6.18 Echoes

By Jane Davitt and WesleysGirl

The late afternoon sun shone through the windows of Wesley's office, falling across his desk, littered with paperwork. He set down a report he'd been reading and rubbed his fingers across his eyes, the deep shadows under them accentuating his pallor. He picked it up again, catching his lip between his teeth as he stared at the final page, looking undecided, his pen spinning slowly between his fingers. The phone rang, and he dropped the report to the desk, flipping it closed and placing the pen on top of it, aligning it carefully. Stifling a yawn, he let the phone ring twice more before picking it up, answering with a terse, "Pryce."

The voice at the other end of the line was clear and determined. "Mr. Pryce? Wesley? This is Roger Burkle. Fred's dad? I'm sorry to bother you - I know you folks are busy - but I was hoping you might be able to tell me how to get in touch with my daughter."

"You're looking for Fred." Wesley's voice was emotionless, but his body jerked upright, losing all signs of fatigue, and his mouth set in a thin, down-turned line.

"Yeah. The phone at her apartment's been disconnected, and when Trish tried her Wolfram and Hart extension it just kept putting her through to the main desk, and the girl there didn't seem to have any idea who we were talking about." Roger sounded frustrated, but not as if he anticipated bad news.

"Roger - " Wesley began to say and then paused.

He heard a scuffle and Roger turned away, his voice fading. "Trish, it's all right; I got through to Wesley."

"Well, give me that phone then!" Trish's voice was too loud and eager. Wesley winced and held the phone away from his ear a little. "Wesley, honey? How have you been?" Without waiting for an answer she continued, "Now, I know something's wrong, so don't sugar-coat it; did she - she left, didn't she?"

"Oh, yes," Wesley said, staring across his office, his eyes distant and vague. "She did."

Trish sighed. "I knew it. Too proud to tell us she's not working there anymore, with that fancy office and all. As if that matters!"

"It doesn't," Wesley agreed. "It doesn't matter at all." He scrubbed at his face with his free hand, as if he was trying to wake himself up from a nightmare. When he spoke his voice was harsh, even cold, but his face was twisting like he was in pain. "Trish - Fred is - Fred died. We should have told you sooner, but we - it was complicated."

"Wesley?" Trish's voice was puzzled rather than shocked, and Wesley shook his head as if saying it again was almost more than he could manage.

"Fred died. She's gone. I'm very sorry." His voice cracked, just a little, and he raised his head and focused on the wall again.

"What do you mean, she..." Shock. Disbelief. They were all there in her voice, but no anger. Not yet. "No. No, not Fred. It's just not..."

Again there was the sound of the phone being wrestled away from the person holding it, and then Roger was on the other end of the line again as Trish wept quietly in the background. "What the hell did you just say to my wife?" Roger demanded.

Wesley's gaze fell to his desk and the report he'd been reading when the phone rang. The name typed neatly across the front was easy to read.

'Angel'.

Something changed in Wesley's expression as he ran his fingers across that single word, speculation replacing sorrow. He pushed the report away from him with a single, decisive flick of his hand and brought the phone very close to his mouth.

"Your daughter's dead," Wesley said, coldly and precisely. "I'm afraid I can't give you any more details."

"What do you mean, you can't give me any more details? If you know what happened... if you..." Roger muffled the phone with his hand, but Wesley could still hear him speaking to Trish, begging her to stop crying until he could figure out what the situation was.

"Angel," Wesley said, his mouth working as if the name tasted both bitter and sweet. "You need to speak to him. He has the answers you need."

His tight grip on the phone began to relax, and he sat back, his face alert, even impatient now, showing no trace of grief.

He gave Roger Angel's phone number, repeating it twice, and then said softly, "I'm sorry."

He replaced the phone without watching it drop back into place, turning aside from it quickly and re-opening the report bearing Angel's name. He picked up his pen again, scrawling letters dark against the paper.

'Approved'.

He scanned the report quickly and then added his initials and tossed it onto his out tray, where the sunlight highlighted Angel's name and made it shine.

---

Watch the Credits

• Episode 6.18: Echoes
• Written by: Jane Davitt and WesleysGirl
• Edited by: Ros Fod
• Produced by: The Brat Queen and Flaming Muse

---

Spike whistled a jaunty tune as he walked up the stairs to Angel's office. When he got inside he asked, "So. Anything new and exciting to report?"

Angel scowled and waved a hand at Spike. The other hand was busy holding the phone to his ear. "Yeah, okay. I know. I'm... I'm really sorry. Uh-huh. Bye." He hung the phone up with care, like he'd rather be slamming it down than treating it gently, and drummed his fingers against the desk, still scowling.

"Well? Break it to me gently," Spike said when Angel didn't say anything. "World's ending when exactly?"

Angel stood up abruptly, his face hardening. "That was the Burkles. Fred's parents."

"Know who they are," Spike said, perching on the edge of the desk. "What did they want?"

"They wanted - " Angel paused, going very still, his lips compressed.

"Angel?" Spike prompted, gently enough, when Angel didn't carry on.

"Wesley told them that Fred was dead," Angel said, the words precise and cold, his gaze locked on Spike's face. "He told them to ask me about it. They wanted to know how it happened. Why I hadn't told them. They were crying. Both of them."

Spike worked his way through the news a bit at a time. "Sadistic bastard," he said after a moment.

"Yeah." Angel looked down at the desk, his hands resting on the edge of it.

"That does mean I'm not the only one thinking he did it on purpose, right?" Spike rolled his eyes in disgust. "It's just what he'd do, isn't it? Trying to get to you, mess with your head. Or are you going to tell me I'm wrong, as usual?"

Angel glanced up at him. "Don't be too shocked, but no. For once, we're actually on the same page."

Standing up, Spike rubbed his hands together briskly and bounced on his heels. "Right. So what's on the menu? If we need to sort him out physically, I'd suggest some broken fingers. Maybe not all of them, but enough to really get him where it hurts, you know?"

For a fleeting moment, Angel looked tempted, flexing his own fingers and watching them curl before shaking his head. "It's not that simple."

"Grab, twist, snap. It really is."

Angel's mouth twitched in a smile, and Spike grinned.

"Admit it; that brought back memories," Spike said. "Oh, I know; two little boys with souls are we... but you can't tell me you don't miss the time when things were simpler."

"Yeah. But no." Angel didn't sound convinced.

"Come on!" Spike urged, his face lighting up. "We owe him. For Drusilla, if nothing else. We can dedicate a rib or two to her; bugger's got plenty to spare. Teach him to go around dusting people, and that doll - " Spike's face started to shift, but he shuddered and forced back the change. "God, the way he tossed it at us like that... We bloody well owe him."

"We're not going to break bones," Angel said, with a finality that left no room for argument.

Spike mimed a finger-snapping, which got an eye roll, and then sighed. "Never figured you'd get squeamish in your old age."

Angel stared at nothing in particular and then smiled. "You always did have a lack of imagination, Spike. It's why I never let you handle the torturing."

"Not my idea of fun," Spike said indifferently. "Liked the way you got afterwards, 'cause it put a bit of a spring in your step, but all that screaming and begging just got on my bloody nerves."

"In that case, believe me, you don't want to hear Wesley's." Angel gave a brisk shake of his head.

"Then what? Don't even tell me you're just going to let him get away with this. If we don't nip it in the bud now, who's next?"

"Oh, don't me wrong. I want to hurt him," Angel said, eyes glittering coldly as he raised them to meet Spike's. There was the sound of a footstep in the doorway, and they both turned to see Illyria standing there, her chin dipped and her head tilted to one side. "I just have to pick the right weapon."

---

As Connor left the brightly lit mini-mart and walked down the street he spoke into the cell phone he was holding against his ear. "No, there's no way I'm studying for that test tonight. What? Because I've studied so much I know for a fact if I open the textbook again the words would probably disappear from the page and get sucked up into my brain." He listened for a moment, drinking from the cup of soda he held, and then grinned. "Right. I'd totally have to buy the library a new copy. Look, I'm headed back to the dorm; catch you later."

He took one last sip from the bottom of his soda cup and tossed it into the nearest trash can. It made a rattling sound, a rhythmic one-two. Connor frowned and paused, and the sound expanded and sped up; it wasn't coming from the trash can but from up the street ahead of him. He looked, squinting in the low light from the street lights, and saw a girl walking toward him, and, behind her, a guy running.

The girl turned her head and looked behind her at the same time the guy reached her and grabbed onto the strap of her purse. She screamed, high and shrill, and staggered as the guy wrestled the purse away from her and kept right on running.

Connor sneered as the man approached but didn't bother showing off, settling for the casual but effective extension of his foot as the man barreled past him. He followed the move with a neat grab at the stolen purse and a smile as the man hit the sidewalk with a satisfying thud, the breath exploding out of him because of the extra force Connor had used while kicking his legs from under him.

"Sorry," Connor said with obvious insincerity. "Holding back's just not a habit I want to get into, you know?"

He looked up and saw the girl stumbling towards him, her hand clutching at her shoulder, her face tight with pain. "Please - "

The man didn't look as if he was going anywhere soon and the girl looked as if she was close to fainting, so Connor walked toward her, holding out the purse toward her.

