Connor's days, or more accurately nights, soon took on a certain pattern. He had found that he had involuntarily adjusted his own circadian rhythm to match that of the two vampires. Wasn't really that much of a stretch from being a college student, actually; staying up all-night and sleeping all-day. He typically alternated roaming the city at night with Angel or Spike, sometimes all three at once. They always left under the pretense of patrolling, but usually ended up either sightseeing or just sparring to relieve some of the pent up energy that came with sharing their living space with a bunch of Slayers.

One evening he and Angel set out after an impromptu pizza party that had been brought on by a couple of hungry Slayers. Connor had to admit that the Romans sure did know their pizza. He noticed that although his father hadn't even taken one bite, Spike had voraciously attacked the pies, inhaling 5 or 6 pieces at rapid pace.

"Why don't you eat food?" Connor secretly hoped that Angel had been steering them towards another museum, as he had done the few previous times they had been out on "patrol". Over the past few weeks, Connor had discovered that his father possessed an astonishing amount of art history, and would fastidiously explain the hows and whys of each painting, sculpture, fresco they encountered. Connor was surprised to find he had obviously inherited Angel's keen interest in the arts, as he hung onto his father's every word. A fact he would never admit aloud, of course.

"It's not that I can't eat." Angel shrugged, a bit chagrined. "I just don't particularly enjoy eating food."

Connor had been momentarily distracted by a living statue; a man painted in entirely in silver. The man suddenly swung his torso in their direction, tipping his hat to them. "Uh, then why does Spike eat?"

Angel shrugged again. "I dunno. He's weird." Angel stepped sideways to allow a group of tourists to pass. He seemed slightly embarrassed by the conversation, but Connor kept looking at him expectantly, so he continued to clarify. "Food is kinda…tasteless to me. And, my body takes a long time to digest. The whole process leaves me kinda sluggish and unfocused." He looked around, trying to gain his bearings. "I just try and avoid it whenever I can."

Connor nodded. Apparently they had arrived at their destination, as they had stopped before the stairwell to a grand white building.

"The Galleria Borghese." Angel glanced over at Connor before peering up at the museum. "This was originally a palace, commissioned by Pope Paul V in 1612 as part of an urban renovation project." He vaguely waved up at the exterior. "Most of the building's plan came from a Flemish architect Flaminio Ponzio, whom was thought to be the Pope's go-to guy in terms of design." His voice was taking on an animated tone, clearly responding to Connor's interest. "Ponzio designed the proportions of the rooms and the Doric order on the exterior. Typically, the villas of the region were monolithic and confined, kinda boring really, so his design was a total departure from this." He traced the sides of the building with his index fingers. "These front and side projections were a completely unexpected design which were enhanced by the placement of the windows and the doors opening up to the garden avenues on all four sides." He looked over at his son, his eyes gleaming. He seemed unable to hide the smile on his face and Connor found he couldn't help but return it. "Wanna break in?"

Connor shrugged, attempting to feign apathy but knew he was failing miserably. "Sure…what else we gonna do?"

They had entered through a loose window on the left wing. Angel led them through darkened corridors, moving with purpose. Their eyes quickly adjusted to the emergency lighting that dimly illuminated their way. Angel pointed out the renowned works of art, most notably Bernini's "Apollo and Daphne" and Ruben's "The Deposition". But, he came to a complete stop when he saw that Connor was obviously taken by one of the paintings. He smiled warmly at his son. "Titian's 'Sacred and Profane Love'."

"Wow." Connor wasn't even trying to contain his awe.

"This was commissioned to celebrate the wedding of the Venetians Nicolò Aurelio and Laura Bagarotto in 1514." He walked up to the painting, pointing out certain features. "The figure with the vase symbolizes the fleeting happiness on earth, whereas the one bearing the burning flame symbolizes eternal happiness in heaven." He watched Connor's face, clearly taken by his fascination. He let a long moment spool out in silence before he spoke again. "We should probably get back…."

Connor could tell Angel was as reluctant as he was, but knew that practicality called for them to depart as they could be discovered at any moment. He nodded and followed his father out into the night, trying to commit to memory everything he had seen. Lately, as the summer drew to a close, he had been unable to shake the sense that any time spent with his father were stolen moments.

