New Epiphany fic!
Mar. 25th, 2002 08:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenOkay folks, ask and ye shall receive:
Alienation
By The Brat Queen
Disclaimer: Not mine. All Joss Whedon's, Mutant Enemy's, 20th Century Fox's and all that sort of thing. 'tis but a non-profit, amateur effort, and y'all would need to get in line to sue me anyway.
Spoilers: Up to Epiphany, after which Joss and I go separate ways.
Rated: PG
Summary: Work gets in the way of Wesley's ability to cope. (Part of the Epiphany series, comes after "Just Friends")
Part One
***
Wesley stared at the door to the basement, longing to throw it open again. Whether to make Angel see reason or to simply yell at him he didn't know. But he wanted to talk, to let the words keep tumbling out of his mouth. It had been refreshing, for all that it had felt as though he'd dropped off of a cliff and hadn't yet hit bottom.
He turned away, intending to retreat into his office. The sight of Cordelia stopped him.
"So I forgot my paycheck?" she said, staying in her position by the front door, somewhat hidden by the staircase. "And I know it's Sunday and all but I figured if I got it and put it into the ATM then the phone company would know I was *trying* to pay my bills even if the check hadn't cleared because it's not *my* fault every bank works like it's run by Amish people and I figured I could just - you know - sneak in and grab it and not bug you guys with the honeymoon-y goodness so, here's me, sneaking in…." she trailed off, the expression on her face clearly indicating that she was dying to know what happened, even if she felt like she couldn't actually ask about it.
"Angel and I had a small disagreement," he told her. He moved over to the counter and tidied up the random pieces of paper on it for lack of anything better to do.
"I know," she said, clearly relieved that he'd admitted it for her. She came in and stood beside him. "In fact, I think our *neighbors* know which is kind of impressive since we don't have any. So - wow. Is it your first?"
Wesley thought of the night Angel had nearly drunk from him. A night he *hadn't* told Cordy or Gunn about. "Yes."
She frowned sympathetically. "Want to talk about it?"
Wesley stared down at their business cards. His eyes traced the outline of the lobster-slash-angel that was their logo. "Not particularly."
"It doesn't have to be about *him*," Cordy said, gesturing in the direction of the basement. "It could be about anything. Or we could go to the movies. Come on - Lord of the Rings is still playing. Although suddenly I'm thinking movies about guys with swords who go on quests is not the best way to make you forget about your boyfriend."
Wesley gave her a slight smile. "Possibly not."
"It'll be okay," she said. "I know it feels all end-of-the-world-y but you'll be fine. Although if you want my advice - "
Wesley didn't but he responded automatically, having learned to tune out many of Cordelia's monologues. "Yes?"
When she didn't respond he turned to look at her. "Yes?"
"Pen - " she gasped, clutching her head. "Paper!"
He leaned over the counter, quickly gabbing at the supplies and writing down the information from her vision. With his other hand he reached out to the phone and dialed Gunn and Angel's pagers, plugging in the code which meant return to the hotel and hoping that in his rush to leave Angel hadn't forgotten to take his beeper with him.
***
The warehouse crackled with energy. Wesley found it difficult to breathe.
"You okay?" Angel asked softly. He'd been tense since he'd been called back, but he hadn't complained. Wesley resigned himself to being without him once the vision was solved and Angel was temporarily free to do as he desired.
"I'll be all right," Wesley replied, not really looking at him. He stared across the dark expanse of space, trying to make out anything. Somewhere in the building, Gunn and Cordelia were doing their own reconnaissance.
"You're breathing a little - "
"I'm *fine*," Wesley snapped, not needing a vampire's eyes to see the flicker of emotion that crossed Angel's face. He sighed and tried to remain professional. "Do you see anything?"
"No." There was a pause, as though Angel debated if he should continue. "Feels like I'm covered in ants though. Somebody's charged this place good."
Wesley nodded. His own skin felt tight and the hairs on his arms stood on end. Magic was one possible cause. "The building may be haunted. Can you sense a presence of any kind?"
"Cordy didn't say anything about ghosts," Angel said.
"It's still possible."
Angel acknowledged this, then shrugged. "Nothing specific. Something strong. That's about it."
