Author's Notes: Well kids, it's been a fun ride, one that would never have been possible without your support. So as Lorne would say, you've been a great audience and I thank you for it. Take care and on to the final chapter…

Milliecake

*****

The leather reeked of cologne, of dank alleyways, of decay and death and, beneath all else, the faint yet ever-present tang of blood. Slumped forward in the back seat of the car, too bone weary to do little else, Connor catalogued each and every scent that clung to the coat he huddled beneath. With nothing more than those few identifiers, he could track its owner through the streets of the city and beyond, yet long before he had ever followed the sluks through the cracks between dimensions, he had known that unique smell by heart.

It had been the blanket, something so innocuous, that it had taken Daniel Holtz years to recognise his boy had already come to know a piece of his real father through the woollen weaves. The nights in Quor-Toth had been long and cold and that blanket, the only thing Connor could recall possessing since he was very small, had brought a tiny measure of comfort. Curled up in the darkness, shivering from lack of warmth the child Connor had drunk in the many essences contained in the alien cloth, the musky, masculine scents of men other than his father, and one in particular, redolent of flowers and brightness, that made his heart heavy with an untold loss.

The years had passed and the scents of the strangers had faded, coming to reside within Connor's memory alone, dormant until the day he had stepped across worlds and come face to face with his vampire father for the very first time.

"Connor."

Head bowed, he didn't answer, refused even to acknowledge that he had heard his name called.

"Connor," Angel said, again, more persistent. "You ok back there?"

He wouldn't leave it alone, Connor knew, wouldn't quit until he had his answer. "Yes," he ground out shortly in reply, not bothering to raise his head. That would require effort and at this point, he didn't feel like even trying.

Connor sensed Angel's frustration at his lack of response and that almost made him smile. Riling the vampire seemed to give him a perverse kind of pleasure, but not tonight. Too much had happened and Connor was too tired and hurting to play such games.

"Do you think he needs a doctor?"

This from the other man, Wesley, who sat up front with Angel. Connor sensed his concerned regard, yet refused to look up, though he bridled from the humiliation of having them talk about him as though he wasn't there. Like he was an invalid, too weak to make his own decisions.

"He'll heal," Angel replied, briskly, though not without compassion. "Fred can take a look at him when we reach the hotel."

Now Connor's head did jerk up and he bristled, ready for a fight. "I won't go back there," he stated.

Angel didn't even spare him a look as he drove. "You need rest, Connor." Spoken condescendingly, like an adult to an unruly, overly tired child.

Connor clenched his fists and glanced out through the windows to the dark streets beyond. So easily could he slip into those shadows and just…disappear. The thought was appealing, far more so than having to confront Fred and Gunn as Angel dragged him back to the hotel, weak and wounded and unable to defend himself against their smug, sneering looks.

"Don't even think about it," Angel warned from up front, though his eyes had never left the road.

The tension was upped a notch as Connor considered his father, judging how quick the vampire could be, how far it was to the edge of those beckoning shadows. How far his own impaired body would carry him before he collapsed.

He wouldn't stand a chance and to try would only give Angel an excuse to demean him further. As if he hadn't done enough of that already, with his hero's rescue and his false concern, all just some act put on for the others to show what a good father he was.

Connor bit out a curse, one he had heard Holtz utter once in a pique of rage, and flung himself back into the seat, seething in impotent anger.

"I heard that, Connor," Angel said, sternly and Connor mentally drove a stake through his heart.

*****

Later, as they pulled up outside Wesley's tenement block, the hostility between father and son had become an almost tangible presence. The ex-Watcher was keen to make his escape and seek out his bed, certain that once he had closed his eyes were an apocalypse to run its course, it wouldn't awaken him. He had moved to open the door when Angel spoke unexpectedly.

"Wesley."

Hand on the latch, Wesley paused, curious as to what would follow.

"I know things between us have been…strained," Angel began, awkwardly.

Wesley had to stifle a laugh, one that threatened to emerge more bitter than humorous and embarrass them all. "That's one way to put it," he pointed out, instead.

"But I want you to know, you're welcome at the hotel, anytime. What you've done for Connor, and for me, I can't thank you enough."