A few nights later, after another rousing round of "avoiding Buffy", he and Spike were out and about. Giles had detained Angel, wanting clarification about a particular passage in the prophecy. Spike had seemed anxious to get out of the Slayer house that night; he had either ran into some very large demon who had worked him over something fierce, or more likely, he had repeatedly ran his face into Angel's fist. Connor kept stealing sideways glances at him.

"What?" Spike seemed agitated, kicking a small stone down into a gutter with unneeded force.

"Can I ask you something?" Connor shoved his hands in his pockets, attempting to impart an air of casualness. Spike quirked an annoyed eyebrow in his direction, but didn't object. "Why do you eat food?"

Spike broke out into a grin, clearly relieved by the question. "And why doesn't Angel?" Connor just nodded. "Well, maybe he's too busy brooding to enjoy the finer things about living."

Connor scoffed, amused. "But, you're dead."

"Yeah, but we don't have to act like corpses now, do we?" He smirked at Connor and lit up a cigarette. "I happen to love food. Sure, some of it has lost its flavor, but with enough spices…" He exhaled a contented breath of smoke. "Spicy buffalo wings are my personal favorite. Buffalo sauce, chicken, a little blue cheese dressing on the side. What's not to love?" Connor just laughed in response. "So, you fancy scaring up something to eat, then? I think I might know of a place."

He led them to a small trattoria tucked in an alleyway near the Pantheon. "Do you like spicy food?" Connor nodded in the affirmative. "Then, you should try the pasta puttanesca. Pretty much the best I've ever had." He took a healthy sip of wine. "Puttanesca means 'pasta the way a whore would make it'". He winked at Connor. "Back in the day, whore houses would offer the dish to prospective customers in order to entice them inside."

The dishes were huge, and the food was beyond excellent. Honestly, it was the pretty much the best thing that Connor had ever eaten. He felt sated and at ease, and slightly buzzed from the wine. They wandered a bit further down darkened alleyways and just as they rounded a corner, Spike took a lazy swing at his face which he easily avoided. He stepped quickly to the left, then flipped over Spike's head and swept a leg under the vampire, felling him. Spike laughed, openly enjoying himself. Sparring was typically the way they ended their evenings.

They danced around each other like boxers, both looking for any opening. "You move like him, you know?" Spike lunged a bit at him, attempting to draw him off balance.

Connor rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I dunno." He nodded at Spike's battered face. "I get the feeling he pulls his punches with me."

Spike stopped then, and smirked at him. "Well, he would do, wouldn't he?"

Connor stopped as well. "What do you mean?"

The other vampire pulled out a cigarette, indicating the sparring session was over. "Well, he wouldn't want to hurt you, now, would he?"

Connor felt himself a bit miffed at this and straightened his shoulders. "I can take him."

Spike guffawed at him and gingerly touched his face. "Yeah…"

Connor looked at him searchingly. "Why do you guys fight all the time?"

Spike shrugged. "It's a vampire thing." He then considered something else. "Also, I think he feels it's payback."

Connor quirked an eyebrow. "Payback? For what?"

Spike was shifting from foot to foot. "For an earlier fight. In which I did win."

Now it was Connor's turn to scoff. "You beat him?"

"Fair and square." Spike looked off, eyes distant, before taking in Connor with a long glance. "Although now I think maybe his heart wasn't in it. Seeing as he'd already won the bloody cup of Mountain Dew and all."

"You guys were fighting over Mountain Dew? What are you? Twelve?"

"That's not the point. You know what? Let's not…." He was cut off by the sound of a gun cocking.

Suddenly, out of no where, Angel catapulted over the both of them, pulling them into an awkward embrace. He positioned himself so that his back protected them from the attack. He jerked as each bullet hit him, and soon pain won out and Angel sunk to his knees, pulling the other two with him. When the machine gun clicked repeatedly, indicating it was finally empty, Spike let out a roar and jumped around the other two. Connor saw him attack the gun-toting demon, his game face in place. He viciously tore the demon's head from his body, then continued to tear at the creature until all that was left was a bloody smear. Connor was surprised at Spike's brutality; apparently, he had been pulling his punches with him as well. Angel was slumped against him, eyes half-mast. Spike loped over towards them, back in human face. "He ok?"

"I don't…" Connor's mouth parted in horror as he took in the bloody mess that was Angel's back. Angel had completely gone slack, apparently passing out.

