It's Friday morning. Angel and Connor lie on adjacent twin-size beds in Connor's room. Angel wants to spend this downtime with his son. And having them in the same room makes it easier for everyone else to tend to their needs.
"Can't we watch something else?," Angel asks his son.
"What? You don't like the Sopranos?"
"It's too amoral. Good never triumphs."
"That's what's interesting. It's all about power. But it's also about fitting in. Tony's got this secret life everyone kind of knows about but pretends they don't. His kids have to live with it. It's gotta be strange having a dad who's a killer."
"You're not identifying? Please tell me you're not identifying. Please."
"It's completely different. Like if you made a ton of money as Angelus, and used it to pay for a big home I lived in a big car I drove. Wait. Is that how you got this place?"
"Of course not. This hotel wasn't evil built when I was Angelus."
"And I like seeing stuff where humans kill humans for a change. You know, a fantasy world where there aren't any demons, and all the badness comes from people. It's a whole new thing for me."
"You see what Tony's going through? The malaise. Sleeping late. Depression. I was the same way for two years in the 1880s. Without the shrink, of course. Except that one session in Vienna, which was your mother's idea. It's a classic mid-life crisis. He's bored with being a criminal. It's no longer fun. He has to regain his inspiration. Either that, or stop being evil. Which wasn't an option for me." Wesley walks in. "We're ok," Angel tells him.
"Gunn's taken a sledgehammer to the bones. Nothing. And sunlight has no effect either. As you might expect, his bones are far denser than human bones. They weigh about twice as much. Which would indicate Mal was twice his expected weight: about 350 pounds."
"That would explain why he was so tough to throw," Angel comments.
"It also means his muscles had to achieve an unheard of density, simply to hold up his bones. Which helps account for his remarkable strength. By the weigh, the doubling of his weight means Mal only drank half his body weight in blood each day. Which is still baffling. I understand why he needed so much energy to move his heavy body so swiftly. But I don't see how a creature his size could absorb such a high volume of liquids. I do plan to analyze some scrapings from the bones to assess their chemical composition. The added density alone cannot explain his durability. They had to be put together differently."
"What does any of that have to do with us?," Connor asks petulantly.
"I just thought you should know. And, by the way, I came up to tell you that a doctor will be by to see you in a little over an hour."
"What kind of doctor would see me?," Angel wonders.
"His name's Raymond Chesterton. He used to be in SAS. We became friends after I left the Council. He knows what you are."
"And he's worked on other vampires?"
"Of course not. But bones are bones. Unless you're Mal, but that's beside the point. We don't know how many fractures you suffered. There's a high probability that some of them, if left to heal on their own, could heal crookedly. Which would not be good for. So Ray's going to check you out. Connor as well."
"What does that mean?," Connor asks. "Is he gonna cut me open?"
"No. Heavens no. That's not how doctors work."
"Oh. I wouldn't know. Never been to one.
"Yes you have, Connor," Angel tells his son. "I took you to a check-up when you were a baby. But I've never been to a doctor. That wasn't a common thing when I was alive."
"Seeing how neither of you can walk, I think it's a wise move."
"Wesley," Angel says as Wes walks out of the door. "Another cup?" Wes walks over and takes Angel's empty blood glass. Connor also holds up his glass.
"Very well. One blood and one grape juice coming right up." Wes limps out of the room in pain. "I think I'll get Lorne to carry them back up."
"I see how life could be tough for Anthony," Angel tells Connor. "Having a mobster for a father. Thought not a tenth as tough as what you've had to go through because I'm your father."
"Most of that stuff wasn't your fault. Not completely. Besides, it's not like you wanted me, anyway."
"Connor, that's not true, and you know it."
"You know I was an accident."
"No. You were a miracle. There's a huge difference."
"Whatever."
"What I'm trying to say is, I know how much you've suffered because of me. And I know that, even now, the life I provide you with is painful.
"It's okay."
"No it's not. I wish I could give you a normal life. I always have. Something fun, and innocent, and full of everything you missed out on because you were my son." For Angel, the one benefit of their injuries is that Connor can't storm out. He finally has time son to bond with his son.
