Author: LisaP

Email: vampgirl@ntlworld.com

Disclaimer: Not mine, this is just for fun

Rating: Pretty PG, but NC17 for a bit of stronger language.

Spoilers: Nothing really. References to season 2 BTVS

Feedback: yes please.

Summary: A beaten Angel wants to rest – forever.

Author’s Note: A nod of appreciation to Diane, for her story ‘Reconstruction’ which gave me the idea for this piece. A million thanks to my wonderful Beta reader, Arrie, ever thorough, ever brilliant. And a big kiss to Fran, who told me to submit the thing!

Rest for the Wicked

By LisaP

"What the hell are you doing here?" Cordelia’s tone was venomous.

 Lindsey McDonald flinched, but stood his ground in the doorway of the room where Cordelia was standing watch over Angel’s unconscious form.

 "Wesley let me in. I had to see that he was…you know….going to be alright. He is isn’t he?" Lindsey gestured anxiously at the drugged vampire.

 "Hey, Lindsey. Can’t you see that he’s just fine and dandy? He’s just taking a post- soul–being-ripped-clean-out-of-my-body nap." Cordelia snapped.

 "Are you such a complete dumbfuck that you can’t see that he’s far from being alright? Jesus, what you and your evil colleagues did to him….trying to magic the soul right out of him. Is there nothing you won’t stoop too low for?"

 Lindsey hung his head, accepting the vitriol that was being heaped upon him as no more than his due.

 "What I don’t get, though, is why you bothered to call us. Thought you’d arrange a Ringside seat for the Angel Investigations team to see their friend go through the transformation scene from Warrior for Good, to scariest bastard evil creature on the planet? Well, thanks but no thanks."

 "I couldn’t stand it any more." Lindsey whispered.

 Cordelia glared at him, but remained silent, curious as to what he was going to say.

 "When Wolfram and Hart said they’d found a way to remove his soul by force, magically, I thought it was the best news I’d heard for an age. After all, when Angel did this to me" Lindsey raised his prosthetic hand " he was so cold and calculated about it. He didn’t care that he’d hurt me, that he had maimed me for the rest of my life. I wanted to hurt him back, see him scream and shriek in pain." Lindsey gave a shaky sigh. "But when they had him chained down, and when I watched what they were doing to him….it was worse than anything I could imagine. He was in so much agony….I just had to call you and let you know what was happening. Hope that you could get there in time to make it stop."

 Cordelia looked at Lindsey grimly. "Good thing for you that we did."

 "I can imagine what it must have been like for you to see him…like that."

 "No Lindsey, you can’t imagine what it was like for us", Cordelia’s voice was flinty. " You couldn’t possibly imagine how we felt when we got your call to tell us where Angel was, and what your colleagues were doing to him, trying to rip his soul out of him for Christ’s sake".

 Lindsey flinched again, but Cordelia was relentless.

 "You couldn’t in a million years imagine what it was like for us to find you all in that place, to see what you were doing to him. We had to fight you all, get rid of you, before we could help Angel. Then we were faced with getting him back to safety. You have no idea what it felt like to realise that we would have to use one of those barbaric electric stun rods that you people have, he was so far gone, demented with pain and fear, just too damn dangerous for us to get near him."

 Cordelia paused, breathing hard, fixing Lindsey with her icy stare. "And then, on the way back we had to keep using the rod on him, just to keep him under, you wouldn’t be able to imagine how we felt then either, Lindsey, inflicting yet more pain on him because we couldn’t do anything else. Then, when we finally got back here, we had to chain him up again, even though his poor wrists were flayed back to the bone", she gestured to a bloody set of manacles at the end of a chain fixed to a ring in the floor, which Lindsey had not noticed earlier. He waited, knowing that Cordelia was not finished.

 "You of course would have no idea how fucking difficult it is to get human blood at short notice, we knew that if Angel had any chance of healing he needed to feed, and that we would have to get the blood to him before we sedated him. Do you know how long we had to watch him before we could get the blood to him, Lindsey? Four hours. Four hours of Angel shrieking, snarling, ripping himself to shreds, terrified, no idea of who we are, who he is. Four hours to have to see the most important person in the world to you go through Hell, literally."

 Lindsey leaned back against the wall, his legs shaking almost uncontrollably, breath coming in short tortured gasps, wiping away tears and snot with the back of his sleeve, knowing that however bad he was feeling, this girl and her two friends were going through it a hundred times worse. Cordelia saw his distress, and took no notice.

" We got the blood, Lindsey, we threw sixteen pint bags to Angel, two bodies’ worth. He was so fucking starving, Lindsey, so desperate for the blood; it was pitiful to see it. He just tore into the plastic with his fangs. Wesley shot him with a high powered tranquilliser dart as he was drinking the last bag down, like you would a wild animal. Once he was unconscious we were able to finally take care of him, clean him up, dress those awful wounds. We give him regular sedative shots to give him a chance to heal, but, as I’ve already told you, we have no idea if he is ever going to recover, if I- we- will ever have Angel back with us, or if you have broken him completely, forever".

 Angel groaned and shifted slightly.

"You can shift your useless evil lawyer ass out of here and tell Wesley that Angel is starting to come round." Cordelia moved to stand protectively between Lindsey and the vampire. Lindsey nodded, glad to be able to escape, and feeling, if possible, even more ashamed of himself.

"Cordelia…I am sorry. If there is anything I can do to help…." He backed out of the door, realising that Cordelia’s attention was not on him any longer, but on Angel.

Angel’s eyes flickered open briefly, his body tensing and shivering as the sedative wore off. Cordelia had been warned by Wesley to get out of the room when Angel showed signs of wakening, as they could not anticipate how he would react to any human being in close proximity, but there was no way that Cordelia was going to leave him. She glanced across at the manacles and chains, and decided then and there that she couldn’t let Wesley or Gunn re-chain Angel to the wall.

 The door re-opened, admitting both her colleagues, with Lindsey hovering uncertainly in the background. Wesley was holding the tranquilliser gun in one hand, and two darts in the other, while Gunn reluctantly had hold of the electric stun rod that they had taken from the Wolfram and Hart guards. Angel groaned again, and began to pant as the pain returned along with consciousness.

 "Cordy, you’d better come over here while we get Angel chained up, it won’t be long before he comes around now" Wesley reached down a hand to help Cordelia to her feet, but stopped as he saw the set expression on her face.

 "We don’t need to do this to him Wes. he’ll be OK with us, I know he will, please, he’ll just think we’re going to hurt him again".

Wesley shook his head grimly. "Cordelia, get up, we don’t have a choice in this. If he comes around and he’s…well, not Angel, then we could all be dead before we have a chance to defend ourselves." He signalled across to Gunn to help him shift Angel’s trembling body over to where the manacles were lying in a bloody heap. Gunn reached down and hooked his arms under Angel’s armpits and dragged him away from Cordelia, who clung on to one of the vampire’s hands.

 "No Gunn, leave him alone. I won’t let you chain him up again, please don’t, please!"

 Gunn gritted his teeth. "This is hard enough for all of us, but we won’t be able to take care of him if we’re all dead now, will we?"

 Cordelia subsided, but could not bear to look as her friends fastened the heavy manacles to Angel’s bandaged wrists, the vampire now shivering and twitching more violently as he began to wake up. Lindsey hesitantly put an arm around Cordelia’s thin shoulders to comfort her, and was relieved that she did not attempt to shake him away.

 The four of them moved to the opposite side of the room, waiting anxiously for Angel to waken properly, hoping against hope that he would recognise them. Angel’s eyes flickered open once more but there was no sign of recognition. Worse, as he became aware of their presence he snarled and shrank back against the wall, trying to get as far from them as he could, growling and shivering as he tried to tug his wrists free from the restraining bonds, opening the wounds once more, so that the blood began to seep through the heavy bandages on his arms.

 Cordelia choked back a sob "Oh God, he’s just so scared, look at his eyes. Oh God, I can’t stand to see him like this".

 Angel’s beautiful dark eyes were wide with fear, but as he heard Cordelia’s voice he stopped tugging at the chains and looked towards her, his nostrils flaring as he scented her, body relaxing slightly as he savoured her familiar floral smell. Cordelia moved an involuntary step towards him, but was stopped by Gunn’s hand on her arm.

 "Cordy, it – he’s not safe".

 Angel whined, a piteous, animal sound, locking his gaze with Cordelia’s. Cordy made her decision. "Guys, get out of here now. There’s too many of us in here. He’s confused. I’ll stay with him while you get him some more blood". She put up a warning hand to stop the men’s protests. "I’m not stupid, I’ll stay out of his reach, but if we are going to help him get better, then we have to show him that there is nothing to be frightened of".

 She braced herself for their flat refusals, but had an unexpected ally in Lindsey. "She’s right, us being here, probably me in particular, isn’t helping, I’m going now, let me know if I can do anything." With that he opened the door and left. Wesley and Gunn looked at each other, then at Cordelia, who was standing determinedly with her arms folded, waiting for them to go.

 "OK" Wesley sighed unhappily "But Cordelia, I mean it, stay away from him. We’ll get some more blood."

