Protocol, Part Forty-Five

[thebratqueen]

This one is all Kita's fault. That's all I've got to say about that.



Previous parts can be found here.

PART FORTY-FIVE

There was an old couch in the hallway. It was lime green, faded, and looked as though it had been placed there by someone who'd meant to get back to it someday and had simply forgotten.

Wesley sat on the couch, Hieronymus in his lap, and felt great sympathy for the furniture.

To his right was a door. Behind that was a room, then another door. Behind that was a place that Wesley was not allowed to contemplate.

Wesley ran his fingers through Hieronymus's fur and thought to himself that there were some things that ideal posture and expert tea skills could not help with, much though he might want them to.

He looked at his - Angel's - watch. The minute hand seemed no further along than it had the last time he checked. Moreover the second hand appeared to be particularly stubborn. Wesley shook his wrist, then held the watch up to his ear. A ticking sound told him to place blame for his problems elsewhere. The watch was working perfectly fine.

Hieronymus butted his head against Wesley's stomach. Wesley resumed petting him.

"Hey."

Wesley looked up. "Hello, Connor."

"Can I - " Connor jutted his chin to Wesley's left, indicating the empty seat beside him.

"Please," Wesley shifted over to make room. Hieronymus braced himself against Wesley's thigh as though surfing the waves of an earthquake, then immediately began to groom himself once Wesley was still.

Connor slumped into place. A faint smell of must arose from the cushions. "He kicked you out, huh?"

"Your father need never kick me out of anywhere he may order me to leave," Wesley said. "Regardless, either option would require me to have been allowed in there in the first place."

"Stopped you at the door?" Connor guessed.

"I'm not entirely certain my Lord meant the request as literally as I am taking it," Wesley admitted. "His precise wording was that I was not allowed in *there* - " Wesley motioned to the room behind them. "I suspect he may have hoped that in spirit I would remain in our suite."

"He's not going to punish you," Connor leaned over to rub Hieronymus's head with the flat of his hand. Hieronymus raised himself up on tiptoe to fully appreciate the gesture. "Dad wouldn't. He's just - he's like this."

"Private?"

"Dumb," Connor sat back again. "He doesn't like anybody seeing him in pain. It's not you or anything. I'm not allowed in there either."

"He doesn't want to worry you," Wesley said.

"Yeah, that's working real good," Connor rolled his eyes. "You?"

Wesley dropped his gaze to Hieronymus's level. "I am never happy when my Lord is unwell."

"It's weird," Connor said. "I guess - I dunno - I suppose it's normal for your folks to get old and hurt and stuff but... he's my *dad.* I can't picture my dad getting hurt, you know?"

"He's a powerful man," Wesley agreed.

"And I know - " Connor gave a sheepish shrug " - I know he's not actually going to die in there or anything. Not unless Uncle Spike *really* screws up - "

"That's a possibility?"

"No," Connor said. "Pretty sure this is just brute strength. No stakes or holy water."

"A small relief, then," Wesley said. He watched as Hieronymus danced in circles around his fingers.

"Thing is," Connor pushed himself forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "I can't ever picture Dad *hurt,* you know? *Dying.* And with him it's like - okay, *everybody* thinks of their parents as these all-powerful beings, right?"

"Something like that," Wesley murmured.

"But mine *is*," Connor said. "Dad actually *is* immortal, and there's a good chance I won't ever have to see him die."

"Do you find that a comfort?" Wesley asked.

"I don't like thinking about what it'd do to him if *I* die," Connor said. He looked over Wesley's shoulder, as though he could see through the door that separated them from the sick room where Spike was tending to Angel's leg. "And... it freaks me out when anything *does* hurt him enough to show."

"You like knowing that he'll be there for you," Wesley said.

Connor gave a half-smile that was a mirror image of Angel's own. "He always has been."

***

Darla stared at the pile of wood that currently decorated the corner of their bedroom. It looked like chaos. It looked as though it would never be anything *but* chaos.

In front of her, a Milsorp demon straightened up. "The answer is the same, ma'am."

"Don't call me *ma'am*," Darla flicked her eyes back over to the demon. "And if you're done you can put that thing away."

The demon, not unfamiliar with Darla's temper, put away the glowing blue wand that she'd been waving over Darla's belly. "Sorry, m... er, sorry."

Darla tried not to sag with relief as the wand was gone, taking with it the nausea and pain that it caused every time she submitted to these tests. "Well?"

"I told you - "

"Tell me *again*."

The demon hesitated over her black medical bag. Between that and her outfit, she almost looked like a real midwife. Though the greasy grey folds of skin that decorated her body belied the otherwise wholesome image. "Your body hasn't changed. Nothing has changed."

