Feedback: It makes me happy. Don't you want to make me happy?
Summary: AU. Angel O'Brien is trying his best to live a normal, safe life in L.A. But when his brother Angelus, CEO of Wolfram and Hart, forces him to return to the past he'd thought he'd escaped, Angel will have to deal with both his own inner demons and those of his friends if he wants to survive.
Author's Note: Everybody is human, and while most of the characters will stay in character, they will be different nonetheless. The timeline is obviously completely different from on BTVS and AtS. Most of this will be from Angel's point of view, but not all of it. Italics indicate thought.
June 12, 2005
4: 02 PM
The Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart
Angel parked in the underground garage, not willing to risk his baby to any carjackers that might have been lurking. As he strode quickly through the dark space, the detective couldn't help but glance at all of the pricey, shiny cars that inhabited the garage. One Lexus, two Lexus, red Lexus, blue Lexus. If they had to buy obnoxiously expensive cars, couldn't the minions of Wolfram and Hart buy something worth looking at? Would a Porsche or Ferrari kill them? The thought of the red Ferrari he had once owned made Angel's toes curl for a brief moment of car-loving ecstasy. The brunette often wondered what had happened to that Ferrari once Angelus repossessed it. He hoped it had been given a good home.
Shaking his head, Angel had to smile at himself. Here he was, about to enter the lion's den, and he was waxing poetic about (sexy, wonderful, cherry red) cars. This was not a time for poetics, or weakness. This was Wolfram and Hart, as close to the Devil as Angel ever hoped to come. He came to the elevator. His fingers still knew which buttons to push. Off he went, to the top of Angelus' castle.
The lobby hadn't changed. It was spacious, the various staircases and offices spread out to give the impression that the floor was one big building and not just a part of one. Angel wasn't sure how they made fluorescent lights anything less than harsh, but these ones were. Probably some of the signature Wolfram and Hart corporate magic. Small, potted plants were located along the edges of the lobby. It was luxurious and intimidating and Angel hated it. He saw it in his nightmares, sometimes.
"Boss? How'd you get off this floor? Why'd you change clothes?" came a voice that Angel also heard in his nightmares. It always made him think of the song "Barbie Girl."
He turned to face the source of the voice, a mass of blonde hair with a body attached. Harmony Kendall. Secretary to evil. "It's me, Harmony," Angel said with a sigh, preparing to grit his teeth.
"Ohmygod, Angel!" Harmony squealed. "It's been, like, forever! You haven't been here in sooooo long!"
"Yeah, I think you covered the length of time when you said 'forever'," Angel pointed out. Forever would not be long enough to avoid this place.
"What have you been doing?" The lightbulb went on over her head. "Oh, wait, you're still pretending to be a detective, right?"
Teeth gritting, right on schedule. "I am a detective, Harmony. I'm not pretending."
"Oh, riiiight," she winked at him conspiratorially. For some inexplicable reason, Harmony was convinced that Angel's detective career was just a front. A front for what was something only Harmony suspected, but Angel had never felt like expending the effort to really correct her on it.
"Is Angelus in his office?"
"Um, I don't know? Maybe?" She looked at him curiously. "Why do you want to know?"
"Harmony, I'm his brother, I have the right to see him." Angel could feel the migraine that Harmony always induced starting to form behind his temples. Crap, and he'd hoped to be pain-free when he'd cornered Angelus.
"But when you left last time you called him a 'scum-sucking, Satan-worshipping, bottom-feeding jackass'," Harmony reminded him, looking cheerfully curious.
"That's a form of compliment in my family. Is he in his office?"
"You have a weird family."
"Harmony!"
"Okay, okay, you should seriously chill out. Yeah, he's in there. Do you want me to call him and tell him that you're here?"
Angel glanced over at the door to Angelus' office, which was a whole fifteen feet away. "No, I think I'll just, y'know, mosey over there. Surprise him."
"Um, okay, but do you remember that one guy who surprised him and is still in a coma or something?"
"Yes." With that, Angel walked towards his brother's office.