Spike reached out and carefully pulled Angel into his lap. He chewed at his bottom lip, considering something before looking up at Connor, contrite. "Sorry about this, mate, but he needs it." He suddenly vamped and bit his own wrist, bringing the wound up to Angel's mouth. Connor felt vaguely guilty and somewhat disgusted, but also oddly entranced. Angel seemed to respond immediately to the blood, wrapping his hands tightly around Spike's wrist, lapping at the wound with wet slurping noises. His yellow eyes flew wide with surprise, taking in Connor. He shifted back to human face and his body drooped downwards and his eyes rolled upwards, the pain catching up to him. Spike caught Angel under one of his shoulders, indicating Connor do the same. "Can you walk, pet?" Angel grunted in response, which Spike took to be in the affirmative and with Connor's assistance hefted the older vampire to standing. He looked around Angel to Connor. "We should get him back to the house, in case Al Capone there had any friends." Connor nodded and they began the slow journey home without another word.

The stairs leading up to the second floor presented the biggest challenge as Angel didn't seem to have control over his movements and his feet kept missing the steps. After much effort they reached Spike's room, and the blonde vampire pulled the door open. "Let's get him on the bed, then." Angel fell like a dead weight, face first on top of the blankets. Spike rubbed a hand over his forehead, obviously concerned. He began to pace and glanced over to Connor. "OK…we're going need some gauze and medical tape, some kind of forceps…" He tapped his finger against his front teeth. "And the biggest bottle of vodka you can find. Prolly want to look in the Englishman's office. Maybe a hidden cabinet in his desk…"

Connor nodded, eager to be doing something useful. He found the medical supplies without much trouble, obviously they were in high demand and there was an entire stocked cabinet right in the front hallway. He also found a nasty-looking pair of pliers, which he supposed would be best for removing bullets. And, Spike had been right, he did indeed find an almost full bottle of vodka hidden in Giles' desk. As he approached the door, he heard muted voices from within. "So, you don't trust me with the boy, eh? You were following us." Spike tone was only mildly reproachful and Connor heard a loud tearing noise. "Had to be the big strapping hero…." Both turned their heads as Connor entered. Spike indicated that he deposit the gauze and pliers on the nightstand and held his hand out for the vodka, whistling in approval. "Guess the old man sprang for the good stuff."

"Connor, I don't want you here." Connor could tell that Angel was struggling with every word. He had been stripped from the waist up, and he could see that Spike had torn the sheets in an attempt to clean up some of the wounds. His back still looked like raw tenderized meat, and he thought he could see the bone peeking through in a few places.

"Yeah? Tough." He looked at Spike, wordlessly waiting for further instructions, attempting to avoid looking at Angel's back.

Spike walked around the bed, gently cupping the back of Angel's head and pulling it slightly upwards, tilting the open bottle towards his lips. Connor found himself touched by the tenderness of the gesture. "Sorry, luv, but I need his help on this one. Ok…drink up." Angel wrapped his hands around the bottle and took a healthy sip, sputtering slightly when he swallowed. Spike waved the bottle, signifying Angel should drink again. Angel obliged two more times, finally satisfying Spike when he saw that he had drained about a third of the bottle. Spike took a hefty sip himself and then tossed the bottle towards Connor, who took a drink as well. Spike rubbed his hands together and picked up the gauze and pliers, assessing whether they would be adequate. He took in a deep breath. "OK, junior, we need to keep him as still as possible. I want you to hold down his shoulders as tight as you can. I'm going to sit on his hips." He looked around the room. "Here, fetch that waste bin."

Connor pulled the garbage can over to the side of the bed and then slid in by Angel's head, taking in a deep breath himself before leaning down hard on his father's shoulders. "This ok?"

The question had been directed towards Angel, but it was Spike who answered. "Just make sure he doesn't move." He pulled his belt from his waist.

Angel flinched, eyes wide in shock. "Spike, what the hell are you…."

"Don't get too excited, Peaches. Don't want you biting off your own tongue." He folded the belt over twice, then offered it to Angel to place in his mouth. Spike then swung his legs over the prone vampire, effectively pinioning him to the bed. He blew out a long breath and held the pliers up. "You ready then, Peaches?" Angel nodded into the pillow, his hands fisted into the bedclothes in anticipation. Spike glanced up at Connor who nodded as well. "Right, then." Spike took aim and plunged the pliers into one of the wounds, rooting around until finding purchase and pulling out the tiny bullet. Connor felt Angel tense completely, holding his breath and groaning softly. Spike dropped the bullet into the can with a metallic ping. He took in a shuddering breath, eyes full of concern, before aiming the pliers and repeating the procedure again.

