Feedback: It makes me happy. Don't you want to make me happy?
Summary:AU. Angel O'Brien is trying his best to live a normal, safe life in L.A. But when his brother Angelus, CEO of Wolfram and Hart, forces him to return to the past he'd thought he'd escaped, Angel will have to deal with both his own inner demons and those of his friends if he wants to survive.
Author's Note: Everybody is human, and while most of the characters will stay in character, they will be different nonetheless. The timeline is obviously completely different from on BTVS and AtS. Most of this will be from Angel's point of view, but not all of it. Italics indicate thought.
June 12, 2005
3:32 PM
The Hyperion Hotel
In retrospect, Angel should have known that something unpleasant was coming. Since he'd woken up this morning, his car had broken down (in the rain), Cordelia had completely neglected to even pretend to do her job, and Starbucks had run out of blueberry muffins. How could any coffeehouse worth its salt run out of blueberry muffins! It was clearly a bad day. So when the short man in the tacky clothing and the fedora walked into his office, the P.I. should have just run away screaming into the bright Los Angeles sun.
Instead, like the unsuspecting sacrificial lamb that he was, Angel O'Brien politely said, "Welcome to Angel Investigations. Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I think you can," the man responded, looking Angel up and down. "Can we talk in private, Angel?"
Cordelia, who had been filing her nails at the desk, looked us sharply at this. Angel had a sinking feeling. When complete strangers called him by name, it was always bad. If he'd been anyone else, he might have assumed that the person was just guessing at who he was because of the name of the agency. But he was Angel, and the universe hated him.
"All right," Angel murmured, taking a deep breath. "We'll go into my office." Have I done anything illegal lately? I double-parked at the grocery store. I took that extra cookie without paying for it, but I'm sure nobody was looking. Oh God, what has HE done?
"Not many people have their own hotel, y'know," the man said as he sat in one of the chairs across from the desk. He seemed perfectly relaxed, leaning back in his chair, whereas Angel was felt wired, nervous and irritated all at the same time.
"Yeah, it's great," the detective said tensely. "Was there something that you wanted to talk about?"
"Bit of a fixer-upper, though. Heard a rumor that it was haunted." The man's voice held traces of a Brooklyn accent, and he seemed in no particular hurry to get to the point.
Angel was already having a very bad day, he knew it was only going to get worse, and he just wanted to get it over with. "Does this have to do with Angelus?" There, it was out in the open, and the brunette detective waited anxiously for the answer.
With an inscrutable look, the man finally focused. "Yeah, but that's not the least of your problems."
"Who are you?"
"The name's Whistler."
"Whistler? That's a name?"
Raising an eyebrow, Whistler retorted, "Right, 'cause 'Angel' is both masculine and 100 real."
Now the detective was slightly offended. "There's nothing wrong with 'Angel'. It's a good name."
"Right. But it's not your name. Pull out your driver's license and take a look, if you're goin' senile."
Angel, knowing his driver's license proudly proclaimed him to be Liam Michael O'Brien, shifted the topic. "You said this had to do with Angelus?"
"Yeah," Whistler shifted forward in his chair and adjusted his fedora slightly. "Your brother's planin' getting you in some serious trouble."
Damn. He'd hoped, in a nasty little part of his head, that Whistler had been sent here to tell him that Angelus was dead. But no, Angelus O'Brien was going to live forever and a day, just to spite his enemies; nobody knew this better than his twin brother. It didn't matter that two years ago Angelus had promised to leave Angel alone and let the younger twin live his life. Promises didn't mean much when there was money to be made and power to be gained. "That's what he's best at. Are you from Wolfram and Hart?"
Whistler snorted. "Are you kiddin'? That place gives me the creeps. I wouldn't go near it with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole. Nah, I play for the other side."
"You're a cop?" That was odd. The LAPD usually left Wolfram and Hart alone. Angel had a sneaking suspicion that the law firm owned them.
That made Whistler laugh as he answered, "If I was a cop, I probably wouldn't have a dashboard covered in parking tickets."
"Then who do you work for?"
"That's not important," Whistler answered nonchalantly. "What's important is what's gonna go down in a couple of hours."
"Which is?"
"Angelus is going to give you a call. He'll want you to do something for him." Whistler, for the first time since he'd entered the building, seemed to be serious about something.
"He told me he'd leave me alone." And Angel knew the words were stupid. He was wincing before they'd even left his mouth. But he had to protest to somebody. Angelus had promised that Angel was free and clear, that he could live on the right side of the law for once. And for two whole years, the older twin had kept that promise. He had even left Angel alone when the P.I. ended up investigating some of Wolfram and Hart's clients, a courtesy that he didn't extend to anyone else. The last time Angel had even seen his brother was at the O'Brien family's Thanksgiving dinner. But now all of that was about to end.
"And you believed him?" Whistler laughed. "He's a bona fide creep, detective man. Plus, he's a lawyer. He lies for a living."
"He's not a lawyer anymore," Angel protested quietly, not for any other reason than to give himself time to process. Something awful was going to happen soon, and he'd be forced to be a part of it.
"Right, he's a CEO. That means he's honest." Whistler seemed to be constantly laughing at something or another. It was beginning to get on Angel's nerves.