"Oh God, thank you!" she said, the words spilling out in a rush. "That's - I never even heard him coming until it was too late, and then I just stood there - " She gave him a tremulous smile, dark brown eyes shimmering with tears, and then swiped her hand across her face and took a deep breath. "Okay, take a picture. Jade going to pieces in front of a hot - "

"A what?" Connor asked, intrigued, as she paused.

She grinned, pushing her heavy fall of straight dark hair back from her face. "I'd tell you, but I'm not that freaked out." She extended her hand. "My name's Jade - ow."

Connor frowned. "Unusual name."

"I'm reminding myself that you're my hero and letting that go," she told him. Her gaze shifted behind him, and her eyes widened. "Uh, speaking of going, I think someone just left."

"What?" Connor turned his head and saw an empty patch of sidewalk. "Oh. I'm not used to them being able to walk - never mind. Want me to go after him?" He turned his head and inhaled sharply, catching the man's scent.

Jade seemed to consider the idea for a few seconds and then shook her head. "No. I mean, you got my bag back, and that's what matters. Although I can't deny it would have been cool to see him really beat up." Something flickered behind her eyes, and she dropped her gaze down the sidewalk, taking a few more deep breaths. "Sorry," she murmured. "I think that... I might be a little bit more shaken up than I realized. I can't believe I said that. God."

"No, it's okay," Connor assured her, reaching out and patting her arm hesitantly.

"Thank you," Jade said, looking up at him and moving a little closer. Her eyes were wide and brown, almost soft. "Really. A lot."

"You're welcome," Connor said, just as she swayed slightly. He steadied her. "Whoa. Okay, I think maybe we should get you to the hospital."

Jade frowned. "No. No, I'm okay. Maybe if I could just sit down for a minute...?"

Staying close, Connor got her started walking. "Yeah. Come on; I work close to here. Sort of an... apprenticeship kind of thing. But they're open nights, so... plus they're right around the corner."

"I'm not sure - " She hesitated, giving him a doubtful look. "You work there? Really? Because no offense, but I'm not going anywhere private no matter how grateful I am."

"What?" A flush rose in Connor's face, and he shook his head quickly. "No! It's - it was - a movie theater. Well, not actually a theater because it doesn't really show movies, but there'll be people there, and you can sit in the lobby, and - "

"Hey," Jade said gently, putting her hand on his arm. "Sorry. Just - I've been dumb enough for one night, you know?"

"You weren't dumb," Connor said. "Just unlucky."

She shook her head as they reached the Walden door and smiled up at him as he held it open for her. "You know, I don't feel unlucky right now."

Connor's blush deepened a shade.

The lobby was empty but brightly lit, and Jade relaxed as soon as she saw it. He guided her over to a seat where she had a direct line to the door and crouched down in front of her. "You hurt your shoulder, right?"

Jade nodded, her hand going to it and cupping it protectively. "When he grabbed my purse, the buckle on the strap kind of caught and dug in - " She took a deep breath and undid two buttons on her shirt before pushing it back off her shoulder, revealing a long, shallow scrape, with blood welling up in a few places and the start of what was going to be an impressive bruise. "Ooh," she murmured.

Connor's gaze fell to the curve of a breast in a hot-pink satin bra for a moment. He glanced guiltily up at her pale face.

"Blood," she said, rolling her eyes at herself. "Sorry. I just really don't like the sight of blood. Especially when it's mine."

"It doesn't bother me," Connor said. "Just don't look at it, and I'll get something to clean it up." As he went over behind the counter and crouched down to look for the first aid kit, he heard the sound of footsteps.

"Um... hi. Can I help you with something?" Angel asked.

Connor stood up, first aid kit in hand. "She's with me."

"Hi," Jade said, staying where she was and looking up at Angel. "Are you... um, okay, I don't actually know your name." She glanced at Connor apologetically.

"Connor," Angel said. "His name's Connor. I'm his... boss." He was looking at Jade with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. This jerk tried to steal my purse, but Connor stopped him." Jade turned her brilliant, wide smile in Connor's direction as he went over to join her.

Spike started down the stairs from the office, slipping a cigarette between his lips. When he saw Angel he removed it with a sigh.

"She got kind of scratched up, but it's not serious," Connor said, taking out some antiseptic wipes and dabbing at the wound while Jade held her shirt out of the way. She winced. "Sorry," he said.

Jade turned her head away from the wound. "No, it's okay. It's better than if I was doing it. As long as I don't have to look at it, I'm good."

"Well, well, saving beauties in distress, are we?" Spike said, taking in the situation at a glance. "Like father - "

"Spike, that's enough," Angel said without much bite.

Connor smiled reassuringly at Jade as he taped a bandage in place. "You can look now," he said to her.

She peeked at it and then glanced down at her exposed cleavage, flushing as she tugged her shirt closed and fastened the buttons. "Oops. Sorry." Her gaze went to Spike and Angel, who were staring at her, but with their attention focused more on her injury than her breasts, and she frowned slightly before her attention returned to Connor. "My purse had, like, a week's pay in it. I owe you big time."

"You really don't," Connor said, smiling at her again. "I like helping out, and that guy was a jerk. I just wish I could've stopped him before he hurt you."

Angel and Spike both took a step forward at the same time and exchanged embarrassed glances.

"I can call you a cab," Angel said. "You won't want to walk home after that."

"It's not far," Jade said. "Really, I'll be fine."

"I'll walk you home," Connor offered, getting another of her smiles.

"Don't you have work to do?" Angel asked a little sharply. Spike and Connor gave him surprised looks, and he back-pedaled a little. "I mean, you do work here, right?" He appealed to Spike. "Right?"

Spike snorted, glancing around the otherwise empty lobby. "Yeah, place is busy tonight. Can't do without him."

Jade pressed Connor's hand warmly and then smiled up at Spike. "I know just how you feel."

Spike blinked. "Uh, right."

"And if you do walk me home, then I'm really gonna have to pay you back," Jade went on, standing up and swaying slightly. Connor jumped up and slipped his hand under her arm. "Movie tomorrow, maybe? Someplace that actually shows them? My treat?" She bit her lip. "Except a guy like you, you're probably dating, right? God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be all - "

"Oh, he's not dating. Is he, Angel?" Spike said. He grinned at Jade. "We'd know if he was dating."

"Shut up," Connor told him without heat, a smile playing around his lips as he ducked his head for a moment.

"Yeah," Angel said. "We'd know if he was dating." He frowned. "We would, right? Know if you were dating?"

Connor snorted with laughter and jerked his head in a short nod. "Yeah, you'd know." He looked at Jade again. "A movie would be great. I could pick you up?"

"I think you just did," Jade said coyly. "Actually, why don't I meet you there? Around seven at the multiplex on Westgate? We could have a cup of coffee or something first and figure out what we want to see."

"Sure," Connor agreed easily, as they began to walk toward the door.

"Uh, Connor," Angel called out, a frown on his face. "You're coming right back? Because Spike and I are going out with Illyria, and - "

Connor turned his head and gave Angel a fond but exasperated look. "Later, Angel, okay?"

The door closed before Angel had time to reply.

---

Wesley touched the cover of a tattered old book with the tips of his fingers, his other hand tight around the glass of whiskey he held. His apartment was in darkness apart from the light of a reading lamp on the table beside the couch where he was sitting. He opened the book to a place marked with a scrap of paper and ran his finger slowly down the page until he found the part he wanted. In a barely audible voice he began to read aloud.

"'"...went to heaven," she said. "But I'm sure she comes out sometimes to see me - though I don't see her."'" Wesley looked around his living room, his mouth twisting in a half-smile. He flicked the page, peering down at it but not bothering to move the lamp closer. "'... fields and fields of flowers ... the soft wind is always blowing. And the streets are shining. And no one is ever tired, however far they walk.'" He took a sip of his drink and repeated, "Never tired."

Without looking at the book, staring into the deep shadows clustered thickly around the walls, he said softly, "'... the people look down to the earth and smile, and send - '"

Fred stepped out of the shadows. "Beautiful messages," she said, her mouth trembling into a smile. "I love that part, Wesley. Messages from heaven."

"Fred," Wesley said immediately. "Ah. It's that dream tonight, is it." He nodded thoughtfully, closing the book and setting it aside.

Behind her, the open window let in a breeze that lifted the light curtains, the sheer fabric twisting and creating a backdrop for her.

"You're just as perfect as ever... but of course you would be," Wesley said with a sigh as she walked toward him. "And here you are," he said softly.

"Here I am," Fred agreed. She knelt in front of him and raised a hand to his face, cupping his cheek. Wesley's eyelids closed as he rubbed his face against her delicate palm. "Oh, Wesley. My love."

Wesley opened his eyes again, catching her wrist and pulling her slight weight into his lap, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck, breathing her in. He kissed her lips, ran his hands through her hair. "I wish all of my dreams were like this," he murmured.

"You mean they aren't?" she said, her lips curving in a teasing smile. "You don't dream of me every night?"

"I don't - it's different now," he said haltingly. "It's all so different."

"Well, of course it is," Fred said, settling against him, her hands resting against his chest. "You being dead and all."

"Don't - " Wesley swallowed, holding her closer. "That doesn't matter."

"So many deaths..." Her finger traced a pattern on his shirt. "I've been watching, you know."

"Have you?" He ran his thumb across the point of her chin. "Watching what?"

