Connor just couldn't even deal with any more tonight. He stepped over Justine's slumbering form and gathered his shoes, which totally reeked, and sprinted up the stairs, almost knocking Gunn down in the process. He didn't bother to apologize. He headed straight to his old room and slammed the door behind him. He tossed his shoes into the shower and turned the water on them. Fish guts. Yuck.
After his tennis shoes were pretty much soaked through and probably ruined forever, he turned the water off and wandered back to his bedroom, stripping off his shirt as he walked, and stopped short at the sight of Angel.
"Oh!" he said, startled. "I... I mean, I guess I should've asked you first. If I could just stay the night. Sorry."
He stood there clutching his shirt self-consciously to his chest and staring awkwardly at the floor.
"Of course you can stay," Angel said. "Any time, for as long as you want. I've told you that a thousand times."
"I guess I have a listening problem," Connor said weakly, slumping down on his unmade bed and tossing his shirt into the chair beside it.
"You all right?" Angel asked tentatively.
He shrugged.
"Can... Can I hug you?" Angel asked.
"You don't need permission," Connor said.
Angel sat beside him and gathered him in a sideways embrace, resting his cheek on top of Connor's head.
"Do you think those things she said were true?" Connor asked after a moment.
"Almost certainly not," Angel answered immediately. "But which parts are you talking about?"
"About my... about Holtz," Connor clarified, hating even mentioning the name to Angel like that.
"Connor..." Angel said, rubbing his cool hand up and down Connor's bare arm like he was trying to warm up one or the other. "Did Holtz ever do anything to indicate that he hated you?"
"You mean besides killing himself after dumping me with a vampire?" Connor asked dourly. "No offense."
"None taken," Angel mumbled. "I think."
"I'm really tired, Dad," Connor said abruptly. "Can I maybe just go to sleep?"
"Sure," Angel said after giving him a silent once-over. "We'll talk tomorrow."
Connor nodded even though he wasn't entirely sure he'd feel like talking the next day, either. Or ever.
Angel kissed him on the head at least three times before finally getting up and heading toward the door.
"Hey," he said, pausing with his hand on the frame.
"Yeah?" Connor asked.
"Did you give Gunn any trouble?" he asked with what Connor hoped was only mock sternness.
"No, sir," he answered dutifully, unable to stop the nervous grin from forming on his face.
"Good boy," Angel answered, returning the grin before he left.
Connor rolled his eyes—after Angel had left, of course—and lay back on his pillow after switching off the lamp. He remembered everything, all right, and now all his old memories of Quor-toth and Holtz were fresh in his mind again. Great. That was just what he needed.
Other fresh worries crept up as he stared at the dark ceiling, adding to his anxiety. What had he missed at school that week? Had it been tests? If it had been tests, could he make them up? If he couldn't make them up, would Angel ground him? Because it totally hadn't been his fault that he'd lost his memory... He snorted and rolled his eyes at himself. Much more pressing issues at hand, and he's acting like a little kid, worrying about being grounded and already coming up with excuses to get out of it.
Haley. He should probably try to find her, but he probably wouldn't. He certainly understood feeling the need to get out of dodge. His mind wandered to that night at the bar. Seeing her there had been unexpected, but he'd been a bit intoxicated and not exactly thinking with his brain when she'd asked if they could get out of there and go to his place for awhile. Connor hadn't even introduced her to Spike. In fact, he'd sort of blown him off, which had obviously turned out to be a huge mistake. Spike was either mad, or he'd forgotten about it entirely—Connor could never tell with him.
After several unsatisfying tosses and turns that ended with him back in his initial position, Connor drifted into an uneasy sleep. It didn't last long. He couldn't have been asleep more than a few minutes before some inconsiderate jerk was jabbing him in the ribs.
"Wake up, I said," Spike hissed.
"Nrrmm," Connor murmured, pulling his pillow over his face.
