CHAPTER 40
"Now see, that's where we have a problem," Angel said.
Cindy, or rather Amopholas, frowned at the unexpected words. "What did you say?"
"We're not going to sit around and wait for you to do that," he crossed his arms, trying not to grin too smugly. No point aggravating the enemy too much.
The demon spawn grinned, her sweet expression soured by malice. "And you're going to stop me behind bars?"
"Not really," said Willow.
Cindy's head jerked to where Willow's unconscious form still lay sprawled in the cell. Her forehead creased with confusion but just before she could voice her bewilderment, something shoved her violently one side. As she slid down the wall, she saw the Angel Investigations team …. outside the cell.
The witch answered her silent question, her face bright with mirth. "That's what you get when you have powerful witch and a glamour spell."
The other demon spawns lay unconscious – some obviously dead – around them. Cindy looked around in anger and rose shakily to her feet.
"You know. You think you've done something important … but how do you think to beat a thousand of us?" she sneered.
Shadows moved around them, materialising one by one to reveal deceptively ordinary people. They looked at the team expressionlessly, but it was obvious what they intended.
"I don't care if we die! I'll be glad just taking as many as I can with me!" Fred yelled, her eyes sparkling with rage. If not for Gunn who held her back with a firm grip on her shoulders, she would have lunged at Cindy.
The little girl shrugged nonchalantly. "Go ahead. I could use a little fun before I become corporeal again."
* * *
To Fred – it became a mission to destroy as many of them as possible. It became a mission to erase what she did to Wesley; she could not live knowing that Wesley's killers lived – and that included her. And so if she died doing this, better – she was the one who dealt the final blow after all.
She drove her sword into a woman that could easily be her mom - all pastel flower-print dress, motherly face and all – except this 'mom' tried to ram her fist through her gut.
She wiped her blood off her hands, but that moment of reprieve proved too costly. Someone punched her in the face with such force that she flew into the air to land stunned a few feet away.
"How does that feel, darling?" an elderly woman asked, her grandmotherly face distorted with a sneer.
Fred spat out blood and smiled. "Bracing," she muttered as she slowly rose to her feet.
"You were the one, weren't you? The one who fell for the trick?" said Grandma, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "How does that feel? Plunging that sword into the back of your friend?"
Fred paled, but refused to let grandma distract her. In a move that surprised the woman, Fred tackled the woman, knocking her to the ground. And without mercy, Fred plunged her dagger into the spawn's chest.
* * * *
They were dripping with gore, and the Aman yar kept coming. Given The Mother's magic, they had superhuman strength. Angel and the rest were tiring, and Amopholas gloated over that, taunting them from the throats of its vessels.
"How long are you going to keep this up, Angel?" asked Cindy. The girl sat above a barrel, her little lace-stockinged legs swinging cheerily, an innocuous presence amidst the chaos. "You're going to die, you know. Just like your Wesley," she sang, clapping her hands.
Angel vamped and growled. "Don't say his name."
"Weeeesley. Wesley, Wesley, Wesley!" Cindy taunted, her blue eyes sparkling. "I will say his name. And more." In her hand she lifted something shimmery. "It's time for me to return."
"No," Angel breathed, watching the jewel warily. It had to be the Mother.
"Before you want to charge and save the day, think – I can give you power when I return to this world."
"Shut up," he took a step.
Cindy clutched The Mother in a threatening manner. "Ah-ah … I see you drive a hard bargain. How about … Las Vegas?"
Angel eyed The Mother. Snatching it out of Cindy's hands would be an easy matter – but how fast would the Mother work. Could he beat the speed of thought?
"I suppose you'd want LA. Las Vegas is too gaudy, after all."
He did not answer. Growling, he made a gamble – he leapt.
And Cindy laughed at his bravado and said: "Mother, grant me my wish. Bring me home!"
And he was slammed to the ground. He groaned as he felt – no, heard – his bones crackle under the enormous pressure.
*We're too late. We're too late!* Angel thought frantically as the bone-crushing power tried its best to ground him into the floor. He couldn't see beyond the bright light around them. All he could hear was the laughter of hundreds of Amopholas' spawn.
IT IS TIME.
The voice was so powerful that Angel cried out in pain, covering his ears with his hands. The laughter immediately died out. Then cries of anger. He risked his sight by opening his eyes … the light around him was not as bright as before and he could make out the frantic figures around him. Of the others, he could not see –
Cindy suddenly came into his line of sight, her angelic face hideous with her rage. She stamped her little feet and twirled around. "Where are you?" she screamed. "You can't stop me!"
Wesley was suddenly there, engulfed in green flames. Angel vaguely noted that Amophalos' spawn were disintegrating left and right, not bothering to even utter so much as a whimper as they were turned to ashes. The gladness that rose in his chest was abruptly crushed when Wesley's dead eyes met his.
Only the Elemental was there, Angel realised. Wesley was gone, only his body was there.
"Damn you," he snarled at the Elemental as despair settled into his heart. "You have no right-"
The Elemental ignored him and turned towards Cindy. She made a valiant effort to stand up, but she disintegrated before she could do anything. The power of her destruction flung the Mother from her hands. It arched into the air and landed at Angel's feet with a loud clang.
Surprisingly, the Elemental did not react when Angel bent down to pick The Mother up. It merely watched him with milky eyes as he stared into the transparent jewel.
It looked deceptively ordinary. More like a plastic imitation of a crystal than a true gem.
"Liam, my darling."
The green glow from the Elemental faded. He heard the chirping of birds, and could smell the scent of roses. His mother – she loved roses. She grew them around the house and spent hours tending them.
"And what has my Liam been up to?" asked his mother.
It would be natural, of course, for the Mother to assume this form. A long time ago, it had been a mother so devoted to its spawn that it had poured its essence into a gem so that it could be used for power.
"My boy means well. Don't listen to your da, Liam. He doesn't know what I know – what a sweet boy you are."
And suddenly she was next to him, caressing his cheek with her too-real hands.
"I want what's best for you Liam. Tell your ma what you want and I'll do it for you."
"Don't do it, Angel."
The voice startled him. He broke away from his 'mother' and saw Wesley standing there, watching him sadly. It wasn't a corpse - it was Wesley, as he was before he died, his hair a careless tangle around his neck, his blue eyes a pool of sadness.
"Wesley?"
The Watcher looked away as if the sound of his voice hurt him. When he returned his gaze to Angel once more, he managed a small smile.
"Not for long," he said. His face turned grim. "Don't listen to her. Bringing me back would not change anything. You know what you need to do. Angel."
"Liam," his mother whispered at his side. He felt her dry hand slide into his. "Listen to me, my darling. I can give you, everything you desire."
"Wesley," he whispered. The Watcher's expression was blank.
"You need to do what is right," Wesley hesitantly said. "It does not-"
IT DOES NOT BELONG TO YOU.
Abruptly he was back at the warehouse, and the only thing he saw was flames and Wesley's flame-ringed reanimated corpse. The abrubt shift of realities made him stumble and nearly drop The Mother.
The Elemental raised Wesley's dead arms and bent his fingers repeatedly. It took a while for Angel to realize what it meant - that it wanted what Angel had in his hands.
[It does not belong to you.] The ELemental said once more.
He gripped it in his hands, looking down at the sparkling temptation.
[You could do so many things with me,] whispered the Mother. [You could even bring your best friend back.]
And he stared at the Elemental.
[He will be alive again, and he will be your friend once more and you don't have to be in pain anymore. Wish that, Angel ...] the Mother whispered. Was it his imagination, or did she sound desperate?
[It does not belong to you.] came the Elemental's voice once more.
[You can say sorry to him, Angel, and correct what you have done wrong.] the Mother sang.
