Author: Misty Flores
Email: [email protected]
Teaser: When Angel Investigations investigates a murder at a local strip joint, one of the crew gets a little more undercover than they bargained for.
--
Chapter Eleven
The sirens that had previously cut through the night were now silent, leaving only the red and white beams that swiveled off the courtyard, from the lights atop the various police cars that were now parked in odd positions surrounding the mansion.
Crowded around the house, officers in blue suits stood, some taking notes, others talking in low voices to the various 'witnesses', all of whom seemed to give conflicting stories.
Away from the limelight, the small crowd of Angel Investigations watched, Cordelia and Angel perched on the hood of the black convertible, the rest sitting around the truck, from further down the hill, as a dazed and beaten Donald was thrust into the back of one car, the door slammed in his face.
Rebecca Hull snorted, jerking the lighted cigarette from her mouth and blowing the smoke in the demon worshiper's direction. "I hope he gets puts away for a long time and becomes some jack ass's bitch."
Fred's cheeks warmed red, but Cordelia, swinging her legs over the car, only shot her a look. "You're not the least worried that he'll snitch on the whole prostitution gig you've got going?"
The business strip club owner gave another disaffected shrug, taking another long drag of her cigarette before she tossed it on the floor, letting it grind on the gravel under her feet. "I've got a shit load of lawyers, and half the cops know what I do anyway. As long as it's in the house and my bank accounts remain Swiss I'm covered."
Angel gave Cordelia a smile and Cordelia rolled her eyes.
"There's still a couple things I don't understand," Fred said, eyes shifting between the couple on the convertible, the man in whose embrace she was keeping warm and the Englishman leaning on the truck next to them. "What's the click?"
Everyone turned to look at Wesley, and the Englishman, a band-aid now pressed securely against the wound on his forehead, stood, balancing against the truck for support.
"Your pondering is as good as ours, Fred. Lucky guess? Rebecca, obviously was not responsible for the deaths."
"Yeah, glad you smarties figured THAT out," she muttered.
Cordelia thwapped her upside the head.
"HEY!"
"Donald's been responsible the whole time," she mused, ignoring Rebecca's glare.
"Based on what we know, Jennifer must have found out what was happening under Rebecca's nose by Jessie. He must have been involved some how."
"And Donald found out, of course," Wesley breathed, eyes glinting.
"And the tape?"
"An excuse, I'm guessing," Cordelia inferred, drawing her legs up to her chest, hugging them to her, shivering slightly from the cold.
Angel noticed the faint shiver, and immediately shrugged off the leather jacket, placing it on her shoulders.
"Donald did invite her to the house once," Rebecca said, lighting another cigarette. "Said it was a birthday present. Paid for her and everything."
"And when they had that, it was either shut up or put up," Gunn said, "before they got Jesse and her," he mimicked the action of a gun shooting with this thumb and forefinger.
"So Jennifer was killed to be silenced," Fred said softly, her tone distracted as she frowned, eyes downcast. "Click."
A small sliver of silence floated over the group, before Wesley pushed away from the car, and Fred yawned.
"I better get her home," Gunn said, sliding off the truck. "She needs to sleep, and Cordy, maybe you should take a look at Wes's head."
"Good idea," she said, nodding, wrapping herself tighter in Angel's leather jacket, breathing in the smell, the sense of closure slipping over her disconcerting.
As he reached forward, gently helped her off the car, their eyes met, and in the brown intensity she saw pure emotion, regard and affection that made her breathless.
She took a breath in, gave him her best 'sisterly' smile and squeezed his forearm, shrugging off his jacket and placing it in her place.
"Thanks," she said with a smile.
Rebecca stood about ten feet away, cocking her head. "Cordelia, right?"
Distracted from the frown that pulled Angel's mouth down into a pout, Cordelia nodded.
Rebecca jerked her head in one smooth motion. "Walk me to my car."
"Isn't that Donald's?"
"I have keys. I co-signed. It's my freaking car."
"Oh-kay."
Gunn started the truck up, waving to the group remaining, letting Fred lean on his shoulder.
"See ya at the hotel," Fred muttered sleepily.
