THE LABOUR & THE WOUNDS
By Allegra

See Part One for all notes & disclaimers.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: To all my lovely reviewers, you're the best. Thank you so much for your support :)

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Fred and Gunn were sitting across from each other in the booth at their favourite diner. Despite its position as a 'passing through' kind of joint, the waitresses knew the pair's likes and dislikes without even having to ask. Gunn watched in amusement as Fred shovelled a pile of pancake into her mouth, maple syrup dripping from her lip. She looked up at him, sheepishly. "Sorry," she mumbled through the food bulging her cheeks.

Gunn laughed, "Hey, if I had a problem with the way you eat, our relationship would have been over on the first date!" Her face altered suddenly, crestfallen, and he quickly put one hand over hers. "But I don't. I love you just the way you are."

Fred grinned and sliced up another piece of pancake to feed her boyfriend with. Swallowing the last from the plate for herself, she asked, "What do you think Angel and Cordy are doing? I mean, Angel made it pretty clear he wanted everyone out today. Even Lorne went out to find some all-day underground bar."

Gunn shrugged, never taking his eyes off his girl. "I guess they just needed some alone time but who's complaining? It feels like months since you and I had some real time to ourselves."

Fred nodded and leaned forward to plant a kiss on Gunn's lips. Gently cupping the back of her neck, he pulled her closer. "God, you're perfect," he murmured, deepening the kiss.

**********

"Angel, you really didn't have to do this. I mean, it's not that I don't appreciate the gesture but Lorne's going to find it pretty hard to blend in for the day. It's not like he can spend a day sunning himself on the beach." Cordelia jumped up to sit on the edge of the counter, eyeing her friend suspiciously. "What's this about?"

Angel looked at her completely innocently. "Lorne can look after himself. He's used to it...and nothing's going on. I just figured, you know, you came back when things were pretty hectic round here. Now, there's a natural lull in the storm and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to take it easy for a few days."

"And that means keeping our friends out of the hotel for the whole time?" Cordelia asked, incredulous. "Listen, Angel..." She moved closer to where he had propped himself up against a pillar and gently put a hand on his arm. "...I appreciate all of this, I really do, but you can't control what's going to happen. Just because I had a lapse in memory doesn't mean I've forgotten how things work around here or that I need to be wrapped in cotton wool." Her voice was gentle and sincere as she surveyed the anxious, hooded features.

It had been a long time since anyone had touched him like that, just the way she had done the other morning. In fact, Cordelia was the only person who could ever reach beyond the walls he put up. Sometimes that was hard to deal with. "I wasn't trying to..."

Cordy squeezed his hand, "Angel, it's okay. Just act normal. That's all I need. Besides, I can take care of myself pretty much as well as anyone else in this outfit," she asserted, proudly.

**********

Wesley thumbed through the wad of pages in front of him. He was grateful that, even though his friends might have deserted him, his contacts were still open and available to him. The past month had been pretty quiet for his personal investigation company but some demon activity had reared its head at last. The former Watcher was grateful for a reason to concentrate on something other than his own life at last. The situation with Lilah was getting under his skin and it only served to consistently remind Wesley of his shortcomings. She was like a mirror held up to his faults. The deepest place in the bottom of hell was set aside for Judas, the traitor. That's what Lilah had told him and she had been right. Of course there were glimpses of time when Angel Investigations still relied on him and came for help, but he was under no illusions about what it meant. Wesley knew only too well that he was a last resort, not the first hope.

"Wesley?" The door opened and high heels could be heard on the wooden floorboards, the casual saunter of Lilah Morgan. Calmly, he removed his glasses and closed the file before slipping it under a pile of miscellaneous papers on his desk.

"Lilah." He glanced at the wall clock. "Have you been fired or has the nine to five job started changing its hours?"

She perched on the corner of the desk, letting a finger trail over the bronze statue Wesley kept as a paperweight. "I've got some vacation time to take. Thought you and I could maybe...have a little fun."

Wesley shifted in his chair. "Is that so?"

Lilah swallowed. That wasn't the eager response she had been hoping for but, then again, this was Wesley. She let one hand wander to his neck, unconsciously tracing the jagged line of the scar across his throat. The other hand slid to the brown file hidden amongst his things. "So, what have you been up to?" she enquired, a little too casually.

Wesley let her kisses and nibbles scale their way up his neck but reached out to remove her other hand from his belongings. "Nothing I want to tell you about." He moved her fingers towards his belt where they instantly began tugging at the buckle. Her weight shifted on top of him as his lips ravaged hers, coarse stubble burning her skin like sandpaper. Within moments, all their hatred and suspicions pulled itself into passion and the chair toppled backwards, barely fazing the couple as they engrossed themselves in one another.

**********

"Fax, you got a minute?" Cole edged in through the door. It didn't matter that his boss was in such a good mood because what he had to say was going to bring out the monster in a flash.