Connor had lost count after 20; he had no idea how many bullets Spike had pulled from Angel's back. All he knew was that the sound in the waste can had changed from an empty rattle to a more muted sound as the bullets bounced off of one another. He knew that Spike had been avoiding the deepest of the wounds, a few which had thankfully just missed Angel's spine. Spike reached forward and gently tangled a hand in the back on Angel's head in an attempt to calm him. "OK, pet. Gotta go a bit deep now." Angel seemed to shiver but simply nodded. Spike steeled himself before thrusting the pliers in deeply. Angel's entire body bucked upwards and he let out a strangled scream. Connor had to push down hard to keep him still. Spike moved the tool around a bit before Angel went completely slack, causing the younger vampire let out a relieved sigh. "Oh thank God. He's passed out." After a bit more of a struggle, he wrested the bullet free. He held his hand out for the bottle and took a gulp, then handed it over to Connor.

Connor's insides were already churning and he was not prepared for the assault of the alcohol. He lurched off of the side of the bed, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor until there was nothing left. He felt a cool hand on his neck, gently soothing him. "I'm sorry…"

"It's alright, luv. It's alright." Spike kept rubbing his neck, he felt himself leaning into comforting the touch. "With him knocked out, I can finish the rest of this myself."

Connor pushed against his hands, attempting to sit taller. "No…no…it's ok. He's my father. I'll be alright."

Spike nodded in agreement. "Right. Well, we're going to need some fresh bedclothes. Think you can scare some up for us, then?" He gave Connor a hesitant smile.

"Yeah, sure." He stood shakily, throwing a glance back towards his father before heading out. As soon as he opened the door, he was assailed by a wave of fresh air. He had been unaware that the air and the room had been so thick with the smell of pain, blood and fear. His legs buckled beneath him, and he slid down the wall, resting his chin resting on his knees. He sat there, unmoving, until he was spurned back into action by the sounds of Spike beginning his grim task again. When he finally returned with clean sheets and a torn (but clean) blanket, he found Spike sitting on the open windowsill, smoking a cigarette, a bloody smear marring his cheek. Apparently, he had finished removing all of the bullets. Angel lay in the position he had left him, still unmoving.

Spike flicked his cigarette out the window and moved back over to the bed. "I'm gonna lift him. You think you can change the sheets, then, luv?" He leaned in towards the unconscious vampire, gently turning Angel over and then sliding one arm under his legs and the other under his neck. He hoisted Angel awkwardly aloft, moving back to allow room for Connor to complete his task.

The bed clothes were covered in blood and dark smears that Connor suspected were pieces of skin and tissue. Connor ripped them from the bed, tossing them at the foot. He cringed when he saw that some of the blood had seeped onto the mattress, so he lifted the side upwards, almost tumbling forward under the unwieldy weight before flipping it over. He tossed the fitted sheet, unfurling its length before tucking it around the corners of the bed. Once he smoothed it out, Spike gently lay Angel down on the bed, carefully positioning the injured vampire on his side.

"S'ok, I can take it from here." He took up the roll of gauze and began cutting small squares to cover the wounds, giving Connor a reassuring smile. "He's going to be ok."

Connor reached out with shaking fingers, attempting to aid Spike. "No. Please. Let me help."

Spike decided it wasn't a battle worth fighting and simply slid over, allowing Connor access to his father. Together, they quickly finished the task, covering the wounds on his back and the few places on his chest where the bullets had completely passed through. Spike wiped a hand across his brow and looked down at the slumbering vampire. He reached out and smoothed the hair across Angel's brow. "He's going to be ok. He just needs some sleep now."

Connor stood and gave him a half-smile. "You gonna make sure he does that?"

Spike stood and grinned back. "Sure, leave me with the hard part." He nodded at Connor in appreciation. "Thanks, mate."

Connor just dipped his head and left the room without a glance backwards. His eyes began to blur with hot tears as soon as he made it into the hallway. He blindly stumbled into his room, throwing himself on top of his comforter fully clothed. He pulled himself into the fetal position and buried his face in his pillow, soundlessly sobbing himself to sleep.