The vampire's solemn gaze was sincere, the invitation honest and Wesley felt something catch in his throat, preventing the dismissive, offhand reply he had been prepared to utter. He looked away, through the windshield to the lonely parking lot beyond. Lying in the hospital bed months ago, he had dreamed of this, hoped for nothing more than a reconciliation that would allow him to return to the fold, no longer a pariah, no longer a dirty word never to be spoken aloud in polite company.

But so much had changed during his exile. Drinking himself into oblivion, sleeping with Lilah to keep the insomnia at bay, to keep the loneliness from consuming him whole. Justine in a cage.

He wasn't the man he had once been and he wasn't entirely sure himself what he had become. The darkness that resided inside his soul mocked him for his weakness, even as the better, more humble part urged him to accept.

The engine of the convertible continued to tick over steadily, idling with a low rumble that thrummed through the car as they waited.

"Thank you," Wesley told the vampire at last, the only honest answer he could give, "but I won't be returning with you."

He thought he heard Angel sigh, though the sound was too slight for his human hearing. "It's your choice, Wes."

"I know. Goodbye, Angel."

Wesley opened the door and climbed out before he could change his mind, shivering as an icy breeze skipped through the lot, whipping up the leaves on its way through. His world and Angel's would intersect again, of that he had no doubt, and perhaps next time the cards would fall differently. But not tonight.

He watched as the car pulled away, ignoring the cutting wind as he stood in the deserted lot until the red taillights had vanished in the darkness. Caught somewhere between regret and hope, Wesley threaded his way through the cars, heading home. With any luck, Lilah would be waiting for him, eager for the details of his latest venture before she allowed him to claim what he desired most.

Oblivion.

*****

Switching off the engine, Angel sat back in the driver's seat and contemplated the silent, sullen boy in the back. Connor hadn't moved since their earlier altercation, hadn't spoken a word of complaint, or thanks for that matter, but Angel knew he was angry. And hurting.

"We're home," Angel told him, from lack of anything more substantial to say.

Connor turned his head to give his father a familiar glare. "Your home," he corrected, folding his arms in a gesture Angel recognised all too well.

"Our home," Angel retorted, then felt like an idiot. They weren't in the schoolyard now and he was supposed to be the adult here. "Look, I know you're in a lot of pain right now, but…"

"You don't know anything," Connor grated out, stubbornly and Angel heaved an impatient sigh.

"Right. Fine," he said, shortly. "I don't know anything Connor. So why don't you enlighten me, huh? Why don't you want to go into the hotel?"

Connor shifted uncomfortably as Angel stared hard at his reflection in the mirror, knowing the kid couldn't see him looking but could no doubt sense his determination to have an answer.

"They hate me."

Spoken almost too softly, Angel caught the words nonetheless, the hollow loneliness hidden carefully within and his irritation with the kid instantly fled. Gunn had told Angel most of what had happened before his return, how Fred had taken Connor under her wing, smothering the kid with some much needed love and care. How Gunn himself had tried to connect with the boy, taking him out vamp hunting, cruising the streets, teaching him the not-so-finer points of wine, women and song.

Until daddy had returned from his sojourn to the bottom of the ocean to ruin the little family they had formed in his absence.

"Connor, they don't hate you," Angel replied, praying it was the truth.

But Connor was a sharp kid, heard the doubt. "Yes, they do."

"No, they…" Angel paused, took a deep breath. Schoolyard, he reminded himself. Not in one. "Just, give them a chance, Connor." Adding, more hopefully, "they might just surprise you."

*****

"I see you found the patricidal spawn of evil then."

Fred glanced up from the computer at Gunn's remark, eyes widening in surprise as Angel entered the hotel lobby, a worn and battered Connor trailing reluctantly after.

"See, I told you," Connor said quietly to Angel as the vampire glared at Gunn.

"What happened?" Fred demanded, shocked at both father and son's ragged appearance, sliding off the stool to greet them.

Connor continued to shadow his father, refusing to meet either her or Gunn's eyes. In fact, it seemed like he wanted nothing more than to walk right back out, except Fred somehow doubted it would be under his own steam. A bruise was trailing up one pale cheekbone and though she couldn't even begin to guess what injuries might be hidden beneath Angel's leather coat, he looked good and ready to drop at any moment.

