Chapter 6: Sins of the Father.

Angel had prepared himself for what was to come later. He'd spent hours with the sword, practising, focusing channelling his energy, regaining an inner calm. He'd been trying to meditate, but the office wasn't exactly the best place to do that. He'd been interrupted too many times that morning by Harmony's insistence that he attend to trivia. And so Angel had allowed himself to slip into the more agreeable practice – of brooding. He didn't mind her interrupting that. He was worried by what Wesley had suggested, after his talk with Spike about his soul, and really didn't know if he could go through with it. It reduced him to dependence on Spike, who had beaten him so soundly over that damned Cup. Why had that happened? Had he wanted Spike to beat him to it, to take it from him, to spare him the pain and torment it promised? If that were true, what did that make him?

"A coward." Angel spoke the words aloud. Was that how Spike viewed him? He wore the amulet for Buffy because he thought I'd backed off - that certainly suggests he does. And if I let him do what Wes suggests for me . . . Angel's thoughts were interrupted again as Harmony's voice chirruped down the phone for the third time in ten minutes. This time, it was with something that couldn't wait. Angel had called a meeting.

"It's 10 o'clock Boss. They're here."

Moments later, Harmony entered the room carrying a tray. Wesley, holding the door open for her, was followed by the others. Gunn first, glancing anxiously at his watch. Then Lorne, hastily snapping shut his mobile phone and setting it to vibrate mode. Finally Spike, taking care to stub out his cigarette on the freshly polished corridor floor with his boot. He glanced at his Grandsire from under his lashes as Wesley closed the door behind him.

"I told you, you're not invited!" said Angel, moving towards Spike, his hands reaching for the collar of his duster.

Wesley quickly stepped between them. "I think, perhaps, we do need Spike to sit in on this. He is working with us now after all, and he may be able to add something useful to the information you asked me to find on the demon he killed."

Angel swallowed hard and lowered his arms. "Alright," he said. "But you," he jabbed a finger at Spike, "stand over there, where I don't have to look at you, and don't interrupt."

Spike smirked happily, gave him the V-sign and Wesley the thumbs-up.

Wesley wondered what had happened since he'd last spoken to the two vampires. Their relationship was certainly mercurial and one that couldn't be fully understood by a human. He began speaking again before everyone had settled themselves into various seats, or in Spike's case the wall he'd selected to lean against. "Angel asked me to do a little research on the Gouki demon Spike killed."

Harmony pouted, she hadn't had a chance to offer the refreshments she'd prepared and the meeting had already started. She knew that Angel expected her to leave the room and she really needed to talk to Spike. Throwing him a broad smile, she mimed a voiceless "Talk to you later," and left.

Spike shrugged. He had no idea what Harmony might want and right now his mind was focussed on what Wesley had to say.

"Spike, your demon was not of pure blood," he heard Wesley continue. "He's the eldest born of a Gouki, who goes by the name of Jenoff, and Jahi, a female Soul-Eater of the Khephn clan."

Wesley's exposition was interrupted as the door burst open and a breathless, flustered Fred entered. "So sorry I'm late. Knox and I got caught up in something long and involved," she stammered, "and I just couldn't tear myself away without seeing it through to completion." She glanced, red-faced at Wesley who had fixed her with a steely stare over the top of his glasses.

Angel waved her to the empty seat beside Gunn with a wry smile. Everybody's busy. It's what they're too busy with that worries me.

"The Kephn are just one rung below 'King' in the demon hierarchy," Wesley went on. "One might call them the 'Dukes of the Underworld'. The Gouki are virtually impossible to kill, being immune to all the usual weapons. Even decapitation doesn't work, apparently, since they possess a remarkable ability of instant regeneration."

"Didn't notice mine doing any of that," said Spike "Must've taken after his mother's side then."

Something clicked into place in Gunn's mind. "Sounds like the demon you cheated, Angel," he said. "Jenoff's calling in an old debt. Always knew he played a good waiting game. Didn't know he played Revenge so well though."