Angelus, being aware of how important an entrance was, kept his doors well oiled. Thusly, it was very easy to throw the double doors wide open and stride in, looking pissed.
Angelus looked up from where he was sitting at his massive, imposing, black desk. His brother tended to slick his hair back, while Angel kept his up in spikes. For the people that didn't know the two of them, that was the only way to tell them apart. But those individuals that had seen the twins in the same space could always see the difference. It was something in their faces, in the postures of their bodies. Angelus screamed 'predator' with his every move, his every gesture. It was evident in the coldness of his eyes. Angelus made you pay attention to him, or else.
Angel was different. He slumped. He tried to be non-assuming. Being the center of attention terrified him. But his eyes were warm and open. Angel wanted people to like him. He was always surprised when people actually did.
"Hello, brother of mine," Angelus greeted mildly, raising an eyebrow. "What brings you here?"
"A hunch," Angel responded, crossing his arms and glaring.
"Really? How interesting." Angelus leaned back in his chair, his face a mask of pleasant surprise.
Angel took in the people standing at Angelus' desk. "Hello Eve." Great, the girl he'd had sex with after drinking the funny tasting punch at the last and only Wolfram and Hart office party he'd ever attended. This isn't awkward. And then there was…"Oh. You."
"Angel."
"Lindsey. How's your hand?" Angel smirked as Lindsey grimaced at him. There had been a brief misunderstanding between the two of them a few years back. At one point, they had been friends. They'd met in 1996. Angel had talked to Lindsey about his guilt, and his wishes to be free, and Lindsey had empathized. He'd been there. Lindsey had given a damn when nobody, not even Darla, had tried. And so when Angel finally took off, ran like hell from his brother and all that went with him, it had broken the younger twin's heart when Lindsey stayed behind.
Flash forward three months later and Lindsey was loyal as ever to his law firm, threatening to set Angel's plane ticket on fire. The plane ticket had been bought using nearly all of Angel's remaining money. The rest of his accounts had been frozen courtesy of Angelus, but he'd scrounged, scraped, and stolen enough to get him to Taiwan. Wolfram and Hart didn't have a Taipei branch. But if the ticket got torched, Angel was going to have to drive out of his hiding place in Austin, Texas. There was no way he could escape Wolfram and Hart's grasp that way. There were tricky things such as border patrols, money, and oceans to consider. So drastic measures had needed to be taken.
Angel liked to explain the story in simple terms. Namely, Angel had asked Lindsey to pass something over to him. Lindsey refused. Angel had become irritated. Lindsey had made angry faces and called him a traitor. Angel shot Lindsey in the hand and got his plane ticket back. In retrospect, it had all been very immature.
Returning to the present, Angel heard Lindsey answer, "Fine. Working as good as ever. Better even." The lawyer held up his hand and wiggled his fingers as proof.
After his hand had been shot, Lindsey had been unable to move it. He had no feeling, no control, no nothing. Angel might as well have cut Lindsey's had off, for all the use the lawyer could get out of it. Angelus had taken great delight in informing Angel of all of this, knowing his brother could not help but feel a dark satisfaction. The CEO had been even more cheerful when he explained that due to some special, probably illegal surgery, Lindsey was now the proud owner of two fully functioning hands. The good stuff never lasts.
"Well, be sure and tell me if you get bored with that," Angel responded, smirking. "I'd be happy to help liven things up for you."
Lindsey scowled, eyes cold and angry. "No thanks, I don't need anymore bullet holes in my bones. Of course, if you're interested in the experience-"
"Are you two quite finished?" Angelus interrupted, sounding amused. "Lindsey, Eve, tell me about it later. My brother seems to need some help." Angelus' smirk at those words nearly as wide as Lindsey's.
"But the Senior Partners-" Eve began, looking unhappy, but Angelus cut her off quickly.
"The Senior Partners can wait, Eve." It was more effective then if he'd shouted. Eve clamped her mouth shut, nodded, shot Angel a venomous glare, and strode quickly from the office. Lindsey muttered a respectful goodbye to Angelus, sneered at Angel, and followed Eve's path out of the office, shutting the doors behind him.