"I'll get the medical supplies," she offered, and Angel gave her a grateful look as she disappeared into the office.

"So did the Powers That Sit On Their Behinds finally pull their finger out of their…?"

"Gunn." Angel's voice held some kind of warning.

"I'm just asking," Gunn said, lightly. "So what happened to boy wonder here?"

"Why do you care?" Connor's tone was antagonistic, hostile.

"What makes you think I do?"

"Enough!" Angel snapped, sounding like he was quickly approaching the end of his tether. "Both of you."

"Found it!" Fred called, briskly, hoping to avert a more serious confrontation, and wound her way back into the lobby carrying the well-stocked, oft used medical kit.

Connor was seated on the couch, wincing as he began to remove Angel's coat, his movements stiff and stilted and Fred found herself reacting on instinct, reaching forward to help. Connor flinched from her touch, giving her a baleful look that warned her not to try it again or there would be consequences.

"Connor," Angel reprimanded sharply, placing a hard hand on his son's shoulder.

"I…it's alright," Fred said, flashing him a small, tight smile, as she backed off.

Connor's reaction was hardly unexpected given their last encounter. Coming to him in the guise of someone who empathised with his plight, she'd shoved a taser into his chest long enough and hard enough to knock him out. Gunn had called it a pre-emptive strike, but Fred knew better. It had been revenge, pure and simple, a way to lash out at the object of her hatred, her fury at being duped, made a fool of for those three summer months.

She glanced at Connor, who was still watching her warily from beneath a fringe that desperately needed cutting. He knew the truth of what had happened that night and she felt somewhat ashamed for it. Not a lot, but some.

She handed Angel the medical kit, knowing Connor would never let her near him again. In a way it was funny. He was the superbeing with the superstrength and the superspeed and she was just small, insignificant Winifred Burkle. Yet Connor was the one afraid. "Here. I think it would be better if you did it, Angel."

"Either that or we muzzle him."

"Just try it," Connor snarled, glowering at Gunn.

"Is that an invitation Junior? Cause I'd be more than happy to…"

"Charles," Fred said, touching Gunn's arm, interrupting his goading. "This isn't helping."

"No, it's not," Angel agreed, stepping between them. He raised a hand to rub wearily at the back his neck, sparing Connor a glance as he did so. "Look, we're all tired. Why don't you two get some rest? I can take care of Connor."

"I can take care of myself!"

"We'll talk in the morning," Angel promised the others, ignoring his son.

"Ok," Gunn relented, allowing Fred to tug him a few paces away, before calling, "Just don't let him near any sharp objects."

"Blunt will do just fine," they all heard Connor mutter.

There was a moment of silence and Angel raised his eyes heavenward in a 'god give me patience' gesture, before reaching for his son. "Come on, we'll do this upstairs."

Fred kept her hand on her lover's arm until Angel had taken his son out of sight, though she could still hear Connor's protest that he was capable of looking after himself.

"You think Angel will let the kid stay?" Gunn wondered, sounding not at all pleased at the prospect.

Fred considered it, then dismissed the notion. It had been a long night spent doing nothing but fretting and the last thing she wanted was yet another discussion about Connor and his misdeeds.

She ran her hand the length of Gunn's arm, satisfied when he turned to look down at her in surprise. "If he does," she told him, "I know an apartment that's just become available."

He cocked a suspicious eyebrow. "It wouldn't happen to have its very own resident ghost would it? Besides, would you really want to leave Angel alone with Connor? Kid's already tried once to bump off daddy. He might try it again."

Fred sighed and laid her head against his chest, snuggling contentedly closer as Gunn's arms came around her. "Angel won't let that happen," she murmured, though a kernel of doubt remained. She glanced up at the landing, wishing somehow that she had vampire hearing, wondering what they were talking about.

Gunn followed her gaze. "I just hope he gets a choice."

*****

Reluctantly crossing the threshold of the tiny bedroom, it was a painful reminder to see everything just the way he had left it. Connor had never expected to find himself back again after the night he had hastily gathered up his scant possessions, desperate to be gone from the hotel before Fred or Gunn could catch up with him to yell some more. Or for Angel to give another speech.