 Cordelia slid down the wall until she was sitting facing Angel, who was still cowering in the opposite corner of the room, eyes darting from her to the door and back, still trembling with panic, but no longer growling.

"Angel, it’s me, Cordelia, it’s OK, you’re safe now, no-one is going to hurt you. You’re safe now".

 The vampire cocked his head to one side, listening to Cordy’s soothing murmurs, and slowly began to relax again, his body no longer pressed as tightly into the wall as it had been before. Once again he sought out Cordelia’s gaze with his own, fixing her hazel eyes with his dark pain–filled ones. Again, a little whine, almost a whimper.

 "Oh, Angel, don’t do that", Cordelia whispered. Angel whined again, and began to inch towards her, until he reached the end of the chain and could go no further. He began to pull at the chains once more, hissing with the pain as the manacles chafed at his torn wrists.

Without pausing for thought, Cordelia crawled over to the straining vampire. Intent only on trying to stop him from making the injuries even worse, she had reached out and touched him on the shoulder before she even realised what she was doing. Angel stopped pulling on the chains, and went completely still, nostrils flaring to capture her reassuring scent. Cordelia, hardly daring to breathe, gently stroked Angel’s shoulder, and then slowly slid her hand up to cup one side of his face with her palm. She nearly laughed with relief as the vampire softly nuzzled her hand, closing his eyes as he felt Cordelia stroking his cheek.

 Her touch seemed to calm Angel, who was now looking up at Cordelia, an expression of trust beginning to overtake the fear in his eyes. He sighed as he allowed Cordelia to put her arms around him, nuzzling her, seeking out her warmth, his violent shivering subsiding into faint tremors.

 They rested together. Angel lay with his head in Cordelia’s lap, eyes half shut, calm for the first time since his rescue. Cordelia was weak with relief that her instincts had been right, not allowing herself to consider what could have happened had she been wrong, but filled with an almost painful happiness that Angel recognised her, that he would, with time, recover. She had no idea how long she had been sat with Angel, soothing him, caressing him, but she now became aware that he was looking up at her intently.

 "Cordy?" Angel’s voice was hoarse, no more than a whisper.

 Cordelia stared at him, the beginnings of one of her hundred megawatt smiles creeping across her face. "Angel, is that you? Of course it’s you, are you OK? Do you know who I am?"

 Angel nodded his head almost imperceptibly.

 "Cordy…."

-0-

 Pain. He had never known such pain could be possible. Angel lay, face down, on the bed, replaying the events of the past few days in his head. How he had been tricked into trying to help someone, who, it turned out, worked for Wolfram and Hart, and who had lured him into a trap. How he had been attacked simultaneously by eight or more soldiers, all carrying yard long electric stun rods, all on the highest possible settings. He had finally come round to discover that he was chained up, with magically strengthened manacles and chains, half-naked, lying in the centre of a painted pentangle.

As he had tried to get to his feet, someone – or something – had lashed him with a wood-tipped whip, making him cry out in shock and pain. Try as he might, even with all of his considerable strength, he could not free himself from the bonds that held him, and as he struggled, so the whip continued to fall on him, flaying him. He recalled with a shudder how, once he had fallen to the floor for what seemed the hundredth time, exhausted from his own struggles and the relentless whipping, that instead of leaving him, they had thrown holy water over the weals on his back. He had shrieked then, the burning agony of the holy water magnified a thousandfold as it sizzled inside his body through the wounds already inflicted on him. He dimly remembered a steady chanting as he writhed and howled with the pain. And then, more agony, this time from within.

As the chanting continued, getting louder and more intense, so the pain inside of him grew as his soul was gradually loosened and pulled away from him.

 He had screamed, panic stricken and demented with the sheer agonising torment of what was happening to him. Part of him had just wanted it to be over, anything to be free of this torture. But still he had fought, with what remaining mental and physical strength he had left, feeling that he would fly into a thousand tiny pieces if the magic worked, and his soul was torn out of him. And then, when he thought that nothing worse could happen, they threw nearly a gallon of holy water over him, soaking him, burning him. As he collapsed, his whole body smoking, almost insensible from the intensity of agony, both from within him and outside of him, crosses were pressed against his back and chest.

 He had screamed so much, that he had no voice left, and had only been able to whimper, fangs bloodied where he had unwittingly bitten through his own lips and tongue, yellow eyes unseeing, everything turned inward as his soul had begun to tear from him.

 And then it had stopped.

 The chanting had stopped too. He had felt something inside of him settle back into place, that unbearable internal agony ceased, leaving him exhausted and still wracked with pain from the terrible injuries that had been inflicted on him. Fear too, overwhelming fear as to what would happen next. He had heard the sounds of fighting all around him, hadn’t been able to escape because of his chains, and had curled up into a tight ball, terrified of the noise, wondering when they would decide to turn on him again.

Eventually the fighting had stopped too. More voices, familiar, but still human, still terrifying. He had growled at them, a pathetic, scraping sound, and had tried to back away until the chains had brought him to a halt, more pain lancing through his wrists. He had not been able to focus his eyes; everything was shrouded in a haze of pain and fear.

 Somehow he had sensed that the three humans who were still in the same room with him were different, familiar, but he was still too overwrought to make any sense of what was happening, and was operating purely through fear driven instinct. He bared his fangs, snarling weakly as he did so, his eyes rolling in terror.

 More pain. One of the humans had jabbed at him with the electric rod. He had cried out, almost soundlessly now, and it had taken two or three agonising shocks until he had fallen blessedly unconscious.

 Everything was a haze. He dimly remembered waking up in another place, still chained, still hurting. Starvation was wracking his frame as well as his injuries. He could smell humans, needed to drink, had to drink. The scent of their blood had driven him wild with desperation, he had tried to reach them, but he was just too weak to escape the manacles. The only blood that was being spilled was his own.

 Finally, after what had seemed an eternity, blood had been given to him. Not the hot, fresh coppery nectar that he was craving, but good enough. He drank and drank, feeling the blood slowly starting to work its magic, feeling his body begin to heal, the awful pain gradually starting to lessen.

And then, a last pinprick of pain. He had given himself up to the waves of drowsiness that overcame him, welcoming the respite that unconsciousness would give him once more.

 His first clear memories were of Cordelia’s scent. Familiar, reassuring, lusciously floral. He had tried to reach her, but the manacles still bound him, hurting him. Her touch was like balm, so warm, so soft. He had listened to the soothing tone of her voice, not registering the words, just welcoming the familiar sounds. She had stroked him, calmed him, cared for him. He started to realise where he was, who he was.

 "Cordy?"

 He had stared into the girl’s face, recognising her. Realising he was safe. She had smiled at him, asking him if he was alright, if he knew who she was. He had managed to whisper to her, his throat raw from hours – days- of shrieking in pain.

 "Cordy…"

-0-

 Cordelia stared up the stairs, her brow furrowed with worry.

 "Wes, it’s been five days since he came back to us, and he’s not left his room once. Every time I’ve checked on him, he’s been lying face down on his bed. If it wasn’t for the dust thing, I’d think he was dead".

 Wesley came over to join her at the foot of the stairs. "I know what you mean, Cordy. But he has experienced a terrible trauma. That, piled upon the other awful things that have happened to him in his very long life may mean that he might not be able to get up and walk away from it this time. Who knows, this may have been the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. It does concern me that he is not feeding himself nearly enough, for a start. I would have thought that he would have been driven to keep drinking as much as possible while he healed. He always has in the past."

 Cordelia ran her hands through her hair, distractedly. She looked over at Wesley.

"I think we should try to talk to him, don’t you?" Wesley privately thought that getting Angel to talk would not prove the easiest thing to do, but agreed with Cordelia that they should at least try to communicate with him. As one, they started up the stairs.

 There was no response to their knock on Angel’s door.

 "I think we should just go in" Cordelia whispered, forgetting that Angel would still be able to hear her no matter how quiet she thought she was being. Wesley nodded.

They slowly opened the door to Angel’s room, peering cautiously around it before entering. Angel was lying in the exact same position as when Cordelia had last seen him, over twenty four hours before.

 "Angel?" Wesley wanted to ensure that the vampire was awake before venturing any closer to the bed, knowing that it would be extremely foolish to get within striking range if Angel had been asleep. There was no response from the prone figure.

 "Angel!" Cordelia said loudly, determined to get a response. A slight twitch of Angel’s shoulder was the only indication that the vampire was aware of their presence. Wesley walked carefully around the bed, still keeping his distance from Angel. He could see that the vampire was awake, but although his eyes were open, they were dull, almost vacant. Even though Wesley was now right in Angel’s line of sight, there was no indication that he had seen him.

"Angel. We’re worried about you. Are you OK? Please say something". Cordelia’s voice was pleading. She had been so hopeful when he had first recognised her, had said her name. Now it seemed like Angel had retreated deep inside himself instead of continuing his mental recovery. She reached out to stroke his face. Nothing. No acknowledgement of her touch. He didn’t even blink.

 Wesley sighed. "It’s no good, Cordy. I think he’s too traumatised to communicate with us."