Fred peeked up at him from under her lashes, a little hesitant. "You... what you've been doing. I don't understand it all, Wesley, but I trust you. You wouldn't be doing these awful things unless you had to. Unless someone was making you."

"'Awful'?" Wesley frowned. "Fred, I haven't - "

"Shh." Her smile was filled with forgiveness, and her eyes looked even larger because there was a hint of tears in them. "I know. I always know, don't I?"

"Don't cry," he whispered. "Please don't. Not again."

---

"Can't bloody stand this."

Angel glanced over at Spike, who was sitting in the passenger seat of the Viper and drumming his fingers on his knee, his face averted from the transmitter. "Good."

Spike's head turned. "Thanks for the sympathy."

I know, Wesley. Know you had your reasons. I'll always trust you. You're a good man.

Angel closed his eyes as Fred's voice - Illyria's voice, but it was almost impossible to think of it as hers - echoed from the transmitter around the car. "It's hurting us; think what it's doing to him."

I'm - Fred, I'm trying. You don't know how difficult it is.

Love -

"She's kissing him," Spike said incredulously as they heard the unmistakable sounds of mouth on mouth and quickened breathing. "Oh, yeah, he's suffering, all right."

Angel stared out at the quiet street. "He still thinks it's her. Wait."

"You're a hell of a lot more bloody patient than I am," Spike muttered.

Angel's hand curled into a fist, and his jaw tightened. "Would you just shut up and listen?"

"It's not bothering you?"

"Yeah, it's bothering me," Angel said tightly. "I've known - I knew her longer than you."

Spike snorted. "Like that counts for anything when you're our age."

"Will you shut up?" Angel gestured at the transmitter. "Wes says anything useful, I want to be able to hear it, okay?"

"He's not saying anything right now," Spike pointed out. "You want to listen to him kiss her, do you?"

Angel stared out of the window. "Shut --"

"Up," Spike finished for him. "Yeah, I got it the first six times." Spike folded his arms across his chest and slid down in the seat a bit, a frown creasing his forehead.

---

"When you staked her, did it please you?"

"What?" Wesley blinked at Fred. "Who?"

"Drusilla." Fred tilted her head. "You took immortality from her in an instant. That must have felt..." She pressed closer, her tongue licking along his neck, her breasts pressing against Wesley's chest. "Tell me how it felt."

---

Spike and Angel exchanged uneasy glances.

"She's losing it," Spike said softly. "Fred's voice; Illyria's words. He's going to catch on."

---

Wesley shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "It felt as if I was giving, not taking."

"Giving what?" Fred's face was all interest as she wriggled back a little.

"A swift ending to a creature of evil." Wesley traced a pattern on the front of Fred's shirt. "Would you like me to show, not tell?"

"Well how could you show me that, silly?" Fred asked, sounding amused and slightly puzzled, like herself again.

"By doing this," Wesley said, his voice gone cold. With as much force as he could given the position he was in, he backhanded Fred across the face, knocking her to the floor.

For just an instant her visage flickered, and Wesley's gaze dropped to where the wire Illyria was wearing under Fred's shirt was clearly visible, dislodged as they'd kissed. "I should have known it wasn't a dream," he said, half to himself. "I only have nightmares these days." He tilted his head and studied her. "Fred's face, her voice... but you move like Illyria. It's rather disconcerting, I have to say."

Illyria stood, shoulders back, posture screaming of her true nature even though her eyes and hair were Fred's. "I thought you liked me like this," she said.

"I can't imagine why," Wesley said evenly.

"You wanted it when you died," Illyria told him.

"You really are an inhuman bitch, aren't you?" Wesley said, his voice level, even pleasant. "And no, that's not a compliment, no matter how much you might think it is." He raised his voice a little. "Angel? It won't work. Whatever I felt, whomever I loved - that's not me anymore. Dying changes a person. I shouldn't have to tell you that." He focused on Illyria. "Get out."

She shrugged, the sharp, unnaturally angular shift of Fred's shoulder sending a shiver of revulsion through him. "You make no sense, Wesley. If you feel nothing now for this form then why does it disturb you to see it?"

"It doesn't."

"You lie poorly, Wesley."

"I'm not lying," he insisted, his voice betraying him as it shook slightly.

"Then I will stay." Illyria smiled, a movement of her lips, no more. The expression was all hers and held no hint of Fred in it despite it being Fred's mouth she was wearing. "I will stay, and you will show me how little you care that I take this form."

Caught, Wesley stepped towards her and tore the wire free. "Angel?" he said, keeping his voice even with an obvious effort. "Your stray can stay if it likes. I trust it's house-trained."

He dropped the wire to the floor and ground it under his heel, a brief, savage smile crossing his face as it cracked and splintered.

"Fine. Stay and play Angel's games if that's what you want, until the pair of you realize that you're wasting your time. But come near me again tonight and I'll shoot you," he told her, turning away. "And I don't care what face you're wearing when I do it."

---

The lights came up at the movie theater. Everyone around them started to stand up and file out, but Connor and Jade stayed where they were. There was still a couple of inches of popcorn in the bottom of the bucket they'd been sharing; Connor shook the container, listening to the rattle of the kernels at the bottom, and then offered it to Jade, who shook her head.

"No way," she said, holding up a hand to ward him off. "I already had too much."

"It's not as good once it gets cold," he admitted, taking a last handful.

"So, that was pretty good." Jade gestured at the screen. "I haven't been to the movies for a long time."

"Really? How come?"

Jade shrugged. "Too busy, I guess. What about you?"

"Not all that often. Between work and school, I don't have a lot of free time. Plus there's the whole thing where I work in a renovated movie theater, so..." Connor ate a few more pieces of popcorn and then put the bucket down on the seat next to him.

Jade smiled at him, her hand somehow finding its way into his for a moment. "You're cute, you know that? And I don't just mean the heroics deal." She took a deep breath. "I'm probably going to blow this, scare you off or something, but I really like you. You think we could do something like this again soon? And if you're not interested, that's cool, but just say, you know? None of that 'I'll call you' when we both know you won't. You don't need to sugar-coat it for me; that's not what I'm used to."

"It's not what I'm used to either," Connor said softly. The theater was empty now, and although the houselights were up it still felt oddly intimate and cozy, the two of them sitting close, turned to look at each other. He breathed in. "Your perfume... reminds me of someone."

She pouted. "An ex-girlfriend?"

"I don't remember." He leaned in. "I just know I like the way you smell."

Jade smiled, her lips parting as he moved even closer, a kiss so inevitable that Connor's eyes were already closing.

"Don't you kids have homes to go to?"

It wouldn't have been so annoying if the person asking hadn't been, at most, three years older than Connor. He glared at the guy with the broom and only looked away when Jade gave a conspiratorial giggle and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"So, we're going to do this again?" she asked as they made their way up the aisle.

Connor smiled at her and took her hand again. "How about tomorrow night?"

Jade returned his smile. "Works for me."

---

Wesley was at his desk when Jade strolled in without knocking.

"That's rather ill-mannered, you know," he said. "Next time, knock."

"Hey," Jade said. She was wearing a skirt so short that it was nearly scandalous, and she hopped up onto the desk and leaned back so that her low-cut blouse was pulled tight over her breasts. "Well? Aren't you going to ask me how it went?"

"I'm assuming that it went according to plan or I would have heard from you earlier," Wesley said dryly, pushing back his chair and walking over to a drinks tray on a small table by the window. "Here," he said, passing her a glass with an inch or two of whiskey in it and holding up another in a toast. "Cheers."

"I don't like this," she said, giving it a suspicious sniff. "You got a vodka cooler or anything?"

Wesley rolled his eyes. "It's whiskey that's older than you are, very expensive, and I think I've had quite enough of your bad manners for one day. You succeeded, I assume; let's drink to that in a civilized way, shall we?" He clinked his glass against hers and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Jade sighed, took a sip, grimaced and coughed, then drained the glass.

Wesley took a small sip of his drink and then smiled at her tolerantly. "So how did it go?"

"It went great," Jade said, her face lighting up. "He totally doesn't suspect anything. God, I'd almost forgotten how easy teenage boys are."

"They're controlled by their needs," Wesley said, "but I don't imagine teenaged girls are all that different. In fact, when I first met Faith, she was about Connor's age and quite as... single-minded."

An eager look passed over Jade's face when he mentioned Faith. "Yeah? I can totally see her being like that, you know? There was this one time in prison, back when we were still sharing a cell - " Her eyes darkened. "Before they said I was too fucking violent to be in with anyone else, as if I'd ever have wanted to hurt her - "

Wesley sighed, not bothering to hide his boredom. "Yes, I'm sure you've many fascinating anecdotes about the two of you comparing murders and painting each other's toenails, but could we focus here?"

"Whatever," Jade said, flicking a finger dismissively at a piece of paper on Wesley's desk and leaving it askew. "When does she get here, anyway? I thought you said she wanted to see me again."

"Faith wants to see you when you've succeeded, Jade. She has no time for losers."

Jade shrugged. "Look, the job's as good as done, okay? Got the kid eating out of my hand." She smiled. "Literally. See, I had this popcorn, and he - "

"Losers," Wesley said slowly, "who come close - very close - to ruining a perfectly planned escape by stopping to kill a guard."

