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All the Wrong Places - Part 19
It felt wrong somehow, going back into the hotel. The place where Lilah had died.
Angel's place.
Still, Wesley was determined not to let the situation put him off of what he'd said he'd do -- namely, meeting Doyle for
lunch. He went through the doors with more confidence than he felt, then paused and listened.
"Doyle?" he called, not very loudly, although it sounded loud in the rather empty lobby.
"In here!" Doyle's voice -- Cordelia's voice with a strange accent -- came from the direction of Angel's office. A second
later Doyle himself appeared in the doorway.
Wesley gestured as best he could with both arms wrapped around paper bags full of take-away food, then glanced
down at them. "I, er, may have gotten a bit carried away," he admitted.
Doyle chuckled -- and it was most definitely Doyle who came forward to help take some of the bags from him. He might have
been wearing Cordelia's body, but the way he moved, the way he reacted... Wesley found he had no trouble recognising that
this wasn't Cordelia standing in front of him. "No such thing when it comes to good take away. Just means you have more
leftovers for future meals. Or science experiments involving new and interestingly coloured moulds."
"It never occurred to me that those might be a good thing." Wesley shifted the bags he was still holding and raised an
eyebrow. "Where would you like to eat?"
"We can go upstairs to the suite," Doyle said, heading for the stairs, then pausing and looking back over his shoulder at
Wesley. "Or we could eat down here if that would be more comfortable for you?"
Wesley hesitated, immediately aware that the hesitation was answer enough. "Perhaps down here would be... better."
"Right." Doyle reversed his course. "In the office then?"
Following Doyle, Wesley set his bags down on the desk and started to open one. "I wasn't sure what to get, which is
probably why I ended up getting so much."
"It's not a problem. What is it that they say -- variety is the spice of life?" Doyle grinned and sat down, gesturing for
Wesley to do the same.
Wesley perched himself on the edge of the nearest chair, not feeling quite relaxed yet, and pulled out some foil-wrapped
packages. "These are... some different kinds of bread. I doubt my ability to identify them by sight, unfortunately."
"I'm an adventurous sort. Mystery bread holds no fear for me."
"Good to know." He reached into the bag again and brought out a styrofoam container. "And this would be... tandoori...
something."
Doyle chuckled and reached for the container. "Sounds like as good a place as any to start."
Wesley opened a foil package and peeled off a thin round of bread, then took a bite thoughtfully. "So.. how are you?"
"I'm good. Really. Not that there haven't been some challenges -- most of them having to do with Cordelia's wardrobe."
Doyle met his eyes and smiled. "Thanks for your part in getting me back here."
"I wish I could have done more," Wesley said truthfully.
"Yeah, well considering what you were planning as the more, I'm glad you didn't."
"I can't say part of me isn't thankful that it wasn't necessary. I'm just glad you seem to be adjusting as well as you are."
Doyle shrugged. "I try to roll with the punches nowadays. Easier for everybody in the long run." He took another bite
then looked at Wesley speculatively. "Speaking of rolling with the punches, I hope you'll take that philosophy in this
conversation."
"That... doesn't give me a lot of hope for this going well," Wesley said, easing back in his chair a little bit.
"I dunno. Really depends on how you take what I have to say."
Wesley's first reaction to this was concern that Angel had asked Doyle to tell him that he wanted him gone, but he
tried to reassure himself that if Angel had something to say, he'd say it himself. "I'm listening," he said cautiously.
"You remember me telling you about how Angel gave up being human and erasing the day from everybody's memories?"
"Yes." Wesley took a bite of basmati rice, more because he thought he ought to than because he wanted it.
Doyle took a deep breath. "That wasn't the only time he's made a deal that changed people's memories."
It was clear that this was meant to be a revelation of some sort, so Wesley played it over in his mind carefully. "You're
telling me that he's done it again. And the reason that you're telling me is...?"
"Because it involves you this time. You and everyone else, but it seems to have hit you hardest." Doyle looked down
at his tandoori, then up again, meeting and holding Wesley's eyes. "He had his son erased from everyone's memory."
"His... what?" Wesley's stomach did a little flip, reminding him why eating might not have been such a good idea. He
made a mental note to listen to his body more carefully in the future. "Angel doesn't have a... Doyle, he's a *vampire.*"
"I know. Don't ask me how, but he had a son. With Darla."