"Revenge is a meal best eaten cold," Angel murmured from his chair beside Wesley. Gunn remembers the incident with Jenoff? How much more does he remember from that time?

"Another Irish proverb?" Spike asked. "You gonna send us to sleep us with fairy tales of leprechauns as well?"

"What?" Angel shot him a warning glance. "No. Just thinking out loud." He turned his attention back to Gunn. "It can't possibly be the same demon. That was over a year ago. We high-tailed it out of that club having lit the blue touch paper to a revolution. I remember leaving Jenoff under a pile of demons baying for his blood."

"It would appear that Jenoff survived the attempted coup," Wesley continued. "But we don't know that he's behind the continuing attacks on students at USC, nor do we know why our departmental workers are questioning our authority. We need more information. Specifically, what is it that this demon demands as his Honour Price?"

"I've a pretty good idea." All heads swung towards Spike.

"Would you care to elaborate?" asked Wesley.

"Not my place to tell," he grimaced. "Angel's the bloke telling the stories."

Attention moved from Spike to Angel, who cleared his throat. He'd prepared himself for this moment. It was his one chance to make them understand the necessity of operating as a team again. It didn't matter who had been responsible for the disintegration, what was important was bringing them back together once more. He stood and walked over to the window. Turning his back on the view, he faced them and began. "You remember why we're all here?"

"'Cos you called a meeting, you pillock! Get on with it," Spike heckled.

"Not the meeting!" Angel glared at Spike. So much for hoping he might show him some respect. "What brought us together? What we're here to do? Why we stay together? The mission."

"Mission!" Spike snorted. "'S that what you call cosying up to the enemy?"

Angel ignored him and turned to Gunn and Wesley. "Angel Investigations was all about the mission. You guys taught me that. We helped the helpless, one by one." He addressed Gunn directly. "You've become obsessed with a job you didn't set out to do when you joined us. We thought we could do more from the inside of this place but that's not what's happening. We're losing sight of what we're really here for; and it's not playing golf or defending evil clients."

Gunn opened his mouth to respond, but Angel held up his hand and cut him off. "You can argue with me after I've finished," he said firmly. "We're not working together as a team any more and it's showing. We're weak if we continue to operate separately. We can't change anything from within unless we're together in unity of purpose. All our strength is in our union, all our danger is in discord."

"Longfellow," murmured Wesley. "Therefore be at peace henceforward, And as brothers live together - the coming together of the tribes."

"Huh! Unity of purpose," scoffed Spike. "And we all know who's purpose you mean by that don't we?"

Angel resisted the urge to knock the cocky expression off Spike's face and turned instead to Fred, who was nervously fiddling with her hair. "You're busy locked up in that lab with Knox, working on projects for Wolfram and Hart 'til the early hours. In fact, you're so wrapped up in that damned lab you keep forgetting to eat."

"I have been working hard on the projects," admitted Fred. "But I do eat, " she added indignantly. "I could be more efficient with my time management, I'm sure I could. It's just a question of organisation and I suppose a little delegation wouldn't hurt."

"And Lorne," Angel swung round to face him just as he was reaching into his pocket to answer his vibrating phone, "you have your ear clamped to that damn cell phone every time I pass you in the corridor. We just don't make time to support each other any more. It seems to me that we've lost sight of what we promised to do here. And it wasn't to indulge ourselves in all the pretty toys, or to party from one end of the week to the other."

"I could re-schedule my 2 o'clock with J-Lo if that's of any use?" Lorne offered, removing his hand from inside his jacket.

"Perhaps you should arrange a team building weekend, Angel," Spike smirked. "You could build a raft. You certainly need one. This ship's sinking fast."

"Shut up, Spike!" Angel felt the strands of self-control beginning to unravel.

"We should have a night-out," ventured Lorne, taking up Spike's theme enthusiastically.

"What a wonderful idea," agreed Wesley. "Just what we need, time together. How about this evening?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I can't make this evening," stammered Fred. "I have to go over some tests with Knox and they really can't wait. What about lunch tomorrow instead?"