Cordelia continued to stroke Angel’s cheek. "What can we do? We can’t just leave him like this, there must be some help we can give him." She fixed Wesley with almost an accusing glare. "C’mon, you’re the ex-watcher – aren’t you supposed to be the expert on all things vampirey? What’s going on here?"

Wesley shrugged. "I suppose I could try some research, but nothing is even ringing a bell. After all, there’s never been anything written about what happens to a vampire when he nearly loses his soul, given that they don’t usually have souls to lose in the first place."

Disheartened, they left the vampire alone once more.

-0-

 Angel could hear it calling to him, softly and from a great distance. He listened, only now beginning to understand what the voice was telling him. At first he tried to deny the call, but, eventually, like a siren song, he was seduced by its promise.

 "Sleep…peace….no dreams…safe…safe….safe…"

 But first he had to get there. 

-0-

 He waited patiently until their next visit to him. When he heard the sound of their feet coming down the corridor, he started to gather every last iota of his willpower. As they came into the room, he blinked and with a preternatural effort of will, turned himself over to face them.

 It was almost worth it to see the look of utter delight on Cordelia’s pretty face.

"Angel, you’re awake…"

 Angel blinked again, and began to struggle into a sitting position. Seeing how weak the vampire was, both Wesley and Cordelia rushed over to help him. Once he was lying propped up on the pillows, Angel wondered if he would be able to muster any further determination, in order to attempt to speak, but he knew that somehow he needed to ask his two human friends for help.

 "Wes…Cordy…." Even the effort of forming the words seemed almost too much for Angel, and both his friends had to lean over him to hear what he was trying to say. He stared intently at Wesley, hoping that the former watcher would be able to fathom out what was happening to him without the need for any long explanation.

 "Have to go….home. Into earth….sleep."

 Cordelia grimaced. "I don’t understand what he’s saying…is he still out of it, d’you think?" Wesley shook his head, confused, but held by the intensity of the vampire’s gaze. "Angel…I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me. I know it’s difficult for you, but can you give us some more to go on?"

Angel closed his eyes momentarily, and then forced them open again.

His entire body felt as if made from lead. "Home. Where I started. Sleep…back into earth…need to rest."

And then with a sickening thud in his chest, Wesley thought he knew what Angel was trying to say to him. 

-0-

 Gunn and Cordelia were looking at Wesley as if he had gone mad.

"Wes, what you’re tryin’ to tell us is what? That Angel wants to get back into the grave? Man, you’ve gotta have got this wrong." Gunn scratched his head, completely taken aback.

 "And he needs to go to Ireland? What, American earth not up to standard?" Cordelia sounded more outraged than anything else.

 Wesley sighed, and smoothed the pages of a large, dusty book that he had lifted down from one of the shelves. "I hope that I’m wrong, but there are stories of vampires – old vampires – that occasionally return to where they originated from and just…well…go back to the grave." He pushed the book at the disbelieving Cordelia and Gunn.

It is believed that some ancient vampires, perhaps after sustaining a terrible injury, or fearing the onset of the madness and resulting suicide that affects so many of their younger brethren, choose to re-inter themselves into the ground rather than die. Legend has it that these ancient vampires return to their place of origin – even to their original gravesites –but it has never been recorded whether, once returned to the ground, these vampires ever rise again, or remain in their dormant state for eternity.

"It fits. Angel has sustained terrible injuries, both physical and mental. Given the build-up of trauma that he has had to deal with ever since his re-ensoulment, perhaps it’s been more of a surprise that he has not succumbed to either suicide or re-interment even before now." Wesley said thoughtfully.

"What if we refuse to help him get back to Ireland? Won’t he just have to get on with life – well, unlife?" Cordelia couldn’t bear to think of Angel not being with them any longer, and was clutching at straws.

Wesley frowned. "I don’t know what would happen. He might decide to face the sun instead. I don’t want that on my conscience, do you?"

Gunn and Cordelia looked at each other, neither having to say anything. Then a thought struck Gunn.

"But how would we get him back to Ireland in any case? By the look of him, Angel is way too weak to travel on his own."

Wesley polished his spectacles as he considered Gunn’s valid question. As he mused, it became clear that getting the injured vampire back to his homeland was not going to be at all straightforward. Cordelia didn’t see the problem.

"One of us will go with him, of course. There’s no way I’d let him make the trip on his own in any case."

Wesley shook his head. "It’s not that simple, Cordy. He’s so sick, that any airline would demand a medical certificate before they accepted him as a passenger…and in any case, flying is not an option for a vampire, too much risk of exposure to sunlight. I’m sure that a ship would also expect medical reassurance before they took him on board too. There’s no way we can get hold of such a certificate."

Gunn agreed. "Yeah. And if we found some way to travel him as freight, y’know, boxed up as somethin’ else, then we’ve still gotta get paperwork, and what happens if some customs officer decides on a spot check. Too risky by half."

Cordelia started to see the difficulties. "What if we got a doctor to pronounce him dead? Couldn’t we get him back to Ireland as a corpse? Eeeew, did I just suggest that?"

Gunn smiled despite himself. "Great idea Cordy. But if someone just ups and dies, they insist on a post mortem. Can’t see that it would be a great idea to let Angel end up on a pathologist’s slab, can you?"

The three friends looked at each other bleakly. Wesley sighed. "It would seem that the bureaucracy of the 21^st century is going to prevent a creature of the eighteenth century from returning to his homeland. I’d better talk to Angel."

Angel was still lying propped up on his pillows, just as Wesley and Cordelia had left him several hours earlier. But this time, as Wesley came into the room, the vampire opened his eyes. Wesley came over and sat by the bed once more. Slowly, and as gently as he could, he explained the dilemma that they had found themselves in, and that they couldn’t see any way of helping Angel to do what he needed them to do. "I’m sorry, Angel. I feel that we’ve let you down."

Angel didn’t reply, but closed his eyes once more. As Wesley stood up to leave, he looked down once more at the silent vampire, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw a single tear escape from under one of Angel’s eyelids, and slide slowly down his cheek. Feeling more upset than he could remember, Wesley returned downstairs to his colleagues.

-0-

Cordelia was defiant. "I don’t care. He said we should call him if Angel needed help. Well he does, and I did" the seer lifted her chin and stared down the two men.

"Jeez, Cordelia. I just said that we can’t trust Lindsey McDonald, or anyone from

Wolfram and Hart. You know that." Gunn tried to keep his irritation from showing, and failed. Wesley, ever the peacemaker, tried to take the heat out of the discussion.

"You’re both right. Cordy only wants to do what’s best for Angel, and Gunn, you do too, which is why you’re concerned about the risk of involving anyone connected to that law firm. I do see the sense in trying to use the undoubtedly huge resources that Wolfram and Hart have, but I agree with Gunn in that we can’t be sure that they won’t be used against Angel again."

Cordelia shrugged. "Too late now. Lindsey’s on his way over. He called me to say he thinks he knows a way to get Angel out of the States safely." Gunn snorted, but didn’t open his mouth again.

-0-

"Well, that’s it then."

Gunn looked carefully at his two colleagues, and then at the pile of documentation that lay on the table in front of them. Lindsey had arrived as he had promised he would, and had brought with him signed, stamped documents that would allow Angel to be travelled as if he were a corpse via air from LA to England. He had explained that he could only guarantee a safe, secret passage via his contacts to England. Once there, Angel’s friends would have to make their own arrangements to get him across to Ireland. He had given his word that no-one at Wolfram and Hart would get to know about any of these plans, and to his credit, hadn’t even asked them why they wanted to help Angel leave the country.

After Lindsey had left, all three of them had stared silently at the papers, not sure how to feel about the implications of them. Gunn, as always, the pragmatic one, had been first to break the silence.

"Guess we’d better tell Angel."

Wesley nodded slowly. "Yes. I also think it would be best if I went with him." He held his hand up to stop Cordelia’s protest. "Look Cordy, I understand that you want to stay with Angel until….well, it’s finished, but it will be easy for me to get Angel across to Ireland. I know how everything works over there, you don’t. And we can’t afford for two of us to fly over there, you know that."

Despite wanting to argue with him, Cordelia knew Wesley was right. She stared hard at the documentation, wishing for a moment that she had never called Lindsey. All of a sudden the realisation that Angel was leaving them, probably forever, was hitting home, and she felt her chest constricting painfully at the thought. She blinked hard, and set her jaw.

"OK, OK, I know you’re right….let me go talk to him". Wesley patted Cordelia on her shoulder.

"Go on then. He’ll be pleased to see you."

Cordelia sat by the side of Angel’s bed. The vampire looked as though he was asleep, but it was so hard to tell. She gazed at Angel’s face, the contrast between his dark hair and pale skin even more pronounced against the burgundy pillows. God, he was so beautiful…not a word she would usually use to describe a male, but perfectly appropriate for Angel.

"Angel…are you awake?"

The vampire opened his eyes. "Cordy….hi". Even though awake, Angel sounded exhausted, on the verge of sleep, and it seemed to take a huge effort for him to even turn his head towards her.

Cordelia forced a smile onto her face. "We’ve news. We’ve found a way to get you home…well…England, anyway. Wesley will go with you, and he’ll get you where you need to go to….well, whatever. We’re just arranging times and dates now, but it’ll be in the next few days." She stopped, biting her lip to prevent it from wobbling dangerously.