"Also a vampire," Wesley said pointedly.
Doyle shrugged. "I'm a dead male half-brachen demon now in the body of a human woman. Or possibly a demon
woman -- not quite sure about that. Weird shit happens. I may not have been here, but the way Angel talks about
him... Connor's real."
The name washed over Wesley, familiar in a way that cut deep. It was, he thought faintly, as if someone had
upended a bucket of bleach over his head. It stung and burned but managed to cleanse at the same time.
As if from a great distance he heard Doyle's voice asking if he was all right.
His hands were on the edge of the desktop, holding on, and Doyle's hand was on his back comfortingly. Wesley
managed to let go and stand up straighter, not having noticed until that moment that he'd stood up in the first place.
"I'm all right," he said, not sure it was true. There were all sorts of things running through his head, and
he wasn't sure which of them were true either. Lowering himself back down into his chair, he said, "I think... I'm
remembering. But this can't be right. Can it?"
"What are you remembering?" Doyle asked softly, sitting back down too, eyes on him.
"It's all muddled." Wesley shook his head slightly, his gaze on the floor. "Like layers of memories. Like having
two sets of memories at the same time." He looked up at Doyle, forcing a smile and a light tone of voice. "I suppose this is
what happens when good spells go bad."
"Or when the truth breaks through illusion," Doyle said wryly.
"That *is* what it was? A spell?" There was no other explanation for it really.
Doyle shrugged. "I never asked for the details. It'd have to have been magic though, wouldn't it?"
One of the new -- old --- memories hit Wesley. "I took his son," he said, fresh horror sweeping over him. "Dear
lord. No wonder..."
No wonder Angel had tried to kill him.
"You were trying to save them both. Angel told me."
"For all the good it did." Wesley wasn't sure he was allowed to feel bitter about something that had happened
in what seemed to be another reality.
Doyle touched him gently on the shoulder. "You did the best you knew at the time. Intent does count for a lot."
He was still trying to sort through which memories belonged where. Some kind of memory-sifting device would
have come in useful. He knew he was being overly flippant, even in his own head, but it seemed the best way to deal with
something that was, when it came right down to it, nearly impossible to deal with. "Why tell me? Why now?"
"You said you were tired of feeling guilty and not knowing why," Doyle said softly.
"Oh." Wesley felt the need to get up and pace a bit, so he went with it. "And he knows? Angel? That you told me. Were
going to tell me."
Doyle stayed where he was, only his eyes following Wesley's movements. "He knows. He asked me to tell you because
he was afraid that he'd mess it up somehow."
Wesley laughed, aware that he sounded rather hysterical. "And why on earth would he think that?"
"He's Angel."
He remembered waking up from a dream that had flowed with Connor's blood, convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt
that Angel was going to kill his son.
He remembered Justine cutting his throat and leaving him for dead after prying Connor from his arms.
Wesley's hand flew to his throat, tracing the thin scar tissue there. He remembered both times he'd gotten it. "They did
a very thorough job, didn't they."
"It seems that way." Doyle's voice had been sympathetic all along; it seemed even more so now. "It was part of the deal
Angel made to take over Wolfram and Hart. No one remembers Connor ever existed, including Connor -- he's wiped from
everyone's memories and given a normal, happy life somewhere else. And Angel's the only one who remembers."
"Where is he?" Wesley whispered.
"Connor? I don't know. I offered at one point when I was still in the computer system to see if I could find information on
him -- maybe a picture, something for Angel to hold on to. To say he freaked wouldn't be an understatement."
"He doesn't have anything?" It sounded unbelievably sad, said out loud.
Doyle shook his head. "Just his memories."
"And he was perfectly comfortable taking those memories away from the rest of us. Leaving us with false ones."
"He took the memories away from everyone because he didn't want anyone else to have to deal with the loss." The
sympathy was still in Doyle's voice, but Wesley knew that now it was for Angel. "He wanted to carry the burden alone."
"You want me to feel sorry for him," Wesley said, his own voice hard.
"I want you to understand what he thought he was doing," Doyle said sharply.
"Taking away *reality?*" Wesley was pacing again. "Exactly who did he think he was benefiting by doing that?"
"His son."
He stopped. Breathed. Tried to think with something other than sheer adrenaline.
"Of course," Wesley said finally, quietly, almost to himself. "Of course. I would have done the same."