"No can do, Sweetcakes. Final run-through of the schedule for Friday night, all day tomorrow. Working lunch included."

"Well then . . . " Fred started again.

"Anyone any objections to extending this meeting over lunch today?" asked Wesley looking round. "No?" he said before Angel could object. "Then all we need decide is where we eat."

"I vote Chinese," said Gunn.

"There's a darling little sushi place, Van suggested it, apparently their Akagai is divine . . . " began Lorne.

Angel looked at them all in turn, a bemused expression on his face. What are they doing?

"Not raw bloody fish," grumbled Spike. "What about Thai? They do this great hot . . . "

"Nothing too spicy," said Fred. "I've been having a little problem with my digestion. I think it's all the late nights."

"You're not coming," snapped Angel, rounding on Spike. "I told you I didn't want you at this meeting, and you're certainly not getting a free lunch out of this. Besides – daylight - neither of us can go out to eat. We can't exactly stroll along the sidewalk checking out menus, can we?"

"The others could check out menus for us," grumbled Spike. "There's nothing wrong with a quick dash from the car, under cover. Well, apart from a little smoking." He pushed himself off the wall and strolled over to Angel's desk. "Oh, forgot there for a mo'. The Big Cheese doesn't do undignified," he taunted, running his hands along the desk's highly polished surface.

Angel felt all control of the meeting slipping away. His carefully prepared pep talk had been hijacked somehow. How did that happen?

Spike!

"Angel, Spike is one of the team. We can't leave him behind." argued Fred, missing the point about the daylight entirely.

"Why not?" Angel asked. "Part of the team? When's he ever . . . " He paused. "What are we doing? Arguing about food when there are more important issues at stake here? Can we just leave lunch arrangements to Harmony and get back to what I wanted to say to you all?"

He picked up the phone and dialled. "Harmony, arrange for lunch to be brought in at One . . . What? . . . No, we haven't eaten the nibbles already . . . Yes I'm sure we'll be ready to eat at One. . . . No! I don't want you to come in and take everybody's order. Just . . . Get something simple that everyone can eat, Harmony."

Angel put the phone back on its cradle and took a deep breath. "Let's get back to business and talk about Jenoff, our mysterious Special Client. Gunn, do you remember why I cheated him? Why Cordy and I wouldn't let him take your soul? You were ready to give your life for Fred and you trusted me to take a chance on a single cut of the deck. I wasn't willing to lose either of you. Not just because we'd lose a great demon fighter, but because I'd lose two friends, members of the family."

"You were willing to kill me yourself!" complained Spike. "And I'm more family than they are."

"Not now!" Angel hissed. He turned to Fred, who sat gazing at Gunn, her eyes glistening with tears that threatened to spill over as she recalled how she'd almost lost him. "Fred," said Angel gently, "you could've gone back home with your parents, you felt safe with them. Yet you chose to stay here, in L.A. with us."

The room began to glow with rosy warmth that had nothing to do with the heating system and everything to do with the memories that Angel's words had aroused.

"Huh, at least she got to choose," muttered Spike, "I didn't have a say in the matter. If I had I wouldn't have bloody well chosen to come here in the first place."

Angel scowled at him. "I'm - Going - to Have - to Ki-ll - you," he intoned through clenched teeth.

Lorne's head snapped up. It had only been a snatch, but it was a song, of sorts. He looked at Angel in alarm as an image of a bloodied Wesley flashed into his mind, followed swiftly by a distraught Angel searching for something. No, not something, someone. Lorne closed his eyes to prevent Angel from spotting the fear he was sure to see if he kept them open.

But Angel hadn't noticed. He was too busy trying to keep control of his temper. He took a deep breath and focused his mind on what he was trying to achieve. He turned his attention to Wesley. "Wes, you were the one who taught me I couldn't work alone, that to be effective, I needed the team with me, backing me up."

Wesley had noticed Lorne's distress and was watching him closely. "Yes, I remember," he said quietly. "And you took me in, when I was working alone, gave me a place to belong."