"Wake up, or I'll start slapping," Spike threatened as he removed the pillow, and even in the dark Connor could feel the presence of a hand near his face.
"Le' me alone," Connor sighed. "Tired."
"You're making me tired with all that racket," Spike informed him.
"Huh?" Connor said, making a serious effort to wake himself up at least a little.
"You were having a nightmare, I think," Spike said. "Sobbing and moaning and carrying on. And you're sweating like crazy."
Spike reached out and flipped the lamp on. Connor protested with another incomprehensible murmur that hopefully conveyed his displeasure.
"What were you dreaming?" Spike asked.
"Dunno," Connor answered, though the tiniest effort to recall put the entire scene back in his mind.
He was back on the boat. Only this time, instead of welding Angel into the giant metal coffin, he and his dad were about to submerge Justine.
"You do know," Spike said accusingly. "I can see it in your eyes. Tell me."
"None of your business, Spike," Connor said irritably, reclaiming his pillow from Spike's hand. "Go away."
"Now is that any way to speak to your elders?" Spike asked. "I'll send your father in here to smack your bottom."
"He's not gonna smack me for telling you to go away," Connor huffed before he'd fully realized that Spike was almost certainly just teasing him. "Not when it's like, the only thing he ever says to you."
"Yeah, well, there's a phrase fathers like to throw around," Spike continued. "'Do as I say and not as I do.'"
"I'm pretty sure he'll give me permission to tell you to go away," Connor insisted groggily.
Instead of going away, Spike shoved Connor over and had a seat next to him.
"You all right?" he asked.
"I don't know," Connor answered truthfully, sliding up and resting his back on the headrest. "What are … What's going to happen to Justine?"
"Gunn's taking care of her," Spike replied. "Don't you worry about her. She won't be giving you any more trouble, I don't think."
"It's not that," Connor mumbled.
"It isn't?" Spike asked, peering at him.
Connor shook his head, unwilling to say more. Spike poked him in the ribs again.
"Ow!" he muttered. "Stop that."
"No," Spike said, repeating the action. "Not until you tell me what's on your mind."
"There's a lot on my mind," Connor said, slapping at Spike's pointy fingers.
"I'm not getting any older," he answered.
Connor sighed and threw the pillow back over his face before answering.
"I kinda wanted her to die," he admitted quietly, though he suspected Spike had no trouble discerning the words.
"I wouldn't feel too bad about that, if I were you," he replied immediately.
Connor shook his head, trying to hold back the tears that desperately wanted to make an appearance.
"If she deserves to die, then so do I," he finally said, losing the battle of wills with his own emotions and sobbing into the pillow on his face.
"Sorry, mate, but I'm not following your logic," Spike said, ignoring the tears.
"Angel should have killed me," Connor said sadly. "I thought he would."
Spike sighed dramatically and yanked Connor's pillow away, throwing it across the room.
"This again?" he asked.
Since he no longer had the comfort of his pillow, Connor sank down into the bed and flipped onto his stomach, burying his face in his arms. Spike patted him on the back.
"The way I figure, you've got the scorecard all wrong," he said. "Last I checked, you didn't cut a man's throat, kidnap an ugly, defenseless baby, or stab anyone in the neck with an ice pick."
Connor was too sad to fully appreciate that ugly comment and continued to cry into his arms.
"I've told you, your dad's not mad any—" Spike started, but was interrupted as the door swung open.
"Get out, Spike," Angel said grimly. "I'm gonna deal with it."
"What?" Spike asked in a tone that convinced Connor to lift his face from his arms.
"Get out," Angel repeated.
"Angel, you can't whip him right now," Spike said. "He doesn't feel good."
Connor wiped his arm across his nose and sat up to take stock of the situation. Sure enough, Angel—in shiny blue pajamas—held a doubled over belt in his hand.
"Dad, what—" he asked, his voice small.
Spike looked from Angel to Connor and back again before leaving the room without another word. Connor kind of wished he had stayed.