Cordelia waved back, turned back to Angel. "I'll be right back."
Angel said nothing, but his eyes continued to bore into hers, and she gave him a shaky smile, never leaving his gaze as she reached over and pulled Wesley toward her. "Advil," she said, pressing it into his fingers. "Vision Girl never leaves home without them."
He gave her a grin and she smoothed a hand up the Watcher's cheek, before turning and walking with Rebecca to Donald's corvette ten feet away.
"Just had a question," Rebecca began. The expression on her face made Cordelia pause curiously. The business woman looked almost… nervous. "I umm… I never made a secret over the fact that I kinda … had a crush on you…"
"Ah…" Cordelia crossed her arms, stepped back, realized what she was doing, and stepped forward again, plastering on a grim smile. "I … yeah, … the hand repeatedly on my thigh was a pretty good indication…"
"Right…" Rebecca wiped her bangs back, blowing her breath out… "But I also thought… you were pretty cool… so… I just… I… wanna stay friends."
"Rebecca."
"Yeah."
"You know I don't swing that way, right?"
Rebecca grinned. "Never say never, and yes," she said before Cordelia could protest. "I kinda figured about you and Angel."
"Oh. Well… yeah." Cordelia gave a half hearted grin, massaging at her neck. "He's really pissed you fired him."
The brought out a peal of laughter from Rebecca and Cordelia joined in, laughing as she looked back to the vampire who stood waiting by his car.
At its end, Rebecca was still staring at her, and Cordelia straightened the grin out, letting out a sigh. "Well… I don't really … endorse prostitution, Rebecca… and as a detective… I can look the other way but-"
"Doesn't mix right." Rebecca nodded, blushing before vaulting away from the car. "Just a thought."
"It was a good one. If you ever… get away from that… give me a call."
Rebecca paused, hand poised on the handle of her car. "How about I just lie about it?"
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "GoodBYE Rebecca."
Rebecca grinned, pulling open the car door.
"So hey." Rebecca paused, inclining her head. "You ever going to explain what's up with the tattoo?"
Her eyes drifted down to her wrist, wrapping her other hand around it fondly, shrugging. "Some things in life you just can't explain, Cordelia. They just… are." When Cordelia arched a skeptical eyebrow, Rebecca added, "The Power Puff Girls are role models. They symbolize what we as women, as children should aspire to be."
There was only so much bullshit Cordelia could take.
"Got drunk one night watching the Cartoon Network with a tattoo buddy?" Cordelia asked flatly asked.
"Pretty much."
Cordelia nodded, and Rebecca gave her one last grin before she slid into her car and shut the door.
As the car started, Cordelia shook her head, and walked away, towards the vampire and the Watcher who were still waiting.
She really wanted to go home.
--
Cordelia was right, he really was picking up Angel's bad habits a little too well.
Wesley stood in front of the mirror, breathing out as he pulled on the jacket, smoothing down his hair, feeling nervous as hell and unsure why he was doing this at all.
Face the past.
Lorne had said it.
And Wesley had run long enough.
The knock on the door interrupted his self speculation, and almost grateful, he moved to the door, faltering when he found Fred standing nervously in the hallway, throwing him one of her cute little trademark half smiles.
"Hey."
"Fred."
"You look better."
"So do you." She did look better. Dressed in a summer dress, her hair let loose in curls, the small frames tinting her eyes, making them glint, the smile accenting the rosy cheeks, she still made Wesley's breath catch.
Beautiful little Fred.
"And Gunn?"
Fred crossed her arms, smirking just a little as she remarked, "He's downstairs in the car. He would have come up but he wanted to give us some time alone. Something about respecting us and trustin' us."
Wesley felt a slow, small smile creep up on his face.
"He's been big on the trust issue lately," Fred said, nodding. "It's getting a little annoying."
Wesley chuckled.
"Are ya busy?"
The hesitant tone made him pause, and he looked back, shifting his feet. "I… nothing that can't wait. What can I do for you?"
