TITLE: Anchor (Part 12/16)
AUTHOR: Kerry Blackwell
PAIRING: Genfic - B/S and X/A as on the show
RATING: R
SPOILERS: Through "Wrecked" on Buffy and "Dad" on Angel
TIMELINE: Imagine it's about six weeks after those episodes and the ones we saw didn't happen.
DISCLAIMER: All things Buffy and Angel belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, UPN, FOX and Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. I own only my genius (yeah, right!)
DISTRIBUTION: My site - White Hats - http://www.whitehats.co.nz (as soon as I'm well enough to code it and upload it) Any one else please ask first
FEEDBACK: Yes please!
THANKS: To Sarah for her editing assistance, and to Sarah and Ang for being ready to brainstorm with me when I begged appropriately.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I started this after seeing "Wrecked" and "Dad". My take on what could have happened next. It got totally Jossed immediately of course and since it takes me a long time to write anything, it got more and more AU as time went by. I had hoped to post it in the break, before anything _more_ happened, but I didn't manage it. Anyway, here it is. Just forget what happened after those two episodes and read my version. Please...

CHAPTER NOTE: "ahmic" is pronounced AH-vic and is about the only bit of IrishGaelic I know, having picked it up from a novel. It means "my son". (I think that's right.)

In a surprisingly short time the house was quiet as everyone settled for the night.

Giles and Angel sat facing each other across the expanse of the lounge floor rug, silence hanging heavily between them. Neither was sure what to say or do, each painfully aware that they were unlikely to make it through this night without facing at least something of what lay between them.

Finally, as more lights flicked off through the house, Angel stood. He walked over to Giles and held out his arms.

"Would you like to hold him?"

It was a peace offering of the highest order, and Giles couldn't possibly fail to recognise it as such.

"Thank you," he agreed simply. He settled Connor carefully in his arms once Angel had handed the child over, making sure he had the baby's head well supported and Connor was comfortable.

"You know about babies," Angel commented. He looked like he was trying to go and sit back down, but couldn't quite make himself leave his son behind.

"Cousins," Giles answered, his gaze on the miracle in his arms. "Much younger cousins."

Finally, Angel sat again. "You're doing much better than I did. I was a basket case." He almost smiled. "A lot of people would say I still am."

"It's a lot of responsibility, a child," Giles answered. "Especially one you didn't have time to prepare for."

"And should never have been able to have," Angel added when Giles didn't.

"It does seem a little… unfair," Giles agreed.

"I don't understand why I keep getting good things out of bad," Angel said, more to himself than to the man sitting across from him. Then, as he remembered his company and realised how that might be interpreted, he looked up. "I mean…" he tried.

"You mean like Connor, and Buffy, and your friends. Getting second chances."

Angel nodded. "And third and fourth and fifth chances." Finally, he met the other man's eyes. "I know I'm not a good man. I know I've done terrible things." His eyes closed in pain. "I did them to _you_." When he looked at Giles again, it was the look of a child, begging for an answer. "Why do I keep getting away with them?"

Giles shook his head, not having that answer, not sure he wanted to be having this conversation at all.

"I get my soul back. Twice. I get sent back from Hell. I get a hundred second chances when I've messed it up. I get Connor. What does everyone else get? Buffy gets to die. Twice. She gets pulled out of _heaven_, she gets her heart broken. Cordelia gets visions that no human is meant to have. Doyle dies. You…" He swallowed and finished. "You get _me_."

He leaned back in his chair, looking like he was about thirteen instead of pushing three hundred. "Giles, it isn't _fair_."

Giles didn't know if he could answer. There were so many emotions running through him he couldn't name them all, couldn't even distinguish them, one from the other. Hate and understanding, awe and disgust, sympathy and fear, empathy and remembered pain.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked finally. "Am I supposed to have some magic incantation to fix everything? Even Buffy has finally worked out I can't do that." He brushed his hand across Connor's downy head, just as he had watched Angel do earlier, and was unsurprised to see his hand was shaking, the stiff fingers slightly bent as they always were. He lifted the hand again and turned it over, flexing his fingers almost instinctively.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked again. "That it wasn't your fault. That you're special. That you're forgiven." Giles shook his head, proud his voice wasn't shaking as well. "I can't. I don't know how much was your fault and I don't know if you're special or not. And I can't forgive you." Connor whimpered in his sleep, and Giles automatically stroked his tiny stomach. He gurgled and settled again. "Maybe that makes _me_ a lesser person, but I can't." He swallowed painfully. "I see you, and it makes a part of me cower in fear. And I hate that. I hate that you can still do that to me. Intellectually, I can understand at least some of it, but despite all my aspirations to scholarly impartiality, that's what happens."

Angel was looking more and more like a beaten puppy, but Giles couldn't stop. They'd hidden from this for so long, and now it was coming out into the open, he had to let it out. As he never had before, not to anyone.