"Get your pants down," Angel said as he shut the door and locked it. "You're gettin' a whipping."
"What for?" Connor squeaked out in alarm, the shock of this new development halting his tears.
He reached out and grabbed his shirt, pulling it quickly over his head. It may have been backwards and inside out for all he knew—he just wanted something to make him feel a little less vulnerable.
"For dumping your father into the ocean," Angel answered.
Connor swallowed hard as he saw where Angel was coming from and what he was trying to do. He must have heard—hell, of course he'd heard—everything he'd said to Spike.
"But Dad, you... You already punished me once today," Connor protested, not really sure what that had to do with anything, but trying it anyway.
"That was technically yesterday now," Angel said, glancing at the clock. "But I don't care if it was two minutes ago. I told you to get your pants down, and you're gonna do it."
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"I'm tired of hearing how sorry you are," Angel said harshly, brandishing the belt at him. "After the strapping you're about to get, you won't have to feel sorry any more. We're taking care of this guilty conscience of yours once and for all."
"Dad, no," Connor said helplessly, but Angel wasn't having any of it.
He crossed the room and pulled him off the bed by his arm and had his pants at his knees in a matter of seconds.
"Please don't, Dad," Connor begged automatically, a little bit frightened by how angry Angel seemed.
Angel's reply was to push him down over the edge of the bed and gather both of his wrists at the small of his back. Connor felt horribly exposed already, but it only got worse when his father yanked his underwear down to join his jeans.
"Please, Dad," he tried again, squirming uncomfortably. "Please don't."
"I'm going to be hard on you," Angel promised. "You're going to accept that you are forgiven, and then you're going to forgive yourself. Understand?"
"Dad!" Connor pleaded hopelessly.
The first hellacious whack of the belt didn't disappoint. Angel seemed to know exactly where it would hurt the most and had aimed straight for that spot. Connor cried out in anguish and managed to pull both his hands out of Angel's grasp to cover his bottom, only to get them stung as the second lick followed. He hissed and quickly removed his hands, shaking them and blowing on his fingers in a futile attempt to stop them from throbbing.
"I'm not stopping for flailing limbs, so I suggest you stay still," Angel warned with the third fiery stripe, which landed right across the middle of Connor's thighs.
"Ow, Daddy, ow!" Connor exclaimed tearfully, burying his face in the comforter.
Angel seemed to like that reaction, because the next swat fell directly below the previous one. Connor kicked his legs furiously, but Angel didn't even slow down. The next lick caught him partially on the foot before continuing onward to sting his bottom, and he sucked in a breath and forced himself to plant both feet firmly on the floor. Just as Connor had mentally prepared himself for another vicious lick across the legs, the belt fell heavily across the center of his bottom. He arched his back, but he didn't dare try to get up.
Angel fell into a steady rhythm and soon had spanked every single inch from his ass to his knees, not bothering to lighten the swing on his tender legs. Connor cried sorrowfully into the blanket when he wasn't screaming shamelessly. It was by far the worst punishment Angel had ever given him, and he felt like he deserved each and every lick.
"You're a good person, Connor," Angel said gently—and in direct contrast to the pain he was inflicting. "You just made a mistake."
"I'm so sorry, Dad," Connor whispered in reply, having decided that he didn't even have the energy to holler anymore. "I'm so sorry I put you in the ocean. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I'm sorry I lied to Gunn and Fred and gave them such a hard time. I'm just sorry."
"What did I tell you?" Angel asked, continuing the punishment.
"You don't wanna hear it," Connor answered tearfully.
"That's right," Angel said. "You know what else I don't wanna hear? I don't ever want to hear you say you deserve to die. Not ever. If I even so much as see the thought cross your face, I will wear your ass out. I don't care how old you are. I don't care if we're standing in front of your grandchildren. Do you hear me?"
"Yes," Connor choked out. "Yes, I hear you."