She stepped into the apartment, hands fiddling nervously with each other before she turned, taking in a breath. "I was wondering whether or not to leave well enough alone, 'cause … I know how things can fester and… if you don't talk about it… or you know… write on walls… once in a while these things can build and before you know you're calculatin' pi in the middle of a train station where not even the homeless guy who smells will sit next to ya – so I'm gonna get to the point."
He was silent.
She took a nervous breath, and licked her lips, and finally burst with "Wesley… I know about… your feelins for me."
His heart jolted, squealed and then dropped into the pit of his stomach, and Wesley froze, found the lump that came inexplicably to his throat allowed nothing more than, "Ah."
"Ah… was thinkin'… and it's almost funny how … you know with Angel and Cordy and me and now it's me and you and Gunn and it's me who's Angel and Cordy's who's Gunn and you whose me and while I was thinkin' that I thought maybe if you were as screwed as me… then … maybe you might need help."
On anyone else, the choice of words would have been a very malformed insult. On Fred's face, brown eyes flecked with concern and her body shifting nervously, it was the truest act of friendship.
And that was all.
He took a heavy breath, removing his glasses, reducing her form to a blur, and wiped them slowly.
"I was hoping you wouldn't find out."
"Wesley's it's okay. Ah mean… "
"Fred, it's not appropriate…"
"What and Gunn pawin' me in the lobby is? And Cordelia and Angel's moira issues in the trainin' sessions? That's appropriate? And what about how Cordy dresses some times? Lahk that mini skirt that one time my parents came? My mother almost put out a ruler!"
"I get the point, Fred," He said, a smile coming to his face at Fred's flustered mannerisms.
She blew out a long sigh, pushing her bangs away from her face and stepping forward, the light spray of the body wash floating toward him. "I don't think you do, Wesley. You're stronger that you give yourself credit for. And maybe that's your problem. You don't believe it. So many people have let you down and it hurt you so badly that… you can't do that to any of us. You're scared of it, and that's okay." Her hand reached up to cup his face, and his eyes closed, reaching up to pull her hand away.
"Fred," he began, his voice gruff. "I appreciate your attempts. SO much. But… because of the nature of my feelings… I'm afraid you can't help."
She looked almost hurt by that, but she seemed to understand, because even as her hands tangled together, she stepped back, giving him space.
"Okay. I can respect that. If you get…"
"I know," he said, smiling gently. "And believe me, I think the worst is over."
She grinned. "That's good to know."
A moment of weakness pervaded Wesley, and he found himself muttering, "If… Gunn hadn't asked you first…NO-" he immediately blanched at the surprised look on her face, and he shook his head, laughing nervously, "Please don't answer that."
"Right… 'cause… I can't. I am with Gunn… and I like him. A lot."
Wesley let out a breath, breathing it back in and the smile he gave her was sincere. "And you work for each other."
The hesitant knock at the doorway distracted them both, and Gunn looked almost scared to walk in.
"This ain't about not respectin' or trustin' or anything… hey Wes."
Wesley smiled back, reaching forward to give the other man a long over due hug.
"Right! We should get going," Fred nodded, moving to the doorway.
"We're gonna go to Lorne's," Gunn said, motioning with his head. "Wanna come?"
Wesley was silent, processing the information, mind suddenly working.
"No," he said after a minute. "No thank you."
"We'd like you to come, Wesley."
Wesley gave Fred a smile. "Raincheck for tomorrow?" he suggested. "There's somewhere I have to be."
The pair glanced at each other, then back at him, and finally nodded.
"See you tomorrow, dog." Taking Fred's smaller hand in his, the large man led his prized girl away from the door, both offering Wesley affectionate smiles.
As they left, Wesley wondered if Fred had had her desired affect.
Despite the fact that he was left by himself in the apartment, Wesley, for the first time in a long time, did not feel alone.
--
She swung carefully, every muscle working, shifting, the gleam of the sword matching the twinkle in her eye as she continued the movement, landing in an en guarde position, body straight.
"Good."
She nodded, panting slightly, reaching up to brush her infuriating bangs off her face before turning back to Angel, who now began to mimic her movements, the pair carefully continuing the planned moves.
