50. The Price, Part I

The room was filled with Connor's giggles as he kicked around on the fuzzy blanket that had been spread across the floor. An array of colorful toys encircled him, and he seemed particularly fascinated by the wooden rocking horse that Doyle casually tipped back and forth with his shoe, just out of the baby's reach. It's eyes were googly plastic spirals, which moved back and forth along with the seesaw motion of the rocker.

Smiling down at the laughing baby, Doyle continued to amuse his small charge with the simple movement of the toy. A few feet to Doyle's left, an open window cast a large square of sunlight over the half-demon and the baby. Doyle had been more than a little surprised to enter Angel's newly refurbished room and find the curtains wide open. It made the room look almost cheerful, especially now that it had been restored to its former glory. Unfortunately, it also meant Angel could only watch as Connor wriggled with joy, rather than joining in the play.

"This is almost as good as the park." Doyle said, eying the vampire who sat sequestered in a shadowy corner of the room, quietly observing.

"No, it's not." Angel answered impassively. "But, it'll have to do."

"For how long?" Doyle wondered, keeping his voice light and his eyes trained on the happy little infant squirming across the blanket. "'Cause y'know, this whole not-leaving-the-hotel-bit is gonna make dating a challenge. Not to mention kindergarten."

"We'll figure something out." Angel insisted, remaining motionless in his chair. "We always do."

"Yeah…" Doyle hedged, abandoning the wooden toy once Connor's attention had shifted. The new object of desire was a plush stuffed porcupine that Cordelia was convinced bore a striking resemblance to Uncle Doyle.

"What?" Angel asked.

"I didn't say anything." Doyle replied, circling the baby's blanket to stand closer to his friend. He stopped at the edge of the sunlit patch, folding his arms over his chest.

"I know you didn't, but I also know you want to." Angel answered simply. "Spit it out, Doyle."

Doyle nodded along with Angel's acute observation, glad his friend knew him well enough to read between the lines. "We were lucky this last time, yeah? I knew what was coming and 'cause o' that we were able to prevent it." He said reflectively. "But that's it, bud. That's all I got. Now that Connor's still here—alive and well—my foreknowledge o' what's to come is limited to whatever the Powers feel like sharing."

"And your point?" Angel prompted, his mood darkening despite Doyle's attempt at vaguery.

"Well… considering he's the prophesied child of the vampire with a soul, that could be a problem." Doyle pointed out. "He'll always be a target, man. The baddies will never stop coming."

"I'll always protect him." Angel replied gruffly. He had been glaring at Doyle, but finally broke the connection, turning his eyes back toward his child.

Doyle shifted his weight, trying to tread softy, even though he'd already managed to hit the nerve he was trying to avoid. "I know you'll try—and so will I. And Cordy and Gunn and Fred. There'll be no end to the trying." Doyle assured his friend. "But, what happens next time—and make no mistake, there will be a next time—and the time after that? What if he's gone before we can stop it? I don't have to tell ya what you'd be capable of under those circumstances, man."

Angel sat still and silent for an extended beat, watching as his son batted at the stuffed porcupine and cooed with excitement. "Don't ask me to do what I think you're asking me to do," he said in a low voice that sounded very much like a growl. "Not you. Not my best friend."

"I have to." Doyle replied, not without regret. "Because I'm your best friend, and it's my job to save you." He admitted that, and it earned him a curious glance from Angel.

"This isn't saving me, Doyle! It's killing me!" He snapped, the vein in his neck starting to throb.

Doyle uncrossed his arms and leaned in to emphasize his point, not backing down from what he knew needed to happen. "Don't ya get it, man? Saving Connor is saving you… nothing else I've done or ever will do matters half as much as this moment right here. It'll save us all—not just me and you and him, but the whole damn world. It's that important."

"But…" The words appeared to lodge in Angel's throat. "You're asking me to give up my son."

Hearing those words out loud, and the heartbreaking way Angel uttered them, Doyle started to second-guess himself. How could he possibly ask Angel to do this? How could he even want Angel to do this after everything he'd gone through to ensure Angel had a son in the first place? Doyle had wanted to see Angel happy—wanted him to be with the love of his life. And, there, squirming in the sunshine was Angel's true love. Connor was everything to him.

Which is why Doyle knew Angel would eventually agree to this plan.

"I'm asking you to give him a normal life. A good, safe, happy, normal life." Doyle spoke quietly, respectfully.

"I want that for him." Angel agreed. "He deserves all that."

Doyle nodded, slowly moving to Angel's side and placing a comforting hand on the vampire's shoulder. "He'd still be your son, Angel—he'll always be that. No matter who raises him, or where he grows up... he'll always be his father's son. And he's gonna have your fightin' skills someday, I can tell ya that."