"I know I can't be normal. But I can be great. Miracles happen for a reason. That's what Dawn says. I'd like to find out what that reason is."
"I never knew you saw things that way."
"I didn't. Before Dawn. She made me see that life was more than pain and lies. That I didn't have to always do what someone told me." It sounded to Angel like Connor was doing was Dawn told him. Though the idea of Dawn being so controlling seemed utterly ludicrous to Angel.
"After you came back, I dreamed that we'd be able to fight together, side-by-side, like we did last night. I didn't think it would be so painful. But, I guess, that's the way things go in my life."
"Someone had to kill him. Who else coulda done it? We saved a lotta people."
"We did," Angel says with pride. "We're not a bad team."
"You made a really good diversion. Distracting Mal so I could hurt him."
"You know I was more than that."
"Just kidding. That's what Buffy said I was – a diversion."
"She did? How dare she."
"That was when we were fighting this demon that's like a vampire ancestor."
"A turokh-han? They're not so tough if you know what you're doing."
"No. It was older. And bigger."
"A Tur-am?"
"I think that's what Dawn called it."
"I've never seen one of those. And you and Buffy killed it together?"
"Yeah. It left its bones, but they broke real easy."
"This was before she knew who you were?"
"Uh-huh."
"Strange thinking of the two of you fighting together. On the same side, I mean."
"I had no idea you knew her."
"She lives in Sunnydale. You knew Cordy was from Sunnydale. It's a small town. They're the same age. Didn't it ever occur to you that they might have known each other?"
"I thought Cordy was too cool to hang around Buffy. And I didn't know you lived there."
"How did you think I met Cordy?"
"After she moved to LA. I just thought you had always been here. At least for the past few decades or so."
"I was here a few decades ago. That's why I got this hotel. Wanna know how?"
"Okay. Guess I don't have a choice." He pauses the dvd.
"Don't worry. It's a good story. With demons. And violence."
"Are you sure this is a good idea?," Cordy asks Wes downstairs in the lobby.
"You know how seriously the both of them are hurt."
"And I also know one of them is dead, and the other is something more than human."
"Raymond knows vampires exist. Furthermore, he'll act with the greatest discretion. You can trust him."
A little while later, the doctor arrives. He's in his mid-thirties, with slightly unkempt, spikey brown hair and blue eyes. He wears jeans and a black Pierre Cardin shirt with the right shirt-tale out. His slightly disheveled appearance more resembles a biologist than a medical doctor. "Good morning. Where are the patients?," he asks in his suburban London accent.
"Third floor," Wesley answers. "I'll show you the way." The others follow. Lorne meets them on the stairs and is immediately embarrassed.
"Oops. Sorry. You know you really need to tell me when we're having company."
"Empath?," Raymond asks.
"Why yes," Lorne answers with surprise and relief.
"Doctor Raymond Chesterton."
"Lorne." He smiles as he shakes Ray's hand. "I didn't know you were in the trade. Perhaps you've heard of me. I used to run Caritas, and had a summer residency in Las Vegas."
"I don't get out much. Though Wesley did recommend your club by name more than once."
"You did? Why Wesley, I had no idea you ever tried to do me a favor."
"By the time I decided to see the place, it no longer existed."
"Yes. We had a problem with that."
"I have a colleague is Sussex who did an interesting paper on empath brain function. I'll see if he can send you a copy."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I prefer not seeing what's behind the curtain."
"A true man of the stage." Ray enters Connor's room. "Hello. I'm Doctor Raymond Chesterton. I guess I'll start with Angel. Who I would guess is the gentleman on my left. I'm going to set up in a room across the hall. Your friends said they could help you get over there."
"Doc. One thing," Angel sheepishly responds. "Do I have to get naked?" The doctor looks confused and uneasy. He takes off his glasses and cleans them with his shirt tail.
"I don't see why. Unless something was damaged you'd like me to take a look at."
"No. Absolutely, one-hundred percent no."
"Thank heavens," Ray says with a sigh of relief. He's curious about vampire anatomy. But not that curious.