Angel seemed to give a little sigh. "Thank you…..Cordy…..don’t be sad…."

"Don’t be sad? Don’t be sad? How can you ask me not to be sad? I’m just about to lose you…probably never to ever see you again, and you expect me to be happy about the fact that you are going to be thousands of miles away, and what’s even worse buried underground…in a grave, for Christ’s sake? Don’t tell me not to be sad…I’m devastated, we all are. I don’t understand, Angel. Why can’t you just stay here until you get better? Why are you wanting to do this crazy, insane thing?" Cordelia actually clapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from saying any more, but her eyes sparkled with angry tears.

The vampire just lay still, dull eyes still turned towards her. After what seemed an age, he seemed to gather himself together enough to speak again.

"Don’t know…don’t understand it either. Just…got to….have to sleep, get peace…will die otherwise….don’t want to die….." As if the effort of speaking had been too much for him, Angel’s eyes slid shut once more, and he stopped breathing, drifting back into his trance-like state again.

Cordelia stayed sitting by the bed, her small hands clasping one of Angel’s big square ones. She was shocked by what he had just told her. All of a sudden she was looking at this whole thing from a new perspective. Angel needed to do this terrible thing because he wanted to survive, not, as she had thought, because he wanted to give up. For the first time in a long time she looked at Angel, and saw him for what he really was, a 250 year old vampire…older than the United States. Cordelia knew that although there were vampires more ancient than Angel, they were rare. She

remembered Wesley telling her that by far the majority of vampires never survived more than a few years of unlife, and those that did often succumbed to a suicidal form of madness and threw themselves into the sunlight. It was as though, having gained the gift of eternal life, the prospect of it drove them insane. For Angel to have lived for so very long all ready, to have witnessed the world changing around him while he remained the same, well, that must take a special kind of strength. Cordelia stroked Angel’s hand. Although she professed to be bored by any mention of ‘ancient history’, Cordelia admitted to herself that it was easier for her to think of Angel as being just a bit older than the rest of the team. By refusing to talk to him about his long, long life she could pretend it didn’t even exist. Now, looking at Angel, lying still as death, she felt that she could see his great age, despite his smooth, beautiful face.

-0-

Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn watched the long, oblong box being respectfully lifted into the hold of the Boeing 747. All three were dressed somberly, as if they were grieving relatives, which, Wesley thought, in a way they were. The cargo handling manager came over to them, baseball cap in hand.

"I’m sorry about your loss. Everything will be handled with the utmost care and respect. I understand that you have made your own arrangements for the body to be moved once you get to England, Mr Wyndham-Pryce". Wesley nodded. "Then all you have to do is present your documents to my counterpart when you arrive, and he will ensure that the transfer is made to your undertakers." With another sympathetic smile, the cargo manager returned to his duties, leaving the three Angel Investigations colleagues to return to the bus where they would be taken back to the terminal, ready for Wesley to board the flight as a passenger.

"God, that was just too weird" Gunn muttered as they were ferried back to the main building.

Cordelia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, she was so emotionally charged. "I’m just trying not to think about it…if I do, then I think I’m going to scream." She subsided into a hunched silence. Wesley busied himself checking that his passport and other documents were all safely stowed, the last thing they needed was for him to lose something important at this stage.

In what seemed no time at all, Wesley was walking through passport control, leaving his two friends behind him. He glanced back, and could see Gunn pulling Cordelia to him as she finally succumbed to grief. Then he was on the plane, and despite his grim task, he couldn’t stop himself feeling a frisson of excitement to be returning to his homeland for the first time in over four years.

-0-

The queue for entry into the UK seemed to stretch on endlessly, but Wesley was able to by-pass the majority of his fellow passengers, and go to the end of the far shorter, and much more rapidly moving EU residents only queue.

The customs officer merely glanced at Wesley’s European Union passport and waved him through.

Home again. The busy, thronging Heathrow terminal was a riot of colour, different races, bright clothes, but still Wesley could feel the long lost familiarity of being back in England. Somehow the buzz of voices was crisper, the tannoy was the clear tones of an English woman…everything even smelled English. Wesley made his way over to the cargo manager’s office, release documentation in hand.

It was only when the clerk behind the desk frowned at Wesley’s papers, and disappeared into the back office that he felt the first stirrings of unease. He could see the clerk showing the papers to another man, and the vague murmurings of a discussion could be heard, but not made out.

Then both the clerk and his manager came back out of the office to where Wesley was standing.

"Um, Mr Wyndham-Pryce, there seems to be an…er…element of confusion over your papers…"

Wesley’s spine prickled uncomfortably. Lindsey had assured him that the paperwork was guaranteed to get Angel safely into the country. He decided to bluff. "I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean, gentlemen. These papers are all in order, and I have my undertaker waiting to collect my relative at this very moment."

The manager shifted uncomfortably. "Ah, Yes. Well. It would seem that your er… relative…has already been collected. My clerk took the release papers from a Mr Wyndham-Pryce only ten minutes since. We have them here."

Wesley took the papers from the clerk with shaking hands. It was true, the documentation was identical to those that he was carrying, but the signature…M Wyndham-Pryce. "This is wrong, I’m W. Wyndham-Pryce…M is for Michael….my father…." Wesley stopped, appalled. He stared at the signature, seeing the strong looping handwriting, so familiar…. "My father…."

The two men behind the counter visibly relaxed. "It would seem, Sir, that there is no problem after all. At least you know that your deceased relative is being taken care of by another member of your family" .

Wesley shook himself out of his stunned state. "Uh…how long ago did they leave, would the body still be on board the plane would you know?"

"Oh no Sir. We ensure that this type of um…special cargo is unloaded immediately and into the transport that has been arranged for it. I would imagine that they would be loading it as we speak".

Wesley turned and ran.

As he shouldered and elbowed his way through the crowds, Wesley’s mind spun with the implications of what he had been told. His father…Head of the Watcher’s Council in England. How had they known? What were they planning to do? He shoved the thoughts out of his head and concentrated on trying to reach the unloading area before they were able to take Angel before he got there. He was just seconds too late. The hearse was a speck in the distance, already off the apron, and heading towards one of the many exits from Heathrow.

-0-

Angel knew something was wrong. Despite his semi-comatose state he had been vaguely aware of being transported. He had registered the cold as the plane had been flying many thousands of feet high, and had woken more fully as the box he was lying in had been lifted from the hold and into the back of a vehicle. Even through the thick wood of the coffin and the packing box that protected it, Angel could smell his surroundings, and the humans that were in the front of the vehicle. Their scent was unfamiliar…where was Wesley? He heard two heartbeats, both were faster than they should be, and there was a faint tang of fear. But overlaying that scent was the knowledge that it was full daylight outside the protection of his box. He had no alternative but to wait, and hope that this was just part of Wesley’s arrangements for him.

After what seemed an age of the vehicle stopping, starting, moving slowly and then faster, and then stopping again, it finally arrived at its destination and parked. The engine was switched off, and Angel heard the sound of doors opening.

"Any problems?" The voice was English, clipped and upper class.

"No sir. It all went according to your instructions." Angel sensed the nervousness from the other man.

"Good. Get it inside, I want it in the cell as quickly as possible. As soon as we’re indoors it will be dangerous." The voice although unknown to Angel had a ring of familiarity about it…and the scent too….

Then he was being lifted, none too ceremoniously, and he could feel the box being tipped as it was carried down some stairs. The vampire tried to flex his muscles, and move, but was just too exhausted. For the first time in several weeks, Angel felt the urge to feed. It was as though his body was recognising that it might be in danger, and

was starting to re-animate in response. Then he felt the box being put onto the ground, and a heavy door clanged shut. He was alone.

-0-

Wesley stared up at the white façade of the elegant Georgian town house that he was standing outside. He hadn’t been here for nearly five years, but even now felt the twisting, knotted sensation in his stomach as memories flooded back. Reluctantly, he pressed the doorbell, hearing its ring echoing through the long hallway. The door opened.

"Wesley?"

"Hello Mother."

Wesley’s mother had not changed appreciably in the time that Wesley had been away. She was still the tall, thin, elegantly coiffed woman that he remembered.

"Come in…why didn’t you tell me you would be in London? You were lucky I was in. I play bridge this afternoon, you only just caught me."

Wesley allowed himself a wry smile. His mother’s greeting was typical of her. No excitement, no hug or kiss of welcome. There was no acknowledgement of the fact that they had not seen each other for over four years, and spoken only infrequently on the phone.

"It’s good to see you Mother. You’re looking well."

"Thank you. I wish I could say the same to you, Wesley. You look…rather travel stained if I may say so."

Wesley glanced down at his jeans and denim shirt, and knew his mother was looking critically at his tousled hair and slight stubble. He decided against telling her that this was his normal appearance these days.

"Mother. I need to speak to Father urgently. I telephoned the Council, but they said he had left for the day. Is he coming home?"

"I wouldn’t know. You know your father. He comes and goes very much as he pleases." Wesley sighed. He knew that his parents led predominantly separate lives. His mother had her own friends and interests, and his father….Wesley knew from first-hand experience that being a Watcher was a full-time occupation, leaving little or no time for anything else.