The jewel seemed to sparkle then and he almost wished. But he shut his eyes and turned away - he knew the consequences of resurrecting someone - Buffy was a stark reminder of what could happen to someone if they were brought back against their will. And bringing back Wesley ... could be the final straw that would break Wesley's already fragile mind. Blinking back tears, he unclenched his fingers.
The jewel floated out of his palm gently, sparkling and twisting as it headed towards the Elemental. Wesley's dead eyes met his, and he willed himself to stare into its eyes. It felt as if the Elemental was acknowledging the sacrifice he was making - he felt as if it approved ... then again, it could just be wishful thinking as the Elemental reached out and grabbed the Mother in its palm without even glancing his way.
[Finally, it is done] whispered the voice.
The burst of energy surprised him. It hurtled him in through the air, and if he hadn't been dead already, he would've been when he crashed through the brick wall of the warehouse to land rolling a few feet away from the warehouse on the dirty street outside.
He didn't have time to recover. There was a burst of light so bright that it nearly singed his vampire eyes - he had to turn away; he yelled for everyone to close their eyes because he was sure that the light would blind them all. A roaring sound filled his ears and he had to cup his hands to protect his ears from the howl.
Then suddenly, there was silence.
He heard Gunn swear, and Fred sob. Cordelia was shouting something - it was then that he realized that it was safe to open his eyes.
The warehouse had crumpled into itself. Somehow, the blast had spread to the nearby water tower and toppled it over, spilling the contents of the water tank on to the warehouse. However, even all that water couldn't quench the supernatural green fire that consumed the place.
Then he saw him.
"No," Angel gasped.
Wesley lay half-buried in the debris. His body peeked through a pile of bricks and metal sheeting. An arm stretched out towards Angel and Wesley's glazed eyes stared into his; water lapped at his white lips as the water rose higher, threatening to drown his body in a watery grave. The Elemental had seemingly abandoned its vessel - right now it took its natural form, a pillar of green fire as itcleansed the polluted earth where the demon once dwelt.
He made a move to go towards him, but even from here the heat was intense. The water was boiling and steaming, and it made him recoil to think what the hot water was doing to Wesley's body.
"Angel. We have to go."
Gunn. His voice quiet and flat. Angel could imagine him staring at the same thing he's looking at ... *thing* ... Angel shook his head. Wesley ... is a thing ... isn't that what he is now? Reduced to a *thing* that a magical force could manipulate, and now that it has its fill using the *thing*, it discards it like yesterday's newspaper.
"Angel!"
More insistent now. This time he felt a hand on his shoulder. Angel could only stare at Wesley's half-opened dead eyes and the water that was quickly rising to cover them. Then he couldn't stand it anymore. He broke free from Gunn's grip and reached out, determined to pull Wesley from his watery grave, not caring if he burnt into ashes in the process.
He cannot be left like this - like some useless thing!
"Angel, don't!" Someone screamed. Willow? Fred? He wasn't sure, but his quick vampire reflexes took over before he could process another coherent thought. He leapt aside before he was turned into ashes by a sudden flare of green fire. Soon, the fire was the only thing he could see. Wesley was gone. Really gone.
It was over then. Gone. The world was safe, but Wesley was dead. But it didn't matter because a mission was fulfilled. It didn't matter to the Powers That Be that they've allowed this to happen ... for Wesley's friends to abandon and later murder him because in the end ... the world was safe again.
CHAPTER 41
The world was safe again. When they returned to the building, they felt traitorous as they unpacked and cleaned themselves up, as if they were just completing a client-paying mission. Giles and Willow tried his best to reorder things around; he cleaned the weapons while Willow made a valiant effort to pick up fallen books or chairs and return some semblance of normalcy to the reception area. If the AI team noticed their help, they didn't say anything. Each went their seperate ways into the old hotel. Fred to her room, Gunn to the showers, Cordelia to Wesley's office and Angel ... he was wandering about. Nobody knew where he was.
Giles and Willow exchanged sad looks and returned stoicly to their work.
* * *
"You're upset."
Wesley appeared before him clad in the clothes Angel best remembered him in: the starched shirt and pants, the tie and his ever-present glasses. His hair was civilly cropped, his smile the familiar tolerant smile Angel was used to - not the sardonic one of recent months.
"Cordelia said that if I didn't forgive you, it would be ..."
Wesley gave him a small smile. "Bad?"
Angel could only stare at this figment of his imagination silently. Just a memory, not real. The real Wesley lay rotting - or most probably, in ashes - in the still-burning warehouse in Avarice.
"You couldn't stop this from happening," Wesley explained in that reasonable way of his. "What did you think I would do if you helped me instead? Did you think I would stop and be reasonable?"
"You could still be alive."
Wesley shrugged nonchalantly. "You can't stop fate."
Angel ignored what he said. "If I had helped you earlier you wouldn't have opened yourself to the Elements ..."
"Could you really? Help me?"
"You wouldn't have opened yourself to the Element if I didn't drive you to it."
"Why do you think it always has to be about you?" Wesley rocked on his heels, and shot him a wry grin. "Don't you think I could make up my own mind? Maybe it's my fate."
"No."
"Maybe it's my destiny," Wesley said, his voice teasing.
"Stop reasoning with me."
"You mean, stop justifying *your* actions?" Wesley shrugged.
"Sometimes, you can't stop fate," he said.
"Screw fate," Angel hissed. "I'm sick of The Powers That Be. I'm sick of them dictating-"
Wesley sighed theatrically. "That's what you always do when things go wrong. You blame. You sulk. And brood. What is that going to accomplish? What would 'what ifs' accomplish? Stop moaning and help your remaining friends."
Angel looked sharply up at the apparition. Wesley looked at him seriously. "Don't do to them what you did to me. Don't wait until your friends destroy themselves."
Then there was nothing but the empty room and the carcass of memory.
* * *
"You're not going anywhere."
Startled, Willow nearly dropped a book she was shelving. She found Cordelia staring up the stairs, her face unreadable.
Fred stopped in mid-step, then slowly placed her foot on the step below. She stared at him for a long time, her red-rimmed eyes inscrutable. Then she just said one word: "Why?"
"Because I'm not going to let you destroy yourself."
It was Angel, suddenly at the stairs behind her. He had said the words in what he hoped to be a strong, firm voice despite the shakiness he felt inside. Then he added quietly, "...like I did Wesley."
She shifted her teary eyes away from his, blinking back tears. "Look Angel, you didn't kill him. It's not your fault."
"And it isn't yours."
She looked down. How many times in the night had she tried to convince herself that? And how many times has she failed in that exercise?
"I-"
"You were tricked. *We* were tricked," he said firmly.
"No, you don't understand. I stabbed him in the back!" she cried shrilly, her tears falling now. "He bled to death because I believed that bitch Lilah when I should've known better! I should've known that Wesley would never do anything evil, or hurt innocent people or do anything without a reason! I betrayed him!" she sobbed, covering her face.
"You want someone to blame?" Cordelia's voice rang out sharply.
Stunned, they met her stony expression.
"We are all guilty," she snapped, her voice hard.
Fred looked crushed.
"All of us. For shoving him aside and letting him do this to himself. I was busy being a divine being, Angel was busy grieving for Connor - we were hurt and we let our family fall apart when it should've stayed together. But you know what? It's never going to bring Wesley back." Her face fell, and her calm façade wavered. It was as if, after uttering the damning statement, Cordelia realised the gravity of what had happened.
"He's gone," she said softly. "And Angel's right. We're going to stick together now."
Fred looked uncertain, meeting Angel's eyes briefly. Then she dropped her suitcase and came down the stairs - walked straight to the exit and then turned back briefly. "I'm going for a walk."
