."
"I give up." Angel answered glumly. "I've fed him, and changed him, and held him and put him down. What else am I supposed to do?" He paused to indicated the obvious—the baby was still crying. "I'm a terrible father. I can't even get him to stop crying." Sighing heavily, Angel reached back into the cradle and lifted the baby into his arms once again, resuming the pacing he'd done for the majority of the day.
"You've been a father for less than a day, man." Doyle pointed out. "Cut yourself some slack… and maybe, ya wanna try relaxing a bit? If I can feel all those raw nerves o' yours, the little guy can feel 'em, too."
"How can I relax when my son has an enemies list a mile long?!" Angel countered. "You'd be the same way."
"Yeah, I would. No doubt about that." Doyle allowed, an affable grin coming to his face, despite Angel's edginess. "But, y'know what else I'd do? I'd focus on the part where I had a son. Just look at him, man—that babe in your arms isn't just a mission that'll come and go. He's your own flesh and blood. Just… enjoy that, yeah?"
Angel paused his agitated movements and looked down at the child, still screaming his little pink head off. It only took a moment for his expression to soften and some of the tension in his muscles to drain away. "He's a miracle."
"That's right. Your little miracle." Doyle agreed, moving closer to Angel and the baby and resting a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. "A miracle that could use a name—not that I'm rushing ya or anything."
"You already know his name," Angel replied. He was smiling now, his face full of a new father's pride and awe. "Don't you?"
"Maybe." Doyle answered coyly. "But, I'm keeping it to myself 'til ya make it all official-like." He gave Angel another reassuring pat on the back and then turned to leave the room, seeing that his work here was done. At least for now.
"Uh… Doyle?" Angel called over his shoulder, causing Doyle to pause before he hit the door. "You have any other, uh… tips? Maybe something that'll help with the crying?"
Doyle laughed and gave a little shrug. "Earplugs?"
Gunn pulled a flame-thrower out of a hefty duffle bag full of weapons; he tossed it to Wesley, who bumbled the object, nearly dropping it, before finally gaining a secure grip. The two men exchanged long-suffering glances and Gunn reached back into the bag to dig out the next item.
From across the lobby, there was a persistent tapping as Fred pattered away on the keys of her laptop, shaking her head repeatedly and mumbling quietly under her breath. Several yards behind her, around the corner from the reception area, Doyle stood in the doorway of the Janitor's closet, waiting for a certain other female co-worker to happen by…
"Ahhh!" Cordelia shrieked, as Doyle took her by surprise, slipping his arms around her waist and drawing her backwards into the closet. He quickly shut the door before any of the others could react to her cry. Once inside, he released her, and she immediately whirled around to face him, her eyes blazing with annoyance. It was then that he noticed the very large sword she was carrying in her right hand, which thankfully hadn't been swung at his head.
"What the hell, Doyle?!" She shouted, indicating the sword in her hand. "Don't you know better than to sneak up on a person with a sword?!"
"Sorry, love." He said with an apologetic grin. "Didn't mean to give ya a start, I just needed to getcha alone for a minute."
She let out a long, exasperated breath. "Listen, I know it's been a while since we've gotten our sexy hijinks on, but I really don't think now is the right time, what with the legions of demons waiting to storm the place—and the janitor's closet? Really? Are you trying to make me feel like I'm back in high school?"
Doyle was mostly amused by her mini-tirade, but he did actually have a mission to accomplish, which is why he held up his hands in a sign of peace, and then carefully reached out to remove the sword from her hand. He placed it in the corner, making sure it wouldn't fall over and clatter to the ground. "Sadly, I didn't pull ya in here for what you're thinking I did." He explained, not without some regret. "As it turns out, the place is bugged and this is the only safe place for us to talk."
"Bugged?" Cordelia repeated, blinking her eyes rapidly. "Since when? How do you…?"
"Pays to have a psychic houseguest." Doyle clarified, searching his pocket for the piece of paper that had been given to him earlier in the day. "Lorne slipped this note to Angel this morning." He passed the folded note over to Cordelia and let her read it for herself. "Whole place is wired up real good—audio and video."
As her eyes scanned the handwritten letters on the slip of paper, she shook her head in disgust. "Can those lawyers get any lower? I mean, what next? Will they be releasing an Angel Investigations sex tape?" Her head popped up and her eyes widened with veiled horror. "Oh, God. You don't think they'd actually do that, do you?"
"Ah… can we just focus on one crisis at a time?" He begged, trying not to get distracted by the thought of a room full of white haired men in suits getting their jollies on the Cordy/Doyle show.
"Right, focusing." She promised. "We've got an army of killer demons outside, waiting for their chance to get to Angel's baby. And every move we make is being watched by Wolfram & Hart. So… what do we do?"
"We use it to our advantage." Doyle replied matter-of-factly. "Put on a big show for the cameras—Angel makes like he's taking the baby and leaving through the sewer tunnels. We argue the point—hem and haw 'bout him leaving us all to die..."
"So far, not loving this plan." Cordelia remarked, folding her arms over her chest.
"Once the cavalry gets wind o' the fact that the baby's on the run… they'll follow." Doyle finished with a lift of his brows for emphasis. "While we take little Connor here for his very first check up." Turning abruptly, Doyle revealed the small infant who'd been nestled inside a well-cushioned box at his feet. The baby had been so quiet that Cordelia hadn't even known he was there, but her face lit up as Doyle lifted the small bundle and held him out in her direction. "Wanna hold him, Aunt Cordy?"
The squeal that erupted from her lips, made Doyle chuckle with delight as he transferred the baby into her awaiting arms. She smiled down at the child, tracing a finger along his plump little cheek. "His name is Connor?" She asked happily, her eyes still glued to his cherubic little face.
"Good Irish name, yeah?" Doyle confirmed, sliding his arm around her shoulders, so he could also admire the baby. "Glad he didn't end up with Francis."
Cordelia giggled as she calmly bounced little Connor in her arms. "What's the rest of the plan?" She wondered, keeping her voice soft and light as if she was reading a bedtime story rather than discussing the ensuing battle for their lives. "What happens when the demon mob realizes they've been tricked and all come rushing back for this little sweetie?"
"Well… there'll be the diversionary-baby, which'll actually be a bomb. That'll thin the herd a bit." Doyle assured her, keeping his arm securely in place as he spoke close to her ear. He matched her placid tone for the baby's sake, seeing that little Connor was hanging on their every word. "Then, I think Angel plans to take out an insurance policy with Wolfram & Hart."
"Is that also going to be a bomb?" Cordelia asked, in a cutesy sing-song manner.
"More of an-eye-for-an-eye type o' deal." Doyle clarified. "Solid plan—should last a bit longer than the mystical barrier... and I figured you'd like the part where you and I are on baby duty."
"I definitely like that part." Cordelia said enthusiastically, temporarily shifting her eyes up to meet Doyle's, before turning them back to the bundle in her arms. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" She asked admiringly, lifting the baby a little higher so Doyle could have a better look at the child's face.
Doyle's eyes never left the face of his smiling girlfriend as she cooed over the infant. "No… never."