The burly older man stopped humming and paused his rummaging in the desk. "Sure thing, Cole. What's up?"

"That kid was in here earlier looking for you. He wanted another fight for tonight."

Fax shook his head in disbelief. "Feisty one, he is. Well, if that's what he wants. I'm sure we can squeeze him in." Cole continued to shuffle in the doorway like a school child caught writing obscenities on the wall. "Spit it out, Cole."

"Ah, it's nothin' really, just that we got talking, you know. He told me a bit about himself. A bit about his father...Angel."

Fax stopped short and lifted his head from the newspaper he was flicking through. His eyes were wide with shock that was rapidly turning into rage. Cole could have sworn the guy's ears were starting to tinge red and that it was spreading down to his neck like a rash. "Angel?" he whispered, hoarsely. "That's his son? How?"

"That's what I asked," Cole shrugged. "Guess he didn't want to say. All I know is that he hates the guy with a vengeance." Ignoring the dangerous territory he had just walked into, Cole began regaling his boss with the bloodcurdling tale of Connor's attempts to be rid of Angel once and for all. Like a rabbit hopping unwittingly into the lion's den, the man flailed his arms around in animated drama, his eyes occasionally wandering to the desk to ensure he still had his audience's attention.

At first, Fax had barely registered a word his friend had said. The 'A' word was like burning acid digging a hole through his subconscious in search of the twisted memories Angelus had created. His wife's head torn off and oozing her life blood across the floor towards her dismembered body a few feet away. Fax saw a flash of their children torn apart in a similar fashion in the next room. The memories came flooding back in waves of nausea and emotion - the sound of his own boots on the floor as he entered the scene of the bloody massacre, the steady drip of blood from the young limb casually tossed into the rafters of the room. Fax could vividly remember moving forward in slow motion and examining that hand with numbed detachment, the way the fingers curled in an imitation of childlike sleep. Only the blue fingertips told the true story. Then, as quickly as the images had come, Fax locked down his memories. God knows he had lived through them enough times in the past two hundred years. That was why he had sold his soul to Satan in exchange for his revenge. Now, demonised and with scant remorse, he had found the very creature whose death he had sought all these years. Funny how life has a way of letting coincidences collide to bring friends and enemies together.

He had come up against Angel before, taken the beast on alone and joined any gang willing or ready to fight the vampire. Yet, every time he had failed. Fax had followed the creature's paltry existence closely, from the day his soul had been returned to him. At first, the security of knowing Angel's private torment, reliving the chilling deaths of hundreds of innocents had been enough to satisfy Fax's thirst for revenge. But, as in all things, greed would not be kept at bay. He wanted more. He wanted the personal satisfaction of seeing the vampire turned into dust and, once a man has sold his soul to the Devil, the avarice only grows. Fax wanted Angel dead more than life itself but he knew the odds. He had seen the strength of the vampire's opponents and, each time, he had trounced them. Fax was no match for Angel or Angelus...but now he had a chance to make amends.

Pricking his ears up at Cole's tale, Fax grinned. "Finally, the tables have turned, my friend. I might not be able to take Angel down from the outside but, from within his own family, well, I might just stand a chance."

**********

Lorne was starting to feel resentful towards Angel as he shifted position in the uncomfortable booth. There was a good reason he kept to the hotel during the day. The options for a green, horned and red-eyed demon during the daylight hours were limited and this dung hole was about the only place open to his kind of clientele. The karaoke demon sighed, bitterly. This was exactly the reason he had opened his own bar, well, partly. Just because a guy has scales across his ass doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate a good plump cushion as much as the next guy.

To add to his woes, a few of the regulars remembered his singing and, in her boredom, kept drunkenly requesting songs. In his desperate attempt to get some peace and quiet, Lorne had reluctantly hit the books to gather information to help Angel's case. He was sure this demon activity rang some bells. In most cases, the same breeds looked out for each other. From the few findings they had made, together with the scrounged police details, it was clear a variety of demon kinds were congregating then dispersing as quickly as they had arrived. It didn't make any sense, but Lorne was convinced he had encountered it before. If only Wolfram and Hart hadn't bored that nice little hole in his head, maybe it wouldn't be so hard to recall.

Looking up from his strawberry daiquiri, Lorne almost swallowed it down the wrong tube when he saw the man who had just strolled in the door. "Wesley," he said, more to himself than the ex-Watcher, but Wesley caught his eye. For a moment, Lorne wasn't sure he was actually going to come over to the booth. He had the determined, somewhat anxious expression of someone with a purpose. To the demon's relief, Wesley took a cautious step in his direction.