Over at Wolfram & Hart, Clayton triumphantly strides into Daniel's office. "What did I tell you?"
"When?"
"The other day, when you were worried about Mal. He's dead."
"And how do you know this?"
"I have my ways. Or, way," Clayton says with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Mal is no more. Angel and Connor won't be out and about for a while. And I haven't even gotten to the best part."
"Do tell," Daniel responds with calculated disinterest.
"As you know, Mal squeezed the gangs. He made them subservient to vampires."
"Guy did more in a week than most of us do in a lifetime. You really have to admire his ambition."
"Yes. And profit from it. Mal introduced the LA vampire community to organized crime. Emphasis on organized. Turf. Hierarchy. The whole nine. And now, the head is gone."
"Let me guess: you want to replace his with yours?"
"Not really. I just want to play one group against another. They counted on Mal to protect them. Soon, they'll discover that they need us. And through them, we get the gangs, and the cops."
"We already have them."
"Yes. But with the vampires in our pocket, we can have better coordination. Less conflict. They're like this great weapon we can unleash at will. And with that threat, we can get our way."
"Vampires aren't terribly social. It's been tried many times before, and it's always failed. They can't stay organized for very long."
"They can when they know the rewards. Mal's given them a taste of power. And riches. They won't want to let that slip away."
"And what will happen when they realize they're just puppets of this law firm?"
"They'll split up. Get killed. Leave town. In other words, they won't be our problem. But until then, we profit from what Mal started. This is what I meant by waiting for the right moment."
"Yes. Nothing like letting someone else do all the work for you," Daniel derisively responds.
"You're one to talk."
"Would you be referring to the Vengeance Demons?"
"You mean the demons you pimp."
"I am not their pimp. I am not even their boss. Technically, I'm merely their manager."
"Whatever you call it, it allows you to take a hefty cut."
"The money doesn't matter. Anyway, with me they make far more than they used to. It's the leverage they provide. The ability to intimidate foes and reward friends. Vengeance demons are basically genies without the ironic trickery."
"Fairy godmothers. Without wings, but with scales."
"Don't laugh. You know how delighted the Senior Partners were when I brought them aboard."
"Which wasn't terribly difficult. The way I understand it, they realized their boss was dead, you doubled their salaries and offered excellent benefits, so they flocked here. Big surprise. Their old boss treated them like dirt.
"Demons don't know how to properly treat talent."
"Which is why even Michael Ovitz could have poached them."
"Believe me, he tried. But they didn't like his recent track record. How do you think I found out about the situation? His assistant tipped me off."
"He still has assistants?"
"One. Or, rather, he did."
"You gave the turncoat a job as a gesture of appreciation?"
"No. I had him devoured by a pack of Gavrosh demons. I'm not one to share glory," Daniel ominously tells his office rival. Clay, as always, betrays no worry. It seems he never has a care in the world.
"Speaking of shared glory, where's your mother these days?"
"Somewhere in the South Pacific. Micronesia. Or Polynesia. I'm not sure. She's doing wet work."
"Killing, or scuba diving?"
"A bit of both."
Meanwhile, fifty miles off Vanuatu, three men climb into a yacht and take off their diving gear. Daniel's mother, a tall, slim, stern-looking woman in her early sixties, glares down at them.
"The explosives failed to detonate."
"It's very hard to set off small charges underwater."
"I want results, not excuses."
"It could have been the wiring. Let me check. I might be able to fix it."
"Ten minutes ago, a tiny explosion was supposed to create a hole their hull about six inches in diameter. By now, their boat should have sunk, the victim of an apparent accident. Instead, they have no idea we're even after them."
"Which is a good thing. It gives us a free second shot."
"I suppose you are correct. You will get an opportunity to redeem yourselves. But first, pick a straw." She holds out her right hand. The men pause, then do as they're told. The leader, the one who had done all the talking, draws the short straw. He goes pale almost immediately. "When a Roman army failed to do its duty, it would be subjected to decimation. One-tenth of the men were clubbed to death by the other nine-tenths. The Romans were merciful." She hands a bat to each of the other two men. They can't believe they're being asked to do something so horrible. She points a Luger at them. They realize they have no choice, and begin beating their unfortunate comrade. Afterwards, she'll have them weigh down and dump the body, then swab the blood off the deck. Hopefully, this will traumatize them into never screwing up again. And, if it doesn't, she can always find more operatives.