"And that place wasn't a building, wasn't the fancy cars or the high tech equipment or access to ancient books. It was wherever we were." Angel appealed to the others. "What brought us together was the same for each of you. Each of you was fighting demons of one sort or another, and each of you saw that we could do more together than we could alone. Something's gone badly wrong. We're not pulling together any more, we're pulling apart."

"So, what are we going to do about it? What's your plan?" asked Wesley, turning his gaze away from Lorne and concentrating it on Angel.

"I haven't got a plan. I need each of you to contribute to solving it. It's the family's plan - or will be when we've agreed one."

"Um - when you say family, just where do I fit in all this?" Spike's voice chilled the air. The rosy glow disappeared.

And with it, Angel's patience finally disintegrated. "I knew it couldn't last," he snarled. "I was wrong Spike, you haven't changed. You're just the same reckless, selfish, manipulating jerk you always were. The soul's not done anything about any of that." He strode across the room and jabbed a finger at Spike's face. "If it hadn't been for you, none of this would be happening. What makes you think you're fit to be in this family? When did you do anything for any of us since you arrived in L.A.? Let's see." Angel held up a hand in front of Spike's face and began to count off the digits. "One, tried to kill me. Failed. Two . . ." Angel never got to finish his list.

Spike lunged at him and grabbed him by the throat. "Failed?" he roared, "Could've staked you - twice. Should have bloody well done it. That little talk over my hospital bed? Piffle! You still don't see me, do you?"

Angel shook off Spike's hands, effortlessly, and pushed him away. "I see you. You haven't changed."

"To be fair . . ."

"There was the time he . . ."

Gunn and Fred jumped to Spike's defence, but Angel was deaf to them. He and Spike were in each other's face again, the atmosphere charged with emotion.

Spike clenched his fists and prepared to launch himself at Angel for a second time, then thought better of it. No! 'S just what the sod expects. Proves he's right. He took a step back, dropped his eyes from Angel's and appealed to Gunn. "You tell him, Gunn. Tell him about the other night with Connor."

Lorne moaned and grasped his head. Angel froze.

Gunn looked startled. "What're you talking about man? Who's Connor?" He swung his head looking round the room as if seeing it for the first time.

Angel heard Gunn's voice rush away from him to the end of a long, dark tunnel, down which he was being pulled rapidly, backwards. The light in the office faded and swirled, dancing through the spectrum, from red to violet.

"Charles!" Don't joke at a time like this." Fred gestured with her eyes at Angel. "The baby's been gone less than . . ." She stopped, looked blankly round the office, then back at Angel for a moment. "What was I saying? Oh, yes. Angel, you're forgetting the time Spike saved me from Pavayne."

"Yeah – right! You tell 'im, Pet." Spike, still seething from Angel's verbal attack, nodded his thanks to Fred.

Angel glanced from Fred to Gunn, to Spike, and finally Wesley.

"Wes. What's going on?" he croaked, as the walls undulated and the windows darkened.

"What's going on?" Spike began pacing round the room. "I'll tell you what's going on, you git. You're treating me like . . ." he struggled for the right words. "just like . . ." No. He wasn't going to mention Buffy's name. That would be like pulling the pin and hanging on to the hand grenade. "Changing your mind when it suits you, 'bout where I fit in and when. You're all 'Oh Spike, ol' buddy, have an office, we'll find you something useful to do, you're one of the family.' Next minute you're back to treating me like an outsider again. That's what." Spike's pacing adopted a rhythm to match his tirade; fast, furious. "Nothing I do is good enough for you is it?" he stormed. "Well, I'm done playing 'Mr Nice Corporate Guy'. I knew I shouldn't have got involved with this corner of hell you're running. Get someone else to baby-sit the kid for you. Anyone should do, right? It's obviously not important if Gunn can't remember who he is for more than 24 hours. Special project my arse!"

All attention focused on Spike. He seemed to be the only one untouched by the swirling light and shifting dimensions of the room. They each felt something unravelling but couldn't quite grasp hold of what it was.