Wesley rubbed his hand across his hair distractedly, ignoring his mother’s disapproving look. He didn’t know what to do for the best. He wanted to go to the Council itself, knowing that it was more than likely that Angel had been taken there. But he also knew that he was not exactly on their list of welcome visitors. As far as the Council was concerned, Wesley was an outcast. He had been fired after Faith had so spectacularly gone off the rails, and he knew that he was a marked man because of his association with Angel. The mere thought of a Watcher working alongside a vampire was sheer anathema to the Council. That had been made more than clear to him when the three hitmen from the Council had come over to LA to retrieve Faith. He and his father had not spoken since Wesley had been sacked.

He noticed his mother glancing at her watch. "Mother, go to your bridge class. Will it be alright if I wait here for Father?"

"Yes, yes. Of course." Her tone sounded anything but certain. His mother knew of the bad blood between father and son, but as usual, decided that it was nothing to do with her. She got her coat.

After his mother had left, Wesley went straight over to the telephone. As he dialled the number to Angel Investigations he pressed his hand to his chest as if to push away the anxiety that churned inside him.

"Hello, Angel Investigations, we help the helpless, how can we help you?" Cordelia’s bright voice sent a momentary flood of relief surging through Wesley, before the knot tightened even further as he imparted the awful news of Angel’s abduction by the Watcher’s Council.

-0-

Cordelia put down the phone, her expression saying more than any amount of words could. Gunn, who had caught the gist of what Wesley had been saying, leant on the desk. "Is Wesley OK? Is it right that Angel’s been kidnapped?"

"By the Watcher’s Council. Gunn, I don’t know about you, but I can’t stay here while this is all going on. We’ve got to get over there."

Gunn agreed, but before he could say anything, Cordelia gave a cry and slid off her chair, clutching at her head.

"Vision….little girl….lost downtown….demon". Cordelia looked up into Gunn’s concerned face. "She’s going to be used as a sacrifice. We’ve got a little time, but not much." As Gunn helped the seer to her feet he muttered. "Guess we’ll have to leave Wesley to solve this one…at least for a while."

-0-

Angel was hungry. No, he was more than hungry…he was now desperate to feed. That desperation, coupled with the knowledge that something had gone very wrong with the plan to get him home to Ireland was forcing animation back into his body. He groaned and pushed against the lid of the box, feeling his wasted muscles trembling with the effort. The lid didn’t shift an inch. He took a deep, unneeded breath and pushed again, forcing down the memory of the last time he escaped from a coffin. He had been weak then, too. His fingers scrabbled at the lid, clawing and scratching at the surface. He’d got out then, and clawed his way up through six feet of earth, he could surely get out of here now.

He somehow managed to turn himself over, so that he was lying face down. With every last ounce of energy he possessed, Angel pushed against the lid of the coffin with his back, forcing arms and legs to straighten as much as possible for leverage. With a snapping, cracking sound, that was as loud as a thunderclap to Angel’s sensitive ears, the hinges on the side of the lid gave under the pressure, and the lid lifted, smashing through the thin plywood of the protective outer casing of the travelling box. Angel collapsed back, panting with the effort, thankful that the coffin had been the very cheapest available. He wasn’t certain that he’d have been able to break out of a deluxe version.

Cautiously, Angel lifted the lid a tiny bit, and peered out of the crack. It was blessedly dark, no sunlight streaming in to burn him. Angel lifted the lid as far as he could push it, until it fell back completely. The vampire sat up, and sniffed. He was in a small windowless cell. It felt like it was below ground. There was no natural light anywhere, and the one unshaded lightbulb that hung from the high ceiling was switched off. None of which caused Angel any difficulty in seeing the iron door with the small, barred panel in it. The cell’s only exit. Angel could smell people. Quite a few of them. And their scents were somehow anxiety-making to him…they smelled like…Watchers? In fact, this whole place was making him feel anxious, even a little frightened. Where was he? Where was Wesley? God, he needed to feed.

-0-

Wesley was frantic, and just about to dive out of the house and go to the Watcher’s Council - despite knowing he would be refused admittance – when he heard a key being turned in the lock of the front door. Trembling, he waited until he had heard the door open and shut, before coming out of the sitting room into the hallway.

His father merely gave him the briefest glance as he hung up his coat on the coat rack.

"I assume your mother let you in."

Wesley drew himself up to his full height, determined not to betray the fear that was churning within him. "Where is Angel?"

His father didn’t answer, merely walked past Wesley and into the sitting room, where he poured himself a whisky. He didn’t offer one to his son.

"Father. I know you took him from the airport. You had no right. I need to know he’s safe, and that we can continue our journey without further interference."

Michael Wyndham-Pryce gazed steadily at his eldest child, making no attempt to hide the contempt in his eyes.

"Him? Since when has a vampire been anything other than an it?"

"Angel’s different. You know that already. He has a soul."

"Indeed. We do already know that. That is why we are going to study it before we kill it." Wesley’s father chose his words, knowing the pain they were likely to cause.

Wesley sucked in his breath, clenching his hands into fists. His father noticed the movement, and shrugged dismissively. "Even you can’t be so stupid not to realise that the Watcher’s Council have been keeping tabs on this particular vampire? Two Slayers, and it got close to them both? How unnatural is that? We’ve been wanting to get hold of it ever since it re-appeared on the radar in 1996. Unfortunately it’s been too adept at avoiding us…until now."

Wesley frowned, puzzled. "If that’s true, why didn’t I get specific instructions regarding Angel before I went out to Sunnydale?"

"Stupid boy. We thought it was dead – sent to Hell by the Slayer, doing her job at last. We didn’t know it had returned until after you had gone over there, and were making such a mess of the job that we decided not to even mention it to you. You would have probably alerted them all accidentally."

Wesley flushed in spite of himself, but ignored the insult. "It makes no difference. Angel is none of the Council’s business. He’s not evil. In fact, as I told those thugs you sent over three years since, I’ve fought more evil, done more good since working with Angel, than all the years I spent at the Council. I insist that you take me to him immediately."

His father laughed, a mirthless, grating sound. "Oh. You insist, do you? And exactly how are you going to do that? Call the police? Frogmarch me over to the Council? God, you haven’t changed, have you Wesley. Still pathetic."

Wesley’s eyes darkened. He thought of Angel, helpless and vulnerable, somewhere in the depths of the Watcher’s Council, and felt his fury rising to the surface. With two quick strides he had reached his father and knocked the drink from his hand. Whipping around the older man, Wesley yanked one of his father’s long arms up behind his back, effectively trapping him in a half-nelson.

"I congratulate you…Dad. Got it right, I am going to frogmarch you over to the Council. You are going to let me see that Angel is alright. Do you know how I know that? Because I will break both your fucking arms if you don’t. And that’s just for starters."

Wesley jerked his father’s arm a notch higher to underline his point, hearing the older man gasp in a mixture of pain and surprise.

"Wesley, you fool. Let me go!"

Wesley’s only response was to shove his father forward, keeping his grip all the while.

"You won’t get away with this. They’ll overpower you as soon as you set foot in the door of the Council." Even though he was amazed at his usually timid son’s aggression, Michael Wyndham-Pryce was still contemptuous.

"I don’t think that they will." Wesley slid the devastatingly sharp point of the knife he had been carrying up underneath his father’s throat.

"You wouldn’t have the nerve…."

Wesley tightened his grip. "Father…the old me wouldn’t have said boo to the proverbial goose. But you don’t know me anymore. You think I haven’t changed. You couldn’t be more wrong. Put it down to spending too much time with a vampire….a 250 old vampire who fights better than just anyone or anything I’ve ever come across. Let’s just say I’ve picked up a few tips." He pushed his father out of the house.

-0-

The sound of footsteps roused Angel from an uneasy doze. He caught the scent of the humans’ blood, and couldn’t keep his mouth from watering. The light in the cell flicked on, making the vampire squeeze his eyes shut against the sudden glare. The panel scraped open in the iron door, and a face peered through the bars into the cell.

"As we thought, it’s out of the box." The face turned away to speak to another, hidden, person.

"Doesn’t look all that impressive to me. What do you think?" Another face appeared at the panel and gazed intently to where Angel was hunched over himself in one of the corners of the cell.

"Not what I expected, that’s for sure." A hand rapped sharply on the bars. "Hey. Vampire! Angelus. Do you hear me?"

Angel slowly raised his head. He was hungry, weak and still suffering from the lethargy that had brought him here in the first place. He trembled at the smell of the Watchers. If they decided to stake him, he wasn’t even sure that he would have the strength to defend himself. He looked up at the face that was at the panel, his dark, dark eyes full of anxiety and hurt. The watcher found himself holding his breath as the vampire gazed steadily up at him. He had never seen that kind of emotional intensity in a fellow human, let alone a demon. He stepped back abruptly from the small panel.

"We must tell Mr Wyndham-Pryce that it’s awake." The panel slammed shut. Angel sat, stunned….Wesley was here? What was going on? Why had Wesley done this to him?