"There's a grave I put flowers on every year, when the person lying there should be alive and breathing and living. For some strange reason I have a near-phobic aversion to roses, which can be veryy difficult sometimes. It's kind of embarrassing to go and visit and not be able to relax in a room, simply because there's a vase of flowers on the table." His gaze flicked up for a second then dropped again. "And I used to like Puccini, dammit!"

He felt rather than saw Angel flinch and he was glad.

"Did you know I can predict thunderstorms with my finger-joints? And the broken collar bone, that gives me trouble when the weather gets humid. It's too much effort to go bathing in public – and this is Southern California for God's sake – because then I'll either have to explain all the scars or put up with the strange looks they cause. Or both.

"You did that to me – and you enjoyed it. Maybe it was you, maybe it wasn't you. I don't know. But to me, you both look the same. Buffy might be able to make distinctions, but I can't. And I'm sorry if that isn't what you want to hear, but that's the way it is. My head might know one thing, but my body remembers it differently. And Watcher or no, it's my body that talks the loudest."

Giles shook his head, frustration and anger in the gesture. "And _I_ just wound up apologising to _you_. It should be you apologising to _me_."

"I know," Angel agreed in a whisper. "I never did because I didn't know what to say. Because I was afraid, and because even I realise that 'I'm sorry' really just doesn't cut it in this case."

Giles laughed, the sound cold and bitter. "If you _ever_ try to say 'sorry' to me, I'll stake you. After beating you to a pulp first."

Angel said nothing, knowing there was nothing to say.

"Yes." Giles nodded. "You're right. It isn't fair." His voice was low and angry. "You fucking slept with Darla, and what did you get? A child. A beautiful, amazing, human child from two of the worst vampires that ever existed. Buffy – she slept with you, whom she _loved_, and all she got was pain and heartbreak and sorrow. I think Fate is some ironic _bitch_, who's laughing at us all."

"None of this is Connor's fault," Angel protested.

"The sins of the father," Giles pointed out tightly.

"No." Angel half rose, then sank back down again as he saw the expression on Giles' face. "Connor is innocent," he repeated.

"So are most people who suffer," Giles said calmly. "So were all the people you hurt. Wesley told us what you and Darla did to Holtz's son. Why shouldn't the same thing happen to yours?"

"Because it isn't fair," Angel answered weakly.

"But we just agreed life isn't fair," Giles reminded him.

Angel wanted to leap out of his seat, grab Connor back and run away with him to some place safe. Except that he was beginning to realise that perhaps there wasn't any place that was safe. All you could do was make your own safety as best you could.

"Please don't hurt my son," he begged softly. "I'll take whatever you want to deal out, including the beating to a pulp and staking. But please don't hurt my son."

For a long, long moment, Giles simply looked at him across the rug. Then he rose to his feet, took the necessary three steps forward and, with infinite care and gentleness, laid Connor in Angel's arms.

"It's not nice, is it? Being vulnerable?"

Angel shook his head, remembering not only this day, but another one, two years ago now, that had never existed. He'd been vulnerable then, and he'd run away from it. He demanded time be returned, he be returned to what he was. Part of it had been for good and selfless reasons, but a lot of it had been because he was afraid.

This time, he wasn't prepared to give up the gift. Which meant he'd have to learn to live with the fear and the vulnerability. Like this man did every day. If he could ever be even a quarter of the man Rupert Giles was, he'd be doing well.

He held Connor tight against his chest and looked up at Giles, still standing in front of him. "You're a very strong and wise man, you know that?"

Giles laughed and sat back down on the sofa. "Unbelievably stupid, more likely."

"They call me a champion and Buffy a hero, but you…"

"I'm the pragmatist," Giles finished for him, something fleeting and indecipherable crossing his face.

"No. You're something more than both of those, that there isn't a word for. You're…" He stopped, halted by the look of embarrassment on Giles' face. "You are," he finished simply.

Giles made a show of checking the sheets Buffy had given him for the couch, fluffing up the pillows and when he did speak again, what he said was totally unexpected.

"Do your remember?" he asked suddenly, and Angel stared at him in confusion.

"Remember what?"

"Torturing me," Giles answered, his voice clinical and emotionless.

"Yes," Angel whispered into Connor's shoulder.

"What did it feel like?"

He wanted to lie, pretend he couldn't remember after all, but if he owed this man anything – and he owed him more than he could ever count and could never repay – then nothing but honesty was going to suffice.

"Physically or emotionally? Drawing blood, smelling the pain and the fear, it was better than sex. Better than the best orgasm you've ever had. The mind games, the killing, it was a song in my heart. Standing over you, taking apart that fragile, mortal body and knowing I wasn't just hurting you, I was hurting Buffy too – it was beautiful. It was total bliss." Angel was staring blindly at the curtain-covered window, unable to look at his son who was his greatest blessing, or at this man who was perhaps his greatest sin. "And totally frustrating. You pissed me off, because I could break all your bones, but I couldn't break you."

"How does it make you feel now?"