The doors closed behind her.
"Angel?" Willow asked uncertainly. "Where is she going?"
Angel and Cordelia's expressions were hard. Cordelia was the first to break, looking down at her trembling hands. In a shaky voice, she whispered: "She's turning herself in."
"And you let her?" Gunn cried out. He rushed down the stairs, gave Cordy and Angel a sharp glare and ran out of the exit to go after Fred.
A long silence before Angel murmmured: "He won't make it."
Then he turned away heading upstairs.
* * * *
"It's the craziest thing," said Detective Frankfurt. 20 years in the force, and he has not seen it happen. This stuff happened only on TV. Like on CSI, NYPD Blue or something.
"Tell me about it," murmmured Sandra Lokeman, his partner. She shook her head and spied the woman as discreetly as possible from the corner of her left eye.
"You think she's legit?"
"Hard to say. Then again, she brought in the murder weapon."
"Wrapped in newspaper."
"Yup."
"You think she's covering up for a boyfriend or something?"
Frankfurt sighed dramatically. "Hell, it's been a couple of weird few days, ain't it? We have the wrong side of LA burning up and crime rate dropping to nearly zero. Criminals scared shitless about some glowing bogeyman burning people up. She-" he pointed at the woman. She turned to look at him, her face expresionless. "-is the most normal thing I've seen so far."
"Her name?"
"Calls herself Fred."
"Ah. Well, let's process her."
And the two detectives got up to begin their day.
* * *
CHAPTER 42
Two days later
Wesley's mother called. She said that she heard about the fire and wanted to know if Wesley, thanks to the nature of his job, was all right. He remembered being silent for close to two minutes before the clipped imperious voice demanded: "Well?"
"I'm... I'm sorry, Mrs Wyndham-Price-"
"What are you trying to tell me?"
There it was. That edge of panic in her proper and cultured voice. A mother picks up on these things. They always do.
So he told her. Sorry, your son's dead. She went silent. Then the phone went dead. He sat at the reception counter after that, hoping that she would call back but she didn't. He wondered whether she would be making funeral arrangements or if she decided to let him do it instead.
* * *
"No open casket? Okay, our cremation-"
"There's no body. The fire-" he said quietly.
"Oh...I'm so sorry. Of course," the undertaker said politely.
Gunn sighed, closed his eyes and gripped his knees, as if it would make his job easier.
After a respectable silence, the undertaker quietly told him about the memorial services the funeral home ran. Respectable, quiet ... something I'm sure, Wesley would have liked.
He blinked, wondering what kind of funeral Wesley would've liked.
"I think he'd like that," Gunn answered, not very sure of himself.
The undertaker gave him a small smile. "I'll have it arranged, sir."
* * *
"This one?"
Cordelia nodded and gave Buffy a weak smile. Giles had called her immediately after Fred left. Thought that perhaps she could "settle things" at AI. She did, a little. Angel was coming out of his room now at least.
"Yeah." She took the leather-worn book from Buffy's hands and placed it in the box.
"Do you think the Council would want these ... or does he have a close cousin who would love to have it?"
Buffy looked uncomfortable at the question. "How about his dad?"
Cordelia wrinkled her nose. "He wasn't very super with his dad. He, like, mentioned him five times the past four years and they're not usually very good mentions."
She sniffed, blinking away tears. "He's gone. I just don't get it. But I should," she quickly said before Buffy could interrupt. "I mean, we were a mess last year and we thought he was a traitor and we cast him aside."
"Cordy. You can't go blaming yourself for Wesley's death."
"Believe me, I'm not strong on the blaming myself part. I'm just thinking on logic here."
"No. He had a choice. And he chose to do what he did. Nobody else was responsible for what he did."
"At least we could've been there."
"No point going back there," Buffy said, her voice firm. Cordelia flinched at her words. "But you tried in the end. You were there with him before he died. He didn't die alone, Cordelia. And that's important."
"Yeah, it's a biggie," she laughed through her tears. She placed the book in the box. AS she closed the flaps of the box shut, she asked Buffy quietly. "Do you have some tape? I have to seal this up."
* * *
"Are you sure this is what you want to do?"
Fred nodded behind the glass panel and gave Angel a weak smile. "I can't reverse things. But ... I can admit I've done something. I can't hide what I've done, Angel. I can't live with the lie that my life would become."
Angel looked at her grimly and closed his eyes. "I could-"
"No," she said firmly. She knew what he suggested - breaking her out. "Besides, I have Faith for company. I mean, I think she's nice and all, despite being a former rogue slayer and everything."
"Does she-"
She nodded. "I told her. That I killed him. And she just stared at me. I think she didn't know what she wanted to do with me. Then she said that killing me would be too melodramatic. Then she walked away." She shrugged. "You think I have a friend there?"
"She knows that she's not in the position to judge. Give her time," he said. It sounded lame to his ears. Everything sounded lame these days.
"I heard that you're going to do a memorial for Wesley," she tried to sound as natural as she could but her tearing eyes betrayed her emotions.
"His parents refuse to come. His mother wanted to but ..." he trailed off. "I think she is taking it hard."
Tears fell. They made her smile look grotesque.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Angel let his forehead fall to the glass. Fred reached out to touch the glass in return.
"Me too," he said softly.
* * *
The thing about being a socialite is that everytime you want to do something good, your daddy's press secretary will make sure that the whole world knows about it.
"Here, here - that's a good picture isn't it? Homeless guy getting food? Huh? Cliched, maybe, but it gets the point across-"
Lola Briston rolled her eyes and tried to ignore her father's pet weasel as best as she could, but he was making things hard by coming to her side every five seconds for a photo op. Lola told herself that the next time he came to her side, he was going to give him a photo op that would make daddy proud - a big slap across the face.
She had tried to be discreet, even sneaking out at night to make sure no one saw her. However, the weasel did and arranged all the media circus around them now. She was acutely embarassed by it, but she knew that for the mission it was perhaps a good thing. Maybe people would notice and come by to help.
The burning down of Avarice had left hundreds homeless. The people of Avarice - all they had were their homes, and even that was a small comfort as the high rate of crime there prevented it from being a truly welcoming one. When the fire razed Avarice, hundreds came running towards neighbouring Onasko, and the middle-class folk tried their best to accomodate the ragtag refugees, but it was clearly not enough. Half the refugees had severe burnts, some were obviously traumatised. A warehouse was opened up as a temporary shelter and Lola spent the past two nights there listening to their tales. A woman lost her son in the apartment fire. A man is trying to find his wife and son - have they seen her? Then there was this man, who was so traumatised that he seemed almost catatonic. He spent most of his time huddled in the far right corner of the shelter, his blue eyes staring at nothing. Whenever anyone tried to approach him, he would freeze up and wedge himself deeper into the corner. Only Lola had any success in approaching him.
They had found him wandering in just an hour ago. His shirt was matted with old blood, and he stank of something rotten. They tried to get him changed, but he kept flinching whenever anyone tried to approach him. So they placed a clean sweatshirt and pants a few steps away from him. He stared at it for a long time. Then he took the bundle up and hugged it to his chest, the vacant look back in his eyes.
So, here she was, back in the corner, hoping that the Weasel would not find her here and scare him away.
"Hi," she said softly.
The man cast a tentative look at her.
"Are you hungry? I have some bread-" she opened the container she had in her hands. The man flinched, his arms cradling the bundle in his hands protectively.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you ... see?" she slowly let him see the contents of the container.
He seemed to be considering something ... then hunger apparently won out as he reached towards the piece of bread and snatched it away. He gobbled it down frantically,as if afraid she'd snatch it from her hands.