Lorne tried to make sense of the vision he'd had but was struggling with the sickening giddiness caused by the floor rolling his chair like the deck of a boat on a stormy sea.

Gunn searched his memory frantically. Who is this blond guy and what was he talking about? What special project? And why am I wearing a wearing a suit?

Fred watched the ceiling fly away. Where am I? - What am I doing in this place? I don't belong here. She grasped Gunn's arm and curled up against him.

The mist that had formed around Wesley cleared. He remembered! A baby - Angel's son. Connor! Dear God, what have I done? The blood turned to ice in his veins. Digging deep into his reserves of self-control, he was the first to break the silence that followed Spike's outburst. "I'm not quite sure just what has just transpired. But whatever it was, it seems to have been triggered by something Spike said."

Angel tensed, waiting for a reaction. How much do they remember?

"Oh. So it's my fault again?" asked Spike petulantly. He'd stopped pacing and come to rest against the wall behind Angel's desk. He checked his pockets, found a packet of cigarettes and began the process of lighting up in defiant breach of Angel's 'no smoking' rule. "Should've known."

"Do try to stop being so tiresomely childish. Despite what your narcissistic tendencies lead you to believe, this is not all about you." Wesley shot a look at Angel, trying to read his expression. It was no use. Angel had closed down, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, his hands resting perfectly still on the arms of his chair. He'd perfected the art of hiding his emotions so well. "However, as you seem to have something to tell Angel, why don't you start by informing us all what it is that you've done that's worthy of his respect?"

Wesley appealed directly to Spike's deep-rooted, and deeply buried need for Angel's approval. And with it, Wesley bought Angel some recovery time. As they listened to Spike's story, the room gradually reverted to its normal proportions. The light regained its natural colour. Fred lost her startled 'rabbit in a car's headlights' look and relaxed her grip on Gunn's arm.

"So, to cut a long story short, thumped a couple of demons, grabbed the boy, stole a bike and delivered him safely back to his dorm unharmed, as promised." Spike finished the story and turned his attention back to Angel, awaiting his reaction to his tale. He had relived the emotions he'd felt during the night out with Connor and frowned when he saw Angel's impenetrable stare.

"You see!" squealed Fred. "We knew you could do it. Wesley was worried when Charles told him what he had in mind but we knew you could do it Spike." Fred left Gunn's side and gave Spike a hug, followed by a quick peck on the cheek, blushing furiously as she did so.

Slightly taken aback by Fred's sudden show of affection, Spike covered his confusion with a gushing, "Yeah – And had a bloody good time doing it an' all. Haven't had so much fun while stone cold sober in an age."

"Well that's good to hear. Well done. Just goes to show what can be done with a little team work." It was Wesley, not Angel who responded. "Now. Let's get back to business shall we? Angel, you were saying something about teamwork?"

Angel lifted his head and looked directly at Wesley. He knows! He saw everything begin to roll back and then stop. Why wasn't he affected like the others?

"Thought he'd finished," said Spike.

"I have, for the moment." Angel spoke for the first time since Fred had mentioned his baby son.

"Oh, thank God for that! Don't think I could take any more Pollyanna from you." Spike was thoroughly confused. He felt frustrated at taking part in something he didn't understand. What had just happened? The name, Connor, had done something to the others. They'd behaved as if they didn't know where they were for a split second there. Did it have something to do with the mind-wipe? All he knew for certain was that he'd come close to fighting with Angel again and that would get him nowhere, fast.

Angel, though, admitted to himself that maybe, just maybe, he'd judged Spike a little too harshly. He might doubt Spike's motive but he'd saved his son. Blood had called to blood. Not that I'm ready to tell him that to his face. Not yet. First of all, and most importantly, he needed time alone with Wesley, to find out just how much he remembered and what he intended to do. What Spike had just revealed had changed things irrevocably. There was no doubt in Angel's mind that the Connor who Spike had saved from harm was his son. Somehow Connor had been manoeuvred into place at Wolfram and Hart; the one place where his presence would cause Angel the most pain, one way or another.