Angel and Connor are back in their beds in Connor's room, taped up and wearing several air casts. All their friends are in the room too hear Raymond's diagnoses and recommendations. "It goes without saying that each of you suffered injuries last night which would have killed a normal human being six or seven times over. Since you are able to survive such immense punishment, I have no reason to doubt your abilities to heal fully and quickly. That said, your cases are exceptional. You have friends to care for you, and more importantly, to carry you to safety before other vampires or demons, drawn by your spilt blood, finished you off. This is new territory, so you need to be careful. Angel, you have a shattered ankle, several fingers with multiple fractures, a broken collarbone, a dislocated shoulder and a broken arm. In addition to several bruised vertebra, numerous broken ribs, and multiple skull fractures. One of which caused part of the bone to sink into your brain, which is why I brought it back up and forced you to wear that silly-looking bandage."
"By the way, how long do I need to wear that?"
"Since your other skull fractures appear to be healing with astonishing quickness, I'm going to be an optimist and say you can take it off tomorrow morning. Your body appears to devote a disproportionate amount of resources to healing your head, most likely because of what it contains. The casts should be left on for three to five days. By holding the bones in their proper places, they will help speed the healing process. The chest wrap around your ribs can probably be removed in two to three days. I would suggest you both refrain from fighting for at least a week."
"Is that a week from today, or last night?," Angel asks.
"Last night. I can tell you'll violate that one the first chance you get. That's a warrior's nature. But do try to give your body as much time to heal as possible. Otherwise the same injuries could recur."
"What about me?," Connor inquires.
"I was just about to get to you. Connor, you have an apparent stress fracture in your right foot, a bruised left patella, torn cartilage, and probably a torn MCL ligament, as when a partial ACL tear. For any other patient, I would recommend surgery, followed by four to six months of recuperation. But, in your case, I recommend ice for the next forty-eight hours. Twenty minutes on, twenty off. If it doesn't improve, then find an orthopedic doctor to take a look at it. Hopefully, it will. In addition, you have a fractured left tibia, a right arm that's been broken in two places, three inflamed vertebra, numerous broken rights, a deep contusion on your sternum, multiple skull fractures, and serious internal injuries accompanied by substantial internal bleeding. Please do not have any solid foods until Monday at the earliest. And then, have them only if you can touch your abdominal region without causing intense, shooting pain."
"Only liquids? Like my dad?"
"Different liquids." He looks at the others to make sure this is the case. The thought of blood made him remember something. "Also Connor, you have a bruised right kidney. It should be better in a week. In the meantime, you may notice that you're, well, pissing blood." Connor's eyes bug out. This sounds strange and disturbing. Though it would have been far worse if he'd discovered this on his own.
"Otherwise, my son is fine?," Angel asks.
"Yes. Other than his numerous mortal wounds and crippling injuries, your son has a clean bill of health."
"So he's healthy? For a kid his age? Connor hasn't had a physical in a really, really long time, so I just want to be sure you didn't pick up anything unusual."
"There is one thing. His resting pulse is twenty. Which would be a little high. If Connor were a whale. For a human, it's exceptionally low."
"Is that bad?," Angel asks.
"No. Quite the opposite. It means his heart is extraordinarily. healthy. His aerobic capacity is off-the-charts. Marathon runners and cyclists will sometimes have resting heart rates of about thirty. But twenty is well-nigh unheard of. Connor has a very strong, very large heart."
"Large?," Angel asks with trepidation. "As mean an enlarged heart? Isn't that a problem?"
"No, no, no. It's like Lance Armstrong, whose heart is one-third larger than normal. Or Secretariat, whose heart was twice the normal size for a horse. As ratios go, Connor's probably somewhere in between. I would also guess that his cardiac muscle cells are themselves more productive than normal."
