Protocol, Part Twenty-Seven

[thebratqueen]

Previous parts can be found here.

PART TWENTY-SEVEN

Angel didn't like going out to fight.

Oh he liked *fighting*, sure. Fists, fangs, maybe even with weapons if you wanted to get fancy. Pure, down and dirty fighting was a pleasure.

But this wasn't fighting. It was war. War was a hell of a lot different.

Some nights Angel wondered if the old him would have liked this. He tried to push the memories of his former self as though rubbing a sore tooth with his tongue. Would he have loved it? The fear, the chaos? The certainty that one word on his part, one gesture, and dozens if not hundreds would die as easily as crumpling up a piece of paper?

Yeah, he might have. But only for the first time.

No, his darker half bored easily. Even when he was only a babe compared to other vampires he'd been world-weary. Insatiable. The night to night pattern of death was just so much drudgery, and to a monster like him the stupidity of war was even moreso. There was no joy to be had in this. It was a battle. People died. It was all so matter of fact, and common.

He preferred more beautiful things. The art of corruption. The slow torment of a mortal's body, or mind, or both if it was possible. *That* was what gave him joy.

Or it used to.

Now he was souled. More than that he was responsible. He couldn't just fight for these people, he had to *lead* them.

Admittedly that was the sort of thing that could be terrifying.

It was times like this when he envied Spike. The younger vampire wore a soul as though it were no different from the lazy scowls that he loved to throw out at the things that managed to annoy him. Plus he had no destiny, or none that anyone knew of. He was free to do whatever he pleased. He chose the good fight, it did not choose him.

Angel envied that.

He didn't betray that emotion to anyone, however. Least of all Spike. Let his grandson have it. Someone deserved to. Let Spike be carefree, and have the luxury of sarcasm. It gave Spike the semblance of a life, and that was something Angel could understand wanting to aspire to.

For himself Angel had no aspirations.

He fought because he wanted to. He fought because that seemed to make a difference. He put the crown on his head, metaphorically at least, because he knew that was how he could get things done. But none of that was done for himself. He'd put his own goals down years ago. He'd tried them, and found them to be an ill fit. He wasn't meant for goals, or day to day happiness. He was meant to fight for better things, and that he could do.

Being given a son to fight for only made his job easier. Connor could have a good life. He could have any life that he wanted. Angel would make sure of it.

When fighting though, fighting like *this*, which was dirty and underground and humid and bloody and awful even to his jaded senses, he felt more than Connor's weight on his shoulders. He felt the weight of everyone who fought with him. Slayer, witch, demons, humans, even vampires who, Angel knew, joined in the fray as much for the supply of human blood that came with it as they did for anything that even remotely resembled something good or noble. They were his. They belonged to him. Their deaths were his failing. He didn't brood over it, but it lingered with him.

***

Spike, of course, felt no such concerns. Or if he did he didn't show it, which for Spike was very often much the same thing. He kept half an eye on Angel, and wandered over in those rare moments when the world was calm and there could be a word or two between them.

"Should relax," Spike told him once, over a shared cigarette. The faint light on its tip reminded Angel of the warnings given in the trenches in the first World War, but they were fighting against things that could find them using senses that had nothing to do with sight. "Take a breather, if you know what I mean."

"I can't," Angel said. He held the smoke in his lungs, wondering if mortals felt the same tight burning sensation when they did it.

Spike's eyebrow quirked at that. "You *can*. Not that you heard me say it but there's plenty who - "

"I *won't*," Angel said. He dropped the cigarette down to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot.

Spike was unimpressed. "You're a pain in the arse whenever you're like this."

"I'm *married* now," Angel reminded him.

"Think he's at home staying celibate while you're out and about in the world?" Spike asked.

Angel rolled the words over very carefully in his mind, studying them for any hint that his response should be punching Spike directly in the face. When all signs pointed towards nothing but curiosity, Angel replied, "He won't. He can't. He's not allowed."

"Not allowed and not doing aren't the same thing," Spike said.

"He almost died to make sure he didn't break a rule," Angel said.

Spike had to acknowledge that. He lit another cigarette and mulled it over. "Still, you could do with a bit of - "

"I won't."

"Only saying - "

"I *won't*."

