TITLE : Present Imperfect

AUTHOR : Eloise

RATING : PG13

DISCLAIMER : Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise not to hurt them. (Well, maybe just a little.)

NOTES : Chap 9 of 11. You see, this is what happens when you review. I'd made up my mind to spend the evening working on Chap 10, and then I logged on to find all this gorgeous feedback in my inbox. So I relented, and decided to upload chap 9 instead. A big blushing thank you also for the lovely recs I received in the "Defenders of Wesley" Yahoo group.

This chapter contains some dialogue from the eps 'Sleep Tight", "I've Got You Under My Skin" and "The Prodigal". Title and quote this time from Matthew Henry's Commentaries on Jeremiah xx.

Chapter 9 : None so Blind.

"None so blind as those that will not see"

He was dying, the demon in him shrieking to escape, stretching against the soul, as his hands squeezed his throat. It had all been lies, he had betrayed him, was still betraying him. He ignored the wide-eyed terror in Wesley's eyes, the look of confusion when the other man spoke.

"I see you haven't changed much, Angelus. Still killing the innocent."

He growled and raised glittering yellow eyes to the other's icy glare.

'He's not innocent!'

'Oh, but he is. That's the best part of all of this. He is completely innocent.' The older Englishman smiled. 'I made sure of that.'

He suddenly didn't feel so sure now, lifted his hands from Wesley's throat. He rolled away, choking and gasping, but alive. He looked dazed, the bandage at his neck reddening with fresh blood.

You know my father?' His voice was painfully soft, he sounded incredulous. If Wes was faking this, he was one hell of an actor.

There was a soft laugh from the other Englishman, eliciting a tiny whimper from Wesley. He was terrified, Angel realized. Of what he wasn't completely sure.

He looked down and suddenly noticed the warm, sticky fluid, coating his chilled hands. An unexpectedly powerful scent assaulted his senses, sweetly and strangely familiar. He raised his fingertips and cautiously touched his lips.

He was abruptly transported back a week in time

'Connor, shut up!'

The others were staring at him, at the blood-spattered wall where he had hurled his glass.

'What's wrong with me…something's not right…'

Then Fred had looked up from the microscope

'Well there's more to this pig's blood than meets the eye. There's just a trace of…'

'…human blood in it.' He finished for her. 'I can feel it …it's his.' A long moment passed, guilt and shame almost overpowering him. 'It's Connor's.'

What he had tasted now was impossible. Behind him, the older man laughed again.

'I should have guessed. You've tasted him.' There was a note of disgust in his mocking tone.

Angel looked again at Wesley, who wore an expression of utter bewilderment.

'He never…I didn't…' He looked as if he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. ' Father, what did you do?' His broken voice cracked, the last word a desperate whisper.

'Are you addressing me, Wesley?'

God, what had he done to him; all those years of hate and resentment distilled down into a single, pure drive for revenge.

'Shall you tell him, or shall I, Angelus?'

Oh, how he hated that soft cold tone, hated the reaction it produced in the younger man.

'You sadist! He was a child, a baby. How could you?'

'I would have thought that was obvious. The sins of the father shall be visited upon the son.'

Angel thought his heart would shatter at these words.

'Tell me what?' Wes had gained more control over his voice; he was staring at his father with ill concealed anger. 'Father, did you take Connor?'

The other stared back arrogantly. 'I seem to remember it was you who did that, my boy.'

Angel saw how much that hurt.

'Please, father,' He was almost begging now ' Did you …hurt him?'

The older man's voice changed almost imperceptibly. ' I did what was necessary.' A tiny note of regret creeping in.

His words seemed to break Wesley. He drew his knees up to his chest and pressed his face into them. Angel could not bear it. He knelt carefully by him, attempted to draw the younger man to him. But Wesley refused his embrace, remained tightly bound, hands locked around his knees.

'No, Angel, don't. I let myself be tricked. He and Holtz must have been working together."

He shook his head gently, couldn't keep the sad smile off his lips.

'He made sure you wouldn't see.'

An agonized whisper. 'But Connor, he's gone…"

'No. He's been hurt. Badly.' Here he glared at the older man, then turned back to Wesley. 'But he's not gone. You're not the only one who couldn't see. I should have known, I should have sensed it.'

Again the look of bewilderment, dark blue eyes leaded with guilt.

'Tell me the name of that man over there.' Wesley looked at him as though he had lost his senses. 'Humour me, Wes.'

Wesley nodded slowly. 'My father, James Wyndam-Pryce.'

Angel shook his head a little. 'That's Daniel Holtz. A little older than the last time we met. But most definitely him'

Wesley's mouth framed a silent 'oh', struggling to come to terms with this revelation.