Silence was precious in these moments, as they continued the simple, but powerful arcs, thrusts, and parries in synchronous motion, Cordelia's breathing even, slow.
Her focus was not just on herself but on her partner, as they continued to move, eyes shifting, mentally keeping the beats to make sure she was constantly in sync with him.
At the end of the fifth set, Angel smiled at her, picking up the sticks and tossing one to her.
"Remember what I told you about this," he said, coming behind her, making sure her stick was in the right position.
But it wasn't the same. His chest brushed against her back, his arms encircled her loosely and her focus was immediately on his warm musky scent, on the brush of the sweater encased arms, on the tingle of her skin when his cheek brushed against hers for the scantest of seconds.
Her eyes closed and she shuddered.
He froze, pulling away, walking to retrieve his own stick as he asked flatly, "Something wrong?"
"Yeah. It's not the same."
He paused, and this time Angel's carefully constructed face of indifference gave way to something much more vulnerable, delicate… intense.
"No, it's not."
"We can't go back, can we?"
He paused, hesitated, and then slowly shook his head no.
Despite the somberness of the nature of the conversation, there was something utterly refreshing about the blatant honesty of it all.
Finally able to breathe easily, she crossed her arms awkwardly, watching him. "So… if we can't… go back…"
"Cordelia I don't know about staying in the same place…. That's not possible."
"Yeah." She closed her eyes, heaving a dark sigh. "Angel," she began heavily. "You know why-"
"I know." His voice was constricted.
"I mean how long do you think we'd actually go before-"
"Not long."
It was an impossible situation, and they both knew it. Cordelia let the stick drop, hanging her head in resignation, "And after this conversation… we can't… ever mention this again until… certain… rules are fixed…"
"And if I find- if I'm able to-"
Cordelia gave him a grin. "Angel I told you I'd be here…" she trailed off, memories of agonies and pain sliding over her body and she briefly wondered whether she would in fact be able to keep that promise.
To hell with that. She would do her damndest.
He came forward, seeing her confliction, and tipping her chin up, he gazed into her eyes, making her very soul shudder for contact.
"I'll find a way."
She didn't dare hope to believe him, but she let a hand gently caress his cheek anyway, gracing him with a beautiful smile that made him smile back.
She loved it when he smiled.
A thought crossed her mind and she found herself laughing out loud.
The smile on Angel's face faltered with confusion. "What?"
"Just thinking. The big deal that everyone made about you being a stripper and you never stripped once."
He froze, eyes narrowing. "Oh yeah." She giggled as he pondered that. "Kinda disappointed now. Rebecca fired me before I could."
"Yeah, well, to be honest, I'm kinda glad." He quirked an eyebrow curiously. "You really think I'd let a bunch of hormone crazed sluts drool all over you?"
"And if it had just been you?"
The words made her pause, and with a devilish grin that seemed a little too close to Angelus for comfort, he squeezed her hands, let her go and walked to the tape recorder, sorting through the CD's.
She waited, breath constricting slightly as a sensous beat pounded into the room and Angel turned, gyrating his hips in an almost exaggerated fashion.
Cordelia clasped her hands to her mouth and laughed, suddenly delirously happy and helpless as the vampire reached for his shirt, peeling it off and tossing it.
It landed on her head. Pulling it off, she saw him reaching for his belt, and for once, Cordelia didn't stop it.
When the belt dropped, she only raised an eyebrow, and trying her damndest to be disaffected, she reached for her tank top, peeling it off, and tossing it on top.
Angel's mouth dropped, his eyes no longer on her face, and she grinned, crossing her arms, perfectly willing to play.
"Go on."
"Uhhh…."
"Here… I'll help." He gasped as her fingers jerked the zipper down in less than a second, finger nails underneath his waistband. "Damn. I'm getting good at that."
"A little too good." The sensuality of the vampire was blatant as he gave her his trademark vampire smile, sliding hands down her shoulders, past the tight, small sports bra, and cupping her butt, bringing her closer.
Brown eyes met hazel, and suddenly the laughter was gone, realization sliding through both vampire and seer.
This was all they would have.