"Dawn always says I have a big heart," Connor remarks with a smile.
"I'm sure, whoever that was, she wasn't being literal," Raymond responds.
"She also noticed my heart beat really slow."
"Well then. Perhaps she was." Not wanting to delve any deeper into any aspect of Connor's private life, Raymond decides to wrap things up. "My work here should be done. Thank you both for being such cooperative patients. It's been an education. And try not to put any weight or stress on your broken bones. Staying in bed will only aid the healing process, and get you back on your feet even faster." Ray grabs his equipment and walks to the elevator with the others.
"I hope they weren't too much trouble," Wes says to his friend. He can only imagine how difficult Connor could be as a patient.
"No. They were reasonably well-behaved for two people who've never been examined by a doctor before. Though, when I was probing to find where his fractures were, Connor appeared to think I was trying to hurt or even torture him. I did my best to explain this was the only way to find what's wrong, seeing how I lacked an X-ray machine. Of course, he didn't know what that was. But he calmed down when I said I had done the same to Angel. In fact, he asked if Angel cried out in pain more than he had. He seemed very eager to upstage his father, to display more toughness, even in that setting. Quite remarkable. But hardly unheard of. We all feel an urge to prove we're better than our fathers," Ray tells Wes with a knowing glance. Ray also has parental issues, trying to live up to the example set by his dad, the Cold War spy who worked behind the Iron Curtain, and his grandfather the war hero.
"For them, that kind of competitiveness is healthy," Fred explains. At least Connor was trying to show less pain than Angel, instead of trying to cause Angel more pain, as had been Connor's strategy in the past.
It's half past twelve. Dawn is sitting in Spanish class. For about fifteen seconds, she spaces out. Dawn looks around, to make sure nobody noticed. Then she gets up and walks out of class without asking for so much as a hall pass. She exits through the school's front doors, walks to the edge of the parking lot, stands under a secluded tree where no one will hear her and pulls out her cell phone. She has both Angel Investigations and Connor's room number on her speed dial. She goes for the main desk, since by this time Connor should be downstairs. Lorne picks it up.
"Angel Investigations."
"Lorne, is that you?"
"Dawn?" He finds it weird they haven't met but can already recognize one another's voices. "Did you have another vision?" Wes, Gunn, Fred and Cordy rush around Lorne. All of them can't help but notice the bad timing. Their two big stars were on the bench.
"Can you put Fred on?," Dawn asks. "No offense, but I know she's smart, and really good with numbers, so I think she'd be best for taking stuff like this down." Lorne finds it even odder that Dawn's already rating the abilities of people she's never even seen.
"How about I put you on speaker, so we can all hear?"
"Okay. Your call."
"First, let me get Angel and Connor and the line."
"They're not with the rest of you?"
"Father-son bonding thing."
"Oh. That's great." Dawn was elated to hear of this, though she'd be less elated if she knew the bonding was the result of a forced convalescence. Lorne dials Connor's room on another line and patches them into the main line, telling them to put their phone on speaker. Connor wants to talk with Dawn, but Lorne insists on business first, since the vision could be time dependent.
"Hi Dawn," Connor says.
"Hi."
"We're all set," Lorne tells her from downstairs.
"There was a boy. About nine. Small. Maybe average-size for his age. But not big. Curly black hair. Brown eyes. He was in a classroom. Maybe the third grade. The teacher called him Gregory. Looked like a public school. No uniforms. And I could see out the window. There was a playground, with a swing set, and a baseball diamond with a back-stop. Right behind the playground was a highway. Up in the air, above the ground. That's all I got. No monsters. No time. But it's definitely during school, and it's definitely today."
"What was he wearing?," Cordelia asks, determined to find things the new vision girl left out.
"Jeans. And a red and white rugby shirt."
"Obviously his parents are caught in a fashion time warp," Cordy quips.
"Thanks Dawn," Angel says. "We'll go with that." He still can't get used to Dawn being part of the "team."
"Cool. Glad I could help. Bye." Connor turns to his left to look at Angel.
"Isn't she great?"