"You did," Doyle told him. "You gave up everything in an effort to save Connor, carrying that weight alone." He smiled just
a bit. "You and Angel are very much alike where it matters."
"And here you are, thrown back into the fray and dealing with situations you had no hand in making," Wesley said to the
other man. He went over and sat back down, rather heavily. "How did you think I was going to react?"
Doyle tilted his head as he regarded Wesley. "Honestly? Pretty much the way you have."
"I'm not sure whether to be pleased or upset," Wesley admitted. "Er, about you anticipating my reaction, I mean."
"Fondly exasperated seems to work for Angel," Doyle offered.
Wesley chuckled, the sound escaping him before he'd even realized it was there. "Yes, I suppose that does work."
"So are you okay with this?"
"I don't really have any options, do I." Wesley smiled so that Doyle would know that he was -- mostly -- joking. "What
about the others?"
Doyle shook his head. "I don't think Angel's ready to even consider telling anybody else. He's afraid that the whole
spell could unravel and Connor could lose whatever life he's got now."
"So it's just the three of us, for now." Wesley felt surprisingly energized, as if understanding why he'd been so out of
sorts had freed him somehow.
"Yeah. You, me and Angel." Doyle gave him a half smile. "Think you can handle that?"
"If you can handle living in Cordelia's body, I suppose I can handle knowing the truth." Wesley considered this for a
moment. "I may have... questions, though. Do you think Angel would be...?"
"Yeah. If you have any problems with him, just come to me." This time Doyle's smile was bright and wide. "I'll play go-between.
But I don't think you'll need to."
"I just... I mean, if he wasn't comfortable discussing it with me now, what makes you think he'll be willing in the future?"
Doyle's expression and manner turned serious. "Because he needs someone to talk about his son with. He can talk to
me but I don't know -- don't remember -- I just know what he tells me. You remember Connor. He needs that."
"And... you're sure that it's me he wants to talk about this with?" Wesley wanted to believe that it was true, but he was
having a difficult time with it.
"I'm sure it's you he *needs* to talk about this with," Doyle replied.
"Why?" Wesley asked. "Why me? Wouldn't it have been easier for him to have told Fred? Or Lorne?"
Doyle was quiet for a moment, looking at him. Finally he said, "If you were him, wouldn't you want to talk to the one
person who had been willing to risk everything for your son?"
"I think I'd probably prefer not to have to look at the person who'd lost him," Wesley said.
"You have issues to deal with, yeah," Doyle acknowledged, "but that's just all the more reason for it to be you. Neither
of you could deal with them if you didn't remember."
Wesley opened up another container -- this one was some type of curry, but for the life of him he couldn't recall what
kind -- and poked at it with his plastic fork. The memory of holding Connor -- the baby Connor had once been -- in his
arms was strong. And painful. "You don't know where he is," he said finally, glancing up. "Do you know... is he all right?"
"Yeah. Angel got to see him once. And that was part of the deal. Connor gets a happy life."
"And telling me won't... negate that in any way?"
Doyle shook his head. "It shouldn't."
"Shouldn't?" Troubled, Wesley set his food back down. "Are you sure?"
"Do I have a document signed in triplicate and notarized stating that it won't?" Doyle shook his head. "No. But I'm pretty sure."
"I suppose it's too late now in any case."
"You've got a real fatalistic bent, don't you?"
"Wouldn't you?" Wesley sighed. "No, of course you wouldn't."
"Been there, done that, own the t-shirt," Doyle said wryly. "I changed. And I don't mean just bodies."
Wesley sat back in his chair, glad for the chance to change the subject. "Tell me?"
"About the lowest time of my life?" Doyle moved back into his own chair, giving Wesley a rueful look. "Or about how it
got better?"
"You don't have to share anything that you aren't comfortable sharing," Wesley said. "But I'd like to know how you
changed."
Doyle gave a half shrug and gestured at his head. "First, I got the visions. At the time, I thought it was a punishment,
and it probably was, in some ways. But the visions forced me to start looking outside myself and helping others. And
they led me to Angel."
"And they were one of the reasons I stayed," Wesley mused, tilting his head to one side. "The fact that Cordelia had
them, I mean. That the Powers That Be thought Angel valuable enough to give him a... guide, some direction on his path..."