"I'm not saying it has to be *me*," Spike snapped at him.

"That's not it," Angel told him. He thought about Wes. Wes who couldn't even pleasure *himself* without hand holding and direct orders. He thought about what it would take to turn a human being into that. "He's younger than I thought he was."

"Hard one to peg," Spike agreed.

"He's so…" Angel trailed off. The word he wanted to use was "vulnerable", but he felt this was the last thing he should say in front of Spike. Like it would be betraying Wesley if he did so. He didn't want to betray Wes. He wanted to protect him, and keep him safe. With that realization came another. "He *needs* me."

"That's almost enough to make me feel sorry for him," Spike said. He handed the cigarette over.

Angel held it, not bringing it up to his lips. He found himself thinking about Wesley, and Connor. About how his son had been strong and independent even before he could walk. How Connor *loved* him, but was always his own miraculous person. Connor had his own life to lead. Wesley had no life besides Angel. "I keep telling him he should do stuff. Outside of me."

"He allowed?" Spike asked.

Angel shook his head, finally taking in a breath of smoke. "No. And he says he doesn't want to."

"Sounds like that settles it then," Spike said.

"He should *have* a life," Angel said. "He should be doing his own thing, and get married. He should fall in love, and have kids who have that little frown he gets over his eyebrows when he's thinking."

Spike stared at him, then silently demanded Angel give the cigarette back.

Angel handed it over, exhaling the smoke with a sigh. "He should."

"He's got *you*, Liam," Spike told him.

Angel shoved his hands into his coat pockets. He looked out over the sea of tents and moving figures that made up his army. "I'm not sure what that means."

"Give it time," Spike said, and that was the end of that.

***

Angel's capture went something like this:

The battle had been going on for longer than anyone wanted to admit to. But the important thing was that they weren't losing ground. Losing *bodies*, but not losing ground.

The report came in that scouts had found a storage center. It wasn't too far, and it had enough of Wolfram & Hart's immediate supplies to be significant. Angel, tired of the never-ending drone of destruction and the toll it was taking on everyone that looked to him for protection, decided not only to take it out, but take it over. A show of force that would thumb his nose at the other side.

In hindsight both options would have been a bad move.

The setup was a trap, and one so obvious Angel realized it only seconds before it sprung. That left him with just enough time to do what needed to be done.

"Spike!" Angel shouted, giving the only warning and order that he could. As soon as he did he was immediately taken. A sword plunged through his chest. Chains caught his wrists and threatened to snap the bones.

Luckily, Spike understood what was being asked of him. It was a deal that he and Angel had made nearly two decades earlier. Spike put his weapon away, abandoning the fight, and immediately grabbed Connor.

"What?" Connor asked. He tried to shake Spike off. "No! Dad! *Dad*!"

"Sorry, junior," Angel saw Spike's lips say. "That's not the arrangement."

Then Angel was hit in the head, and he began to black out. As he did he heard his son screaming his name as Spike dragged him, kicking and struggling all the way, to safety.

***

It was a sound not unlike that of a wildcat that alerted Wesley to the presence of someone coming. Then the suite's outer door burst open and Connor was thrust in, Spike following close behind him.

"I can't *believe* you did that!" Connor was yelling.

Spike slammed the door, then stood in front of it. "Deal's a deal."

"That's not *my* deal," Connor said. He gestured angrily, then abandoned it, going to dig through the trunks that were scattered about the room instead. "I don't care. You can't keep me here. I won't stay. You can't make me."

Wesley decided the time was right to assert some control over the situation. "What happened?"

Connor and Spike both stopped to look at him. Spike beat Connor to the punch. "Angel's been taken."

Wesley briefly weighed the possibility that Spike was joking. Anger soon overpowered hope. "How could you let that happen?"

"It's the *deal*," Spike said, sounding as though he'd explained this before.

Wesley didn't want to listen to it. "You let your *king* - "

"He's not my *king*," Spike threw back. "He's *family*. And I didn't let *anything*."

"He let them take Dad," Connor accused.

"Because it would save *you*," Spike said.

"I wasn't in danger!" Connor threw one of the stakes across the room. It clattered harmlessly to the floor, the gesture one of frustration and in no way meant to be deadly.