Angel smiled then—a small, bittersweet smile. "How? How do we make sure he's safe?"


The unspectacular rented station wagon pulled into the back alley of the Hyperion with Doyle at the wheel. The sun was just past set, so he wouldn't need to worry about blacking out any of the windows for the ride. As he eased the car into park, he noticed the slender figure leaning beside the rear exit, a grim expression molded to her face. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the emotional tumult of the next 24 hours.

Opening the driver's side door, he got out of the wagon and circled around the front of the car to where Cordelia was hugging herself, as if she'd fall apart if she let go. "Connor's stuff all packed?" He gently inquired, laying a comforting hand on her upper arm once he was close enough to do so.

"Yeah." She sniffled. "Fred and Gunn and Lorne are, um… saying goodbye." She'd barely gotten the words out before her mouth collapsed and a cavalcade of tears followed, causing her body to shake with the sobs. Doyle didn't hesitate to pull her into his arms and let her continue to cry into the fabric of his shirt, which she did with no quarrel, although her arms still remained tightly wrapped around her midsection. His doubled over them.

The minutes ticked by and Doyle did nothing aside from hold her and lightly stroke her back. Eventually her crying ceased, and he heard nothing but a series of sniffles close to his ear. "This is all my fault." She mumbled into the damp cloth of his shirt collar. "If I hadn't complained so much about the danger and the status not being quo, you never would've convinced Angel to send him away."

Doyle held both her arms firmly as he looked her dead in the eye and shook his head adamantly. "That's not true—this has nothing to do with you, darlin'."

"Of course, it does." She insisted, wiping at her damp cheeks. "I said it would never be over and now you're making sure it is—cause and effect. I should've kept my big mouth shut."

"Cordelia." Doyle said her name firmly, but tenderly. "This isn't happening 'cause o' what ya said—this is happening 'cause it needs to happen. We needa keep Connor safe and this is the only way I know how to accomplish that, unless… you've got a better plan?"

Her mouth was still twisted into a frown, but she released it and her shoulders slumped with resignation. "I don't." Her eyes started to well up again as she continued her thought. "I'm just gonna miss him so much!"

Doyle folded her back into his arms and this time she unwrapped herself and hugged him back, seeking the comfort he could provide. "Shhh. It's alright now." He whispered soothingly into the top of her head. "He'll be living a good life."

"Just not with us." Cordelia mumbled back sadly.

The back door of the hotel swung open, causing Cordelia to stand up straight and hastily wipe the remaining evidence of her tears away. She knew that it wouldn't help Angel to see her fall apart, and as a result, she was willing to put on her bravest face for the remainder of their current mission. Doyle found her eyes once more, and saw the nearly imperceptible nod of affirmation. She would be okay. They both had to focus on Angel and Connor now.

"Here, let me get that." Cordelia offered, taking Connor's diaper bag from Angel, who was also in possession of the baby's car seat—with a jovial Connor nestled inside—and an additional bag full of clothes and toys. Doyle saw that the toy porcupine was in the baby's hand—in his mouth, in fact, as he was happily drooling on several of the soft quills. He felt himself choke up at the sight, mourning the fact that he'd no longer be Uncle Doyle to the little boy. But, like Cordelia, he swallowed his feelings and kept his expression impassive—bravery for Angel's sake. That's what this evening was all about.

"We need to get moving." Angel instructed them, keeping his own feelings buried deep. On the surface he was no nonsense. He opened one of the back doors of the wagon and placed Connor's seat inside, carefully securing the various buckles and latches that would ensure his son's safety during the journey.

Doyle and Cordelia exchanged another tentative glance behind Angel's back, silently communicating all the ways they wish this situation could be different. Finally, they parted, Doyle moved back toward the driver's side as Cordelia slid into the passenger's seat.

Once they were all settled into the rented vehicle, Doyle started the ignition and checked all his mirrors. To the naked eye, it would look like he was being an overcautious driver, but in actuality he needed to assure there weren't any spectators observing their little escape. He went so far as to morph into his spikes for a passing moment, boosting both his vision and his hearing, along with his super-sense of smell. There was no one around to bear witness—it was now or never.

Morphing back into his human face, Doyle lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror one last time. There he saw a heartwarming picture: Angel, leaning over Connor, assuring that he was tucked in tight.

"Ya ready, man?" Doyle asked.

"No." Angel replied, his eyes lifting to meet Doyle's in the mirror. "But we should go anyway."

Doyle nodded in reply, and shifted the car into reverse, backing them onto the empty street behind the alley.

On to the next phase of Connor's life. One that would include both a father and a mother. Maybe a white picket fence, too.

And a dog.

And a swing set.

It was for the best. That was the truth. Doyle knew that. Angel did, too.

But that didn't make it hurt any less.