Wesley knows Connor did it. There’s an air of smug satisfaction, a feeling of being untouchable that crawls under his skin every time they meet. They don’t, often, but it’s impossible to miss when they do.
Connor likes being right. Likes even better to prove to everyone else that they’re wrong. Wesley watches as he leads Fred and Gunn on false leads, verbally twisting them so when the inevitable dead end is reached, it is their fault. And Connor remains the innocent son, searching for his father.
It irks him, that his friends are so easily deceived. Yes, he still calls them his friends, despite how poorly they’ve treated him. The months since Angel’s disappearance have given him an insight into the minds of the woman he loves and the man who loved her, one he previously had been unable to see.
To Charles and Fred, family is everything.
Wesley cannot sit back this time, not when Connor is leading them deeper into Gunn’s old territory. The visit is painful, obviously so on features twisted to hold back memories, Fred hovering next to him anxiously. So Wesley makes a call, and soon Gunn’s beeper is going off, alerting them to another danger, somewhere else. The details don’t matter, not when Connor, pouting that he’d been thwarted, decides to stay behind.
“You’re very young.” The words are cold and hard in the stillness of the street. Wesley steps out from the building he’d waiting inside.
“Forgive me, did I startle you?” Wesley’s grin is as hard as his voice, the polite words twisted into mockery.
Connor scowls at being caught unprepared. “No! I knew you were there.”
“You knew someone was there. Not me. Just like I know that you are responsible.”
It’s almost gratifying when Connor doesn’t ask for further explanation. “But you don’t know what, do you,” he says, mouth a smug line of pink.
“Not yet.” Wesley nods his head respectfully. This is truly Angel’s son, and he would be disappointed if the hunt was too easy. “Leave them be.”
“Leave who be? Your friends? The ones who threw you out?”
The silent ‘for stealing me’ echoed in the scar across his throat.
“Would you prefer living on the streets again? Scrounging for food? They are not responsible for your pain, Connor. Don’t waste your energies.”
He looks rebellious, sulky and piqued, but Wesley can see surprise and interest behind the childishness. “I’m bored.”
“Not for much longer. Oh, by the way, Justine sends her regards.”