Spike had lost all traces of his jovial self. The creature that stared Connor down was very definitely a vampire, and one who knew all that came with having lived for over one hundred years. "You are his *son*. If they get you, if they *hurt* you, then *he* will hurt." Perhaps guessing that Wesley might prove to be an ally, Spike looked at him and added, "That was his order. They come after him, I save the boy."

Wesley folded his arms, thinking about that. "Angel ordered this himself?"

Spike nodded. "Since the day he was born. It all falls, I pull Connor out of there." He added a glare in Connor's direction. "Unconscious, as the need proved to be."

"They're hurting him now!" Connor protested, but his own bluster was starting to give way to fear and to guilt. "They *took* him!"

"And we will get him *back*," Spike said, "but only with you *here*."

"No," Connor said. "I'm going to help."

"Over my dead body," Spike said, "and I've got a lot more practice with that then you."

"You can't stop me," Connor said.

Again Spike turned to Wesley. "I can't leave if he won't stay."

Wesley had been turning all of it over and over in his mind like a worry stone. "My Lord is a prisoner now?"

"Now and until we get him out of there," Spike confirmed.

Wesley added that to the puzzle. "And if Connor stays - "

"I *won't* stay," Connor said.

Wesley ignored him. "If Connor stays then you can go back to help."

"Only if," Spike said.

Wesley turned back to his erstwhile step-son. "Connor, I would like you to remain with me."

"They took my *dad*," Connor said, coming forward. "Wesley, I am not going to stay here when - "

"Connor," Wesley interrupted, his eyes blazing directly into Connor's own. "I am of a class of people who are not allowed to admit to want or desire without severe risk of nearly if not actually fatal punishment. I would like you to remember that and ask yourself how urgent my need would be for me to stand here and admit to you *I would like you to remain with me*."

Connor's mouth gaped open and closed. "Wes - "

"Trust me," Wesley told him. He turned back to Spike. "Go. Get him. Bring him back and so *help* me if I discover that you in any way lingered or took advantage of -"

Spike had the good grace to look angry. "He was my family longer than he was yours," he told Wesley. Then, perhaps in understanding, added. "'sides. I got a boy out there too."

Wesley nodded, seeing the bit of fellow-feeling in Spike's eyes. "Then go. Connor will stay here, I promise you. On my honor as a spouse."

"Lucky for you I've seen that in action," Spike said. He gave Connor one last look. "I'll bring him back. Promise."

"I can't *believe* you," Connor said as soon as the door was closed. "If you think for one second - "

Wesley turned on him. "If *you* think for one second you would realize that we are currently in the middle of a trap. They took your father. They *want* his kingdom. If they have him then they are coming here next and we don't have much time to prepare."

"I - " Connor faltered, but admirably rose to the occasion. "We don't have much. Dad took the best fighters with him."

Wesley dug through his own trunk, pulling out extra guns and knives. "I know. That's why I needed you here. We're going to have to protect this place with what we have."

"We could call everybody back," Connor said. "It's not that far, we could get a message across. Heck, Spike could take one with him."

Wesley stood up again, snapping his collapsible sword to his wrist. "I realize he could. But we're not going to do that."

"Why not?" Connor asked.

Wesley holstered his extra guns. "Because your father is out there and I'll be damned if we send any save the best in order to get him back. Angel is what's most important. The fortress will have to make do."

Connor took that in, then nodded as though he liked what he heard. "Okay, yeah. Yeah. I'm in."

Wesley smiled. "I thought you might be."

***

They weren't as badly off as they could have been.

Though Angel had taken the best with him, he hadn't taken *all* of their fighting forces, and Wesley and Connor were left with a combination of guards, auxiliary troops, and more than a few amateurs eager to protect their home. On an open battle field this would have been disaster, but within the safety of the fortress it was a resource they could use. All that was required was taking advantage of their location to funnel the enemy into specific spots.

Wesley ordered the outside house and the majority of the tunnels to be blocked. He felt sick when he did it, as though the closing of those pathways was cutting off the very oxygen to his lungs, but he swallowed it down as he always did and set his mind on the task. This was serving. He was trained to serve. If he kept his mind on the job, he could somehow get through.