Cordelia's eyes closed as she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his chest before leaning her cheek against it, feeling him hold her tightly around the shoulders as they began to dance, never letting each other go.
And when one hand gently tilted her chin up, Cordelia allowed the kiss, her lips moving against his, eyes kept closed, as they kept moving to the haunting beat.
It was the last dance.
And the beginning of waiting forever.
Odd, she thought, as her fingers entangled themselves in the nape of his neck and her tongue gently brushed against his teeth. It didn't seem that long.
"I still think you didn't fake."
"ANGEL!"
--
He was putting the finishing touches on the brand new display when the door chime made him turn, and Gunn was unceremoniously pushed into the room, followed by Fred.
Irritation swelled through him, and Lorne crossed his arms, clearing his throat. "We're closed. But… maybe you know that."
Gunn was quiet, letting his breath out and then glancing back at his girlfriend.
She gave him a furious nod.
Turning back, he shifted his feet. "I'm sorry."
"For what? Destroying my club? Letting my clientele get massacred?"
"See? I knew he'd be like this-" Gunn flushed, moving back only to be pushed forward again by Fred.
"You knew it wasn't going to be easy, Charles."
"That's right!" Lorne said indignantly. "I want groveling! I want knees, buster! I want hysterics and pleading and that's right! Professional mourners might just do!"
"How about the latest Cher doll?" Charles said.
Lorne's jaw dropped. "With the sequined gown?"
Reaching into the bag he had brought with him, Charles grinned. "Yup. AND! The FULL set of the Wizard of Oz Barbie collection."
"Oooh. Gimme!" Lorne rushed forward, grabbing the back and sifting through the treasures.
He paused, the smile freezing at the hopeful look on Gunn's face making him say coldly, "It's a start."
Fred's smile faltered, but Gunn only stuck his hands in his pockets and said seriously, "I can't repay or buy back what happened here, Lorne. But as a friend, I'm… beggin' you to let me at least… try to make it up to you. Let me be a friend… at least jazz this place up a little."
Lorne was quiet, shame flooding through him as he resisted the urge to see if Dorothy had come with the talking Toto. "Well…"
"Make him sing," Fred whispered.
Gunn shot her a warning glare, and Lorne grinned. "Perfect. I think… something of the Julie Andrews Victor/Victoria era."
Gunn visibly blanched, but trudged obediently to the remodeled stage. "Payback's a bitch," he muttered.
Fred grinned, and blew him an air kiss and when Lorne sat on the floor with his set of dolls, he found himself smiling.
Ah… what the hell. Julie wasn't so bad. Hell… he thought, as the opening bars of music floated through the club, maybe I'll even juggle something.
--
She was incredibly tired of blue.
Faith had gained a new tattoo, a grimace, and longer hair in her time in prison, and it was almost disgusting how the news of a visitor always brought a jolt to her heart.
Angel used to come regularly. For a long time he was the only one.
He stopped coming a while ago… when he reappeared later, he had told her he had had some problems.
It was then that she realized that Angel's feelings for the Queen C stemmed above friendship, as he proceeded to whine to her for over an hour about Cordelia's hostility to him, and even as her own heart was sinking, Faith proceeded to almost knock him over the head.
Apparently the suggestion of the clothes buying had been a big hit.
But the warden had told her it wasn't Angel waiting to speak to her.
And Faith, now older, still burdened with guilt and at times bored silly in the pen, had no idea who it could be.
Turning the corner, she caught sight of the man waiting and Faith stopped, her stomach sinking.
Memories of what she did through him renewed themselves fresh in her mind.
She had tortured him. Endlessly.
She stopped, considered telling the warden to just take her back, not wanting to face him, or the pain seeing him caused, but it was too late, he had already seen her, standing up like the stupid old English gentlemen he was, waiting for her to come forward.
Wesley was wearing slacks, his hair was longer, and as she came forward, she noticed something that the glasses did not hide.
The body was more muscular, more graceful, and his eyes were harder, more grief stricken than before.
For some reason that affected her, made her swallow down the pain as she stopped, looked through the glass, looking directly at him.