"Why are you here?" The detective asked flatly, feeling resigned to his fate suddenly. "You say you aren't with Angelus, but you know what he's up to. So what's your damn message for me?" Resigned he might have been, but Angel was still mightily pissed.
"Whoa, ease up on the anger," Whistler said, holding up his hands as if to fend the detective off. "For a good guy, you sure have a short fuse."
Realization dawned suddenly on Angel. "You're going to tell me not to do what he says. To say no to him." The idea of saying no to his brother both thrilled and frightened Angel. For as long as he could remember, Angelus had kept a plethora of people around him who would do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. In high school it had been the football team, in college it had been the other students in his law classes, and now Angelus was CEO of Wolfram and Hart, the most powerful law firm in the city. And so Angel, who always had felt smaller than his twin even if they were the same size, inevitably ended up doing what Angelus wanted. Because fighting him only resulted in someone getting hurt. Cars got vandalized, friends were threatened by mysterious strangers, and pets ended up injured or dead.
So, yeah, the rule of thumb was that when Angelus said jump, Angel got out the trampoline. And Angel had so much to lose now…But to say no? To finally take a stand?
"Hey, earth to the caveman here," Whistler snapped, irritated at the fact that Angel had zoned out. "There's still a conversation going on."
"Sorry," the detective muttered. Straightening, he asked, "But it that what you want? For me to say no?"
"Actually, slick, what my bosses and I want is for you to take this one." Whistler leaned back and waited.
"WHAT!" Angel yelped. "You son of a bitch, you do work for Angelus!"
Rolling his eyes, Whistler reached into his pocket, and Angel was paranoid enough that he started to think about how quickly he could grab the gun. But no, the fedora-clad man simply withdrew a small, plain, white card and tossed it onto Angel's desk. The only thing that was printed on it were three small, black letters.
P.T.B.
"Nice font," Angle muttered as he turned the card over, looking for some other clue. "What's it stand for?"
"That's for me to know and you to figure out. I thought you were supposed to be a detective?"
"You are one of the most insulting creatures I've ever had the displeasure to meet."
"Thank you." Whistler propped his feet on the desk and Angel's eye twitched. "Look, I know it doesn't make sense now, but this could be the most important thing you do all decade. There are a lot of people you can help if you do what Angelus tells you."
"But-"
"I know he's evil. It just so happens that what he's having you do isn't so evil."
Angel was still doubtful, staring alternately at Whistler's appalling shirt and the card in his hand. P.T.B. What could that mean?
Whistler sighed and got up, saying, "You've got a lot of reasons to not believe a word I'm saying. But for what it's worth, chief, I'm tellin' the truth." He turned to leave.
"Wait!" Angel cried out. "That-that's the only thing you're going to tell me? To do what you and Angelus say?"
Whistler stared, looking exasperated. "For the last time, I can't stand your brother and wouldn't work for him if he had a gun to my head. And I'm not telling you what to do. The choice is yours." He tipped his hat to Angel and walked out the door. This time, Angel didn't call him back.
The brunette stared at the card for a long time, brooding. Choice was something that, up until two years ago, he'd never had. From the moment he had been thrust into the world thirty-two minutes after Angelus and in critical condition, people had told Angel what he was going to do. First his father, glaring and scolding Angel into taking a business career like all of the other men in his family, and then Angelus, making sure that his twin was squarely under his thumb. But for someone who had been keeping his head down and doing what he was told his whole life, Angel had become remarkably good at taking care of himself and the people that he loved.
He had the choice. He could ignore Whistler and his advice, Angelus and his orders, and go on living his life as he had been. But…but Whistler had said that the job would be important and help people. And Angelus was still Angelus. If Angel said no, there was a long list of people that Angel could go after. Cordelia, Doyle, Buffy, even Darla, if she was still alive. And Connor. Little Connor, Angel's son who had been gone for so long. Memories of begging and pleading, shame making his face turn red as he swallowed his pride and implored his brother for help. 'Keep him safe, take him somewhere where no one can hurt him, and I'll do whatever you want.' Angel had promised and he believed in keeping his word.
Damn. Damn it all to hell. Angel got wearily out of his chair, feeling like he was going to his own execution. He pulled on his coat, feeling safer when it was wrapped around him. The smell of leather had always been comforting to him, which was strange and probably vaguely disturbing to others, but the detective couldn't be brought to care.
Walking out of his office, he met Cordelia's eyes. She was staring at him with concern, pretty face twisted with worry. God, he loved her, he wouldn't know what to do if something happened to her.
"It's about him, isn't it?" Sometimes, pronouns sufficed where normal words should have been.
Angel nodded mutely and was heading for the door of the Hyperion even as Cordy was pleading, "Don't go, Angel, please, you shouldn't." Crap. I can't just leave.
He walked back to the desk and stared into her brown eyes, which had the beginnings of tears in them. "I have to. It's…it's important." Remembering something, Angel darted back into his office and returned with Whistler's card. "Run this by Doyle when he gets back, see what turns up." Sighing sadly, Cordelia nodded.
Angel walked out the door to his car, his baby, his Plymouth GTX. Even though everything was falling apart, he still had this wonderful car. It made things better. Barely. Turning it on and getting a brief high from hearing the engines hum to life, Angel pulled into traffic and set a course for Wolfram and Hart.
TBC