'But I'm…he's my father…I was named after his brother, my uncle…'

'Your Uncle Wesley?' He looked up at Holtz, who shrugged rather diffidently.

'It seemed appropriate.'

He felt the younger man swallow, his heart beating wildly.

'I'm not his son, am I?' Terrified to meet his eyes.

Angel placed his hand on Wesley's shoulder.

'You're my boy. My Connor.'

He held back no longer, pulled him forcibly into a fierce embrace. Wesley let himself be held, but did not relax, remained rigid, as if in shock. Angel was afraid he would break his ribs if he truly held him as tightly as he needed.

'How touching.'

The sarcasm in Holtz's tone was unmistakeable; he felt his son's spine stiffen when the other spoke. He snarled, soft and low, tensed as a coiled spring.

'No.' Wes' voice, quiet and surprisingly firm, stopped him. 'Angel, I need to know.' He pulled away slightly from his embrace and looked deliberately at Holtz, something that was not quite anger in his dark eyes.

'You owe me that at least, Father.'

Angel was surprised how much power was contained in that particular word. For all of them. He had stolen Holtz's right to be called that when he had sadistically murdered the Englishman's children. And he had paid back in kind when he had taken Connor. To all intents and purposes Holtz had been Connor's father for the last thirty years. Wesley's father.

'A father doesn't have to be possessed to terrorize his children, he just has to…'

He remembered those blue eyes dropping in shame, the taunts he had heard as Wesley had attempted to exorcize the Ethros demon. He really didn't want to imagine what Holtz had done to his son as punishment for his own crimes. That way lay madness, revenge, all the things that had driven Holtz to do the things he had done.

To Wesley. To Connor. He had held him in his arms, a lifetime ago, and had made a solemn promise to himself. That Connor would always be loved and supported; would never fear the wrath of an impatient, unyielding father. That he would have the childhood that he, Liam, had not. Holtz was right. The sins of the father were indeed visited upon the son. Despite all his hopes and promises, history had repeated itself. Rather vehemently.

'You used me. My whole life was just a way to get back at him.' Wes spoke softly, more in sorrow than anger, as though he couldn't quite believe it. 'All those lies…' he stopped abruptly, looked hard at Holtz. 'Did she know? Was she in on it?'

The older man shook his head. 'No.' He sounded wistful. 'I told her you were mine, that you were in danger in L.A., which wasn't exactly a lie…' He allowed himself a small smile.

'Shut up! You don't get to laugh about this!'

From Holtz's shocked expression, Angel guessed he wasn't used to being thus addressed by his 'son'. This was a side to Wes that they didn't get to see often, the steely cold anger that he kept hidden inside him. The result of his upbringing, or perhaps something deeper, he now realized, a dark inheritance from himself and Darla.

'It's okay, Wes,' he said softly, resting his hand carefully on the other's shoulder. He shrugged him off, but the flash of anger was gone.

'He's right, Holtz. You owe him an explanation.' The hurt look on Wes' face made his heart ache in a way he had not believed possible. 'Please.' He whispered. He saw a look in Holtz's eyes then, not quite pity, something akin to regret.

'It wasn't planned. We tricked him, Justine was to cut his throat and steal the child. We were going to raise the boy as our own in Utah. Then Sahjhan intervened. It was only when I jumped into Quortoth and ended up in England that I realized there was a protection spell around Connor. I believe the time travel was a side effect of the temporal rift that Sahjhan had created.'

He stooped for a moment, looked wistful.

'It was a beautiful place.'Angel remembered the warm touch of the sun on his skin and nodded faintly.

'I'd done a considerable amount of research on Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I knew of his family background, his strong connections with the Watcher's Council. I had arrived near his family home in Hampshire, close to the Watcher's Academy. I knew I had information on Angelus that the Council would be desperate to have, so I began to seek out James Wyndam-Pryce. However, I could find no record of Wesley's father, or, for that matter, of any Wyndam-Pryce.

I did, on the other hand, gain a useful ally in an ambitious young watcher, Quentin Travers.'

He paused again, cleared his throat.

'We found a number of other commentaries on the Nyazian prophecies, ' Here he looked at Wesley pointedly. ' - None of which were ever made available to you. They all supported the idea that Connor would exist before he was born. I think both Travers and myself realized at the same time that Connor was Wesley, or Wesley was Connor. Once that was established, it was a simple matter of Travers introducing me to Eleanor Wyndam, and I became James Wyndam-Pryce.'

'Travers knew…' A look of horrified realization came over Wesley's face. 'Then it was a set-up – Sunnydale, Buffy, Faith…I was supposed to fail.'

'Of course. You didn't really think we chose you for your abilities, did you?'

He heard Wes' breath catch in his throat at the cruelty of the words

'I could have helped her….' He spoke almost to himself. 'What did she do to deserve that?'