"*Plenty* has changed," Darla punctuated the comment by jerking her shirt down over her belly. The red cloth was pulled tight. She probably should've stopped wearing it, but she wasn't yet ready to admit that she was too big for her own clothing. "Perhaps you haven't noticed the *pregnant vampire*."

The demon closed her bag with a snap. "Yes, *vampire*. Your body was not made for life. You do not *give* life. All you can do is take, and when the time comes - "

"Shut up."

The demon continued "When the *time comes* you will be unable to do anything for your child except - "

"Shut *up*," the words were razor sharp, and Darla's gaze was even sharper. "We are going to be silent now, because I've heard enough out of you."

"You asked for my opinion," the demon reminded her.

"And now I'm telling you to leave," Darla stood, still early enough in her pregnancy that the gesture did not lack for grace or dignity. "Don't come back unless I call for you."

"Fine," the demon gathered her things.

"Oh," Darla tilted her head, as though she'd just remembered something, "and if you should think to tell my husband about this, I'll - actually, wait - " Darla's hand snatched out, grabbing the demon by the throat. She tightened her grip, lifting the demon off of the ground as she crushed the demon's windpipe beneath her fingers.

Slipping into game face was probably overkill, but Darla did it anyway.

"Why should I threaten you when action works so much better?" Darla said, her voice honey-sweet. "You're going to run along and say nothing to Angel, because now you can't say anything at all. Try to find some other way to tell him and we'll just see how much fun I have with stopping you. Right?"

Darla dropped the demon and her fangs at the same time. "Right. Now get out."

A sound in the hallway was the only warning that there were no longer about to be alone. "Hey," Angel said, opening the door.

"Thank you *so* much for your help," Darla said to the demon, handing her her bag. She smiled her prettiest smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

The demon glared at her, then brushed past Angel without a word.

Angel took the scene in, confusion dancing across his face. "What's with her?"

"Frog in her throat," Darla replied. "Where have you been?"

Angel held up a toolbox. "Supplies. I think I've got this covered now."

"War raging, demons roaming the earth, and *this* is what you spend your time on?" Darla asked.

"I got bored with the war and the demons," Angel replied, his face completely deadpan.

Darla smirked. She hated admitting sometimes Angel could make her laugh. She hated more that she couldn't tell when he was being serious. "I suppose it keeps you out of my hair."

"How are you doing?" Angel looked as though he might come closer, or even pat her belly. He wisely stayed where he was. "That was one of the doctors, right?"

"Midwife," Darla corrected. "If you'd like some science-ignorant man to deliver this child, we can try putting it inside of you first."

Angel held up a free hand to proclaim his innocence. "Hey, I'm fine with that. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. I told you, I am totally on board with making sure that you are totally and completely - I'm doing that thing again, right?"

"Yes."

"The perky thing where I annoy you?"

"There's so many things you do that annoy me," Darla said, "but you being perky is just... disturbing. Stop that."

Angel's brown eyes got a soft, nostalgic look. "Hey, remember that time in Cairo? Didn't disturb you then."

"You were covered in blood and positively Machiavellian," Darla said, remembering the moment as clearly as he did. "Disturbing is not the word I would use to describe that."

"See?" Angel gave a satisfied nod as though he'd just proved something. "And people wonder why we get along."

Darla pointed towards the corner. "Play with your tools."

"You say things like that and I don't think about hammers," Angel replied, and for a second Darla could see the shape of his rakish former self inside of his now literally gentle soul. It made her want to put her fangs back on and bite him until he screamed - or she did. Or both.

"Later," she told him.

"Sounds like a promise," Angel said. He turned to the pile of wood. "But first - crib."

With Angel's back to her, Darla finally allowed herself to sink back onto the bed. She closed her eyes, waiting for the waves of dizziness to pass. In an ideal world she would hide away until she was in better control of - well, everything. But the world was what it was, and she didn't like to admit that she *cared* about the ideal, let alone that a small part of her knew that the only things that met that requirement were already in the room with her.

"So I'm thinking Isabella."

Angel's voice cut through the blackness that was swimming through her mind. "What?"

"Isabella," Angel said, as he sorted the wood into manageable stacks. "It's pretty."

Darla looked over her shoulder at him. "Have you been inhaling holy water?"

Angel sat back on his heels. "It does. That's what it means: Bella, pretty. I think that'd be a great name for a girl."

"And does 'Isa' mean 'with a penis'?" Darla asked. "We're having a *boy*, Angelus."

"I think it's a girl," Angel said.

"You also think you can turn that pile of trash into a crib," Darla said. "I'm willing to take the odds on you being wrong on both counts."

"I've still got a feeling," Angel said.

Darla moved so she could face him. "I'm currently sharing a body *and* a soul with this child and I'm telling you that it's a boy."