Wesley's voice was edged with contempt, and Jade looked a little uncertain before shrugging again. "Bitch had it coming. Hands all over me, all the time." As Jade spoke, she smoothed her hands over her hips. "Always on my back." She chuckled. "Should've seen her face when I shoved the knife in her fat gut. Ripped her open. Faith likes knives, did you know that? This one wasn't fancy, but it was sharp - "

"Joanne Lester," Wesley said evenly. "Married, with a teenage son, and about to celebrate her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary next month."

"Fucking dyke, I tell you." Jade insisted.

"Joanne, the three people you shot during the course of your robbery - How much was in the cash register of that store? Fifty-six dollars, wasn't it? - doubtless others before that..."

Jade smirked. "One or two. Hey, girl's got to take care of herself, right? No one else will."

"You're absolutely correct, Jade," Wesley said, using one finger to press a button under his desk. "No one else will take care of you. Why waste effort on a nobody, a nothing?"

Jade's eyes hardened. "Hey... don't make the mistake of thinking you know me just because Faith told you a couple of things. It's not like I don't appreciate you getting me out, but remember that this is a mutual thing here, right? I scratch your back, you scratch mine."

"I intend to do far more than that," Wesley said quietly. "Your mother... she's still alive, isn't she, Jade?"

"Yeah. But don't think I care what happens to her, because I don't." The complete indifference in Jade's voice made it clear that she was speaking the truth.

"Oh, I don't. You don't care about anyone, do you?"

Jade lifted her chin. "Nope. Just me."

"That's fortunate," Wesley said. "Your mother, though; she must still care for you? I'm sure she must be so disappointed."

"I don't care," Jade said, breathing more quickly, her cocky poise beginning to crumble. "I don't give a fuck what she thinks about me. If she ever does at all. She sure as hell didn't when I was a kid, so I don't see her starting now I'm a convicted murderer. She never came to visit me. Ever."

"There must have been a reason for that, don't you think?" Wesley said the words smoothly, his voice amber and whiskey-toned. "She must have known from when you were very small how badly your life would turn out. She must have been able to see it in your eyes when you were still a child. That you'd never amount to anything. That you were doomed to disappoint her."

"Fuck you," Jade spat, getting up off the desk.

Wesley shook his head slightly as the doors opened and two guards stepped into the room, shutting the doors behind them. "Ah, that sounds a little too much like someone who does care, wouldn't you say?" He nodded at the guards. "You're a failure, Jade. You're no one. And that comes in rather handy for my purposes, because it means that no one will miss you when you're gone. Not even your mother."

Panic followed realization so closely that by the time the guards came up to Jade she'd already slid off the desk to face them, hands curled into fists, eyes wild. The men grinned, exchanging glances, and stepped apart to give her two targets, not one, not bothering to attack.

"I wasn't aware that this was recess," Wesley said coldly as one of the guards chuckled, easily batting aside Jade's fist as she swung at him. "Hold her in place; I don't have all day."

Jade turned to look at him. "What are you doing?" she choked out. "I'm on your side, man." Strong hands fastened around her arms, holding her securely - and, judging by her screwed-up face, painfully. "Faith's gonna kick your fucking ass, you jerk."

"I'm sure she'd like to, for many reasons," Wesley said. "But over you? No." He gave her a pitying smile as he took out a small bottle from the top drawer of his desk. "You can't seriously think that she even remembers you, let alone asked for you to be taken from prison to help her? Dear me. And does the Easter Bunny still visit you as well?"

The incredulous look he got made his smile widen. "Now let me explain what's going to happen." Jade twisted in the guards' grip, her breath coming out in harsh sobs, although her eyes were dry. Wesley slapped her face just hard enough to get her attention. "Listen. You've just drunk the contents of this in the drink you had, and it's poisonous - "

Her eyes widened and she shook her head violently. "Fuck. You."

"You drank it, and it has already started to kill you." Jade gave a brief impression of a cat in a bath, her legs lashing out wildly, spitting insults. Wesley continued calmly, "You have, in fact, become a weapon. And you will infect Connor with what you have. It will be simple; you'll cut him. The tiniest break in his skin will do; kiss him hard, scratch him with those long nails of yours... and then get the poison into his bloodstream." Wesley stroked the air around her face in a mocking parody of a caress. "Your spit is poisonous. It's rather fitting. Kiss him better, and make sure your saliva enters his body."

"Yeah? Why should I?" Defiance shone out of her eyes. "What's to stop me scratching you, huh? Or these shitheads?"

"I have the antidote," Wesley said very precisely. "It's rare, and it's expensive. Fail, and you don't get it. Is there anything we're not clear on here? Do speak up; you've got precisely nine hours left to live, after all."

"So I'm a weapon that could take out hundreds of people?" Jade asked.

"You're going to take out one, or you won't get the antidote," Wesley emphasized. "You will infect Connor. You'll do exactly as I say, or you're dead. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a long moment of silence as Jade stared sullenly at the floor, acquiescent in the guards' grip, and then she lifted her head and nodded, just a tiny movement. "Okay," she said, defeated. "Okay."

Wesley studied her as if gauging her sincerity before nodding at the two men, who released Jade and left the office.

"What's your problem with him, anyway?" Jade asked, as if she couldn't help herself.

"I beg your pardon?" Wesley said.

Jade made a frustrated noise. "Connor," she said. "How come you want him dead?"

"Because his terror, his pain, are going to send a very clear message to someone," Wesley said.

Jade frowned, her tongue licking at her lips unconsciously as if they were dry. "Message? What message?"

"I think that's all for now, Jade," Wesley replied. "Go and get ready for your... date. Have Connor at the meeting place at nine; no later." He smiled gently. "I'm sure you understand that being fashionably late really isn't an option."

---

"You're not seriously telling me she didn't put out?" Spike said, leaning forward in his chair so that the front legs were touching the ground once more.

Connor gave him a disgusted look. "Look, it wasn't like that, okay? She's just... nice. I like her."

"I don't know," Angel said. "I got a bad vibe."

"A bad vibe?" Connor repeated. "What are you, Spider Man?"

"Spider Man didn't get vibes," Spike supplied helpfully. "He shot webs from his wrists. I've heard some interesting things about Wonder Woman, though..."

"Whatever," Connor said, cutting Spike off. His attention was focused on Angel. "You met her for what, three minutes? How is that enough time to get a vibe?"

"Sometimes I just..." Angel shrugged and stuck his hands into his pockets looking defensive. "I just didn't like her," he said helplessly. "She seemed... predatory."

Connor sighed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Predatory. Right. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you've been in this business too long? A little kid could walk in the door holding a fluffy white kitten and you'd be suspicious."

"Damn right," Spike said at once. "Top end of the market goods like that just falling into your lap? You'd have to be mad not to get suspicious. Fluffy whites are worth two ginger short hairs, you know."

Angel turned his head and gave Spike an approving smile that faded as he took in what Spike was talking about. "You're in the big city now, Spike. Forget the kittens as currency deal, okay?" He looked back at Connor. "But, yeah, if this Jade girl's anything, she's a fluffy white kitty and you're just not - "

"Good enough for her?" Connor asked, stiffening and looking indignant.

"No." Angel sighed, sounding frustrated. "Just not right."

"Looked a bit like - no, no she didn't," Spike said, stopping and giving them both a limpidly innocent look.

Angel raised his eyebrows. "Spike? What were you about to say when you broke the habit of a lifetime and censored yourself?"

"You're looming. Stop it. I'm trying to be tactful here, and I'll have you know it's difficult. I'm out of practice." Spike seemed to reconsider. "Well, I'm not sure I was ever in practice..."

"I am not - " Angel took in where he was standing - close to Spike and glaring down at him as he lounged in a chair, legs stretched out in front of him - and shifted back a bare inch or two. "I'm just... interested. In what you were about to say."

"Yeah," Connor said. "Me too. And if you say she reminds you of someone you killed back in the day, I'm really not going to be happy."

"Anyone ever try and book you two as a double act?" Spike asked. He rolled his eyes. "Cordelia. Okay? She'd got a look of her."

There was a brief pause, in which Angel's frown deepened. "That's it," he snapped at Connor. "You're just not going to see her again, do you hear me? You've got studying to do and work here and - "

"And it's not your decision," Connor said, calmly. "You don't get to say who I can date. Or if I can date."

"I do when it's in your best interest," Angel said.

"Not even then," Connor said. "And especially not because you think she looks like Cordy."

"I didn't say that," Angel said. "I wasn't even thinking it until Spike opened his big mouth."

"But you're thinking it now, aren't you?" Spike asked. He looked at Connor. "Both of you."

"It doesn't matter." Connor turned and went over behind the counter. "I'm seeing her again tonight."

Angel sighed and dropped his face down into his hand for a second. "Look," he said, making an obvious effort to sound reasonable, "I'm not giving you a hard time just because I can. You just... you don't know enough about women. I'm telling you, this girl's trouble."

"Show me one who isn't," Spike said, shaking his head sadly. "Ever think about trying your luck with someone different, Connor? Someone more like you?"

Connor blinked. "I'm not sure I'm into men, Spike." Flushing slightly, he hunched up his shoulder. "There was this one guy at school, but - "

"Not what I meant," Spike said, holding up his hands.

Angel cleared his throat. "Okay, not that talking my son's sex life is awkward or anything, but..."

