Chapter 40

Will paced Angels' office. He had been waiting for nearly thirty minutes for the president of the company to actually show up to work. When Angel finally walked in, Will wasted no time in recounting the story of his previous night. Listening quietly, Angel unpacked his briefcase and settled papers on his desk. When he thought Will had finally finished his tirade, Angel sat on the couch near the wall length windows.

"So you screwed up."

"It was her fault! Bloody hell, Angel, what am I gonna do?" He was still pacing.

Taking a deep breath, Angel thought for a few moments before calling Wesley and asking if Dawn had come into work yet. She had not. He hung with Wes and slowly sat down in front of his pacing friend. "She never came in today. Where would she go? You need to get her to talk to you."

"She would be in her apartment talking to Dennis. I'm pretty sure that's where she would be. I don't know anymore. And what am I going to tell Faith? She thinks I'm mad at her now. Angel, why do I screw everything up? Can't I do anything right?"

"I ask myself that same question on a rather regular basis. I've been told it has something to do with being human. Anyway, call her. Keep calling her. Leave early today and go to her apartment. I wouldn't go now; she needs some time to cool off. Faith should be coming in soon, go talk to her first. That's the easier of the two to deal with right now."

"This sucks so much."

"Get out of here. I have real work to do and you have to talk to Faith."

After showing Will out, Angel sighed heavily and dropped into his chair. Everyone around him seemed to be coming apart at the seams and he was still holding strong. He was amazed that he was the one who wasn't collapsing under the pressure. Sighing again, he started going through the cases he hadn't been able to go over the previous day. Some of them were very interesting. Without Buffy in the office for the past few weeks many new conflicts had began; there was currently no one to mediate them.

Lawsuits were flying between the more developed demon nations and fights were starting between the less developed. One lawsuit dealt with an illegitimate son and stolen basket of sacrificial plants. It was very complicated.

Angel didn't recognize the passing of time until there was a soft knock at the door. Glancing briefly at the clock, he was surprised to realize it was almost one in the afternoon. Connor stepped through the large double doors and walked slowly into the office, his hands in his pockets. Taking a seat in one of the arm chairs, he looked at Angel and waited for the other man to join him. The space in front of Angels' desk was free of places for people sit; it was strategically designed that way. He didn't want anyone to get the impression that they were welcome to have meetings with him in his office. If someone wanted to talk to him, they were forced to stand in front of his desk. Only his friends and family knew enough to sit in the lounge area at the far side of the office.

Before joining his son, Angel took the opportunity to order lunch for he and Connor. Lazily putting his feet on the ottoman in front of him, Angel leaned back in his seat and focused on his son.

"So what's up?"

"Wes called me a little while ago. He said I should come in and look at some stuff. I think he just wants me to get out of the house."

"Anything new?"

Connor shook his head rather sadly. "I know they're looking for that guy. I'm just…I jut don't think we'll ever find them. I don't think we'll ever really get to make them pay. Not even that, I just want justice. That's all. Just justice."

"Justice is hard to come by some times."

Angel's secretary brought in salads and sandwiches and set them on the coffee table in front of the two men. After thanking her, Angel asked her to have Wesley call him later. Nodding her ascent, she left the office, leaving the two men alone once again. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Angel spoke.

"Connor, we will find these people. It takes time. I know that's hard to listen to, but it's true. It could take a long time to find these people. They were very good, very careful. And to be honest…we don't know what they had planned as their end game. I can't imagine they just wanted to torture you for fun. I think there was some larger plan. I'm not sure what that is yet though."

Chewing slowly, Connor considered his fathers' words carefully. He didn't want to try and be patient. He didn't want to wait nicely; he wanted to go through the streets and beat things into bloody pulps until he found the people who had destroyed his life. When he really thought about what his father was saying, though, he realized that there was more in store for him. Angel was right, Connor realized, there was no reason to kill his family and then let him alone. There had to be a bigger purpose, a higher goal than depressing and destroying him. He wasn't that important.

"What could be the end game? What would be the purpose of torturing me? I'm nobody. I don't even hunt demons anymore. I'm no threat to anyone."

Angel swallowed hard; fighting the guilt that was starting to wash over him in great cascading waves. "You're my son. That's enough to make you a threat. There are great plans for your life, Connor. You weren't meant to live through what you lived through without fighting for a purpose. I mean, Connor, you grew up in hell. You're one of the best trained warriors this side has because you didn't learn in a gym or a dojo, you learned on the field from the time you could talk and walk. Crawl, probably. And as much as I regret that and as much as I wish I could change that…it's who you are.

I tried to change it, actually, and now I'm sorry for that. I just keep causing you pain. But Connor…you are not a nobody. You're a prophesized miracle child. That means something. You mean something to the balance of things. That makes you a target. I tried to change that by giving you a new life, a life where you didn't even know who you really were. I thought you'd be safe then…but things just keep happening. Twice you got your memories back. That makes me think you were meant to have them."

Angel swallowed hard and pursed his lips. He hadn't meant to say all that. He had planned a very short and comforting sentence, but instead had bared part of his soul. He cursed his traitorous tongue. Glancing at Connor, he saw his son frozen in his movements. Connor was staring at the carpet, a haunted look on his face.