The flash of a camera going off startled both of them. It startled the man more as he shrieked and buried his head under his arms.
Lola knew who it immediately. With a growl, she got up and swiftly gave Louis Pencker one between the eyes.
"Ow! What the hell was that for?!" he squealed. The camera man beside him slowly removed his eye from the lens and stared at her.
"Do you have any idea what you've just done? Get out of here before I tell daddy to fire your ass!"
Pencker knew that was no idle threat and scuttled away, dragging the reluctant camera man away.
Sighing, Lola returned her gaze to the man ... but he was gone.
"Oh shit," she cursed. She ran out of the shelter, looking frantically about for him. Yes, she decided, if he was gone, Pecker will get his ass on the unemployment lines.
Then she saw him, standing in middle of the crowd of refugees, looking at the commotion around him as if it he only just noticed it.
She approached him catiously, like how she would approach a cornered cat. she whispered softly, "Hey ..."
He turned slowly to look at her, and she saw, instead of the terrified looks he had given her the past hour, confusion. THen confusion gave way to despair.
"Where am I?"
His voice - he had an English accent - was soft and gentle, hardly what she had expected. Right now it was trembling with fear, yet she found herself frowning at the fammiliarity of his voice. A name danced in her head, but she couldn't grasp it.
"You're at a shelter. At Onasko."
"I'm not in hell?"
For a moment she didn't know what to say to that, then she quickly said: "No. You're safe." He was traumatised. Who knows what had happened to him back in AVarice? She heard some wild tales from some of the people back at the warehouse - something about vampires, a burning man and green fire. Avarice could be hell in his mind.
He shuddered suddenly and would have fallen if she had not reached out to support him. "Are you okay?"
Stupid, Lola. Does he look okay to you?
"I'm alive."
"Yes, you are," gentle voice, but don't speak to him like he's retarded.
"I wasn't. They killed me."
He's traumatised, Lola. But it made her look at the big bloody stain on his shirt. "Are you hurt?" she asked worriedly. Dumb, just dumb - he could be bleeding to death!
He hesitantly unbottoned his shirt. Not a scratch. Where did the blood come from?
Then he whispered, "I'm scared."
That's when he remembered who it was, and it floored her how much he had changed. The last time she saw him, he was a dapper man who stood at Virginia Bryce's side. Always imaculately groomed, proper to a T.
Now he looked like a man on the verge of a breakdown. Or maybe he had a breakdown already.
"Wesley. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, right?"
He looked startled at the name, then slowly nodded. Then he hugged himself as if he was freezing.
"Why don't we get you into those clothes, huh?" Then I'll call Virginia, she thought.
She swore later that she just turned around for a second to ask Maurice, a fellow helper, if the showers were available. When she turned back next - he was gone.
* * *
Wesley hugged the bundle to his chest. He didn't know why he did it, but it made him feel safe. He walked and walked, until everything changed around him. It wasn't grimy anymore, but people stared at him a lot. He observed from teh corner of his eyes, well-heeled executives sipping lattes whispering and pointing, a man in a sports car, openly gaping at him.
Flashes of thoughts and memories floated in his head, but it was too much to think about right now. He was alive. Did that make him happy?
Maybe ... some part of him was glad that he had escaped death. Another part was howling with terror ... he remembered something terrifying, about being trapped in something rotten. Like being buried in maggots. He shuddered at the memory.
"I don't know what I want," he murmmured. He sat down against a wall of a building and vaguely heard someone say, "Hey, you can't stay here!"
Angel. Fred ...
Something sharp going into his back. Angel's anguished face before everything went black. The beeping of the monitors. Everything going cold.
He shuddered again.
He was in Angel's arms, and he remembered how badly he wanted to say sorry for the mess he had caused, that he didn't want anyone to get hurt. It was his fault that the Green Elemental gained control, he didn't blame anyone for trying to stop him. BUt it hurt to know that he would die in Fred's hands. It seemed poetic, to be pierced by the person you loved.
"Hey. You okay?"
A tentative voice. Wesley lifted his head from his knees and saw a girl staring down at him, her face worried. "Did you come from Avarice? Do you need help? Are you okay?"
He wasn't sure what question to answer first ... then he said softly. "I think I'm okay now."
He was alive again. He knew that he had died, but somehow he was back again. And this time ... he do things differently.
"Do you have friends? Family? Someone I can contact?"
Wesley considered that. Then slowly, he said: "No. I'm alone."
EPILOGUE
He had a life once, with a vampire with a soul. He left everything because he thought he was fighting the good fight, and he was sure it was the right decision. He thinks, even after he was killed, that it was the right decision, but the sacrifice and the price had been too much. He didn't want it anymore, he didn't want to know them anymore.
He sat at the riverbank staring at the placid waters and realised how far LA was to this place. And he plucked the grass and threw shreds of it in the water as if to scold it for making him remember his past.
But still, he had a feeling that no matter how far he ran, his past refused to let go. It came nagging at him when he went through the sums with the children or when they ran shrieking around him with delight at his latest story. It made him laugh, his current life - once upon a time, he did sardonically tell himself that perhaps he should retreat to a village and teach. Which was exactly what he had done.
Of course Father found him immediately, coming in one day after the class was empty. They spent a long minute considering each other before his father finally asked Wesley whether he wanted one of his mother's blue berry pies. Mother had wondered when he would visit the manor again, Father had said. In his own proud way, his father was trying to make amends. Wesley was not sure how to answer him. Instead he said, "Maybe Christmas." That's eleven months away. His father respected that and left him pretty much alone.
"Are you going to keep staring at me, or are you going to say something?" Wesley said as he threw an acorn into the river. The image of the moon rippled again.
Angel sighed and awkwardly sat beside him, crossing his legs.
"You're probably wondering how I knew you were alive."
Wesley considered that, and then said: "No. I wasn't." Another acorn into the river.
"Look ... I know I have no excuse to be here-"
"No you don't," Wesley said queitly. There was a million things he wanted to say to the vampire, and he had these three months to sort them all out. His journals were thick with frantic scribblings and pensive sentences - but he had given out trying to figure out what to do with his past. He thought, perhaps, just let it be.
"Wesley-" Angel began.
"Shh," he chided, his voice surprisingly gentle in his ears. "You're going to ruin the moment. Watch."
And a minute later, the water rippled and they could see the silvery backs of fish as they frolicked beneath the waters. "They're not really fish you know," Wesley said matter-of-factly in explanation. "Water sprites," he said, giving Angel a smile. "When I was a boy, I always tried to catch one, but touching them always gave me hives."
Angel watched Wesley quietly. In truth he was absorbing the smile he was just given, and hope rose inside him, that perhaps Wesley would forgive him.
A long moment of quiet, then Wesley said: "We've done good things together in the past." He was trying to convince himself that it was true. Or perhaps Angel.
Angel looked down, didn't answer.
"And we did horrible things to each other," the vampire said a while later.
Wesley pursed his lips and threw a piece of dry, broken bread from the brown bag beside him. The fish hungrily leapt up for a bite.
"Why ruin this moment anyway," Wesley said in resignation. Then he offered the brown bag to him.
"Make sure you throw them into the river. The water sprites will turn into something nasty if they come on shore."
And Angel made sure he did as he was told.
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Author's note
Hope you liked it! Gosh, I'm really sorry how long it took, but I really wanted the story to sparkle and I hope it did. I can't believe I completed the story! =D Thanks everyone, for your kind reviews and your utmost patience. It has been a wonderful writing experience.
Also, if you're wondering what Wesley did in the months before he finally met Angel again and how Angel found out about Wesley, I plan to write a shortie (really, a short story) about it. Keep a look out.
It has been a great ride.