"No," Spike went on. "I meant demons. Could fix you up with this cute little Fellis demon if you liked. They're just - "

"Are they the ones with the nipples that - no!" Angel glared at Spike. "He's not dating demons. Or men. Or women. Or - "

"Think you're running out of 'ors' there, Angel," Spike said with a smirk.

"It doesn't matter," Connor said reasonably. "I'm sorry you've got a bad feeling about her, Angel - " He turned to Spike. " - and that you think she looks like Cordy, but I'm not getting that. Any of it. She's nice, and I like her, and I really think who I date has to be my decision." He gave them both a shrug and a half-smile. "Hey. I'm leaving the nest. Be proud."

Angel spread his hands wide in surrender. "You know what? That's fine. Just be..." Connor glared at him, and Angel sighed. "Have fun. I was going to say 'have fun', I swear I was."

Spike snickered and then widened his eyes innocently as Angel swung around to stare at him. He leaned back in his chair again. "What? Can I help it if you doing the daddy act is funny as hell?"

"Connor, you be careful. Spike - " Angel shook his head. "Just stop." He walked towards the stairs. "You're both laughing," he said without looking back. "You know I can hear you, and neither of you are too big to spank."

Spike choked, and the front legs of his chair hit the floor with a slam.

Connor's eyebrows shot up before he shook his head. "Never tell me."

---

Gunn opened another cardboard box and looked inside, and then took out two much smaller boxes - brownie mix - and set them on the countertop. "Great," he muttered. "Just what these kids need. More sugar."

The girl who'd been helping him glanced at him and frowned. "What?"

"Nothing, Shannon," Gunn said, putting the boxes of baking mix into an open cupboard and turning back to the large box. Shannon gave him a look, and he shrugged. "Hey, I shouldn't be complaining. People want to donate stuff, I should be shaking their hands and not turning up my nose just because it might not be all that nutritious, right?"

Shannon nodded and put three cans of what looked like baked beans into a different cabinet. "Isn't there a saying about that? Beggars can't be choosers?"

"Yeah," Gunn said. His movements slowed, and his eyes narrowed with concentration, like he was sensing something suspicious. He kept his gaze on the box in front of him, reaching in and taking out some cereal, then turned very slowly and caught one of the newer kids peering around the side of the door frame at him.

"Boo," he said, accompanying it with a grin.

The kid blinked, looking startled, and then gave him a tentative smile. "Hey."

Gunn carried on smiling. "What can I do for you?" He dredged a name out of his memory. "Zach, isn't it?"

The boy nodded. He was about sixteen, by the look of him, his hair cut short and his dark skin showing a couple of nicks on his chin from shaving when he had nothing to shave. Handsome, but there was a tension about him that was hard to miss. "Got a problem. Was told you were a man who could handle problems."

"Some," Gunn acknowledged, going over to him. "Others, not so much. Your problem got a name?"

The boy shook his head slowly, his eyes flickering to Shannon, who sighed and nodded at the door. "I'm working here; you two want to chat, take it someplace else, okay?"

"Damn, the help's getting full of itself," Gunn said but winced as if he wasn't sure he was pulling off the attitude he'd been trying for. "Yeah, okay, okay. We're going." He looked at Zach. "We going?"

"Yeah, sure."

They walked down the hallway to the office, which was still in disarray. Gunn pushed the door open and stood back to let Zach go into the room first, then gestured at the one chair that didn't have papers and folders on it. "Just ignore the mess. Tell me what's on your mind."

Zach sat as Gunn perched on the edge of the desk. "I heard you know about stuff."

Gunn leaned forward. "I might. What kind of stuff are you talking about?"

"Weird stuff." Zach shifted in the chair, looking uncomfortable and faintly embarrassed. "Stuff that you wouldn't want to talk about with just anyone, you know?"

"We talking personal stuff here?" Gunn asked warily. "Because if you're having girl trouble or doing drugs - "

Zach laughed hollowly. "I wish it was that simple, man. No." His hands twisted together and he glanced down at them, frowned, and put them flat on his knees. "Trouble I got - we got - is the sort that comes at night and leaves you dead." He tilted his head and studied Gunn. "And sometimes you don't stay dead, you know what I mean?"

Gunn met his eyes. "Vampires," he said flatly. "You're dancing around it, but that's what you mean, right?"

The boy exhaled shakily. "You believe me. Wasn't sure you would."

"Then you weren't talking to anyone who knows me well." Gunn said. "How many, and where?"

Zach spread his hands wide. "More than ten. Jimmy - we didn't find his body, so he might - " The boy shuddered, his face twisting with regret and fear. "And they're living in my place; why do you think I'm here? We had this building a block over, were making it real nice, a few of us, and they just came, and they -"

Gunn slid off the desk and patted his shoulder. "I know what they do."

Zach looked up at him, his face eager. "I'll fight them. I want to. I just need help. They're - they're fast and I can't - not by myself."

"If there's ten or more, I can't either on my own," Gunn admitted. "I used to know people who - " He shook his head. "No. No use asking them."

Zach stood up. "There's only me left, but I'm not letting them take the place. I'll burn it down if I have to; that kills them, right?"

"Relax," Gunn said. "I know a lot of people." His mouth tightened. "And some of them know lots of good ways to kill vampires. Might say they've got the inside edge on that."

"Yeah?" Zach didn't seem convinced.

"Yeah. Trust me." Gunn patted the boy's shoulder again. "I'll take care of it. Just promise me you won't do anything on your own, okay?"

Nodding, Zach turned toward the door. "Okay."

"That a promise?" Gunn asked.

"Yeah," Zach said.

---

"I still don't get why you wanted to come here," Connor said, not upset but obviously puzzled.

"There used to be a pond," Jade said, licking at her half-melted ice cream cone and gesturing with her other hand. "I mean, it wasn't very big, and I guess someone put it there - man-made, you know? - but it was cool. There were ducks and stuff. I used to feed them popcorn. When I was little." She sounded wistful.

Looking around, Connor finished his own ice cream, crunching down on the cone, and then shifted on the weather-worn bench they were sitting on. It was pretty private, and there wasn't any water left, just a whole bunch of weeds. Connor glanced over at Jade, whose pink tongue was licking at the ice cream again, and turned toward her.

"I guess I'm not going to finish this," Jade said, her gaze sharp. "Do you want it?"

Connor shook his head, his attention focused on Jade's lower lip as she pulled it into her mouth to clean it. "No."

Jade was grinning at him coyly. She tossed the remains of her cone into the weeds and turned toward him. "Was there something else you wanted?" she asked.

He reached out and touched her hair hesitantly. "You're so beautiful."

Jade's eyes softened. "Really?"

"Yeah. Really." Connor leaned in closer, and Jade put her hand on the side of his face, her thumb rubbing over his cheek. "Really, really beautiful. Does that sound stupid, me saying that?"

"No. Not stupid. But..." Jade murmured teasingly and leaned forward to meet him, pressing her lips to his forcefully and then scraping her nail along his jaw line.

Connor pulled back, startled. "Hey, that hurt!"

"Oh, poor baby. Did I scratch you?" Jade's voice turned almost mocking. "Here. Let me kiss it better." His hand went up to his face instinctively, but she intercepted it, her grip caressing as she tugged Connor's hand down to rest in his lap. "Turn your head, sweetie. Let me see."

Looking uncomfortable and a little embarrassed, he gave her a sheepish grin and tilted his head. "Think I'll need stitches?"

"Oh, I'm sure you won't," Jade cooed, shifting closer, her eyes bright, her body tense. Then, instead of the light, brief kiss Connor been expecting, her tongue lapped wetly at his cheek.

He pulled back, wrenching his hand free and raising it to swipe at his face. "Hey!"

She sat back looking satisfied. "Sorry." With amusement thick in her voice she added, "All better now."

"Well, yeah - " Connor began, but there was a rustle in the trees behind the bench, and he stiffened.

"It's okay," Jade said, still with that disconcerting smile on her face. "They're with me."

Connor got to his feet, fists clenched. "Great," he muttered in a resigned voice. "Angel was right. Like I'm ever going to hear the end of that."

Jade stood up, too, shifting from one foot to the other, as if she was nervous. A handful of shadows separated themselves from the darkness behind them and stepped forward.

Connor didn't recognize any of the ones in back, but as soon as the one in front was close enough so that some light fell on his face, Connor frowned.

It was Wesley.

"I did what you said," Jade stammered, hands clenched into fists. Wesley didn't say anything, so she went on. "I did! So you're going to give me that medicine now, right?"

"He's been infected?" Wesley asked in a cold voice that made Connor's mouth flatten with unease.

"Infected?" Connor demanded. "What do you mean, infected? Infected with what?"

Jade and Wesley both ignored him. "Yeah. I scratched him." She gestured at Connor's face. "And got my spit in it, just like you said. So come on."

"You're certain?" Wesley asked.

"Yes. God, how many times do you want me to say it? Do you want to hold him down and have me do it again in front of you?" Jade was starting to sound frantic.

Connor turned to Jade and grabbed onto her upper arm roughly, shaking her. "What did you do to me?"

Eyes glittering, Jade said, "Poisoned you. Just like he poisoned me. And he's got the medicine that'll fix it." She jerked her arm away from Connor and moved closer to Wesley, hugging herself and trembling with what suddenly seemed like more than fear. "Come on. Just give it to me, okay? I did what you told me to do."