He said nothing at first, only gave her a slight nod, a small smile and then lowered himself to the seat.
What the hell was he doing here?
Unsure, she sat down.
He reached for the phone, and heart still in her throat, she found herself searching his face as she did the same, wondering if she had left scars.
The plastic against her ear made her cringe, but the English voice that came through it was soft, without pretension.
"Hello, Faith."
"What are you doing here, Wesley?" she asked flatly.
"I wanted to see how you were?"
She raised a skeptical eyebrow, shifting in her seat. "Wesley in case you forget I tortured you and you kind of hate me."
The sadness that flickered in his eyes was not the appropriate response, not the one she was expecting, anyway. Instead of making him leave, he only sat, completely silent, staring at him with those damned disconcerting eyes of his.
When did he get so intense?
"When I was five my father locked me in my closet," he began, and startled, her hand bearing the phone wavered, the voice coming through clear but … shaking. "I was afraid of the dark, you see, and my father simply could not tolerate a son of his being so wimpy as to be afraid of the dark. I was pushed into the closet and made to stay there for two days, until my mother finally let me out." Faith narrowed her eyes, her mouth pursed. "When I was ten I lost the fencing championship for my age group. My father told me I had lost it for him. I had shamed the family, and for a year I was made to go to school, come home, and study nothing but fencing. I have not touched a fencing sword since."
"Wesley," she interrupted, now completely bewildered, not only at the words that were streaming from his mouth, but also at the no-nonsense tone he was using, "Why the fuck are you giving me a heart to heart?"
He paused.
Her words came out edged in anger, as Faith knew little else, and found, true to her therapist words, she lashed when she felt cornered. "Because you failed? Again? With me? You see yourself in me, Wes? Afraid some of that wacko shit might rub off?"
"No," he responded, never flinching behind her words, and the soft tone again made her pause, stare at him as if she was seeing a stranger. "I was never afraid of you, Faith. I was afraid for you. I was more afraid of my own failure, too absorbed in proving my father wrong, in proving everyone wrong to give a damn about you. And for that… I apologize. As a Watcher, I did indeed fail, when I cared more about myself than you. You needed someone. I was the least fit."
As the words poured from his mouth, she found her vision blurring, and feeling the sobs coming, Faith almost yanked the phone away from her ear, but his eyes, dark and vivid and mesmerizing, kept her pinned.
"I'm here, and I do not deserve to be here, Faith. Once again I come to you out of my own selfish need."
Her throat parched, she found her usual witty response dried up with it, and she shrugged, "Hey… whatever works."
"I would like to… visit you regularly. Perhaps talk. You about the things you never wanted to face, me about mine… perhaps work through them together."
Something flitted into the pit of her stomach, something that felt strangely like hope, and Faith fought it, not wanting to believe herself so fragile to be swayed by anything wimp Wesley could say.
"And why this sudden need to bond?" she said hotly.
"I need someone, Faith. And… perhaps you might need someone as well. Perhaps I might understand when no one else, not even Angel truly does."
Silence was met with resolve, and Faith contemplated a number of responses, telling him to take the truth and shove it, getting up and stalking away for a more dramatic exit, trying to will the hate back…
But the bastard was stronger than she gave him credit for, because her heart trembled and her body reacted, and she had to look away.
Her fingers were now nervously fidgeting in her lap, and he sat all this time, so patiently.
He needed her, huh? That was a new concept.
Gathering her courage, she looked up again.
"So how is the Dark Avenger, anyway?" she asked.
When he stared, she smiled, slow and steady, and studying the response, he suddenly smiled back, and Faith felt her heart begin to beat, louder…
It was the first time in a while she had been aware of her beating heart.
"Fine. He's a stripper. Or was, actually. He got fired."
"FIRED?! STRIPPER?!" Faith let out an astonished chuckle, leaning forward. "This I got to hear."
Wesley grinned, leaning forward. "It's quite an interesting story."
"I'm all ears."
He began to talk, and Faith began to laugh, interrupting him with curious questions, catching up.
And when he laughed, it warmed her.
Studying him, she could think of worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon.
She would have to do this again.
Soon.
FIN