This was unsurprising, since vampires were about as capable of detecting ghosts as humans were.
"Wait," Angel said. He held a hand out as though Wesley had been about to step forward. "I see something."
Wesley looked in the same direction but saw only the spots before his eyes. "What?"
"Can't tell. Might be an alter. Come on." With that Angel lead the way. Wesley followed, reflecting on the humor of a vampire clad entirely in black trying to guide him through the darkness.
He also wished that their flashlights worked. Their failure to do so was either a fault of old batteries or further proof of paranormal activity.
As though reading his mind, Angel silently handed over his cigarette lighter. "Here. Take a look."
Wesley popped the lighter open and got the flame to catch on his second try. He knelt down in front of two large tablets covered with what looked like centuries-old wood carvings. He slowly waved his small torch in front of them, trying to make out the runes amongst the jumping shadows.
"P'cskish?" Angel asked.
Wesley shook his head. He ran his fingers over the wood, relying on touch to tell him where the lines began and ended. He could feel a tingling along his fingertips. "It's similar, but I think it's another dialect. Or possibly an older version of it. It's difficult to tell in this light."
"You sure you should be touching that?"
"About as sure as I am that I *shouldn't* be," Wesley replied. He stood up again, flicking the lighter closed to save on fuel. "Which is to say not at all in either direction. It's impossible to tell in this light. For all I know I should be using it as a board in a hearty game of Scrabble."
"Let's take it out of here then," Angel said. "Get it into the light."
"May as well," Wesley agreed. He reached for the tablet closest to him. "It could be a dead end, but let's eliminate the possibility."
"There's a door over there," Angel said, running his hand down Wesley's arm and guiding it in the right direction, even though by now his eyes had readjusted to the dark.
"I see it," Wesley reassured him. He hefted the tablet and tucked it under his arm, carefully working his way around the angular shapes of boxes. As he walked, the air around him felt colder. "When we get outside, let's - "
"Wes, wait," Angel cut in. "I think I -"
Suddenly the world went white.
***
"Should we hit him?"
"Cordy, you do *not* hit someone who just got himself a nasty bump on the head."
"Why not?"
"Why *not*? How 'bout because we're trying to wake the man up, not give him a matching set of bruises?"
"I was just trying - "
"Quiet, I think he's coming out of it."
The last voice was Angel's. Wesley recognized it. He also recognized Angel's hand on his arm, holding him gently. The rest of the world felt prickly and thick. "A-Angel?"
Cordelia dropped into view, and the sight of her worried face was his first realization that he'd opened his eyes. "Jeez, Wes - you scared the crap out of us."
Wesley tried to sit up, unable to keep from smiling at Cordelia's concern. "What happened?"
"Careful," Angel's hand moved to his shoulder, holding him down. "I don't think you're ready to move yet."
"You got a nasty dose of somethin'," Gunn explained. Behind him, Wesley could see the exterior of the warehouse. He wondered when they'd moved outside.
"There was something on the floor," Angel said. He looked faintly guilty. "Lines. Made out of paint and chalk. Didn't see 'em until you were on your way out. Your foot hit one of them - "
"And that whole place lit up like a nuclear Christmas tree," Cordy finished.
"Looked like it started right where you were standing," Angel said. "You kind of jerked, and fell, and hit your head on the way down."
"Which explains why my head feels as though it's been inhabited by a Skilosh," Wesley said. He made himself sit up, going slowly so Angel wouldn't complain about it. "I can't say I remember any of it. How did we get outside?"
"By leaving the big, ol' I'm-really-mysterious-so-maybe-you-shouldn't-touch-me things on the inside," Cordy explained. She rolled her eyes, finishing the gesture with a glare in Angel's direction. "Boys. Do you *always* have to play with things you don't understand?"
Angel ducked his head, avoiding her gaze. "We should take Wes to the hospital."
"Duh," Cordy said. She stood up, holding her hands out to help Wesley to his feet. "Come on."
Angel was beside her at once. "You should go home. This place - it's not safe. Maybe we should - "
"I'll take her," Gunn volunteered. "Think you can get English to the ER and back before sunrise?"
"Um - yeah," Angel said. He looked as though he might say more, but turned his attention to Wesley instead. "Come on. You can lean on me if you want."