Wesley stared at her, his face impassive. "The antidote? Dear me, I think I left it behind. How careless of me."

"You left -?" Jade shook her head, her eyes wide. "I don't believe this! Come on; we have to go get it."

Connor watched Wesley's expression twist into something darker. "Did I forget to mention that there was only one dose, Jade?"

She frowned, scratching nervously at her arm, the movements jerky and rough. She was trembling as if she were cold. "It's rare, yeah? Expensive." She stumbled toward him and he stepped back. "I can pay. I can buy it from you. Anything you say, just let me have it? Please?" Her head tipped back, the muscles locking in a violent spasm. Her voice rose in a strangled scream. "It's - God, what's happening to me?"

"There's one dose. One," Wesley told her. He nodded in Connor's direction. "And it's for him, not you."

"That's enough!" Connor said, striding forward. The two guards from Wolfram & Hart moved out of the shadows to block him, guns trained on him. Connor hesitated but caught Wesley's eye. "Look, help her. I don't know what's going on, but you have to help - oh, God."

Jade screamed again, her body jerking as she collapsed to the ground, and Connor went to her, falling to his knees beside her. His face mirrored the anguish on hers. "It's going to be all right," he said, his voice shaking as he reached out and held her body down. "Wesley's - I know him. He won't hurt you." He twisted his head to give Wesley an imploring look. "You have to give her what she needs." He swallowed, wetting his lips. "Please, Wesley. You can't just watch her die." Wesley just stared back at him, and Connor's face darkened with anger. "Do something!" he snarled.

"It's all right, Connor," Wesley said soothingly, ignoring the paroxysms wracking Jade's body so that she was writhing under Connor's hands as they held her shoulders down. "You're perfectly safe, I assure you. Well, you're infected with Dyanth crystals, but as you've gathered there is an antidote. I'll hand it over to your father when he comes to me for it."

"Then why do this?" Connor demanded. "What's the point of it?"

Wesley's eyes held a distant expression. "It's complicated," he said vaguely. Jade choked, her hands scrabbling at her throat, and Connor made a frantic sound, slipping his hand under her head and raising it a little, trying to help her breathe. "Ah. I want you to watch this, Connor. You need to be able to tell Angel exactly what's in store for you very soon. She had nine hours after she drank the poison, but you have considerably less, I'm afraid, as it's entered your bloodstream directly." Wesley pursed his lips. "It's also mystical in origin, and there's something about it getting more virulent with each transfer. I imagine were you to infect someone, they'd die almost at once. You, on the other hand, have, oh, perhaps two hours."

"Save her," Connor begged through gritted teeth, anger roughening his voice. "Wesley, you have to tell me what to do to help her."

"Watch her die, Connor," Wesley murmured, gazing at Jade, her pretty face congested, blood bubbling from between the lips that had kissed Connor a few minutes earlier. "That's all that you can do now. And don't feel too sorry for her; she's killed quite an alarming number of people for someone so young. She's really not worth crying over."

Jade choked and flailed, dislodging Connor's hands, falling over onto her side and then rolling onto her back again. Her eyes met Connor's, desperate and filled with terror, but Connor didn't move away.

"What do you mean, she killed people?" Connor asked.

"I believe the official number is four, but it wouldn't surprise me if it were considerably higher than that." Wesley was watching Jade impassively as she twitched and gasped for air, blood running down her face and pooling on the ground beside her. "She was nothing more than a heartless killer."

"What does that make you?" Connor asked. He didn't stop looking at her, even as she gave one final shudder and lay still, her eyes staring sightlessly up at the night sky.

Wesley moved over to Jade's body and gave it an experimental shove with his shoe. "Someone who's willing to do whatever needs to be done," he said.

Connor closed his eyes for a second or two, his face contorted with grief, and then opened them again. "So what is it I'm supposed to do?" he asked in a low voice.

"I think you and Angel will figure it out," Wesley said, turning and walking back toward the bushes. "And if you're lucky, you'll figure it out before it's too late."

Connor jumped up and started to follow after Wesley. "Don't walk away! I need to ask you - "

"Mr Wyndam-Pryce told you to go," said one of the guards who blocked his way. Connor tried to shove past them, but one of them grabbed his arm and held on. Connor swung at him, snarling, his fist landing with a solid thunk on the guard's jaw, knocking him back a few feet. He turned to deal with the other guard and walked into a closed fist, driven forcefully into his stomach. It knocked the wind out of him, and Connor groaned and staggered back, almost tripping over Jade's body in the process.

He shook himself and advanced again, but the click of a gun being cocked made him stop. He turned his head slowly and met Wesley's gaze, cold down the barrel of a gun.

"I'm aiming at your elbow, Connor. A bullet there won't kill you, but the bones it will shatter will mean you'll likely never use that arm again. I suggest you leave; you can't help Jade, and you don't have much time left to save yourself." There was a trace of pity in Wesley's voice. "Find your father, Connor. Hurry."

Not knowing what else to do, Connor turned and ran in the opposite direction, his breath emerging in ragged gasps, angry tears choking him.

---

Sprawled in his chair, Spike changed channels again and again. There was a rhythm to the stab of his thumb on the button, and he murmured under his breath as the images popped up.

"Game show, cooking show, no, no, cartoon, yes... no, seen that one this morning, news, another sodding re-run of Fresh Prince, - hang on... "

His finger froze on the button, and he stood up. "Angel," he yelled, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Get down here. Now." Spike turned up the volume as Angel came quickly down the stairs, his expression a little impatient.

".... Jade Finneran is considered dangerous and members of the public are advised not to attempt to restrain her but to immediately alert the police. There is a $50,000 reward offered for information leading to her capture, with $10,000 being donated by well-known law firm Wolfram & Hart. In other news, a swimming cat has been raising eyebrows in a suburb..."

Spike clicked the power off and turned to look at Angel, who was standing a few yards away, his arms folded and his eyes dark. "You get that?"

"Enough of it," Angel said. "You can fill me in while we look for him." He shook his head. "And Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"If I look like I'm about to say 'told you so' - "

"I'll use whatever comes to hand to shut you up." Spike smiled. "You can count on me for that."

"I know I can," Angel said.

They walked out of the theater, and Spike glanced from side-to-side. "Right. This where we track him down, then, like the creatures of the night we are?" He inhaled audibly and paused, looking thoughtful. "Hmm. Hot dogs."

"I know where they were going," Angel said tightly, starting to walk.

Spike caught up with him. "How do you know? Don't tell me you made the boy give you a bloody itinerary of his date." He peered at Angel's unresponsive profile. "You did, didn't you?"

"I was taking a friendly interest," Angel said defensively. "And it just came up in conversation that they were meeting at a coffee shop a few blocks over."

"I've met stalkers who were more convincing, you know that?"

"Don't really need to hear about your history with stalkers," Angel muttered, glancing toward the other side of the street. "Look, just do me a favor and keep your mouth shut, okay?"

Spike straightened his shoulders. "Not really a good enough reason to keep mum," he pointed out. "Just to do you a favor?"

"How about because I'll hit you if you don't?" Angel suggested.

"I was thinking more along the lines of upgrading the cable. Less than a hundred channels is inhuman." Spike pulled a face. "Well, you know what I mean."

Angel sighed.

The shop was crowded with students and young professionals willing to pay four dollars for a cup of coffee, but it didn't take more than a minute to figure out that Connor and Jade weren't among them. Spike and Angel stepped back out onto the sidewalk.

"Not here. Where now?" Spike asked.

Angel sniffed surreptitiously and glared when Spike raised an eyebrow. "I can tell he's been here," he said. "It's just - "

"Too many people drenched in eau de ponce have walked by since," Spike finished. He was frowning now, his eyes scanning the crowd. "There," he said, nodding his head.

"Where?" Angel followed the direction of Spike's gaze and shrugged. "Worth a try."

They walked over to the teenager selling fake watches out of a suitcase and smiled at him. The boy flinched and had his case closed before Angel began speaking.

"It's cool, I'm going, no need to get --"

"Jumpy little git, aren't you?" Spike said. "Relax. You don't try and sell me a Rolex, I won't break anything."

"We're looking for someone," Angel said.

"Two someones," Spike added. "They'd have come out of that coffee shop looking like love's young dream, I shouldn't wonder."

The youth shrugged, regaining his bravado. "Lots of people like that. Be more specific." He opened his case again. "And faster; you're blocking people who want to buy."

"So tell us if you saw them, and we'll get out of your hair," Angel said, holding up his hand to indicate Connor's height. "A boy about this high, brown hair, with a girl."

"Oh, yeah, I never see a guy and girl together," the teenager said, rolling his eyes and glancing at several couples strolling by. But when Angel gave him a hard look, he sighed and nodded. "The girl was really hot, with long brown hair? Yeah, I saw them. I think they went that way, but it's not like I was watching them. Well, except for the girl. She had a really great ass..." The young man looked suddenly nervous. "Oh great, let me guess. You're her father, right? I didn't mean - "

But Angel was already turning in the direction the kid had indicated with a short, "Thanks."

---

They arrived at the park to find Jade lying dead on the ground and a couple of big hulking guys crouched by her who looked like they were getting ready to load her body into the open trunk of a nearby car.

"There she is," Angel said. He glanced around the area. "So where the hell is Connor?"