Yours truly,
Wyndhamfan
"Now see, that's where we have a problem," Angel said.
Cindy, or rather Amopholas, frowned at the unexpected words. "What did you say?"
"We're not going to sit around and wait for you to do that," he crossed his arms, trying not to grin too smugly. No point aggravating the enemy too much.
The demon spawn grinned, her sweet expression soured by malice. "And you're going to stop me behind bars?"
"Not really," said Willow.
Cindy's head jerked to where Willow's unconscious form still lay sprawled in the cell. Her forehead creased with confusion but just before she could voice her bewilderment, something shoved her violently one side. As she slid down the wall, she saw the Angel Investigations team …. outside the cell.
The witch answered her silent question, her face bright with mirth. "That's what you get when you have powerful witch and a glamour spell."
The other demon spawns lay unconscious – some obviously dead – around them. Cindy looked around in anger and rose shakily to her feet.
"You know. You think you've done something important … but how do you think to beat a thousand of us?" she sneered.
Shadows moved around them, materialising one by one to reveal deceptively ordinary people. They looked at the team expressionlessly, but it was obvious what they intended.
"I don't care if we die! I'll be glad just taking as many as I can with me!" Fred yelled, her eyes sparkling with rage. If not for Gunn who held her back with a firm grip on her shoulders, she would have lunged at Cindy.
The little girl shrugged nonchalantly. "Go ahead. I could use a little fun before I become corporeal again."
* * *
To Fred – it became a mission to destroy as many of them as possible. It became a mission to erase what she did to Wesley; she could not live knowing that Wesley's killers lived – and that included her. And so if she died doing this, better – she was the one who dealt the final blow after all.
She drove her sword into a woman that could easily be her mom - all pastel flower-print dress, motherly face and all – except this 'mom' tried to ram her fist through her gut.
She wiped her blood off her hands, but that moment of reprieve proved too costly. Someone punched her in the face with such force that she flew into the air to land stunned a few feet away.
"How does that feel, darling?" an elderly woman asked, her grandmotherly face distorted with a sneer.
Fred spat out blood and smiled. "Bracing," she muttered as she slowly rose to her feet.
"You were the one, weren't you? The one who fell for the trick?" said Grandma, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "How does that feel? Plunging that sword into the back of your friend?"
Fred paled, but refused to let grandma distract her. In a move that surprised the woman, Fred tackled the woman, knocking her to the ground. And without mercy, Fred plunged her dagger into the spawn's chest.
* * * *
They were dripping with gore, and the Aman yar kept coming. Given The Mother's magic, they had superhuman strength. Angel and the rest were tiring, and Amopholas gloated over that, taunting them from the throats of its vessels.
"How long are you going to keep this up, Angel?" asked Cindy. The girl sat above a barrel, her little lace-stockinged legs swinging cheerily, an innocuous presence amidst the chaos. "You're going to die, you know. Just like your Wesley," she sang, clapping her hands.
Angel vamped and growled. "Don't say his name."
"Weeeesley. Wesley, Wesley, Wesley!" Cindy taunted, her blue eyes sparkling. "I will say his name. And more." In her hand she lifted something shimmery. "It's time for me to return."
"No," Angel breathed, watching the jewel warily. It had to be the Mother.
"Before you want to charge and save the day, think – I can give you power when I return to this world."
"Shut up," he took a step.
Cindy clutched The Mother in a threatening manner. "Ah-ah … I see you drive a hard bargain. How about … Las Vegas?"
Angel eyed The Mother. Snatching it out of Cindy's hands would be an easy matter – but how fast would the Mother work. Could he beat the speed of thought?
"I suppose you'd want LA. Las Vegas is too gaudy, after all."
He did not answer. Growling, he made a gamble – he leapt.
And Cindy laughed at his bravado and said: "Mother, grant me my wish. Bring me home!"
And he was slammed to the ground. He groaned as he felt – no, heard – his bones crackle under the enormous pressure.
*We're too late. We're too late!* Angel thought frantically as the bone-crushing power tried its best to ground him into the floor. He couldn't see beyond the bright light around them. All he could hear was the laughter of hundreds of Amopholas' spawn.
IT IS TIME.
The voice was so powerful that Angel cried out in pain, covering his ears with his hands. The laughter immediately died out. Then cries of anger. He risked his sight by opening his eyes … the light around him was not as bright as before and he could make out the frantic figures around him. Of the others, he could not see –
Cindy suddenly came into his line of sight, her angelic face hideous with her rage. She stamped her little feet and twirled around. "Where are you?" she screamed. "You can't stop me!"
Wesley was suddenly there, engulfed in green flames. Angel vaguely noted that Amophalos' spawn were disintegrating left and right, not bothering to even utter so much as a whimper as they were turned to ashes. The gladness that rose in his chest was abruptly crushed when Wesley's dead eyes met his.
Only the Elemental was there, Angel realised. Wesley was gone, only his body was there.
"Damn you," he snarled at the Elemental as despair settled into his heart. "You have no right-"
The Elemental ignored him and turned towards Cindy. She made a valiant effort to stand up, but she disintegrated before she could do anything. The power of her destruction flung the Mother from her hands. It arched into the air and landed at Angel's feet with a loud clang.
Surprisingly, the Elemental did not react when Angel bent down to pick The Mother up. It merely watched him with milky eyes as he stared into the transparent jewel.
It looked deceptively ordinary. More like a plastic imitation of a crystal than a true gem.
"Liam, my darling."
The green glow from the Elemental faded. He heard the chirping of birds, and could smell the scent of roses. His mother – she loved roses. She grew them around the house and spent hours tending them.
"And what has my Liam been up to?" asked his mother.
It would be natural, of course, for the Mother to assume this form. A long time ago, it had been a mother so devoted to its spawn that it had poured its essence into a gem so that it could be used for power.
"My boy means well. Don't listen to your da, Liam. He doesn't know what I know – what a sweet boy you are."
And suddenly she was next to him, caressing his cheek with her too-real hands.
"I want what's best for you Liam. Tell your ma what you want and I'll do it for you."
"Don't do it, Angel."
The voice startled him. He broke away from his 'mother' and saw Wesley standing there, watching him sadly. It wasn't a corpse - it was Wesley, as he was before he died, his hair a careless tangle around his neck, his blue eyes a pool of sadness.
"Wesley?"
The Watcher looked away as if the sound of his voice hurt him. When he returned his gaze to Angel once more, he managed a small smile.
"Not for long," he said. His face turned grim. "Don't listen to her. Bringing me back would not change anything. You know what you need to do. Angel."
"Liam," his mother whispered at his side. He felt her dry hand slide into his. "Listen to me, my darling. I can give you, everything you desire."
"Wesley," he whispered. The Watcher's expression was blank.
"You need to do what is right," Wesley hesitantly said. "It does not-"
IT DOES NOT BELONG TO YOU.
Abruptly he was back at the warehouse, and the only thing he saw was flames and Wesley's flame-ringed reanimated corpse. The abrubt shift of realities made him stumble and nearly drop The Mother.
The Elemental raised Wesley's dead arms and bent his fingers repeatedly. It took a while for Angel to realize what it meant - that it wanted what Angel had in his hands.
[It does not belong to you.] The ELemental said once more.
He gripped it in his hands, looking down at the sparkling temptation.
[You could do so many things with me,] whispered the Mother. [You could even bring your best friend back.]
And he stared at the Elemental.
[He will be alive again, and he will be your friend once more and you don't have to be in pain anymore. Wish that, Angel ...] the Mother whispered. Was it his imagination, or did she sound desperate?
[It does not belong to you.] came the Elemental's voice once more.
[You can say sorry to him, Angel, and correct what you have done wrong.] the Mother sang.