"So," Angelus said, leaning back in his chair and gesturing for Angel to take a seat in front of the desk, "talk."
"You know why I'm here," Angel said, not sitting. He wasn't a business associate, he was someone who was very upset and ready to start throwing punches.
"Yes, I do, but I haven't even called you." Angelus was as maddeningly calm as ever, the malicious light gleaming in his eyes. "So either you've become psychic, or there's been an information leak. Being as how you are wearing your signature 'I Have No Idea What's Going On' face, I have to assume it's the latter of the two." He smiled. "Someone's going to need all of their fingers smashed by a hammer, I think. You know how I feel about leaks."
"You need me to play a part in one of your little schemes," Angel growled. This wasn't a game. There was nothing funny here, although Angelus tended to find humor in everything. In most people, that's a good quality.
"Angel," Angelus smiled patronizingly, "I don't need you. Nobody really needs you. Sure, you drift through life, affecting people for good, but need you?" He laughed. "I suppose I could clone myself, but that would be time-consuming. So we'll just say your charming good looks are needed."
Angel hadn't had to deal with his brother's true nature for two years. (At family occasions, he played the part of the wealthy, successful, businessman who had everything. Only Kathy, the twins' little sister, had ever been able to see through his disguise completely.) It was easy to forget how insecure being around Angelus made him feel. Like all he could do was fail. Nothing he could do would ever be acceptable. Used to feel that way around Dad. I guess he and Angelus switched places or something. Realizing he'd become lost in bitter thought, the younger twin forced himself to pay attention. Then jerked as he replayed his brother's last statement in his mind.
"No. Hell no, emphatically!" They'd done it before. Angel would pretend to be Angelus, impersonating him for visitors and enemies. It was immensely useful for someone who had less-than-legal business, but usually ended in Angel being shot at.
"Yes. Hell yes, emphatically," Angelus replied, leaning forward as if he and Angel were sharing a secret. "This is important, brother of mine."
"You promised me!" Angel nearly screamed, leaping out of his chair and pointing an accusing finger at his brother. "You promised that you'd leave me alone. Dammit, I have a life now! I'm not a part of the Angelus rat pack anymore! I'm not doing it!" He was panting, like he'd been running a long time, and he felt almost giddy, despite the worry and fear that stayed with him always.
Angelus looked irritated, as if someone had cut him off while driving. "Y'know, Liam, I'd though we had reached a place where we understood each other. Where I didn't have to threaten your friends and family and dog to make you lend a hand in the family business." Angel would have protested that Angelus was the only one in the O'Brien clan that ran an evil law firm, but the CEO was not finished. "But no, you've reverted to idiot form, and now I have to use the stupid threat-clichés on you." Angelus sighed in annoyance and then schooled his face into a mask of hard contempt. "It would really be a shame if something were to happen to Doyle or the lovely Cordelia. Or Connor."
Ice gripped Angel's heart and ran through his veins. No. Not Connor. Not Cordelia or Doyle either, but never, ever Connor. The detective sat back down, feeling numb all of the sudden. "Leave Connor out of this."
"I gave him his new life, Angel. I found parents that would keep him safe, that would let him be a normal, happy child. I can take that away with a phonecall." It was like the CEO didn't know that he was threatening to cause considerable harm to his own nephew. It was like he didn't care.
Angel sometimes wondered whether, in the womb, Angelus had gotten all of the cunning and ambition and killer instinct, while he, guilty, sad Liam, had gotten the heart. "Damn you," Angel muttered quietly, shoulders slumping. He had lost. He had already been in the loser's bracket when the idea occurred in Angelus' mind.
"So are we agreed? You scratch my back, I continue to scratch yours?" Angelus sounded human again, simply discussing a normal business deal with his brother.
"Yes," Angel agreed quietly, refusing to look up and instead studying his shoes. There was a bit of dirt on the left one. It made Angel twitch a little. He like cleanliness.
"Good," Angelus said cheerfully. "And don't worry, the target in this one is a real scumbag. You'll be doing the world a favor in helping me eliminate him, trust me."