"Don't ask me," Spike said, nodding at the men, who were standing up, their hands going for the guns strapped to their belts. "Ask them. Don't forget to say - "

Angel rushed the one closest to him and hit him hard enough to knock him backwards off his feet. The man fell in a crumpled heap on the ground not far from Jade.

" - please," Spike finished, already moving to deal with the second guard, knocking the gun out of his hand with a well-placed kick and giving him a smile that froze the man in place because he was showing his fangs.

Straddling the guy he'd hit, Angel grabbed onto his hair. "Where's the boy?"

"What?" The man gasped for breath, and his eyelids fluttered as if he was close to fainting. He blinked and rallied a little. "Who the hell are you?"

"Don't think that really matters," Spike said, keeping an eye on the other guard, who was standing with his empty hands raised at chest-height.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man said, trying to roll to one side.

Angel shoved him back against the ground again, hard. "You'd better hope you do, because I'm going to kill you if you don't tell me what I want to know."

"I'm here for her, that's all I know," the man said. "Orders. I didn't kill her!"

"We're from - " the other man began.

Spike smirked at him. "Don't tell me, let me guess."

"Wolfram & Hart," Angel said acidly. "This stinks of them."

The man by Spike cleared his throat. "I don't know about a boy, but if it helps, we're here for one body, and that's the girl's."

"We're wasting time," Spike said, stepping back. "Let them get on with it, Angel; we need to find him."

Angel hesitated, staring down into the terrified face beneath him, and then stood up. "Yeah." He walked over to Jade's body and picked up the purse beside it, opening it and searching through the contents. He pulled out a piece of paper bearing the Wolfram & Hart logo with an address on it. "Looks like this might be a good place to start."

The piece of paper rustled as his fist clenched around it.

---

Gunn leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up against the wall as he flipped through the pages of a comic book.

He'd just taken a look at his watch with a sigh when the front door slammed open and Connor came barreling in, wide eyed and frantic, breathing heavily like he'd been running for more than a few blocks. Gunn was up out of his chair like a shot, glancing outside and then at Connor. "We expecting company?" he asked.

Connor shook his head, gasping. "No. I don't think so. I..."

"Well, that's something." Gunn guided him over to the chair and pushed him down into it, squatting in front of him. "Okay, take it easy. Catch your breath, and then tell me what happened."

Brown hair hung down, hiding Connor's face as he got himself under control and then said bleakly, his gaze fixed on his hands, clasped on his knees, "Oh, my date poisoned me on Wesley's orders, died in agony in front of me because she was poisoned too, and I've got about two hours - or less - before I die. How's your night going?"

"Whoa." Gunn rocked back on his heels, staring at Connor. "Seriously? Because that's - Wesley poisoned you?"

"Yes!" Connor said fiercely, looking up and showing Gunn a pale, angry face. "Wesley. He let her - told her to do this to me, and I had to watch her die. Where's Angel?"

"Don't know," Gunn said, reaching out to rub Connor's shoulder briefly. "Been sitting here waiting for him to show for the last twenty minutes. We need to get you some help real fast."

Connor glanced to the side, his mouth turned down. "It happens fast. At the end."

"Yeah," Gunn said. "Let's not get to that point, okay? She gave you something to drink?"

Connor shook his head, rubbing his hand across his eyes. " She cut me, here - " He turned his head, showing Gunn a small scratch. " - and she - she licked it." He shuddered. "Now it's in me."

"But there's a cure, right?" Gunn said. "Always is, trust me on this."

He got a nod from Connor. "She expected Wesley to cure her, but he said there was only enough antidote for me."

Gunn stood up and started to pace. "He's got the cure? So what do you have to do to get it?"

"Not me."

Gunn turned and met Connor's eyes, which were way too cynical for someone his age. "Angel."

"Yeah," Connor said. "Angel crawls to Wesley, or I die screaming."

"Don't think much of those choices," Gunn said slowly.

Connor's lips peeled back from his teeth in a grimace. "I don't either. And since I don't know where Angel is, and I can see his cell phone from here, I might not even have a choice." He gestured at the counter, where Angel's phone was sitting in plain view.

"There's always a choice," Gunn told him. "Look - describe it to me, the way this girl died. Maybe there's a clue there or something. We can look it up, track down the poison - "

"I know what it is," Connor said. "Wesley mentioned it."

"Yeah? That's something," Gunn said, striding over to the stairs. "Angel keeps his books in his office, right?"

Connor stood up. "Yes."

"What's this stuff called, then?"

"It begins with a 'd'," Connor said.

"Give me more," Gunn said, pausing.

Connor wrinkled his nose. "Diana crystals?" he hazarded. "No, that wasn't it..."

"Keep thinking," Gunn said grimly, taking the stairs two at a time. "But do it faster."

"Diossyian?" Connor guessed. "Dionysus? No."

Gunn was already crouching down in front of the bookshelves, running his hand along them. "I know what I want," he said under his breath. "Dark brown, with some kind of scroll-like writing on the front." He glanced up at Connor who was leaning against the wall with his arms wrapped around him. "Help me look."

Connor squatted down beside him, and they searched in silence for a moment.

"I'm really going to have to get used to Wes pulling shit like this," Gunn said, shaking his head. "I used to think I knew him."

"Why's he like this?" Connor said, tugging a book out and then pushing it back in with an impatient shove.

Gunn didn't take his eyes off the books. "I don't know. Not sure he does, either." He tapped his finger against one, making a satisfied sound deep in his throat. "Got it."

He stood up and put the book on Angel's desk, sitting down and turning quickly to the index. Connor leaned over Gunn's shoulder and tapped his finger against a line. "There. Page 93. Dyanth crystals."

"You sure?" Gunn asked him, already leafing through the book. "Don't want to make things worse."

"I don't think we could," Connor said ruefully.

Gunn found the page and began to read the entry. "Don't worry," he said. "Worst comes to worst and Angel doesn't show, I go with you to find Wes and we beat the crap out of him until he gives you what you need."

"I'm not asking him for anything," Connor said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "I'd rather - "

"No, you wouldn't," Gunn said. "I won't let you, anyway. Been enough people dying around here."

Connor studied him in silence and then gave a curt nod.

"Okay," Gunn murmured, his eyes on the page.

"What does it say?" Connor asked, dragging a chair over and sitting beside Gunn.

"It's... complicated," Gunn said. "Looks like a recipe for soup, but I have to say it's not one I'd want to eat."

"I don't mind," Connor said. He studied the page. "We've got most of that stuff. We need to get wormwood though, and dried bat's tongue ... and we're all out of hyssop." He frowned. "I don't think we've got anything like three cups of troll's blood around, either."

Gunn scribbled down the ingredients and stood up. "There's a magic shop over on Fourth that's open 24/7; should be able to get this there."

"Not all of it," Connor said quietly. "That last one..."

Gunn glanced down at the page and shook his head. "I'll take care of it," he said. "Come on."

He was half-way down the stairs when Connor said hesitantly, "Gunn, are you sure - "

Gunn didn't turn around. "I said I'd take care of it. How are you feeling? Let me know if you start to get dizzy or something, okay?"

Connor shrugged as they walked to the door. "Okay so far. I mean, kind of freaked out, but okay."

Gunn patted Connor's shoulder. "Don't worry. This might not be as simple as an antidote in a syringe or whatever it is Wesley's got, but we can do it."

Connor gave him a confident smile that wavered just a little around the edges.

---

"He's got to be somewhere," Angel insisted, pushing open the door to the Walden and striding through it with Spike at his heels. "Jade's room wasn't just empty and clean; it was sanitized, Wolfram & Hart style. That means Wesley's mixed up in this, and that's got to mean that Connor's - "

"Naked," Spike said slowly.

Angel came to a dead stop. He'd seen Connor before Spike, but shock had rendered him speechless.

"Naked, in a pentacle - oh, like that ever goes well! And - " Spike sniffed the air. "Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of - "

"Gunn." Angel said. "It's Gunn's blood."

Gunn didn't turn around. He was sitting cross-legged like Connor, but outside the pentacle that had been chalked in white on the floor of the lobby. He was dressed in a baggy T-shirt and jeans; Connor was completely naked, his arms extended to the side, palms facing Gunn, his expression serene and dreamy. The air was hazy, smoke curling up from an incense burner set a few feet away from Gunn.

The light caught the metal of the knife blade as Gunn set it aside and turned his left arm over, cupping it with his other hand. When he took his hand away, it was wet with blood.

"What the hell are you doing?" Angel asked in a quieter voice than he might have otherwise used.

"Having a tea party," Gunn said. "What does it look like?" He didn't turn his head, keeping his concentration on what he was doing as he reached across the pentacle and tipped a palmful of blood into Connor's outstretched hand. "There you go. Easy." He was reassuring, gentle, and Connor nodded and began to use the fingers of his other hand to apply the blood to his skin - face, upper arms, chest, stomach.

"We're almost done," Connor said, putting both hands on his knees, mindless of the bloody one, and began to chant softly.

Gunn turned to meet Angel's gaze then, just as there was a small, squealing sound and the edges of the pentacle flared briefly, followed by a soft gasp from Connor that had Angel tensing and ready to cross over into the circle.

Connor was already shaking his head before Angel could take a step. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"Glad to hear it," Gunn said, sliding the first aid kit, which had been strategically placed next to him, closer and opening it up. He glanced at Angel and Spike. "One of you want to give me a hand here? Kind of hard to fasten a bandage onto your own arm."