"Are you okay?" Connor asked, on more than one occasion.

"Fine," Wesley told him, and kept the news of any panic attacks quite firmly to himself.

Waiting came next. First were days and nights of restless silence which not even training could help speed through the tension. Then came the attacks. The fortress rumbled with earthquakes that came from above and to the side, as though the very hills on top of them were swarming with giants and dragons that sought to ferret them out into the open by hammering them with heavy feet. And, given the enemy, they very well could have been.

They dealt with that wave, Wesley losing sleep right along with everyone else as his own bedroom became too tight and small, page 263 notwithstanding, for him to manage to stay inside. He tucked his things away, taking extra care with his book and his teapot, and then hoped that no one noticed that he never spent much time in there save when he needed to change his clothing.

Finally came actual fighting. Barriers were breached, troops swarmed in. They were met with opposition and Wesley was right there with them, firing guns and crossbows into the melee. Connor was the brawn, Wesley was the brains, and though their manpower was not skilled it was enough in sheer volume and desire to help buy time for thinking and strategy.

At one moment Wesley himself was nearly taken, but a voice called out a warning and Wesley ducked just in time for a large paw to swipe overhead, knocking a hostile vampire directly into the path of someone else's pike.

"Thank you," Wesley said to the demon, whose name was George.

George offered him a hand - paw - up. "No problem."

Connor happened to observe this. "Since when are you friends with Gliks?"

Wesley shrugged it off, readying for the next round of fighting. "It's a long story."

***

They would keep fighting until the enemy suffered a spectacular defeat. Wesley realized this, and realized that he had to bring one about sooner rather than later. Angel was out there. He needed a safe home to return to. That he might *not* return was something Wesley refused to acknowledge or even entertain. He would, it was certainty, Wesley would accept no other fact.

Wesley's job, then, was to provide a safe home for him. Wesley thought about this, and thought about this, and thought about it some more.

Finally he decided.

"I want to see their leader," he announced, bringing this decision to Gunn and Connor at the same time.

Gunn looked suspicious. "Why?"

"Negotiations," Wesley said.

"He doesn't think you're important," Connor told him. "I heard it when we were fighting the first time. They think you're just a trophy."

"Good," Wesley said. "That's exactly what I want them to think."

The leader, someone named Linwood who even Connor sneered at when referring to him and pronounced to be "Nowhere near as good as Lindsey was, though I guess that's better for us." proved to be more than eager at the idea of meeting Angel's spouse. Wesley set the stage, sending out messages with enough deliberate ambiguity that it was clear that the word "negotiations" had many meanings.

"Are you even *allowed* to do that?" Gunn asked.

"Not by the Council's rules," Wesley said.

"What if he knows that?" Gunn asked.

"I think I've demonstrated that there's many things I will do if it means bringing my Lord home," Wesley answered.

Wesley did, in fact, wonder about taking advantage of this moment to bring Angel home. To all appearances Linwood was greedy, and neither he nor his troops would have been the worst Wesley would have had to suffer. It could have been arranged.

But doing so would have done more than lose Wesley his job. The punishment for any extra-marital affairs, even those that weren't consented to, was severe. And more than that it would have meant betraying Angel.

Wesley couldn't imagine betraying Angel.

So he trusted in Spike, as impossible as that was, and used himself as bait. He met Linwood and his troops outside, in the intoxicating fresh air, in a meeting area that was of Wesley's choosing.

Beneath him, unbeknownst to the others, was a storage area that had been filled with bombs and other explosives. At the pre-arranged time, Wesley shot Linwood right through the chest, then ran as the bombs were detonated. He nearly didn't make it, and would not have if not for Connor's supernatural speed and strength helping him out of the way, but the enemy troops were devastated and that was what mattered.

Wesley stood, watching the chaos and reflecting on how far he'd come from the life he'd been leading not that long ago.

"You okay?" Connor asked.

"Send our people out here to get rid of any stragglers," Wesley said, by way of an answer. "Then let's get the rest on cleaning up. Your father will be home soon, I want to provide the best environment for him."

Connor smiled, and nodded. "You got it."

Wesley basked in the victory a moment longer, then once again clamped down his fears and went back inside.