"You don't know for sure," Angel said. "Besides, there's half of my body and soul in there - "

"Not *literally*."

"I could have a feeling just as much as you," Angel said. "I say girl."

"You know how I know it's a boy?" Darla asked. "Because when I give him the benefit of my intelligence he doesn't listen to me either."

"Don't you want a girl?" Angel stood up, spreading his arms out wide as though displaying all of the possibilities. "Come on - you'd be so great with a daughter. She'd be smart and beautiful, just like you. She'd take no bullshit from anybody. She'd rule the world if she wanted. She'd have *me* wrapped around her little finger since, well - " Angel gestured towards Darla, the conclusion there being obvious " - and there'd be nobody else on earth who could raise her as well as you could."

"I have morning sickness," Darla got up from the bed and bolted towards the bathroom.

"It's not - "

"The time *doesn't matter*!"

Angel blissfully left her alone as she slammed the bathroom door shut and jerked the cold water faucet on the sink into life. She stood there, shaking, and was grateful to the god she'd long ago stopped believing in that she couldn't see herself in the mirror.

Finally, once she felt that she could control herself, she splashed water onto her face and then opened the bathroom door again.

Angel was sitting on the bed. "You okay?"

"You would never survive having to do this," Darla replied. It was meant to be a cool brush-off, but her voice did not get the right temperature. She avoided Angel's eyes and body as she climbed onto the bed. She lay down on the opposite side, her back to him, and wondered how long she *would* be able to lie on her side comfortably.

The room was silent. Angel didn't move. Finally Darla couldn't take it anymore.

"I'd think you'd *want* a boy."

"I would love a girl," Angel said, quietly. Darla didn't have to move to know that Angel was looking at her. "I know what you think but I am not like that. If we had a daughter I would adore her. I would look at her and see us - *you* - in her and think she was the most amazing thing in the world. I would *love* her. I'd be her daddy, and she'd be my princess."

A twist of hormones, or perhaps a flutter of the soul she was now connected to, made her stay instead of run. "The stupid thing is, I believe you."

The mattress creaked underneath her. Angel lay down beside her, his body inches away, his hand on her hip. "I would love a daughter like I'd love a son, Darla. I would love any child of ours."

"Shut up," Darla put a hand over her eyes. "You do not get to do this to me."

"What? You thought being married to me wouldn't involve a *little* sadistic torture?" Angel's thumb traced a line down her inside hip. "Can't have that, darlin'."

"You do *not*," Darla sat up enough so that she could jab her finger at him. She was inches away from poking it into his chest, "get to make me cry *and* arouse me at the same time. It is not fair."

"So we're *not* exploring all new levels of kink, then?"

"Shut *up*."

"You've got to be feeling somewhat like yourself if you think you can top," Angel pointed out.

"I am *always* on top," Darla told him.

Again Angel's smile made her feel warm inside. "I do so hate that in a woman."

"Be quiet," but Darla turned, and let her head rest inside the crook of Angel's neck. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling as big and solid as a mountain. "I never liked you."

"Can't stand the sight of you either."

"I'm not - " Darla wiped at her still-weeping eyes " - this isn't me. If I wasn't pregnant - "

Angel gave her back a reassuring caress. "Won't tell a single person that it happened."

"Good," she scrubbed even harder at her face. Then she grimaced, imagining her appearance - pale, green undertones, red eyes, blotchy skin, fat belly -

"You look beautiful."

"I - "

"Won't tell anybody that you cared about that either."

"This is your fault," Darla said. She shoved at his chest for good measure.

"Not going anywhere," Angel said. His voice dropped down into something that only she could hear - not volume, tone. It was a way he had of speaking that he only used with her. "And I meant what I said. I'm going to love that kid no matter what."

"You wouldn't have," Darla pointed out. "Hell, *I* wouldn't have."

"We're not who we were," Angel shrugged, and it was annoying when he was more wise and philosophical than she could manage.

"This isn't going to work," Darla said.

"I know," Angel said. "I may actually have to find a crib."

"Not that," Darla sat up. She then gave a disgusted look towards the wood. "Well, yes, that. But this. All of it. We can't stay here."

"We could get another room," Angel said. "It's a pretty big hotel."

"Not big enough," Darla said. "Not by half. Angelus, *none* of this is working."

A look of annoyance crossed Angel's face. "We're doing fine."

"We are *not*," Darla strode over to the windows. She jerked open the curtain, exposing the nighttime sky that was tinged pink and red from the light of fires. "It is destruction out there. Whatever our side is it is *losing*. You have to change this."

"Would you get the hell away from there?" Angel pulled her away from the window. He gave a penetrating look out, trying to ascertain if anyone had spotted her before yanking the curtain shut. "Haven't we had enough people trying to kill you to get at our kid?"