The jewel seemed to sparkle then and he almost wished. But he shut his eyes and turned away - he knew the consequences of resurrecting someone - Buffy was a stark reminder of what could happen to someone if they were brought back against their will. And bringing back Wesley ... could be the final straw that would break Wesley's already fragile mind. Blinking back tears, he unclenched his fingers.
The jewel floated out of his palm gently, sparkling and twisting as it headed towards the Elemental. Wesley's dead eyes met his, and he willed himself to stare into its eyes. It felt as if the Elemental was acknowledging the sacrifice he was making - he felt as if it approved ... then again, it could just be wishful thinking as the Elemental reached out and grabbed the Mother in its palm without even glancing his way.
[Finally, it is done] whispered the voice.
The burst of energy surprised him. It hurtled him in through the air, and if he hadn't been dead already, he would've been when he crashed through the brick wall of the warehouse to land rolling a few feet away from the warehouse on the dirty street outside.
He didn't have time to recover. There was a burst of light so bright that it nearly singed his vampire eyes - he had to turn away; he yelled for everyone to close their eyes because he was sure that the light would blind them all. A roaring sound filled his ears and he had to cup his hands to protect his ears from the howl.
Then suddenly, there was silence.
He heard Gunn swear, and Fred sob. Cordelia was shouting something - it was then that he realized that it was safe to open his eyes.
The warehouse had crumpled into itself. Somehow, the blast had spread to the nearby water tower and toppled it over, spilling the contents of the water tank on to the warehouse. However, even all that water couldn't quench the supernatural green fire that consumed the place.
Then he saw him.
"No," Angel gasped.
Wesley lay half-buried in the debris. His body peeked through a pile of bricks and metal sheeting. An arm stretched out towards Angel and Wesley's glazed eyes stared into his; water lapped at his white lips as the water rose higher, threatening to drown his body in a watery grave. The Elemental had seemingly abandoned its vessel - right now it took its natural form, a pillar of green fire as itcleansed the polluted earth where the demon once dwelt.
He made a move to go towards him, but even from here the heat was intense. The water was boiling and steaming, and it made him recoil to think what the hot water was doing to Wesley's body.
"Angel. We have to go."
Gunn. His voice quiet and flat. Angel could imagine him staring at the same thing he's looking at ... *thing* ... Angel shook his head. Wesley ... is a thing ... isn't that what he is now? Reduced to a *thing* that a magical force could manipulate, and now that it has its fill using the *thing*, it discards it like yesterday's newspaper.
"Angel!"
More insistent now. This time he felt a hand on his shoulder. Angel could only stare at Wesley's half-opened dead eyes and the water that was quickly rising to cover them. Then he couldn't stand it anymore. He broke free from Gunn's grip and reached out, determined to pull Wesley from his watery grave, not caring if he burnt into ashes in the process.
He cannot be left like this - like some useless thing!
"Angel, don't!" Someone screamed. Willow? Fred? He wasn't sure, but his quick vampire reflexes took over before he could process another coherent thought. He leapt aside before he was turned into ashes by a sudden flare of green fire. Soon, the fire was the only thing he could see. Wesley was gone. Really gone.
It was over then. Gone. The world was safe, but Wesley was dead. But it didn't matter because a mission was fulfilled. It didn't matter to the Powers That Be that they've allowed this to happen ... for Wesley's friends to abandon and later murder him because in the end ... the world was safe again.
CHAPTER 41
The world was safe again. When they returned to the building, they felt traitorous as they unpacked and cleaned themselves up, as if they were just completing a client-paying mission. Giles and Willow tried his best to reorder things around; he cleaned the weapons while Willow made a valiant effort to pick up fallen books or chairs and return some semblance of normalcy to the reception area. If the AI team noticed their help, they didn't say anything. Each went their seperate ways into the old hotel. Fred to her room, Gunn to the showers, Cordelia to Wesley's office and Angel ... he was wandering about. Nobody knew where he was.
Giles and Willow exchanged sad looks and returned stoicly to their work.
* * *
"You're upset."
Wesley appeared before him clad in the clothes Angel best remembered him in: the starched shirt and pants, the tie and his ever-present glasses. His hair was civilly cropped, his smile the familiar tolerant smile Angel was used to - not the sardonic one of recent months.
"Cordelia said that if I didn't forgive you, it would be ..."
Wesley gave him a small smile. "Bad?"
Angel could only stare at this figment of his imagination silently. Just a memory, not real. The real Wesley lay rotting - or most probably, in ashes - in the still-burning warehouse in Avarice.
"You couldn't stop this from happening," Wesley explained in that reasonable way of his. "What did you think I would do if you helped me instead? Did you think I would stop and be reasonable?"
"You could still be alive."
Wesley shrugged nonchalantly. "You can't stop fate."
Angel ignored what he said. "If I had helped you earlier you wouldn't have opened yourself to the Elements ..."
"Could you really? Help me?"
"You wouldn't have opened yourself to the Element if I didn't drive you to it."
"Why do you think it always has to be about you?" Wesley rocked on his heels, and shot him a wry grin. "Don't you think I could make up my own mind? Maybe it's my fate."
"No."
"Maybe it's my destiny," Wesley said, his voice teasing.
"Stop reasoning with me."
"You mean, stop justifying *your* actions?" Wesley shrugged.
"Sometimes, you can't stop fate," he said.
"Screw fate," Angel hissed. "I'm sick of The Powers That Be. I'm sick of them dictating-"
Wesley sighed theatrically. "That's what you always do when things go wrong. You blame. You sulk. And brood. What is that going to accomplish? What would 'what ifs' accomplish? Stop moaning and help your remaining friends."
Angel looked sharply up at the apparition. Wesley looked at him seriously. "Don't do to them what you did to me. Don't wait until your friends destroy themselves."
Then there was nothing but the empty room and the carcass of memory.
* * *
"You're not going anywhere."
Startled, Willow nearly dropped a book she was shelving. She found Cordelia staring up the stairs, her face unreadable.
Fred stopped in mid-step, then slowly placed her foot on the step below. She stared at him for a long time, her red-rimmed eyes inscrutable. Then she just said one word: "Why?"
"Because I'm not going to let you destroy yourself."
It was Angel, suddenly at the stairs behind her. He had said the words in what he hoped to be a strong, firm voice despite the shakiness he felt inside. Then he added quietly, "...like I did Wesley."
She shifted her teary eyes away from his, blinking back tears. "Look Angel, you didn't kill him. It's not your fault."
"And it isn't yours."
She looked down. How many times in the night had she tried to convince herself that? And how many times has she failed in that exercise?
"I-"
"You were tricked. *We* were tricked," he said firmly.
"No, you don't understand. I stabbed him in the back!" she cried shrilly, her tears falling now. "He bled to death because I believed that bitch Lilah when I should've known better! I should've known that Wesley would never do anything evil, or hurt innocent people or do anything without a reason! I betrayed him!" she sobbed, covering her face.
"You want someone to blame?" Cordelia's voice rang out sharply.
Stunned, they met her stony expression.
"We are all guilty," she snapped, her voice hard.
Fred looked crushed.
"All of us. For shoving him aside and letting him do this to himself. I was busy being a divine being, Angel was busy grieving for Connor - we were hurt and we let our family fall apart when it should've stayed together. But you know what? It's never going to bring Wesley back." Her face fell, and her calm façade wavered. It was as if, after uttering the damning statement, Cordelia realised the gravity of what had happened.
"He's gone," she said softly. "And Angel's right. We're going to stick together now."
Fred looked uncertain, meeting Angel's eyes briefly. Then she dropped her suitcase and came down the stairs - walked straight to the exit and then turned back briefly. "I'm going for a walk."