'Ah, the rogue slayer. Regrettable, but necessary. That which does not destroy us makes us stronger, my boy. You were always too soft for your own good. We had to toughen you up.'

Wes rubbed his collarbone absently, and Angel had a sudden strong vision of him tied to a chair, his shirt bloody from Faith's attentions. So strong he could almost smell his son's blood.

'It worked, though. Brought out the best in you.' Holtz sounded almost proud. ' I only did what was necessary, boy.'

'For whom, Father?' That tightly controlled bitterness once again evident in his icy tone. 'For the council? For you, and your twisted desire for vengeance? For me, for my own good?' He spat the last phrase at Holtz, who at least had the grace to look ashamed.

'I believed you. In everything you taught me. I always tried my best, but I never quite managed to measure up. At least now I know why.'

Angel heard the tremors in Wesley's voice, breaking beneath the sarcasm.

'I was supposed to die. But I couldn't even do that right.'  He was waiting for Holtz to contradict him, desperate for his denial. The older Englishman remained silent.

And suddenly Wes was on his feet, moving across the apartment with surprising speed. He caught up with him as he reached the door.

'He's nothing, Wes.' Reached a hand out to touch his arm, hold him there inside the door, but this time Wesley slapped his arm away, hard.

'No! I can't… You don't understand…' He took a breath and let it out slowly. 'Let me go, Angel. Please.'

His heart constricted at his quiet plea. (My boy, my lost boy.)

'Go.' He whispered, his voice husky, his throat coated with tears. Resisted the urge to grab him, hold him hard, never let him go.

He watched him disappear down the stairs, then swung back round to face the man who had stolen his child. Could find no words to express himself, so he settled for a hand around his throat. Holtz did not struggle, but gazed at him placidly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He seemed to be finding the whole situation extremely amusing.

'What,' He almost yelled, shoving him against the apartment wall, releasing the pressure on his neck ever so slightly, 'is so damned funny?'

'Your dilemma.'

Again the cool detached look, a sneer that made him want to smash the man's skull.

'You want to punish me.' Holtz spoke calmly, fully aware of the power of his words. 'I know that feeling.'

A small, unwelcome pang of guilt stirred within him. He had done this; Angelus' murder of the Englishman's children had been the catalyst for this chain of events

'You want to put your hands around my throat and choke me'

God, yes, he wanted that so much, sweet vengeance.

'But you can't.'

'You really think I care about murdering you? I think my soul would survive it.'

'Oh, I expect it would. One more human, a flawed one, at that, wouldn't make much of a difference. But what about Wesley?'

'He'd probably thank me!'

This time Holtz actually laughed, a short derisive sound.

'You really don't know him at all, do you? Connor was your son, but Wesley is mine. I created his world, set the rules, trained him to follow where I led. He had spent his life trying to measure up, seeking my approval. Destroying me won't change a thing.'

Another time, another place, remembering his own father's death at his own hands. Darla's words haunted him as they had always done.

'The same love will infect our hearts, even if they no longer beat. Simple death won't change that.'

So the child truly was the father's son. Searching for love from a father who could never give it.

'A perfect revenge, really.' Holtz was so smug, so satisfied with himself that he considered snapping his neck anyway, to hell with the consequences. He pulled his hands back, and leaned in close to the other man's face.

'He doesn't need you. He became the man he is in spite of you.'

'I never took you for a fool, Angelus.' Holtz's face suddenly lost its sneer, and he saw some emotion flicker in the Englishman's eyes. 'I suppose I had the advantage, though. I saw the man your child would become. I knew his destiny. He became that man because of me.'

That couldn't be true. Angel stepped back, as the emotion in Holtz's voice intensified.

'You don't know him. You didn't even recognize him. At least Wesley had an excuse for not recognizing me – a simple dissembling spell saw to that.'

It hurt to hear these things.

'Do you even know what he did for you? He came to me, offered his life in place of yours. That is the man I made!'

His words cut deep into Angel's soul, hearing the fierce pride in Holtz's voice and knowing that Wesley would never hear it.

'Get out, ' He growled softly. 'Leave my son alone.'

The older man lifted his raincoat, straightened his tie, and moved towards the door. He paused after opening it.

'You stole my children, vampire. You took my son from me and you made me kill my daughter.' He reached into his pocket and took out a small black velvet box; placed it carefully on the console table by the entrance. ' I will never forgive you for that. Never.' His eyes burned with controlled fury. ' Remember this, Angelus. Your son is mine. He'll always be mine.'

The door closed. His footsteps grew fainter and then he was gone. Angel moved to the table, and opened the little box. Touched the tiny gold ring, which nestled inside. Then bent his head and wept for his lost son.