Wesley didn't turn the offer down, particularly since he wasn't entirely certain if he was standing or not. Mentally he listed the warning signs of a concussion and found himself putting a checkmark next to every one of them. "Perhaps you should drive as well," he joked, trying to put a good show on for everyone.
"Get him there quick," Gunn said.
"I will," Angel promised.
"Wait," Wesley protested, thinking of the warehouse, "we should - "
"I'll get some guys to watch it," Gunn said.
"Excellent," Wesley replied. "I think that will be…"
He trailed off, slipping once more into unconsciousness.
***
Angel paced in the tiny and far too bright examination room they had placed him in. "Hate these places. They take too long."
Wesley glanced at the clock. They had hours yet until sunrise. "It's the emergency department of a Los Angeles hospital on a…" he paused, trying to remember what day the doctor had said it was. "Saturday?"
"Sunday," Angel corrected.
"Sunday," Wesley repeated, trying to commit it to memory, then finding it funny to think it wouldn't matter once midnight passed - or had midnight passed already? He looked at the clock again. "Sunday night. It's bound to be a bit crowded."
"I don't care," Angel came over to him, his brown eyes worried. "Fuck - you looked like a bolt of lightening went through you. That's not good."
"I wasn't about to suggest it as an ideal activity for a date," Wesley said.
"It's not funny, Wes," Angel reached out as though to touch the bump on his head, then stilled. "Do you - is it okay?"
"Being *alive* makes it throb with pain," Wesley replied. "If anything the cool touch of a room temperature hand should feel heavenly against it."
Angel nodded, running his fingertips lightly over the swollen area, studying it critically. "I've seen guys with bumps like this. It's not good. And this was *magic*, Wes."
"I'm sure it's just a concussion."
"You can barely remember where you are!"
"Which would be one of the signs of a concussion," Wesley pointed out. "Angel, I in no way discount the potential danger of whatever spell it was that we triggered, but right now I don't think it will do us any good to panic and assume the worst. It's a minor medical problem. It will be all right."
Angel looked skeptical. "Can you tell me what day it is?"
Wesley paused, fighting the urge to look at the clock. He took his chances with 1 in 7 odds. "Monday?"
"Still Sunday," Angel said, grimly. "Fuck - I should have *looked*. I should have -"
"We can't change what happened," Wesley said, "*I* was in possession of a light source which I willingly chose not to use. Likewise I daresay I've been on more magical expeditions than you and should have done more of a look-round to make sure the area was secure. It was an accident. These things happen. You can't let yourself take on the responsibility for it. We'll be more careful next time. It's all we can do."
"I'm still not happy about it," Angel said. "Wes - you couldn't even remember your *name* when you got in here."
"Perhaps not," Wesley admitted, not wanting to add that he couldn't remember being checked in either. Instead he covered Angel's hand with his own, pulling it away from his wound and squeezing it gently. "But I can assure you, there are some things, at least, which I *do* remember."
Angel shifted uncertainly, glancing at the door. "Wesley -"
The sound of the doctor coming in interrupted them both. Angel stepped back, standing by the stainless steel sink and watching the proceedings with a steady eye.
"It is a concussion," the doctor said. He took a small flashlight and shone it into Wesley's eyes, making his view an odd combination of the bright light from it and the reflected dots of fluorescent light which decorated the man's balding head. Wesley fought off the urge to vomit. "Pupils are still enlarged. Have you tried to walk?"
"No," Angel answered for him.
"It doesn't *look* like there are any complications," the doctor said, putting his flashlight back into his shirt pocket. He picked up Wesley's file and began writing in it. "You're going to need to keep a watch though. Don't sleep more than a few hours at a time. Do you have someone who can stay with you? Make sure you wake up?"
"I will," Angel said. He gave a half-smirk, including Wesley in the gesture. "I'm not much of a day person."
Wesley smiled back at him.
"Okay," the doctor said. He handed some pamphlets to Angel, who skimmed them quickly. "Keep an eye out for any of these signs. Anything big - he can't walk, talk, whatever - call 911. Same if he can't wake up after 3 or 4 hours of sleep."
"I got it," Angel said, putting the paperwork into his coat pocket. "Can I take him home now?"