The doors closed behind her.
"Angel?" Willow asked uncertainly. "Where is she going?"
Angel and Cordelia's expressions were hard. Cordelia was the first to break, looking down at her trembling hands. In a shaky voice, she whispered: "She's turning herself in."
"And you let her?" Gunn cried out. He rushed down the stairs, gave Cordy and Angel a sharp glare and ran out of the exit to go after Fred.
A long silence before Angel murmmured: "He won't make it."
Then he turned away heading upstairs.
* * * *
"It's the craziest thing," said Detective Frankfurt. 20 years in the force, and he has not seen it happen. This stuff happened only on TV. Like on CSI, NYPD Blue or something.
"Tell me about it," murmmured Sandra Lokeman, his partner. She shook her head and spied the woman as discreetly as possible from the corner of her left eye.
"You think she's legit?"
"Hard to say. Then again, she brought in the murder weapon."
"Wrapped in newspaper."
"Yup."
"You think she's covering up for a boyfriend or something?"
Frankfurt sighed dramatically. "Hell, it's been a couple of weird few days, ain't it? We have the wrong side of LA burning up and crime rate dropping to nearly zero. Criminals scared shitless about some glowing bogeyman burning people up. She-" he pointed at the woman. She turned to look at him, her face expresionless. "-is the most normal thing I've seen so far."
"Her name?"
"Calls herself Fred."
"Ah. Well, let's process her."
And the two detectives got up to begin their day.
* * *
CHAPTER 42
Two days later
Wesley's mother called. She said that she heard about the fire and wanted to know if Wesley, thanks to the nature of his job, was all right. He remembered being silent for close to two minutes before the clipped imperious voice demanded: "Well?"
"I'm... I'm sorry, Mrs Wyndham-Price-"
"What are you trying to tell me?"
There it was. That edge of panic in her proper and cultured voice. A mother picks up on these things. They always do.
So he told her. Sorry, your son's dead. She went silent. Then the phone went dead. He sat at the reception counter after that, hoping that she would call back but she didn't. He wondered whether she would be making funeral arrangements or if she decided to let him do it instead.
* * *
"No open casket? Okay, our cremation-"
"There's no body. The fire-" he said quietly.
"Oh...I'm so sorry. Of course," the undertaker said politely.
Gunn sighed, closed his eyes and gripped his knees, as if it would make his job easier.
After a respectable silence, the undertaker quietly told him about the memorial services the funeral home ran. Respectable, quiet ... something I'm sure, Wesley would have liked.
He blinked, wondering what kind of funeral Wesley would've liked.
"I think he'd like that," Gunn answered, not very sure of himself.
The undertaker gave him a small smile. "I'll have it arranged, sir."
* * *
"This one?"
Cordelia nodded and gave Buffy a weak smile. Giles had called her immediately after Fred left. Thought that perhaps she could "settle things" at AI. She did, a little. Angel was coming out of his room now at least.
"Yeah." She took the leather-worn book from Buffy's hands and placed it in the box.
"Do you think the Council would want these ... or does he have a close cousin who would love to have it?"
Buffy looked uncomfortable at the question. "How about his dad?"
Cordelia wrinkled her nose. "He wasn't very super with his dad. He, like, mentioned him five times the past four years and they're not usually very good mentions."
She sniffed, blinking away tears. "He's gone. I just don't get it. But I should," she quickly said before Buffy could interrupt. "I mean, we were a mess last year and we thought he was a traitor and we cast him aside."
"Cordy. You can't go blaming yourself for Wesley's death."
"Believe me, I'm not strong on the blaming myself part. I'm just thinking on logic here."
"No. He had a choice. And he chose to do what he did. Nobody else was responsible for what he did."
"At least we could've been there."
"No point going back there," Buffy said, her voice firm. Cordelia flinched at her words. "But you tried in the end. You were there with him before he died. He didn't die alone, Cordelia. And that's important."
"Yeah, it's a biggie," she laughed through her tears. She placed the book in the box. AS she closed the flaps of the box shut, she asked Buffy quietly. "Do you have some tape? I have to seal this up."
* * *
"Are you sure this is what you want to do?"
Fred nodded behind the glass panel and gave Angel a weak smile. "I can't reverse things. But ... I can admit I've done something. I can't hide what I've done, Angel. I can't live with the lie that my life would become."
Angel looked at her grimly and closed his eyes. "I could-"
"No," she said firmly. She knew what he suggested - breaking her out. "Besides, I have Faith for company. I mean, I think she's nice and all, despite being a former rogue slayer and everything."
"Does she-"
She nodded. "I told her. That I killed him. And she just stared at me. I think she didn't know what she wanted to do with me. Then she said that killing me would be too melodramatic. Then she walked away." She shrugged. "You think I have a friend there?"
"She knows that she's not in the position to judge. Give her time," he said. It sounded lame to his ears. Everything sounded lame these days.
"I heard that you're going to do a memorial for Wesley," she tried to sound as natural as she could but her tearing eyes betrayed her emotions.
"His parents refuse to come. His mother wanted to but ..." he trailed off. "I think she is taking it hard."
Tears fell. They made her smile look grotesque.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Angel let his forehead fall to the glass. Fred reached out to touch the glass in return.
"Me too," he said softly.
* * *
The thing about being a socialite is that everytime you want to do something good, your daddy's press secretary will make sure that the whole world knows about it.
"Here, here - that's a good picture isn't it? Homeless guy getting food? Huh? Cliched, maybe, but it gets the point across-"
Lola Briston rolled her eyes and tried to ignore her father's pet weasel as best as she could, but he was making things hard by coming to her side every five seconds for a photo op. Lola told herself that the next time he came to her side, he was going to give him a photo op that would make daddy proud - a big slap across the face.
She had tried to be discreet, even sneaking out at night to make sure no one saw her. However, the weasel did and arranged all the media circus around them now. She was acutely embarassed by it, but she knew that for the mission it was perhaps a good thing. Maybe people would notice and come by to help.
The burning down of Avarice had left hundreds homeless. The people of Avarice - all they had were their homes, and even that was a small comfort as the high rate of crime there prevented it from being a truly welcoming one. When the fire razed Avarice, hundreds came running towards neighbouring Onasko, and the middle-class folk tried their best to accomodate the ragtag refugees, but it was clearly not enough. Half the refugees had severe burnts, some were obviously traumatised. A warehouse was opened up as a temporary shelter and Lola spent the past two nights there listening to their tales. A woman lost her son in the apartment fire. A man is trying to find his wife and son - have they seen her? Then there was this man, who was so traumatised that he seemed almost catatonic. He spent most of his time huddled in the far right corner of the shelter, his blue eyes staring at nothing. Whenever anyone tried to approach him, he would freeze up and wedge himself deeper into the corner. Only Lola had any success in approaching him.
They had found him wandering in just an hour ago. His shirt was matted with old blood, and he stank of something rotten. They tried to get him changed, but he kept flinching whenever anyone tried to approach him. So they placed a clean sweatshirt and pants a few steps away from him. He stared at it for a long time. Then he took the bundle up and hugged it to his chest, the vacant look back in his eyes.
So, here she was, back in the corner, hoping that the Weasel would not find her here and scare him away.
"Hi," she said softly.
The man cast a tentative look at her.
"Are you hungry? I have some bread-" she opened the container she had in her hands. The man flinched, his arms cradling the bundle in his hands protectively.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you ... see?" she slowly let him see the contents of the container.
He seemed to be considering something ... then hunger apparently won out as he reached towards the piece of bread and snatched it away. He gobbled it down frantically,as if afraid she'd snatch it from her hands.