"You don't need to be sorry for me, Connor," Angel said gently, giving up on the belt. Connor felt the bed dip down as his father sat beside him. "Three months in the ocean is nothing to me. Looking back on it, it's kinda funny."
Connor shook his head, refusing to move from his position over the bed. He buried his face in his arms and said hotly,
"How can you say that? It isn't funny. How could it possibly be funny?"
"It is," Angel insisted, reaching down and righting Connor's clothes.
He gave him a hard smack on the bottom and told him to sit up.
"No," Connor answered back.
That earned him another smack, but he still refused to move.
"I'm going to get my spatula," Angel said, standing. "If you're not sitting up when I get back, I'll give you another spankin' with it. Don't think I won't."
Connor reluctantly pulled himself together as soon as Angel had gone out the door. He rummaged through his bag and found some pajama pants and a clean t-shirt to put on and slid into his bed with his knees bent and his bare feet just underneath the covers. When Angel finally returned, he had hot chocolate, but he didn't have the spatula.
"You lied," Connor sniffled, taking the mug Angel offered him.
"Yeah, well," Angel said, pushing Connor's hair out of his eyes. "I knew you'd see reason."
Connor absently rubbed at the back of one thigh with his free hand.
"You're gonna have a few bruises," Angel said, almost apologetically.
Connor felt his face flush and shrugged, not having anything to add to that observation.
"Do you want a tissue?" Angel asked, and Connor nodded.
When Angel returned with that, Connor traded him his empty mug for it.
"Do you want some more cocoa?" Angel asked.
"No, Dad. Geez," he answered, dabbing at his puffy eyes and blowing his nose. "I'm all right now."
"Good," Angel said, setting the mug aside and sliding onto the bed beside Connor.
"You heard what I said to Spike," Connor commented, laying his head against Angel's chest.
"Yeah, pal. Sorry. Your old man can't help eavesdropping sometimes."
"I meant it," Connor said, hating himself. "I wanted her to die. What kind of person does that make me?"
"Normal," Angel answered, rubbing his hand up and down Connor's arm. "I tried to kill Wes after he took you away from me. He was lying there in the hospital bed with his throat cut, and I tried to finish him off. I would have, I think, if they hadn't pulled me off him."
"I'm glad you didn't," Connor offered.
"Me too, pal," Angel said softly.
"You didn't have to hit me so hard, though," Connor complained after a moment, shifting around uncomfortably and trying to take as much weight as he could off his behind.
"Yeah, I did," Angel said, kissing him on the side of the head. "Any less and you'd still be going on about how sorry you are."
"These pajamas are almost as bad as the whuppin'," Connor commented, plucking at a button on Angel's shirt.
"Laugh all you want, buddy," Angel said good-naturedly, hugging him tightly. "Tomorrow, you and Spike are gonna spend a large portion of the day cleaning cream of fish off of my floor. We'll see how funny you think that is."
"What?" Connor asked. "Why do we have to do it?"
Angel gave him a pointed look.
"Come on, Dad," Connor protested. "It's not like I asked for any of this to happen!"
"I'm not cleaning anything up!" Spike called from all the way down the hall. "It's his fault!"
"Stop listening to our conversation!" Angel called back crossly.
"I'm not!" Spike answered defensively, and then added to himself, "Damn it."
Connor shook his head and yawned. Angel looked at him like he thought it was cute. He tried to be offended, but he was just too tired.
"Dad?" Connor said. "I'm..."
"Yes?" Angel asked rather sharply, clearly thinking the next word out of his mouth was going to be "sorry."
"I'm glad you're my dad," Connor said instead.
"I love you, too, kid," Angel returned.
"Would you hand me my pillow on your way out?" he asked, sliding down on his stomach under the covers.
"Sure, pal," Angel said kindly.
Three seconds later, Connor felt the pillow smack him squarely on the side of the head. He crammed it underneath his chin and fell into the deepest sleep he'd had in months.