The doctor shrugged, already halfway out the door. "Make sure he signs everything on the way out."
"It's rather like being a child again," Wesley said. He moved to stand up. Angel assisted him. "Come on. Let's go back to the hotel."
Angel appeared to think about it, then nodded. "Sure. Lemme get your clothes."
***
It wasn't often that they used the hotel lift. As it groaned underneath his feet, Wesley was reminded why.
"I should have let you carry me," he told Angel. He leaned against the wall, feeling as though he'd rather be lying down.
"Need help walking?" Angel held the elevator doors open for him once they reached the second floor.
"No. I can manage," Wesley said. Attempting to hide the effort it took he made his way down the hall. "But thank you."
"Okay," Angel said. He followed along behind him. "Should you sleep?"
Wesley opened the door to their rooms. The couch in front of the TV called out to him. He curled up on it, pillowing his head against the armrest. "Probably. But I don't feel as though I can."
Angel nodded, taking off his coat and putting it away. "Adrenaline's still going through your system."
"Most likely," Wesley agreed. He reached out for the remote control. "Come join me? I'm sure there's some absolutely horrible program on at this hour that we can both be bored or appalled by."
"Logan's Run is on," Angel pointed out, indicating a TV Guide he'd been looking through the day before.
"Oh yes," Wesley said. "Let's watch a movie about how useless one becomes at 30, particularly while I feel as I currently do."
Angel looked sheepish. "Sorry."
"I'm joking," Wesley moved to make room for Angel on the couch. "Please - watch whatever you like. At the moment I don't believe I can comprehend enough to deserve a full vote in the matter."
"Casablanca?"
Wesley gave him the remote. "Wonderful."
Angel changed the channels, then sat down. Wesley shifted position, watching the light from the TV play over Angel's features. Angel looked up, catching his gaze. "Can I - do you need anything?"
"I'm sorry about our quarrel," Wesley said.
Angel looked uncomfortable. "Don't worry about it."
"Angel - "
"Wes," Angel turned to face him, "you've had one Hell of a night. Don't - don't worry about anything right now, okay? Just get better."
Wesley sighed, resting his head back down. "Fine."
***
"Wes? C'mon, wake up."
The world tilted, then revealed the form of Angel kneeling in front of him, frowning worriedly. "Is it four hours already?"
Angel nodded. "Yep."
Wesley took a few deep breaths. He had to wake up fully in order to prove his symptoms hadn't gotten worse. It took a few moments, but he managed it. "This is becoming easier with practice."
"Should heal up on its own," Angel said.
"Hopefully," Wesley said. He took a few sips of water from a glass Angel had brought him earlier. "Dear Lord - with a headache like this you'd think I was working for the Council again."
Angel smirked.
"Could I bother you for a refill?" Wesley asked, holding out his glass. He readjusted his blanket, which Angel had covered him with sometime after the first or second test of his reactions.
Angel filled the glass in the sink in the kitchenette. "Think we should move you to a bed?"
"Tempting," Wesley said, "but I don't think I could move right now if I were on fire."
"Maybe we shouldn't test that," Angel suggested.
"I appreciate that."
"Get some sleep, Wes."
Wesley yawned. "I defy you to stop me."
***
Morning came. Or, Wesley thought as he looked at his watch, most likely afternoon. Assuming his watch hadn't been harmed in the previous day's blast. Had he even worn it then or did he put it on sometime during the night? Everything was still a blur. His own thoughts felt clear, though. At least clearer than they had been.
He stood up. He was alone in the suite, which made sense given the hour. He assumed everyone was downstairs working on Cordelia's vision and any possible leads as to what had happened to him. He resolved to join them as soon as he was able. Prior to that, however, he desperately needed a shower.
He navigated into the bathroom on autopilot. He stripped off his clothes and idly wondered if it would be worthwhile asking Angel to examine them for clues or if the hours he'd spent in hospital had effectively overridden any useful smells they might have contained. It also occurred to him that taking a shower would effectively rid *himself* of any such clues, but beyond the still tender bump on his head he didn't think he bore any.