The flash of a camera going off startled both of them. It startled the man more as he shrieked and buried his head under his arms.
Lola knew who it immediately. With a growl, she got up and swiftly gave Louis Pencker one between the eyes.
"Ow! What the hell was that for?!" he squealed. The camera man beside him slowly removed his eye from the lens and stared at her.
"Do you have any idea what you've just done? Get out of here before I tell daddy to fire your ass!"
Pencker knew that was no idle threat and scuttled away, dragging the reluctant camera man away.
Sighing, Lola returned her gaze to the man ... but he was gone.
"Oh shit," she cursed. She ran out of the shelter, looking frantically about for him. Yes, she decided, if he was gone, Pecker will get his ass on the unemployment lines.
Then she saw him, standing in middle of the crowd of refugees, looking at the commotion around him as if it he only just noticed it.
She approached him catiously, like how she would approach a cornered cat. she whispered softly, "Hey ..."
He turned slowly to look at her, and she saw, instead of the terrified looks he had given her the past hour, confusion. THen confusion gave way to despair.
"Where am I?"
His voice - he had an English accent - was soft and gentle, hardly what she had expected. Right now it was trembling with fear, yet she found herself frowning at the fammiliarity of his voice. A name danced in her head, but she couldn't grasp it.
"You're at a shelter. At Onasko."
"I'm not in hell?"
For a moment she didn't know what to say to that, then she quickly said: "No. You're safe." He was traumatised. Who knows what had happened to him back in AVarice? She heard some wild tales from some of the people back at the warehouse - something about vampires, a burning man and green fire. Avarice could be hell in his mind.
He shuddered suddenly and would have fallen if she had not reached out to support him. "Are you okay?"
Stupid, Lola. Does he look okay to you?
"I'm alive."
"Yes, you are," gentle voice, but don't speak to him like he's retarded.
"I wasn't. They killed me."
He's traumatised, Lola. But it made her look at the big bloody stain on his shirt. "Are you hurt?" she asked worriedly. Dumb, just dumb - he could be bleeding to death!
He hesitantly unbottoned his shirt. Not a scratch. Where did the blood come from?
Then he whispered, "I'm scared."
That's when he remembered who it was, and it floored her how much he had changed. The last time she saw him, he was a dapper man who stood at Virginia Bryce's side. Always imaculately groomed, proper to a T.
Now he looked like a man on the verge of a breakdown. Or maybe he had a breakdown already.
"Wesley. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, right?"
He looked startled at the name, then slowly nodded. Then he hugged himself as if he was freezing.
"Why don't we get you into those clothes, huh?" Then I'll call Virginia, she thought.
She swore later that she just turned around for a second to ask Maurice, a fellow helper, if the showers were available. When she turned back next - he was gone.
* * *
Wesley hugged the bundle to his chest. He didn't know why he did it, but it made him feel safe. He walked and walked, until everything changed around him. It wasn't grimy anymore, but people stared at him a lot. He observed from teh corner of his eyes, well-heeled executives sipping lattes whispering and pointing, a man in a sports car, openly gaping at him.
Flashes of thoughts and memories floated in his head, but it was too much to think about right now. He was alive. Did that make him happy?
Maybe ... some part of him was glad that he had escaped death. Another part was howling with terror ... he remembered something terrifying, about being trapped in something rotten. Like being buried in maggots. He shuddered at the memory.
"I don't know what I want," he murmmured. He sat down against a wall of a building and vaguely heard someone say, "Hey, you can't stay here!"
Angel. Fred ...
Something sharp going into his back. Angel's anguished face before everything went black. The beeping of the monitors. Everything going cold.
He shuddered again.
He was in Angel's arms, and he remembered how badly he wanted to say sorry for the mess he had caused, that he didn't want anyone to get hurt. It was his fault that the Green Elemental gained control, he didn't blame anyone for trying to stop him. BUt it hurt to know that he would die in Fred's hands. It seemed poetic, to be pierced by the person you loved.
"Hey. You okay?"
A tentative voice. Wesley lifted his head from his knees and saw a girl staring down at him, her face worried. "Did you come from Avarice? Do you need help? Are you okay?"
He wasn't sure what question to answer first ... then he said softly. "I think I'm okay now."
He was alive again. He knew that he had died, but somehow he was back again. And this time ... he do things differently.
"Do you have friends? Family? Someone I can contact?"
Wesley considered that. Then slowly, he said: "No. I'm alone."
EPILOGUE
He had a life once, with a vampire with a soul. He left everything because he thought he was fighting the good fight, and he was sure it was the right decision. He thinks, even after he was killed, that it was the right decision, but the sacrifice and the price had been too much. He didn't want it anymore, he didn't want to know them anymore.
He sat at the riverbank staring at the placid waters and realised how far LA was to this place. And he plucked the grass and threw shreds of it in the water as if to scold it for making him remember his past.
But still, he had a feeling that no matter how far he ran, his past refused to let go. It came nagging at him when he went through the sums with the children or when they ran shrieking around him with delight at his latest story. It made him laugh, his current life - once upon a time, he did sardonically tell himself that perhaps he should retreat to a village and teach. Which was exactly what he had done.
Of course Father found him immediately, coming in one day after the class was empty. They spent a long minute considering each other before his father finally asked Wesley whether he wanted one of his mother's blue berry pies. Mother had wondered when he would visit the manor again, Father had said. In his own proud way, his father was trying to make amends. Wesley was not sure how to answer him. Instead he said, "Maybe Christmas." That's eleven months away. His father respected that and left him pretty much alone.
"Are you going to keep staring at me, or are you going to say something?" Wesley said as he threw an acorn into the river. The image of the moon rippled again.
Angel sighed and awkwardly sat beside him, crossing his legs.
"You're probably wondering how I knew you were alive."
Wesley considered that, and then said: "No. I wasn't." Another acorn into the river.
"Look ... I know I have no excuse to be here-"
"No you don't," Wesley said queitly. There was a million things he wanted to say to the vampire, and he had these three months to sort them all out. His journals were thick with frantic scribblings and pensive sentences - but he had given out trying to figure out what to do with his past. He thought, perhaps, just let it be.
"Wesley-" Angel began.
"Shh," he chided, his voice surprisingly gentle in his ears. "You're going to ruin the moment. Watch."
And a minute later, the water rippled and they could see the silvery backs of fish as they frolicked beneath the waters. "They're not really fish you know," Wesley said matter-of-factly in explanation. "Water sprites," he said, giving Angel a smile. "When I was a boy, I always tried to catch one, but touching them always gave me hives."
Angel watched Wesley quietly. In truth he was absorbing the smile he was just given, and hope rose inside him, that perhaps Wesley would forgive him.
A long moment of quiet, then Wesley said: "We've done good things together in the past." He was trying to convince himself that it was true. Or perhaps Angel.
Angel looked down, didn't answer.
"And we did horrible things to each other," the vampire said a while later.
Wesley pursed his lips and threw a piece of dry, broken bread from the brown bag beside him. The fish hungrily leapt up for a bite.
"Why ruin this moment anyway," Wesley said in resignation. Then he offered the brown bag to him.
"Make sure you throw them into the river. The water sprites will turn into something nasty if they come on shore."
And Angel made sure he did as he was told.
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Author's note
Hope you liked it! Gosh, I'm really sorry how long it took, but I really wanted the story to sparkle and I hope it did. I can't believe I completed the story! =D Thanks everyone, for your kind reviews and your utmost patience. It has been a wonderful writing experience.
Also, if you're wondering what Wesley did in the months before he finally met Angel again and how Angel found out about Wesley, I plan to write a shortie (really, a short story) about it. Keep a look out.
It has been a great ride.
Yours truly,
Wyndhamfan