"Our baby isn't going to have a life to kill if you don't do something," Darla said.

"I have been!" Angel snapped. "Which, by the way, you sure as hell made fun of me enough for it."

"That was different!" Darla said. "That was mortals and noble missions - "

"Which is what I *do* now."

"- and this is *our baby*," Darla put her hands over her belly, emphasizing the bulge in her shirt. "He needs a home, Angelus. He needs safety."

"Yeah, well, I have been working on those piano lessons all this time," Angel said, throwing a dismissive hand up into the air, "but if you think I should try a world-saving gig for a change of pace - "

"Would you *listen* to me?" Darla asked, and she hated the note of pleading in her voice, hated that life had put her into circumstances where she was reduced to that. "Yes, fine, save your mortals. Save your lost souls. But you can't do that as you have been. Our son needs more than that."

"I will be a good father," Angel said. There was centuries of anger and the betrayed trust of the son he had once been behind those words.

"I know," Darla said. She laughed. "So many years of horror and torture and I *know* you will be a good father. Your soul makes you love this child, your evil means you'll protect him at any cost."

"I'd do that anyway," Angel said.

"Not to my satisfaction," Darla countered, and they both knew that was right. She came forward. She reached up to trace her fingertips along Angel's cheek. "But, my dear boy, you can't do this with machismo. You have to think, and to plan."

Angel turned his head. Not breaking the touch, but clearly not welcoming it either. "Darla - "

"The Master knew what he was talking about," Darla said.

"The fact that you think those words make sense in that order tells me you are not sane enough for this conversation," Angel replied.

"You have to have a fortress," Darla said. "You have to take charge! Those creatures out there are like sheep, begging for someone with even half a brain to lead them!"

"And naturally when you pictured somebody with half a brain, my face was the one that popped up."

"Underground is good," Darla said, refusing to be swayed by his pouting. "Underground is *safe*. Mortals fear that. They think it's dark and death and *that's where we rule*."

"I am *not* putting myself on some fake high horse just so I can tell people what to do!" Angel looked as though if it were any other fight, he would be ready to hit her. "If they want to follow me, great. If not - "

"If not you can worry at the heels of your enemies until they step on you like the bug you are," Darla said. "Because that's *all* you are, *darling*. You are a lonely little nothing in a sea of something and you will be *lost* unless you demand the world pay attention to you."

Angel's shoulders hunched. His eyes looked everywhere but her. "We're doing fine."

"We're not even by my standards," Darla said, "and you know I don't care about your humans."

"So we'll turn the tide," Angel said. "We'll - we'll get more intelligence. Ask the Powers for more visions. We'll - "

Darla took Angel's hand. He resisted at first, then relented as she placed it over her belly. "Angelus, our son is innocent, pure, and human. He will *die* if you don't fix the world for him."

"I can protect him," Angel said.

"And give him what?" Darla asked. "Will he see sunlight? Will he laugh? Play? Will he do all the things that you and I never did because we were too soulless and evil to care? This child is the only good we've ever put into the world, Angel. He deserves more."

"Like he'd get a lot of sunlight in an underground castle?" Angel snorted.

"You don't get to shy away from this because you're scared," Darla replied.

Angel was quiet. He stared down at his hand. Finally, he asked, "Why does it have to be me?"

"You have a soul," Darla said. "You have a destiny."

"So do you."

"Mine's borrowed."

"Doesn't matter," Angel said. "You can do this. *We* can do this."

"When our son is born I - " Angel's eyes looked up at her. Darla faltered. She quickly got over it, putting her mask back on as if it had never slipped. " - I won't share his soul anymore. I can't promise that I'll take care of him."

"You can," Angel said. "You *will*. You're better than that, Darla."

"I'm *worse* than that," Darla said, without rancor, "and you know it."

"Don't care," Angel gave a tight shake of his head. "You'll love him, and be a good mother to him. I know it."

"Sometimes I think that's enough to make it happen," Darla said, her voice a soft whisper. She traced Angel's features with her fingertips. She wondered what it would be like when she couldn't feel him anymore. "But it's not."

"Darla - "

"Just promise me," Darla said. "Promise me you'll do it because you have a soul and your promise means something. That's all I ask."

"I can't do this," Angel said. "What you want. I promise I'll protect him but the rest... it's too much. I - "

"You can, Angelus," Darla put her fingers over his mouth. "It isn't too much for you."

"How do you know?" Angel asked.

*Because,* Darla thought, silently, *in this entire wretched, disgusting, miserable existence the pretty idiot boy I seduced in an alleyway turned out to be the only thing I could ever believe in.*

Aloud, she said, "I just do."