"Like I'd throw up if my metabolism would let me. Like my heart should break into a million pieces," Angel answered honestly. "And I'll never be able to put the pieces together again. Like everything I ever did was done to me, a hundred times over, and I'll relive it until the end of my days. Possibly beyond. Like Hell was a pleasant place compared to this." Angel looked up at the other man, finding himself humbled in his presence. "And multiply that by ten. By a hundred, or maybe a thousand."

Giles looked at him steadily. "Good. I'm going to sleep now. Please turn out the light."

He turned away, climbing under the blankets and pulling them up to his shoulder. Angel stood and did as he asked, then walked quietly back to his chair in the darkness.

He sat there, Connor sleeping safely in his arms, for the rest of the night. Watching over the Watcher.

"It's tonight. The warehouse on Dawson Street. Nine o'clock. They come, they bid and the winner gets the kid. Not exactly an inspired plan, but it was Harmony's."

Spike gratefully accepted a mug of blood from Buffy and looked around at the combined forces of the Scooby Gang and Angel Investigations. He wasn't sure if they were intimidating or laughable, but it didn't really matter. He might have started out on their side from necessity, but he was bound to them now by ties even his vampire's strength couldn't break. He still didn't know how he felt about that, but he was past fighting the inevitable.

He pointed his mug at Angel. "They're not the brightest, these cultists of yours, but there's about thirty of them. And they're fanatical, which can almost compensate for brains."

"They are _not_ my cultists," Angel retorted.

Spike shrugged. "So, what now?"

"We go through with it," Giles said simply.

"We _what_?!" Angel yelled and Connor startled awake and started to cry.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" he asked in a quieter, if not calmer, voice as he tried to hush the baby with little success.

Giles shook his head. "It's a way to get all our enemies on one place. If Buffy and Spike take him, he's well protected."

"No," Angel said firmly.

"No," Cordelia added.

"No." Wesley, Fred and Gunn rounded out the chorus of negatives.

"Think about this, don't just react," Giles begged.

"You want to use my son as _bait_," Angel growled around a mouthful of fangs. It was only as he finished speaking that he realised his face had shifted without him meaning it too. He had to take several deep, theoretically calming breaths before he could make his features slide back into their normal human mask.

"I don't _want_ to," Giles corrected. "I just don't see any other way to get all your enemies in one place so that we can deal with them."

"He has a point," Wesley conceded reluctantly.

Angel turned on him, a look of betrayal on his face.

"Having Connor there is the only way to ensure all the bidders arrive. Then we can deal with them."

"And what happens to Connor when the fighting starts," Cordelia asked caustically.

"We have someone bring him back here," Giles answered. "I was thinking perhaps Gunn and Fred, with Willow waiting here for extra backup."

Willow looked like she was going to protest, but she nodded slowly. "I'll stay here with Dawn."

"I'm going too," Dawn insisted immediately.

"You are not," Buffy snapped back.

She caught the sardonic look on Angel's face and was forced to nod ruefully. She remembered last year, finding herself in the same place as Angel was now as Glory hunted for Dawn. "Okay," she conceded. "On the safety of the baby thing, this plan sucks. But we've only got two hours to think of a better one."

"Dawn stays here," Giles said firmly.

She glared, about to protest, when Spike stopped her.

"Stay, Little Bit," he said softly. "For your sis? She needs to know you're safe so she only has to worry about Connor and not you too."

"Please, Dawn," Buffy pleaded. "I know I've been the world's worst sister lately, but if anything happened to you, I'd die."

"You did," Dawn said tightly. "And we had to go on without you. I don't want to do that again."

"I'm not going to die," Buffy promised. "Been there, bought the t-shirt."

"But you wanted to go back," Dawn whispered.

Tears in her eyes, Buffy nodded. "I know. But I don't any more. I want to stay here, with you and everyone. I want to come to your graduation where you _don't_ blow up the school. I want to scare off all your boyfriends and make your life miserable."

"Promise," Dawn asked around tears of her own.

"Promise," Buffy agreed, wrapping her sister in a bone-cracking hug. Dawn buried her head in Buffy's shoulder and hugged back, threatening a few bones herself.

"So Willow and the Dawnster stay here, Gunn and Fred come back with Connor as soon as the shit hits the fan. What about the rest of us?" Xander asked.

"I think…" Willow began in a small voice before anyone could answer. "I think we should ask Tara to come here too. Then we'll have some magical protection."

Cordelia stared at her. "But I thought you…"

Willow's chin went up, even if it was a little wobbly. "I don't do magic anymore," she said firmly.

Cordy frowned, but Buffy interrupted smoothly. "That's right." She gave Willow a gentle look. "Are you okay with asking Tara?"

Willow nodded. "Yeah, I am. Besides, it's more important to keep Connor safe that worry about our squabbles." She knew 'squabbles' was much to simple a word to describe all the things that had gone wrong between them, but she didn't really want to have to have a huge emotional crisis in front of everyone. "Shall I call her?"

She sounded fragile, just saying the words, and Giles heard it. "Perhaps, Buffy or Xander…" he suggested tactfully.

It was Xander who nodded. "You need Buffy here for the planning. I'll call Tara." He got up and went to use the phone in the kitchen, Anya trailing after him.

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