The bed hadn't been remade, he noted, as he sank down onto the mattress, the blanket still rumpled from where he had been left writhing in agony after Fred's attack. Probably no one had thought to, no one had expected him to return, himself least of all.

Grasping the hem of his ripped shirt, he dragged it over his head, wincing at the pull of the wounds across his back, yet mourning the loss of the garment more. It had been the one Sunny had given to him, the night she had shared her food and her home and her lips, before…

"Dammit, Connor," Angel said, breaking into his reverie. The vampire knelt before him and took the shirt out of his hands, tossing it one side. "I was going to cut that off you."

Connor shrugged, uneasy with his father's closeness, the way Angel kept trying to catch his eye. Probably looking for an excuse to stare him down. "Doesn't matter."

"Yes. It does," Angel countered, firmly. "You don't need to keep hurting like this, Connor." Then more gentler, "You don't need to be alone in this. I'm here."

"For now," Connor said, without thinking.

"For ever," Angel shot back without a pause.

Connor looked down, fidgeting and uncomfortable, trying to dig out the not so imaginary dirt from beneath his nails. A cold hand covered his own, stilling the restless play of his fingers and he glanced up.

"Don't shut me out, Connor," Angel pleaded, quietly. "I know you're confused right now, about us, about…where we stand. To be honest, I'm not sure myself."

The admission took Connor by surprise and served only to heighten his bewilderment. After Angel had thrown him out, it had all been so simple, so clear. No one had wanted him, Angel least of all, but now that he had returned, it seemed not even that much was certain.

"But there's one thing I do know," Angel continued.

He was holding both of Connor's hands between his own now, the chill of his flesh leeching out the warmth, but Connor ignored it as he awaited the vampire's next words.

"We're family. And when the day is over, Connor, that's all that really matters in this world."

Family. Holtz had been his family once, had been his entire world and Connor would have done anything for him, the dutiful son. Until he'd betrayed that devotion, had used it and twisted it to form a revenge so pure that it would reach out from the grave and beyond.

And in doing so had turned Connor against a father who might never have betrayed his trust, might never have used his love against his child for his own, selfish ends.

"You're my son," Angel was saying, seemingly oblivious to Connor's inner turmoil. "And…I love you."

Once, those words would have been shocking, a revelation, but not anymore. And why was it that everyone who claimed to love him eventually ended up hurting him, turning against him? Holtz, Angel, Fred and Gunn. Cordelia had been the exception, but then she had left without a goodbye, something that had wounded Connor more than he cared to admit.

Letting the words wash over him untouched, Connor allowed a small, hard shiver to rack his body, knowing the vampire would notice and fall for the ploy.

"You're cold," Angel said, on cue, then jerked back his hands as if stung. "And I'm making it worse. Why didn't you say something?"

Connor shrugged, one shouldered, uncaring.

"I'll get some warm blankets," Angel said as he climbed to his feet. "Then we can a look at those cuts."

"Fine," Connor said, as his father left.

For a long moment, he stared rigidly ahead, allowing the fantasy Angel had woven so skilfully to play out before his mind's eyes. A father who cared for him, a place to call home, warmth and love in abundance to blot out the harsh world beyond.

Connor smiled and shook his head bitterly. No matter what Angel said, those things were not for him, not anymore.

"Here we go," Angel said, blithely, a while later as he re-entered the small room. His arms were filled with what seemed an overabundance of blankets, before dumping them at the bottom of the bed. "Now, let's see what damage they did to you son."

Tugging at the corner of one of the blankets, Connor steeled himself against the pain to come, against his father's overly gentle ministrations. And most of all, against Angel himself.

*****

One by one, the stars began to twinkle out, snuffed like candles before the onset of dawn and Angel stepped back from the window and the lightening sky beyond to regard his sleeping child. Sprawled on his front, Connor was oblivious to his father's silent vigil and hadn't even stirred when Angel had arisen from the chair at the bedside to stretch out the kinks in his back.

Though a part of Angel longed to believe it was Connor's trust in his father that allowed him to remain sleeping throughout, exhaustion was the most likely culprit. The kidnappers had done a number on his kid, that much was certain, withholding food and water, claw marks down Connor's back, the faint yet no less painful burns on his arms and chest. If it hadn't already been taken care of, Angel would have been only too happy to seek out the woman and repay her in kind.