-0-

Despite his apparent ruthlessness, Wesley was sick with nerves as he marched his father up the wide steps of the Watcher’s Council. They had not spoken once during the short journey from the Wyndham-Pryce home to the Council chambers, and Wesley had used the time to feverishly try to remember the layout of the chambers, and any possible advantage that it might give to him.

But as he pushed the heavy doors open to enter the grand lobby, his father suddenly spoke three words in a loud voice. "Intata, Wonignam, Turos". There was a bright flash, a sharp crack, and Wesley was flung onto the floor of the lobby, his father now protected by a mystical barrier. Before he had time to scramble back to his feet, two burly men were upon him, snatching the knife from his hand and pinioning his arms to his sides.

Wesley’s father walked over to him, and with the suddenness of a striking snake, reached out and slapped him – hard – across the face.

"You stupid fool. Even I would have thought you would have remembered that we have protection spells in place at the Council. But no, you’ve botched this up, just like you botch everything you do. God, and to think I have to admit that you’re my son". He snapped his fingers at the guards. "He came to try to take the vampire. Since he wants to see it so much, put him in with it." Ignoring the guards’ horrified faces,

Michael Wyndham-Pryce swept out of the lobby, leaving Wesley to be manhandled down the stairs to the cells, his face still stinging from his father’s blow.

Angel started as the door to his cell was banged open, and a figure thrown through it. The door slammed shut once more.

"Wesley?"

The ex-watcher looked up from his crumpled position on the ground. "Angel….are you alright? Have they done anything to you?"

Angel shook his head. "N-no. But I don’t understand…they said you were here, that they had to tell you that I was awake…Wes…what’s going on?"

Wesley sat up, and dusted himself off. "Oh, Angel. Where to begin?"

After Wesley had finished recounting the story to Angel, the vampire slowly rubbed his hands over his eyes in a gesture redolent with weariness. Wesley sighed.

"Angel…I’m so sorry. I feel somehow responsible for all this mess."

"Don’t…not your fault. The Watchers…they’ve always wanted me…."

Wesley ducked his head, ashamed of his status as a former watcher, even more ashamed of his father’s deceit. He looked up and studied Angel, concerned at his friend’s ragged state. Although more animate, the vampire was gaunt, and still hollow-eyed with exhaustion. Angel caught Wesley’s worried glance.

"Need to feed, Wes. No good to anyone like this…just too weak."

Wesley moved over to sit next to the vampire, and reached out to touch Angel’s forehead. It was icy cold. Wesley made a decision. "Angel. You’re not to argue with me. You have to feed. I want you to take some of my blood."

Angel tried to shift away from Wesley, horrified at the suggestion, but Wesley caught hold of him, preventing Angel from going any further. Then he rolled up the sleeve of his right arm.

"You being this weak isn’t going to help either one of us. I can’t defend you from these people, you have to do that yourself, if it comes to it."

"N-no, Wes….I – I can’t do this to you….." He stopped, shocked, as Wesley grabbed a handful of hair, and yanked the vampire’s head up so that they were staring into each other’s eyes.

"Angel. For Christ’s sake, stop being so fucking precious. You’ve got to be strong…for both of us. It’s entirely possible that the Watcher’s Council may decide that my association with you renders me an enemy of the Council to such an extent that they may execute me." Wesley didn’t really think that the Council would go that far, but he had to convince Angel somehow. "You must take enough to make a difference, at least two pints, maybe even three." He thrust his wrist close to the vampire’s mouth. "Do it."

The smell of Wesley’s sweet blood coursing through his veins, coupled with the gnawing hunger was enough to force the change on Angel. Wesley suppressed a tremor of primeval fear as he looked into the vampire’s glittering yellow eyes, and saw the gleaming, razor sharp fangs. Gritting his teeth, he turned his wrist so that the palm of his hand was uppermost, and pushed his exposed flesh against Angel’s hungry mouth.

With a low growl, Angel licked Wesley’s skin, and then, oh so gently, closed his mouth around the human’s wrist. Wesley felt only the slightest pain as the fangs sank into him. Angel allowed the blood to seep into his mouth, resisting with all his will the desire to suck hard, knowing that forcing the blood out of Wesley would cause him pain. Instead, he almost lapped at the blood, suckling softly at the rich, intoxicating, life giving liquid.

Wesley groaned, experiencing an incredible rush of sexual pleasure, which kept on increasing as Angel slowly took his blood from him. He’d known, of course, that depending on how the vampire decided to drink from a person, that a vampire’s bite could be exceptionally erotic, but he’d never expected to feel this kind of sexual heat from contact with Angel. After all, they were friends, colleagues….but Oh Oh Oh……Wesley’s head fell back, his eyes closed, his breath coming in short panting gasps.

Angel continued to drink, and despite his almost overwhelming urge to drain this human dry, he kept an iron control over himself, judging carefully how much he could take before Wesley would be severely debilitated. He felt his friend’s heart beating faster and faster as it tried to replenish its emptying body, and just as the pulse started feel thready and weak, Angel, with a Herculean effort of will, forced himself to pull away. As he did so, Wesley moaned, and shuddered with the force of his climax.

For a minute, Wesley lay slumped against Angel, the vampire relishing the sudden warmth that flooded his body as Wesley’s blood entered his system, and from the heat of the body that leant against him. Then Wesley, realising what had happened, shifted away from Angel, embarrassed beyond description. He glanced down at himself, and hurriedly pulled his shirt out of his waistband to cover the stain that had appeared on the front of his jeans. Wesley’s heart was fluttering in his chest, and he felt lightheaded and a little nauseous, but realised that the vampire had judged the amount he had taken to perfection. He was weakened, but not incapacitated.

"Wesley?" He glanced up, meeting Angel’s apologetic gaze. "I’m sorry, Wes….it’s just something that happens…."

Wesley coughed nervously. "Oh, I know. Absolutely. Ha. Um." He shook himself. "Uh…did you…Ah…get enough….blood, that is?" He blessed the fact that he had lost too much blood to be able to blush.

Angel resisted the urge to lick his lips. Wesley would have no idea how good he had tasted, and how it had taken every last shred of self-restraint not to drain him to the point of death.

"It’s helped, a lot. You need to rest now. Wesley…thank you."

"Don’t mention it….anytime…err, well, perhaps not….." Wesley subsided, grateful to have the excuse of closing his eyes and resting for a while. He lay down, and forced himself not to think of how Angel’s bite had given him more intense sexual pleasure than he had ever experienced in his life. For that way lay disaster.

In the darkened room, illuminated only by the flickering screens of closed circuit television screens, there was a stunned silence. Michael Wyndham-Pryce sat like a statue, his face a mask of frozen disgust. His two subordinates didn’t dare even glance across at him, and kept their eyes studiously fixed on the screen that had revealed the depths of depravity to which their superior’s son had sunk.

-0-

"I didn’t think it possible to be any more ashamed of you than I already was. But…this…this abomination. No wonder you were so anxious to rescue the demon. You’re the vampire’s bitch!" Wesley’s father spat the last word at his son, who, sitting before him, tied securely to the chair, hung his head against the stream of vitriol that came from his father’s lips.

They had come for Wesley about two hours after he had given his wrist to Angel. Angel had heard the footfalls on the stairs and given a low warning growl that woke

Wesley from the light sleep that he had fallen into. The panel was slid back, and an unfamiliar face filled the square.

"Wyndham-Pryce? Your father is waiting to see you. We don’t want trouble, so tell the vampire to stay back."

Wesley glanced at Angel, and gave a small nod. Angel moved away from the door, still growling quietly. "It’s OK Angel. I’m sure he just wants to talk to me." Wesley sounded more reassuring than he felt.

"Wes? Be careful." Angel said as Wesley went out of the door.

As soon as the door was firmly between the humans and Angel, Wesley was grabbed none too gently, and shoved up the stairs and towards the offices of the senior members of the Council. He remembered how proud he had been when he had finally passed his Watcher’s final examinations, and been brought to these same offices to receive his certificates. Even then, his father had managed to make some criticism of him that had taken much of the pleasure from the occasion.

Wesley had spent his whole life, both as a child and as an adult, trying to win his stern father’s approval, without success. It had marked him as a man, robbing him of confidence, reducing him to a stuttering, pompous parody of an Englishman. Things had got even worse when he had been sent to the Hellmouth in Sunnydale. The Americans’ refusal to listen to him, their obvious contempt, were just more nails in the coffin of his self-esteem. But things had changed in the last four years – since he had hooked up with Angel, Cordelia, and latterly, Gunn.

Angel was so different from anyone else he had ever met. Angel never looked at Wesley with anything other than respect. He considered Wesley’s opinions, listened attentively to Wesley’s comments, and, more often than not, acted upon them. Wesley recalled the dawning amazement he had felt as he realised for the first time that this impressive, powerful and ancient creature actually valued him as a friend. Angel had never done anything other than to make Wesley feel that he was an important person in his own right, and Wesley had grown and blossomed as a result. In return, Wesley felt a loyalty to the vampire that had become a focal point in his life. Such was his faith in Angel that, even though by offering his blood to the hungry vampire, he was rendering himself totally vulnerable, Wesley had trusted Angel completely.