"I try not to think about how I grew up." His voice was a low whisper; there was a dangerous quality to it that reminded Angel of a time very long ago and a very different Connor. "I try not to think about my life before. I don't want to think about it. I want to know it's there, it means I'm not crazy, but I don't want to dwell on it."

"I'm not sure you're going to have a choice Connor. I think you're being forced to recognize your past, own it. I just…I've had this theory. You won't like it and I don't think I should tell you about it…but I'm going to. You weren't meant to have the life I had built for you. You weren't meant to be normal. Someone or something knows that. They took away your option of having that life. They destroyed it so utterly that you can't go back to it. That's my theory, anyway."

Angel waited, holding his breath, for Connor to respond. If he were his son, Angel thought, he would not want to hear what had just been said.

"You're right. I fucking hate that theory. That…sucks." Connor stood violently. He looked ready to destroy something but didn't know what. Angel recognized that his son was full of impotent rage and it would destroy him if he didn't use it, express it.

Connor started to pace the room, his fists clenching and unclenching in rhythmic movements. His gentle swagger was gone, replaced by the dangerous stalking motions that he used to employ. Angel sat forward more, ready to restrain his son if he needed. The look in Connor's eyes had changed from pain and guilt to murderous rage. Angel was now looking at the man who had leapt out of Quor'Toth. The passive art history major who listened to The Beatles and his girlfriends' poetry had disappeared entirely.

"You're saying that someone wanted to force me to fight. By taking away my life they thought I would have to join your life. That's what you're saying?"

"Yes. That's what I'm saying."

Angel didn't see the punch coming. He was on the ground, fists flying into him at incredible speeds. His first instinct was to turn himself into a ball and cover his head. Instead, he lashed out and grabbed one of the super-speed wrists coming towards him. Pulling Connor down to the ground, he flipped his son onto his front and straddled him, making sure that he hit pressure points hard enough to let Connor know he was serious. Breathing hard, Angel put two fingers to a pressure point in Connor's neck.

"I will hit this and you won't be able to move. I am not the enemy Connor."

"You should have killed me!" The young man was shaking with unspent rage and sobs. "You should have killed me in that mall! I shouldn't even be alive! I shouldn't have been born."

Angels' breath caught. His eyes watered. "I did kill you. That was the deal, Connor. I had to kill you so you could be remade into a new version of you. I did kill you." His voice broke as he spoke. His son wished he had never had born, wished to be dead, and there was nothing Angel could do to ease that pain.

Connor's body went limp as he started to sob. Gently releasing his grip on the younger man, Angel climbed off of him and dragged him across the few inches in between them. "I'm glad you're alive, Connor. I don't want you dead. I never did. Never. Through everything, Connor, I only wanted you to be happy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I tried to create a lie for you to live and that you loved it so much. I never meant for any of this to turn out this way. God, Connor, I only wanted you to be happy."

Angel realized tears had been silently sliding his cheeks. He hadn't been sobbing, he wasn't crying even, but the tears were there none the less. Connor was more vocal about his pain; he sounded like a wounded animal, sobbing and making keening noises into his father's chest. Angel's heart broke as he realized that in Connors' real life he had never been able to do this. As a child, hurt and frightened, he had never had the comfort Angel was willing to give him in that moment. Angels' heart broke a little more.

"They're fading away, Angel. They're fading away and I can't keep them."

"What's fading, Connor?"

"My memories. I think…" The man let out another sob, "I think I can't have both lives. I can't keep the memories of my family, they keep slipping away little by little and all I'll have left is…is…" Words failed him as he let himself collapse fully on the floor of his fathers' office.

Holding his son for all he was worth, Angel cried out in his mind for help, for strength. He couldn't tolerate to see his son so devastated. Connor was going to loose all the memories he had of happiness and be left with nothing but his horrible past. Angels' deepest fear was that he would loose his son again to the darkness that had previously consumed him. This time, though, he wouldn't survive four months at the bottom of the ocean.

They sat without speaking for a long time, the only sounds in the room that of Connor's immeasurable pain and his father's attempted comfort. After a time, Connor seemed to use all the tears he had at that moment. Even after the young man stopped crying, though, he let himself be comforted by his father. He could vaguely remember his created father doing so when he was a small child and had a nightmare. Those memories were becoming harder and harder to bring to the forefront of his mind, though. He remembered more easily being forced to track and kill beings five and six times his size when he was the age of first grader.

After a time without tears, Connor slowly pulled away and leaned against the couch. He felt as though he had been hit by a large bus. Never before had he known exhaustion the way he had in the past few months. Physical exhaustion seemed not to compare to the fatigue his mind and emotions were causing him. Glancing at his father, he saw the older man quickly wiping away the dampness from his cheeks. Connor felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest when he realized that his father cried for him.

Dragging himself off the floor, he collapsed onto the couch to watch Angel pick himself up off the floor. Connor didn't feel the need to move for a very long time. Leaving his son in his office, hopefully to fall into an exhausted sleep, Angel went to Wesley's office.

He walked slowly down the hallways, taking the back ways most people didn't like to travel. He avoided the elevators, instead taking the stairs, as he tried to clear his mind at least a little bit before he talked to Wesley.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the office door. It was time to step up their efforts. He wasn't going to watch his son die a little more every day if he could anything to help it.