Lorne was the last person the Englishman had expected to see in such a hell hole and, to be honest, Wesley wasn't sure if he was grateful or not to see a familiar face. It was a face from a circle he didn't belong to anymore, after all. He never knew whether he would be welcomed with guarded civility or turned away with venomous words. They had shared a few moments of conversation since Wesley had stolen Connor away from Angel as a baby, but the Englishman could not forget the way they had parted that day. He had knocked the life out of Lorne for a time and run for the hills only to have his throat slit and Connor sent to a hell dimension with Angel's worst enemy.

"Lorne, I didn't take this as your kind of place," Wesley ventured.

"It's not," Lorne rolled his eyes and patted the hard, velour seat beside him. "Care to join me for a drink and I'll fill you in."

"Actually, I'm investigating a lead right now..."

Lorne really didn't want to let Wesley go. He was the first half reasonable face he'd seen all day and the prospect of another six hours spent down here in a dank basement bar with only some drunkards for company was more than he could bear. Unwilling to hide his desperation, he quickly added, "So am I. Maybe we're onto the same case. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours?" The sentence ended more as a question, unsure whether Wesley would accept his offer. Fortunately, his friend hesitated just long enough before answering. "Excellent!" Lorne exclaimed and raised a hand to the barman. "Can I get a whiskey over here? Oh, and another daiquiri." Wesley slid reluctantly into the seat opposite his old friend, examining his fingers in place of actually talking to one of the very people he had betrayed. Lorne leaned forward, "So, long time no see."

"Yes, well I'm not exactly welcome many places anymore." Wesley hadn't intended the words to sound as cutting but it was the truth. It had been a long, hard slog living in the Los Angeles underworld after the incident with Connor.

"How have you been?" Lorne coaxed.

"As well as could be expected, I suppose. How is everyone at the hotel - Cordelia, Gunn...Fred?" He knew the last enquiry was hardly subtle but, despite the occasional bit of news, he really didn't have a clue about the personal position of his former colleagues. And it was no secret that he had feelings for the young Texan charge Angel had adopted from Pylea.

"Oh, well, Cordelia's getting there with Angel's help and, as far as I know, Fred and Gunn have spent most of their time holed up in their suite..." Lorne trailed off, realising the cutting implications of his remark. It was only rubbing salt in poor Wesley's wounds.

If the man was hurt by Lorne's faux pas, he made no mention of it. Instead, he turned to the business at hand. "So, what exactly have you been investigating?"

Lorne swatted his hand and took a sip of the new daiquiri planted in front of him. "Irregular demon activity from the depths. Usual stuff but it reeks of something bigger. Angel's come up with nothing so far."

"I had a few leads but they turned out to be dead ends. I had a friend cast a locator spell but it only brought up a club downtown. I doubt that's anything more than a similar place to this." Wesley made a cursive nod towards the ugly set of clientele around them.

Lorne paused for a moment, then enquired, "What was the name of the club?"

Wesley rummaged in his jacket pocket and produced a crumpled piece of paper. "The Cage".

Lorne snapped his fingers in a delighted light bulb moment. "That's it! I knew this scenario rang a bell! The Cage is an underground club of a different sort."

Wesley frowned, "What do you mean - a different sort?"

"It's a betting club, for fighting. I remember, it was the only competition my bar ever really had. Patrons divided into two halves - the half that wanted a bit of brutality for an evening's entertainment and those that wanted, well, something a bit more civilised."

"Yes, but surely that's exactly what makes it an unlikely danger. It's just a place of entertainment for the demon world. Nothing to worry about," Wesley pointed out.

Lorne shook his head, unconvinced. "I wouldn't be too sure about that. There are some pretty nasty folks down there, stabbing each other in the back and dealing in scalps. It would be the last place I'd visit for a night out but the first place I'd go looking for trouble. It's worth checking out."

Wesley nodded. "I'll go tonight then."

"I should tell Angel," Lorne murmured, already not liking the prospect of ruining the vampire's evening off the job.

Wesley quickly asserted, "I can handle it." He didn't want to let on how much he disliked any meeting with Angel after everything that he'd done and he certainly didn't want to be considered incapable of fending for himself.

Lorne wagged a green finger in his companion's face. "Believe me, you're gonna appreciate some back-up if you're entering The Cage. I know Angel's not your favourite person in the world right now, but he's the one to have watching your back."

Wesley let out a mirthless laugh. "Perhaps, if he's not too busy stabbing it."

"Said the pot to the kettle." Lorne's words hit home and he knew it but, strangely, it was meant kindly. The group would never get past this thing if nobody made light of it and reminded everyone that doom-day had been and gone. It was time to move on, to remember that, despite his sins, Wesley was still fighting for the good. He deserved credit for that at least.

**********

END OF PART 6

I know there's not much Connor here, but I wanted to establish a few things. Hope this chapter still delivered some pleasurable moments. Sorry the Fred/Gunn stuff is thin on the ground for Gunn lovers, but there's really not a huge place for their own story line at the moment.

Please, please, please, please review for me. The story is meaningless without a wonderful audience!! Thank you.