Angel, as ever, had not let him down, and the gratitude in the vampire’s dark eyes, more than compensated for the awful embarrassment that Wesley had endured after the drinking had finished.

 Now, despite the awful, familiar churning that he was feeling in his stomach, Wesley held on to his new-found belief in himself, and refused to be cowed by his father’s disgust.

 Wesley ignored the comments and concentrated on what was really troubling him. "What are you intending to do to Angel?"

 "That’s not your concern. What I do intend to do is at least make some attempt to save you from yourself, even if I have to beat the depravity out of you." Wesley’s father looked almost as though he would enjoy having to resort to violence. Wesley grimaced, it would not be the first time that he had suffered a beating from his father.

"It is my concern" Wesley was dogged in his determination to try to discover what the Watcher’s Council had in mind for the souled vampire. "Angel is my friend."

 Michael Wyndham-Pryce took a step back and surveyed his disappointment of a son.

 "Friend, indeed!" he snorted. "The Watcher’s Council make it their business to understand all aspects of the supernatural, and in particular, the undead. We want to understand how a soul could exist in the frame of a demon, how it got in, how it is anchored, how it leaves. We exist by garnering knowledge. This will give us new knowledge .If we can somehow detach this demon from its soul, perhaps it will give us an understanding of the process."

 Wesley froze in horror. Oh no. Please no. Angel was already damaged from having his soul nearly ripped from him by Wolfram & Hart. This couldn’t be happening again…He pulled against his bonds, straining to escape…to somehow stop these cold-eyed watchers. But the ropes held him tight.

"Please….please leave him alone. You don’t understand….Angel doesn’t deserve this treatment. He’s a good person…." Wesley’s words were cut off by a vicious blow across his mouth. He stared, dazed, into the furious face of his father.

 "Shut up. You are a disgrace to your name. The vampire is ours to do what we feel is necessary. It isn’t a person. You’d have done well to remember that before it got its fangs into you." The older man looked up at his colleagues who were standing behind Wesley’s chair. "Take him away. Put him in one of the other cells, until I decide how to deal with him."

-0-

 Angel knew Wesley had been gone for far too long.

Wesley’s blood had wrought an amazing change upon the vampire. Even though he would need considerably more to return him to his full strength, fresh, living human blood – even just a small amount – forced life into Angel’s dead veins far more effectively than chilled blood, or even fresh animal blood ever could. He felt vigour flowing back into his body, sloughing away the dangerous lethargy that had gripped him so firmly for the past weeks.

Now he was forcing his dulled senses to sharpen once more. He strained, trying to catch any sound that may help him. He quested, closing his eyes to help him, trying to get some sort of olfactory sense of what might be happening to his friend. He caught the faint sound of voices, somewhere above him, but getting closer. Concentrating, Angel’s keen hearing made out the gist of a conversation.

"Didn’t know where to put myself….God, if I’d seen my son doing something like that….disgusting…he’ll have to undergo complete rehabilitation…."

Angel’s still heart sank. He peered carefully at the walls and ceiling of his cell. There it was - so carefully concealed as to be virtually invisible – a camera. Oh, poor Wesley.

 More voices, nearer now. "Mr Wyndham-Pryce is looking forward to seeing what happens to it when we attempt to remove the soul…."

 Angel startled backwards away from the door. Oh God, No. Nononononono….Not again…I can’t go through it again…I can’t, CAN’T!!

Learning of the Watcher’s Council’s plans for him shocked Angel into the change. He couldn’t – wouldn’t allow himself to again be put through the unbearable agony and mental anguish that had nearly killed him only a few weeks since. As people approached his cell, the vampire snarled. They would not take his soul!

 The two watchers who had been sent to fetch Angel to the interrogation rooms had been expecting to see the dark-eyed vampire with a soul. They had read up their notes, and knew their captive was a quiet and brooding creature. They were not expecting the hissing, yellow-eyed killing machine that greeted them as they opened the door of the cell. They slammed the door, and leant against it, breath coming hard as they realised they had escaped death by a hairsbreadth.

 "Jesus Christ! That was bloody close."

 The watchers looked at each other in alarm as they felt the crash of a heavy body against the door that they were leaning against.

 "Get weapons! And let the boss know we’ve got a problem down here!" one of them barked at the wide-eyed security guards.

 Michael Wyndham-Pryce watched the vampire prowling around its cell on the CCTV. It only stopped pacing to launch a series of vicious kicks against the door. Even though the other side of the door had been re-enforced with stout bars, his men had reported that it could not withstand this kind of onslaught indefinitely, and was already showing signs of weakening against the vampire’s assault. Despite his outwardly calm demeanour, Wyndham-Pryce’s mouth was dry. Vampires had been held in these cells in the past without incident, but none had been as old as this one. This ancient vampire, despite its weakened state, still looked more than capable of shattering the door of its prison. Damn Wesley! If that pervert had not allowed the vampire to feed from him, this would not be happening now. Wesley – could his son be used to restrain the vampire?

 Wesley heard the thump of a powerful kick on steel as he was herded back towards the cell he and Angel had shared. As he and his guards rounded the corner, Wesley saw his father waiting for him, accompanied by four crossbow-toting watchers, all with stakes tucked into their belts. Michael Wyndham-Pryce stepped towards him.

"Tell your vampire friend to stop trying to kick the door down."

 Wesley looked at his father in amazement. "Do you seriously think I’m going to do that? Why would I?" He had raised his voice slightly, although he knew that Angel would already be able to hear every word of this conversation. Wesley’s father knew it too – was relying on it.

 "I suggest it – he - stops trying to batter the door down, unless he has carried over remnants of his love for torture from his years as Scourge of Europe. My assistants will have no hesitation in breaking pieces of your worthless body each time he tries to kick the door down." As if to ensure that Angel was paying attention, the Head Watcher nodded grimly to one of his assistants. Before Wesley could act, his left hand was grabbed, and his index finger snapped. Wesley screamed.

 Inside the cell, Angel was in a quandary. The door was definitely weaker, but so was he too. He could smell the fact that there were at least eight humans outside the cell including Wesley, and five were highly-trained watchers, skilled in the art of hunting and fighting vampires. Under normal circumstances, when he was at full strength, Angel was more than a match for even this number, but now, still weak, and with his friend being used as a lever to get him to co-operate, he hesitated. He stood still, his face returning to its handsome human contours.

 Outside, Michael Wyndham-Pryce smiled. He spoke to Angel, while never taking his cold eyes from his son’s anguished face.

 "I know you can hear me, Angel. Believe me, I am not in the habit of making idle threats. Wesley will not suffer as long as you co-operate. If you don’t…" he glanced at an assistant, who casually snapped another of Wesley’s fingers. Wesley tried to stifle his cry, but even as he did so, knew that Angel would be able to smell his pain and fear.

 "We intend to interrogate you…nothing more, for the moment. You must understand, Angel. You are unique. The Watcher’s Council have an obligation to study what has happened to you. The door will be opened now. I expect you to be acquiescent. There will be stakes and crossbows waiting for you, and a knife at your friend’s throat. Even you can’t move so fast that you will be able to rescue Wesley and defeat all of us at the same time."

 Inside the cell, Angel’s mind raced, but try as he might, he couldn’t see any way of protecting Wesley unless he agreed to go along with the Watcher’s instructions. He couldn’t believe that any father could be so unfeeling towards his own son. Then, with a pang, he recalled his own father’s attitude towards him…..Still, now was not the time to ponder this.

 "I hear you" he said loudly. "I won’t attack you."

 Wesley groaned, despite the knife held against his throat.

-0-

 This was going to be interesting. Michael Wyndham-Pryce surveyed the tall vampire as he submitted to the manacles that were being snapped onto his wrists and ankles. He watched as Angel’s hands were hoisted above his head and the chain firmly attached to the wall of the interrogation chamber. Wesley had been taken back to his holding cell.

The head of the Watcher’s Council strolled over to Angel, conscious of the vampire’s dark eyes that followed his every movement.

"Tell me, Angel. Why would you, a 250 year old Master vampire, be bothered about protecting my son, an ex-watcher? From all accounts, Wesley has been less than impressive in his dealings over the water. I would have thought you would have had better things to do with your eternal life than waste time on the likes of him."

Angel did not bother to reply, but held the Watcher’s gaze steadily, until Wyndham-Pryce turned away.

"I warn you. Silence will not help you here. Like you, we have time. I can decide either to continue to force your co-operation via my useless son, or perhaps I can just allow you to starve for a few days, even weeks. Either way, we will end up having a conversation." Wyndham-Pryce lifted down a book from one of the many that lined the walls of the room, and opened it. Despite his relaxed manner, the Watcher was beginning to feel a trickle of disquiet run through him. This vampire was quite unlike any he had ever come across. Its imposing frame, and darkly brooding presence ensured that one’s attention never strayed from it. Even though, like his son, Michael Wyndham-Pryce stood over six foot, he somehow still felt insignificant next to this arresting creature. Angel spoke.

 "What you saw - on the closed circuit TV – you drew the wrong conclusions. That was the first – the only – time that has been done. He was trying to help me. Nothing more."

 Wesley’s father grimaced. "And you expect me to believe that….after…after that….exhibition".