"Angel guided me as much as I guided him." He smiled a little at Wesley. "Everyone needs a little guidance sometimes.
The trick is to recognize it when it's given."
"You're really very irritating, you know that, don't you?" Wesley smiled back to show that he wasn't being serious.
"It's one of my most endearing qualities," Doyle replied in kind.
"It's also a bit of a relief," Wesley admitted. "Her ability to be irritating *not* being one of Cordelia's most endearing qualities."
"Yeah, she could cut a man off at the knees," Doyle said fondly.
Wesley looked down at his hands. "Regardless... I miss her. Even if..."
"Me too."
He searched around for a change of topic again, hoping to come up with something that they'd both be comfortable
with. But in the end, he asked, rather awkwardly, "So things between you and Angel are... good?"
The smile that question got lit up not only Doyle's face but quite possibly the entire room as well. "Good would be an
understatement. *Great* would be an understatement."
Just looking at Doyle made Wesley feel better. "I'm glad," he said. "Well, as you say... glad would be an understatement."
"When I lost Harry, I never thought I'd find..." Doyle trailed off with a sheepish shrug. "And you really don't need to
hear me start sounding like a bad romance novel."
"I don't mind," Wesley said, although honestly he wasn't sure that was the truth. "It's perfectly natural to want to... express
how you feel, about something like that."
"I'll save it and express it to Angel later. He needs the constant reassurance."
"Really?" Wesley thought about it for a second or two. "All right, I suppose I can believe that."
"He's afraid something bad's going to happen all the time because he doesn't think he deserves anything good," Doyle
explained, picking up another carton of food to try.
Wesley's heart felt heavy with sorrow and grief. "He was so happy when Connor
was born, despite the fact that Darla didn't survive. The way he looked
at Connor, the way he held him... the expression on his face... it was as
if nothing else in the world mattered."
He saw Doyle's hand tighten, saw the carton start to crumple. "It's not fair."
"No, it's not," Wesley reached over and closed his own fingers around Doyle's, not sure if he was rescuing the container
or offering comfort.
Doyle didn't look up, though he let Wesley take his hand. "Harry said that in her last email -- that things should be fair.
I told her that considering I was getting a second chance at life I couldn't really complain about fair." He sighed. "I'd give
it all back if it meant that Angel could have his son back."
"So would I," Wesley said. "If there were a way to undo what I did..."
Doyle looked up sharply. "This isn't -- I'm not trying to blame you. I don't think -- The way things happened, I don't know
if Angel wasn't right about there being no way he could have kept him."
"I know," Wesley lied. "I'm just saying... it's *not* fair. After all he's done to atone, it doesn't seem right that he couldn't
keep his son."
"It's the way his mind thinks though -- when making the deal, he didn't ask for a second chance *with* Connor, just a
second chance for Connor."
"So the real question is... is there a way to convince him otherwise." Wesley realized his hand was still touching Doyle's,
and drew back quickly. Cordelia's hand was... *Doyle's* hand was so much smaller than his own. There were moments he almost
forgot that this wasn't her.
"Yeah. I'm trying the repeated declarations of same coupled with the fact I'm still here and not going anywhere." Doyle
shrugged. "It's going to be a long campaign."
Wesley tried an encouraging smile. "You seem a determined sort. I'm sure you'll wear him down sooner or later."
"I'll do my best."
"If..." Wesley hesitated, then plowed ahead. "If there's any way that I could help...?"
Doyle gave him a smile. "Talk to him. Be his friend. Don't let him push you away."
"There may be times when he *needs* to push me away." Not to mention, Wesley thought, times when he himself
might prefer to be given some space, considering everything that had happened.
"There's a difference between giving space and walking away," Doyle said, as if reading his mind.
"I haven't walked away," Wesley protested mildly. "And you really have to do stop doing that. It's very disconcerting."
Doyle gave an apologetic shrug and smile.
Wesley could see why Angel was so enamored. There was something about Doyle that drew him out in spite of himself.
"You really should eat some more. Has Angel been feeding you properly?"
"He tries," Doyle said, picking up another carton and peering into it curiously. "We keep stopping so I can eat and then
getting distracted. Again." He shot Wesley a slightly mischievous smile. "Not that you'll hear me complaining."
"Yes. Well. That's..." Wesley could feel himself blushing.