"She's . . . helpful." That's the best he can muster about someone he knew shouldn't be a part of his life. Dawn puts away her phone and starts to walk back towards the front door. She's stopped outside by a security guard.
"Can I see some I.D.?"
"I'm going to school. Not a freaking night club." She walks by the glorified hall monitor, who grabs her left arm. Dawn's first instinct is to punch the woman, but prudently she holds back. After all, she isn't a demon.
"You know you can't leave the building during school hours."
"Funny. Cause I have before. Guess I just never got caught." Dawn's feeling the arrogance of someone who's involved in something larger, something petty high school authority figures could never understand.
"Can I see your I.D.?"
"Fine." She pulls it out of her pocket and tosses it contemptuously to the woman.
"Dawn, I'm going to write you down for three day's detention."
"Come on! That's ridiculous. I was out here for two minutes. Four, maybe five at most. In fact, you're making me miss just as much class by making me wait here."
"Watch your mouth before I make it more." Dawn goes quiet, pouts, and in a few seconds gets her card back. She walks back inside. In the office directly to her right is the acting Vice-Principal turned acting Principal since Monday, when the acting Principal (and former Vice-Principal) was devoured by demon razorbacks. He sees the security guard with Dawn.
"Miss Summers. What an unwelcome non-surprise."
Dawn rolls her eyes. "Hello Mister Griffin." He was vice-principal at the school she attended before the high school was rebuilt. So he was well aware of her past discipline problems.
"Are we reverting to old ways?"
"I had to make a call." Griffin types a few things into his computer and looks at her schedule.
"No. It appears you had to be in Spanish class. Good thing you were caught before you left school grounds. Lucky for you, this will only bring five days detention."
"What? She said three."
"Three for leaving during lunch period. Five for leaving during a class. See you at 3:15." Dawn groans and returns to class. She privately wonders why, out of everyone, this guy was the one school administrator who hadn't been killed. It seemed so unfair.
The gang heads upstairs so Angel can lead their discussion. He doesn't lead so much as take care of the discussion itself. "Get a map. Go online. Do whatever you need to find all the public elementary schools within a quarter-mile of a freeway. Try to get into the LA central school's database. Search for third graders named Gregory. With either a one syllable English last name or a Greek last name."
"Why one syllable?," Wesley wonders.
"The teacher called him Gregory. No one says Gregory Louganis, or Greg Peck." They figure out Angel's intuition. "Cross reference the names with the schools in the right location. If you can, try to find pictures of the kids, to see if one of them matches the description. Hopefully that won't matter. Once you narrow it down to a couple places – Fred, Gunn, Wes, Cordy – you four drive out and try to find this kid. We don't know what's going to happen to him, so just stay close and watch and wait.
"What do we drive?," Cordy asks.
"What about your car?"
"Have you seen it? You think we can go around in a wreck like that in the middle of the day without everyone – including the bad guys – noticing us?"
"What about my car?"
"It's missing a windshield, but I guess it'll do."
"Who gets to drive?," Gunn wonders.
"Cordy."
"Excuse me?," Gunn exclaims.
"Sorry Gunn. I trust you, but she's the one who's driven it before. Now get to work."
"We forgot one thing," Gunn points out. "It's a white kid. In a public school. Which means we can rule out whole chunks of the city right away. And she never said he was in the city. The freeways make that most likely, but he could be out in the suburbs."
The four of them, along with Lorne, leave. "You sure they'll find him?," Connor asks Angel.
"We sure won't," he replies. Connor realizes his dad is right and flips the television back on.
Around half past two, Buffy gets an unexpected call. "Thank you very much for calling. I'll be sure to take care of it. You have my word that this sort of thing will never happen again." Buffy hangs up and puts her hand to her forehead.
"Something wrong?," Giles asks, assuming it's work-related.
"Dawn just scored herself a week's detention."
"For what?"
"Cutting class." Both of them worry Dawn might be returning to her old ways. This time, Dawn has a good excuse. But it's an excuse Buffy will definitely not be happy to hear. And you know what that means: Angel will be hearing from a very brassed-off Buffy.