 "Yes. And you should know, as a Watcher, that there are two choices when a vampire feeds, pain…or pleasure. I had no wish to cause him pain." Angel fell silent once more. Wyndham-Pryce’s sarcastic retort died on his lips as he stared into the fathomless depths of the vampire’s incredible eyes. He returned to studying his book, disconcerted. A vampire that didn’t want to inflict pain. A demon that could be controlled because it was concerned for a human that it thought of as a friend. This magnificent creature of darkness – valued Wesley, his useless son, so highly, that it was prepared to risk its own existence so that Wesley would be safe.

 As if reading his thoughts, the vampire spoke once more.

"You are mistaken in your opinion of your son. He is brave. One of the bravest people I’ve known. He believes in our mission to help the helpless. He sees further than others…. You should be proud of him, what he has achieved with his life."

Wyndham-Pryce slammed the book down. "Shut up, vampire!" He glared at Angel, who returned his stare calmly, until, once again the watcher had to drop his gaze.

"This is not about Wesley. This is about finding out about what you are, a vampire with a soul. Something that has slid insidiously around not one, but two slayers, and continues to infect other humans with its presence. You even somehow managed to persuade Rupert Giles, a watcher we used to value greatly, to allow you to work alongside him."

"And very useful he was too".

Both Angel and the Head of the Council’s heads snapped round at the sound of Rupert Giles’ clipped, precise tones. 

-0-

"W-hat, who let you in here?" Wyndham-Pryce was stunned.

Giles smiled. "Hello Michael, Hello Angel. I’ve brought some visitors." Cordelia and Gunn stepped into the room behind Buffy’s former watcher.

 Gunn immediately crossed the room and started to undo the chains around Angel’s wrists and ankles. "Gotta tell you, man. This is getting’ to be more than a habit. I’m gonna start thinkin’ that you like this bondage gig." Gunn grinned up at Angel, who gave a little smile. "Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Charles."

 Cordelia rushed over as soon as Angel was free, and hugged him fiercely. "I knew you’d get into trouble as soon as we weren’t around. You can’t be left alone for a second! Oh God, Angel, it’s so good to see you!" She planted a loud kiss on the vampire’s cheek. Angel hugged her back, and looked enquiringly across at Giles.

"Ah. Yes. An explanation." He prodded the staggered Wyndham-Pryce with a crossbow until the head Watcher was sitting down, looking up helplessly at this motley band.

 "Cordelia called me. I arranged tickets for them to get over here. We met up and came straight here." He smiled gently at Wesley’s father. "Fortunately, nobody thought to change the protection spells after I left, so it was a simple matter to come straight in. Your guards naturally assumed I was still on the team. Oh yes. Before you gather an overpoweringly large number of re-enforcements, Michael, I also have two somewhat pissed-off slayers just itching to get over here. Any attempt to prevent us all leaving peacefully, and you’ll have them to deal with." Giles’ smile widened beatifically.

Michael Wyndham-Pryce shook his head, dazed at this sudden turn of events. "I don’t understand…what is it about this vampire that makes even you, Rupert, want to protect him? After all – you especially have no cause to wish him well." The obtuse reference to the killing of Giles’ girlfriend, and his own torture at the hands of Angelus was not lost on Angel’s friends. Angel ducked his head, ashamed as ever at the memory.

Giles grew suddenly serious. "I know what he is capable of without his soul. You have read the books, the stories about Angelus. Believe me, you cannot imagine what it is like to experience it at first hand. I came here to protect you as much as to protect him. If you had found a way to detach his soul from him other than by the loophole in the curse, God knows what could have happened." He glanced across at Angel. "I also know that with his soul he is not that creature. I believe he suffers nearly as much from knowing the acts he committed when a soulless demon, as his victims suffered at his hands. He, more than anyone, dreads the idea of losing his soul again."

 There was a silence.

 "OK…enough. We’ve got better things to do than let Angel get all Brood Boy again. Where’s Wes?" Cordelia, as ever, could be relied upon to snap them all back to the present.

 -0-

 Sitting in Giles’ comfortable living room, it seemed impossible that only a few hours earlier, Angel and Wesley had been prisoners at the Watcher’s Council.

Wesley’s father had had no choice but to let them leave peacefully. The thought of not one, but two angry slayers turning up at the Council headquarters did not bear thinking about. He had been surprised too, to see how Wesley had been so warmly greeted by his friends, and the concern they had for him. Father and son had not spoken, and for the first time in his life, Michael Wyndham-Pryce wondered if he might have misjudged his son. Wesley had left the offices without a backwards glance, his arm firmly linked through Cordelia’s, and with Angel resting one large hand on his other shoulder.

They had all returned to Giles’ home. He had got hold of several pints of pig’s blood while waiting for Cordelia and Gunn to arrive, and had stocked up on food for his unexpected guests. Now the human contingent had just finished their meal, and the effects of jet lag were beginning to tell on the former watcher, the seer and the huge black vampire fighter. Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn were all yawning and rubbing their eyes.

Giles took pity on them and shooed them off to the beds that he had already made up for them earlier.

 He returned a few minutes later, with two glasses and a very good bottle of Irish whiskey. He passed one of the glasses to Angel, and poured a generous measure of the spirit into it. Pouring himself a glass, he took one of the comfortable armchairs and sat down, facing Angel, who had settled himself back into the shadows, as was his habit.

They sat in a companionable silence while appreciating the whiskey. Giles couldn’t resist stealing glances at Angel, who seemed lost in thought. Finally the vampire noticed Giles’ curious looks and roused himself.

"Sorry…I was miles away".

 "You can tell me to mind my own business, but are you still going to Ireland?" Giles peered over his glasses, and watched as Angel considered whether or not to answer. Despite the spectre of Jenny Calendar, and his own suffering that would always hang between them, Giles’s Watcher training could only be fascinated by the creature that sat opposite him. He wanted to ask Angel about the urge to return to the earth, what preternatural instinct drove him? He waited.

 Finally, Angel sighed and began to speak. "I don’t know. Something inside me…some ancient instinct says that I need to go back to the ground if I am to survive. Yet, my heart is telling me that my friends need me here in the world, and that I need them too if I am to survive….It’s all so confusing." Giles held his breath, hoping that Angel would keep talking. Angel took a sip of his whiskey and continued.

"Nothing is simple – ever. It’s like I’m permanently at war with my nature…as if I should never have come back to try to live in your world….and yet….I know I can make a difference – have made a difference – even though most of the time I feel as if I’m being torn in two different directions." Angel looked up at the Watcher apologetically, and Giles experienced the almost overwhelming sensation of being drawn deep into the depths of the vampire’s dark, haunted eyes.

"I’m sorry. This is not your problem." Angel ducked his head and stared into his glass.

Giles considered Angel. Something about the vampire’s attitude of controlled despair evinced a surprising feeling of sympathy from the watcher.

 "You must be doing something right" he said quietly. "From what I’ve seen, you have people who would willingly risk their own lives to save you. And although I don’t know Gunn, there is no doubt that both Cordelia and Wesley are happier, better people because of their friendship with you."

 "I know….that’s what makes it so hard. It’s not like when I left…Sunnydale"

 Giles noted Angel’s hesitation. "No. It’s not the same. I know that Buffy’s friends, her mother and myself were all very relieved to see you go." He reached over and re-filled Angel’s glass, and topped up his own.

"As far as I could tell, Sunnydale didn’t really exist for you, Angel. Nothing existed except Buffy. You came to Sunnydale because of her, and left because of her. Apart from her you were still alone – not in the world. I don’t think that’s true of you anymore."

Angel nodded, impressed by the Englishman’s perceptiveness.

Giles continued. "From what Cordelia’s told me, you’ve had to overcome not only your own nature, and the evil that your mission makes you fight, but also people determined to either destroy you, or use you for their own nefarious ends. You’ve been able to withstand all of that, and still make friends, inspire their loyalty…and love. I think it would be a tragedy if you lost this last battle with yourself."

Surprised and touched by the ex-watcher’s words, Angel didn’t know what to say.

Giles smiled slightly. "I never thought I would say this, but I think the world would be a poorer place without you in it, Angel. And now, I’m going to bed. I hope that you’ll still be here in the morning." Giles left, switching the lights off as he went, knowing the vampire would be comfortable left in the darkness.

 -0-

 The light wind rustled the leaves of the ancient trees that grew in the abandoned churchyard. In the distance, there was the sound of the sea, and Angel knew that the moon would be reflected like a shining silver ribbon across its surface. Headstones lay on their sides, or leaned crazily like drunks, the graves overgrown with couch grass and wild flowers. In the oldest part of this ancient burial site, there remained a few weathered and cracked gravestones, the lettering on them all but disappeared or covered in lichen and moss. The peace and silence of the gravesite was seductive, nothing and nobody to disturb his rest. Angel knew he would be able to sleep, to forget, and perhaps even more importantly, to be forgotten. Nothing except a footnote in the watcher’s diaries to remind people that he had ever existed. The temptation to sink beneath the earth, to allow the cold brown loam to close over him was strong.

He sighed and finished his whiskey, pushing away the temptation, and consigned the seductive dream of his long rest into the file marked "Another battle fought and won".

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