Doyle chuckled as he dug into the new carton of food. "Don't worry. I'm not going to inflict any details on you."
"Thank you."
"Any time." The mischievous grin was back. "Unless you ask me to."
"I think it's safe to say that's not going to happen."
"How about I tell you about the bachelor party from hell instead then?"
Wesley smiled. "Oh good. I was hoping I'd get to hear about that."
"Well," Doyle began, "it all started when my ex Harry showed up at the office with a new fiance..."
* * * * *
"Hello?"
"Hi lover. How was your meeting?"
"Okay, other than the whole not-really-paying-attention thing. Which, remind me, has a tendency to bite me on
the ass. How... how was yours?"
"Good. Wesley brought enough food to feed a small army; somehow we managed to polish off most of it." Doyle
paused. "I told him."
Angel's voice was painfully tight. "And?"
"He remembers now. Actually *remembers* -- not just what I told him."
"*And*?"
"He's reeling a bit. But after the first confusion, his biggest worry was Connor."
"Yeah." A deep breath. "Yeah, it would be. But... what about...?"
"He understands why you did it, Angel. He was angry, but he understands."
"He doesn't... you know. Hate me?"
"Of course not. He is a little worried about you hating him though."
"I don't hate him. You know I don't hate him." Pause. "Why doesn't he know that?"
Doyle sighed. "Maybe because Wesley hates himself for losing Connor."
"He was trying to do the right thing."
"Yeah, but he's stubborn. Thinks he has to be perfect. Failure is not an option and all that. Kinda like someone else
I could name."
Quiet voice: "Sometimes I think I should have let Lilah include me in the mind wipe."
"No you don't." Equally quiet.
"Yeah I do." Another pause. "Sometimes. It would have been easier."
"But it wouldn't have been better."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do. Because you don't want to give up the memory of your son."
"I'm just... I don't know. Selfish. There are times I want him back even though I know that wouldn't be good for him.
You know?"
"That's not selfish. That's natural. Human."
Something like a chuckle. "You must be getting pretty sick of this conversation, huh."
"Nah. I love you -- it's all part of the service."
"So things were okay? I mean... Wes didn't flip out or anything?" It was an obvious attempt to steer the topic.
"No flipping out. He took it remarkably well."
"No throwing things?"
A chuckle. "No, no throwing things. Does he throw things often?"
"Um... no."
"That's good. Don't have to worry about ducking a flying curry or anything that way." Doyle paused. "How are you doing?"
"Okay."
"Is that okay, okay, or tell Doyle I'm okay so he doesn't worry okay?"
The long silence made the eventual answer pretty unnecessary. "Um... more like I'm kinda freaked out but not going to
lose it completely okay?"
"Can you come home early?"
"Maybe? I have this thing at 3, but I could probably get out of here after that."
"Good. Then come home and you can do that holding me thing until you feel better."
Relieved sigh. "That sounds good."
"Y'know you can do that whenever you need to. I can always come there if you can't get away but need some... hugging time."
"There's a lock on my office door, you know."
"Yeah, I remember." Pause, then mischievously, "We could always have phone sex."
"You mean some time when I don't actually have a thing at 3?" Angel sounded regretful. "Besides, I was thinking..."
"What were you thinking?"
"I should probably, you know... talk to Wes."
"Yeah. Though... if you're still not ready to do it face to face, maybe you could email him?"
"Yeah. Yeah, good idea. Why? I mean, you don't think he's gonna freak out the next time he sees me or anything?"
"No, nothing like that. Just, you seemed to be finding it easier to talk when we were emailing. Thought you might find
it easier to talk to Wesley at first that way too."
"Uh huh."
In a softer voice, "I'm just thinking of ways that will make this easier on both of you."
"I know. I don't want to sound ungrateful. Just... it's an effort, you know?"
"Most things worth doing are."
"You're doing that rational thing again."
"Wesley pointed that out a lot too. Said it was irritating."
"I wouldn't say irritating. Was gonna say it's kind of... I don't know, soothing."
"Soothing, huh?" Doyle's smile was audible. "Come home after your meeting and I'll see if I can't find other ways to
soothe you."
"Promise?"
"Always."
"Okay. I'll be home in... a couple of hours, tops."
"I'll be waiting." Pause. "Love you."
"Love you too. See you in a while. And... Doyle?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"Y'welcome. That's what I'm here for."
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