"I'm sure," muttered Angel emotionlessly.
He heard his brother sigh, get up, and walk to stand in front of Angel. Grudgingly, the younger twin met his brother's eyes. Angelus looked good, like he always did. Healthy L.A. tan, highlights, Hugo Boss suit that seemed to repel lint and creases. Angel was pale, because he only ever seemed to go out at night anymore. He was dressed in faded black jeans, a black T-shirt, and his black leather coat. The only reason his clothes didn't have wrinkles was because he was had a diagnosed case of obsessive-compulsive disorder and was compelled to make his clothing perfect. God, Angelus even looks like he's better than me, and we're identical twins.
"For what it's worth, Angel, I'm sorry that you have to give up being the good little martyr for the time being. But there's no way I can pull this off without you." It was very rare indeed for Angelus to admit that he legitimately needed someone else's help, and he sounded sincere. Angel felt marginally better. He berated himself even more because of it.
Angelus, seeing that Angel was not going to return from his brooding state, rolled his eyes and grabbed an envelope from his desk. "I have a present for you."
Oh, present. When Angelus did gift, he gifted well. "Does it explode?"
"No, my dear brother, it is perfectly safe. My only advice is don't get it near an open flame, but that's because the contents are flammable."
Angel realized what was in the envelope and felt some of his depression lift. Not all, but some. Some was enough. He took the envelope from Angelus' hand and put in his coat pocket, careful not to fold it.
"Be packed by tomorrow and report here at 10 PM," Angelus ordered. "You're catching the red-eye flight out of L.A."
Irritation at his brother returned full-force. "You're rich, why the hell can't I get a flight in the afternoon?"
"Because the private jet is being used for other things in the afternoon, you twit."
Ah. Despite the continued unhappy noises he made, Angel like the private jet very much. This did not make up for being forced back into the very dangerous life that he thought he'd escaped from, but it was a start.
Back in his car, Angel opened the envelope. Several pictures fell out of a lanky, shaggy-haired, little boy. The boy was seven years old. He liked soccer and pepperoni pizza. His favorite color was green and his favorite animal was a tiger. To the government, his parents, and himself, his name was Steven Reilly. To Angel, he was Connor O'Brien. His son.
When Daniel Holtz had shown up in Sunnydale, it had driven home to Angel that it was impossible to escape the past. If Connor was to live, to grow up as a happy, healthy, well-adjusted boy, he could not grow up as Angel's boy. And he knew of only one person that could give Connor a completely new life. Angelus. That was why Angel would never completely remove himself from his brother's control. All the CEO had to do was threaten to take away Connor's happy life and Angel would do whatever was asked of him. It was worth it.
But Angelus showed occasional flashes of humanity. The pictures were one of those flashes. They had begun coming a few months after Connor had been adopted. Angelus mailed them to Angel most of the time. They were professional quality pictures, something that a detective recognized instantly. Angel wondered whether the person hired to tail Connor ever became annoyed at following around a seven–year-old and his parents.
There were pictures of Connor at Chucky Cheese. Pictures of Connor on the playground. Pictures of Connor playing with his puppy. Sometimes there were notes scribbled on the back of them, which Angel loved because they gave him little insights into what Connor loved. Like tigers, or the color green. Twice a year, he received a report card with the pictures. Connor was smart and well behaved, and got on well with the other children. Angel always felt a fierce parental pride when he read the teacher's comments.
Angel kept the pictures in a book that no one knew about. It lived in his room, most of the time. On the days when he'd been following around cheating husbands and wives, when he passed homeless people and didn't bother to glance at them, when he tracked down debtors so that bookies and drug-dealers could force them to pay, Angel would pull out the book. He'd stare at his son who would never have to do the things his father did, and that made him happier then anything else.
There wasn't much that he'd done that could be considered truly good. Angel had lived a bad life, a hard life. But he had taken his son away from that life. He loved his son and he had given him up. That was the one truly, irrevocably noble thing Angel had ever done. It made him feel like maybe he was good and worthy of forgiveness.
He'd take the book with him when he went on this mission for Angelus. He'd probably need it.