Retaking his seat with a care not to make any noise, Angel stared down at Connor's smooth features. Like many people when they slept, the child within had become apparent, reminding Angel that though his son might possess skills beyond those of normal humans, he was still little more than a boy, with all the arrogance and vulnerabilities that came with youth. With every fibre in his being Angel was determined to protect him, if only Connor would give him a chance.

Another chance, Angel amended, recalling the night at the bar after Cordelia's vision, saving Justine's life, fighting vamps side by side. The shadow boxing and play fight out in the alley after. The way Connor had smiled and laughed, how they'd both allowed themselves to just have a little fun, and in doing so had rediscovered the connection formed the night Connor was born.

Holtz had managed to snap that connection with his suicide by proxy, but perhaps it wasn't entirely irreparable. Angel had to hope that was true, if he was ever to some day win back his son.

A noise alerted him and Angel shook himself from his thoughts to find Connor in the throes of some sudden nightmare. Oh the kid was quiet, but the signs were there, in the tiny frown, the twist of fingers in the bedsheets, the rapid flickering behind closed eyelids that had only a moment before been restful. The accelerated sound of his heartbeat.

"It's ok," Angel attempted to soothe. "Connor, you're safe."

When the sound of his voice failed to calm Angel reached for Connor's shoulder, forgetting in his haste to give comfort how cold his touch could be to a living thing.

Instantly, Connor's eyes snapped open and he had half rolled away before the startlement faded, to be replaced with a new kind of wariness. Angel held up his hands, palms outward, to show he meant no harm, cursing himself for waking the kid when he so desperately needed the rest.

"Sorry," Angel apologised as Connor dragged a hand across his eyes, trying to wake himself up. Then added, "You were having a nightmare."

He left it open ended, hoping Connor might talk to him, share whatever it was that had disturbed his sleep. But he was to be disappointed.

"It was nothing," Connor replied, dismissive, pulling himself upright.

And there were so many possible causes of such a nightmare that Angel could even begin to guess them all by himself. From the demons of Quor-Toth, to finding Holtz's body, supposedly killed by the father he had come to trust, to his most recent incarceration and torture at the hands of people meant to be the good guys.

They sat quietly for a little while, until Connor started to fidget, a sign Angel had come to recognise as discomfort. His son hadn't been around people long enough to disguise his body language, probably didn't even realise what he was giving away with his restless movements.

"Are you hungry?" Angel asked him, hoping to maybe bribe a little co-operation out of him. "I can get you something to eat from the kitchen."

Connor appeared to consider his offer, then nodded.

"Ok then," Angel said, rising, eager to be able to do something practical, to see to the kid's needs. "I'll just…I'll go get something."

As he left the room, he heard Connor call, "No tomatoes!" and found himself smiling.

Fred and Gunn weren't yet up, unsurprising since it had been only a few hours since he'd returned with Connor in tow, and he was oddly grateful to have this time alone and uninterrupted with his son.

Angel set about in the unfamiliar kitchen, preparing a couple of sandwiches and a glass of milk. Kid needs his calcium, he told himself. He passed on the blood though his own hunger pangs were acute. He didn't want to gross out his son while he was eating.

Gathering it all together on a tray, careful not to spill the milk, he returned to the room. Connor's room, Angel reminded himself. He'd speak to his son about that, after breakfast and after Connor had more sleep. There was no need for his son to continue living in the dump above the museum. Unsurprising that he'd chosen that place, though, what with the vista from the uppermost windows. Darla had always loved a view, Angel reflected, as he bumped the door inwards with one hip.

"Connor, I made sandwiches, but I didn't know if you…" He fell silent as he regarded the scene before him.

The bed was empty, the sheets kicked back, the window opened to its fullest extent and Angel felt something inside crumple beneath the evidence that his son had fled. Placing the tray down on the bed lest he throw it against the wall, he moved over to the window and glanced out, seeing nothing but the occasional car speeding passed.

"Be safe, son," he murmured, ignoring the warning prickle against his skin as the sky above began to brighten, the darkness waning and slowly, he drew the window closed.

THE END