Spike moved to help Gunn while Angel continued to stare at Connor. "What's going on?" he asked.

"It's kind of a long story," Connor said.

"Involves Jade, does it?" Spike asked, bandaging Gunn's arm. When Connor turned his head to look at him, he went on. "You know she's dead?"

Connor nodded. "Yeah," he said bitterly. "I had a front row seat." He stood up, hunching over a bit with his hands strategically placed, looking uncomfortable. The daubs of blood on his chest were starting to darken as they dried, and the two lines of it along his abdomen mirrored the slight curve of his hip bones.

Angel averted his eyes. "Still waiting for that long story," he said.

"It was Wesley," Gunn said. "He set the whole thing up. Poisoned Jade so she could pass it onto Connor and then stood there and watched her die."

"Poison?" Angel said, looking at Connor again.

"That's what all this was for." Connor moved to the inside edge of the pentacle and hesitated. "I can come out now, right?"

"Yeah, as far as I know. The book didn't say anything about needing to dissolve the circle or anything," Gunn said.

"Poison?" Angel said again.

"It's okay. The spell neutralized it, or whatever." Connor stepped over the line of chalk on the floor and went over to the counter, where his clothes were in a rumpled heap. He turned away slightly and bent to pull on his underwear.

When Angel opened his mouth, Spike sighed and elbowed him. "Yes, poison," Spike said. "Got to get your brain past that."

Angel closed his mouth with an audible snap and walked over to Connor just as he picked up his jeans. He put his hand on his son's arm. "Connor?"

Connor stood very still under his touch, staring down at the floor, shielded from the other two by Angel's body. His thin hands tightened around the belt looped through his jeans, his knuckles whitening. Angel inhaled deeply. "I can smell Gunn's blood," he said when Connor didn't speak. "All over you. And it still doesn't cover up the smell of death, trust me on that. Talk to me, Connor. I need to know you're okay."

"You were right." The words were whispered, but Angel heard every one.

"I wish I hadn't been, Connor."

His son looked up at him with an abrupt twist of his head. "What are you going to do to him?"

Anyone watching Connor joke with Spike as they tore a movie to bits, or studying, his pen twiddled aimlessly between his fingers, wouldn't know that Connor wasn't - quite - human.

If they saw him now, they might start to wonder.

There was something cold and inflexible in Connor's eyes as he waited for an answer to his question. Angel slid his hand up Connor's arm and into the thick, soft fall of his hair, pulling Connor to him for a hug before releasing him. "I'll take care of it," he said. "Don't worry about it."

"Told you we should have beaten him up before," Spike said, taping Gunn's bandage flat and going over to jump up onto the counter, where he sat with his hands dangling between his thighs. "Put the fear of God into him."

"That's not the kind of fear I was thinking of," Angel said.

Connor finished getting dressed. "He wanted to send you a message," he said, yanking his T-shirt over his head.

"Yeah, well... I got it. Loud and clear." Angel's face was filled with a cold resolve. "I want to just..." He clenched his hand into a fist. "He needs to go. We've got to send him back."

"Back where?" Spike asked, frowning.

"Back to hell," Angel said, lifting his head and looking not at Spike but at Gunn. "Where he belongs."

---

"There's got to be a way we can do it," Angel said, sitting down in his chair and watching as Gunn put the reference book back on the shelf. They were alone in the office, the door closed. "Isn't there?"

Gunn turned, holding his bandaged arm a little awkwardly. "Not sure what you're getting at, Angel. I'm all in favor of stopping Wes doing whatever the hell he thinks he's doing, but you're losing me."

"The contract," Angel said impatiently. Gunn leaned against the wall and stared at him, the white of the bandage showing under his rolled-up sleeve. Angel tempered his tone. "Before I forget - "

"What?"

"Thanks." He nodded at Gunn's arm. "You didn't have to do that."

Gunn's lips pressed together. "Boy was scared, Angel. Not like I was going to say, 'Sorry, don't work here any more', now was it? When he was dying? And I was here to ask you for a favor, so maybe things aren't all that bad when it comes to you and me."

"A favor?"

Gunn shook his head. "It can wait. This can't."

"Well, I'm not going to argue with that," Angel agreed. He leaned back in his chair. "So, you're the lawyer, not me; how do we break his contract, or invoke it, or whatever? How do we kick him out of this world and back to wherever he should be?"

There was still nothing but bewilderment on Gunn's face. "What contract? Wes signed one like we all did when we went to work at that place, but it was just the standard one - well, standard Wolfram & Hart, which means the penalty clauses were enough to give a man nightmares, but mostly just vacation, dental, hours - like we ever left the place! That kind of thing."

"No," Angel said flatly. "Wesley's back; he's here, like Lilah. He has to have signed the same contract she did, and when he died they brought him back."

"No," Gunn said slowly, his eyes suddenly intent and thoughtful. "I'm telling you he didn't. I'd know." He pushed off the wall and began to walk around the office. "Which makes no sense, because in that case - "

"Why is Wesley here?"

"Yeah," Gunn said, coming to a halt. "You know, when he showed up I remembered thinking something wasn't right, but it just didn't click, you know?"

"Because we could see him, touch him... so why think about how he managed it? We all just assumed - and he never said anything to make us - no, wait." Angel stared into space, thinking back to that day. "What did he say? Exactly?"

"Nothing much," Gunn said. "Actually, we never really talked about it much."

"Maybe you didn't," Angel said, "But me and Wesley did, and, yeah, it was just the two of us."

"So?" Gunn raised his eyebrows. "Going to share?"

"Angel." Wesley stopped him by putting a hand on his forearm. "You were not that prophecy. You never were. It might have been about you, but it did not make you who you are as a person. You fought evil long before you were told there was any certainty of reward in it. You are a hero. More importantly, you are a good man. You never needed a prophecy to confirm that for you."

Angel looked at him. "I'm lost, Wes."

"Then we'll find you a map," Wesley told him. "But don't think for one moment that what you did has changed anything. I wouldn't be here otherwise. I signed my contract so that I could fight by your side again. That you would be willing to sacrifice something that meant so much to you only tells me that I made the correct decision."

"He signed a new contract," Angel said, his voice rising as he remembered. He stood up. "A new one - so that he could come back and help me."

"Yeah, that's going well," Gunn murmured.

---

Wesley tossed a piece of paper into his out tray and stood up, going over to his coat. He'd done no more than take it down from the hook on which it hung when he grew still. Very slowly, without turning, he said, "You came back."

Illyria was her familiar self again when she stepped out of the shadows, and Wesley's relief was plain on his face for a moment. The relief faded when she began to speak in Fred's soft drawl. "I knew you'd want to see me again, silly," she said. She moved closer, running a hand down along his side with a delicate, feminine touch.

Wesley swallowed and stepped back, his face rigid with strain. "I'm fairly certain I told you not to come back here."

"And yet I entered unchallenged."

There was something disconcerting about the arrogance of the God King in a Texan accent, but Wesley didn't smile.

"That was an oversight," he replied. "Not an invitation."

"Still, I'm here, and see?" Her body rippled and took Fred's form. "I can be her for you. If you want that again. If you want me to... pretend."

Her hands cupped Wesley's face, and he stood very still. "You've been in this world too long, Illyria," he said slowly, his gaze locked on her face. "Once you would have called it a lie, not a pretence."

"Once you smiled at this face, even knowing what it was."

"And I'm listening to the regret in your voice and thinking how utterly false it rings." He shook his head. "What do you regret, Illyria, beyond the loss of your power? Nothing. We're very different there, aren't we?"

Her head tilted sharply, birdlike, and despite form and accent she was all at once all Illyria, confronted with something beyond her comprehension and determined to understand it even if in so doing she destroyed it. Wesley stopped talking, staring at her with haunted eyes.

"I do not understand," she said finally. "What is the problem?"

Wesley gave a ghost of a laugh. He stepped back, out of the reach of her alien hands. "When I died, you weren't the one who was waiting for me."

---

"Yeah, that's what I needed," Angel said with satisfaction as he stood up and tucked his stake back into his pocket. "You've no idea how many people I've wanted to kill tonight and not been able to. Thanks."

"Well, this was you doing me a favor if we're going to get picky about it," Gunn said, brushing himself down and then, with a small shrug, reaching over to flip some dust off Angel's shoulder.

Angel glanced back at the house. "Think we got them all?"

Gunn leaned against the wall and nodded. "Zach said ten, maybe eleven; I got four, you got seven; you do the math. Thanks."

Angel reached out and touched Gunn's injured arm. "This didn't bother you? Thought I saw you take a hit there."

"Throbs a bit," Gunn said, smiling at him, "but I'm being manly and rising above it."

"You shouldn't have had to do that," Angel said, his face tensing up again, the exhilaration from the fight fading. "Cut yourself, I mean. I'm sorry. I should have been there."

"If you'd been there, it wouldn't have made any difference," Gunn said gently. "Spell needed human blood. And trust me, it's Wes I'm cursing with each throb, not Connor or you."

"What the hell did Wesley agree to?" Angel asked abruptly.

Gunn looked at him. "Only one way to find out," he said.

"Yeah," Angel said, meeting his gaze. "We've got to get our hands on that contract."

The End

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