The hot water, though soothing to his muscles, was agony on his brain. He changed the temperature to cold and lathered up as best as he was able. Bending down was a hardship. The idea of washing his hair was unthinkable. It would have to be done at another time, perhaps even in a bath. In the meanwhile it was enough to get clean again. He debated shaving, then decided to leave it for a moment when he had steadier hands.
He let a final blast of water rinse his body, then stepped out of the tub. His glasses were fogged, but he found the towel rack easily and wiped himself down, sitting when that made it easier to reach everything. Feeling dry enough to trust the cool air of the hotel against his skin, he wrapped the towel around his waist and entered the bedroom.
The bed itself was inviting but he refused to give in to sleep. There would be time enough for that later. Instead he went to the closet, moving aside Angel's silk shirts and -
"Hey, Wes? You up?" Angel's voice came to him from the other room. "I thought I heard something."
Wesley ran a hand over his forehead, blinking as though it might clear his vision. "Angel, where are my things?"
Angel turned around in a slow circle. "Um - did you leave them in the bathroom?"
"No," Wesley said. "I mean yes, I did. What I wore last night. But what about my clothes?"
"What about them?" Angel asked.
"Where are they?" Wesley pointed to the racks filled with Angel's clothing. "They're not here."
"Well yeah," Angel said. "Wes - that's *my* closet."
Wesley blinked. He looked around. There were no other closets in the room. "What - did you put my things in the bureau?"
"I didn't put them anywhere," Angel said.
"Surely I - "
Angel put his hand on Wesley's shoulder. "Wes - this isn't your bedroom."
"What?"
TBC
Alienation
By The Brat Queen
Disclaimer: Not mine. All Joss Whedon's, Mutant Enemy's, 20th Century Fox's and all that sort of thing. 'tis but a non-profit, amateur effort, and y'all would need to get in line to sue me anyway.
Spoilers: Up to Epiphany, after which Joss and I go separate ways.
Rated: PG
Summary: Work gets in the way of Wesley's ability to cope. (Part of the Epiphany series, comes after "Just Friends")
Part One
***
Wesley stared at the door to the basement, longing to throw it open again. Whether to make Angel see reason or to simply yell at him he didn't know. But he wanted to talk, to let the words keep tumbling out of his mouth. It had been refreshing, for all that it had felt as though he'd dropped off of a cliff and hadn't yet hit bottom.
He turned away, intending to retreat into his office. The sight of Cordelia stopped him.
"So I forgot my paycheck?" she said, staying in her position by the front door, somewhat hidden by the staircase. "And I know it's Sunday and all but I figured if I got it and put it into the ATM then the phone company would know I was *trying* to pay my bills even if the check hadn't cleared because it's not *my* fault every bank works like it's run by Amish people and I figured I could just - you know - sneak in and grab it and not bug you guys with the honeymoon-y goodness so, here's me, sneaking in…." she trailed off, the expression on her face clearly indicating that she was dying to know what happened, even if she felt like she couldn't actually ask about it.
"Angel and I had a small disagreement," he told her. He moved over to the counter and tidied up the random pieces of paper on it for lack of anything better to do.
"I know," she said, clearly relieved that he'd admitted it for her. She came in and stood beside him. "In fact, I think our *neighbors* know which is kind of impressive since we don't have any. So - wow. Is it your first?"
Wesley thought of the night Angel had nearly drunk from him. A night he *hadn't* told Cordy or Gunn about. "Yes."
She frowned sympathetically. "Want to talk about it?"
Wesley stared down at their business cards. His eyes traced the outline of the lobster-slash-angel that was their logo. "Not particularly."
"It doesn't have to be about *him*," Cordy said, gesturing in the direction of the basement. "It could be about anything. Or we could go to the movies. Come on - Lord of the Rings is still playing. Although suddenly I'm thinking movies about guys with swords who go on quests is not the best way to make you forget about your boyfriend."
Wesley gave her a slight smile. "Possibly not."
"It'll be okay," she said. "I know it feels all end-of-the-world-y but you'll be fine. Although if you want my advice - "
Wesley didn't but he responded automatically, having learned to tune out many of Cordelia's monologues. "Yes?"
When she didn't respond he turned to look at her. "Yes?"
"Pen - " she gasped, clutching her head. "Paper!"
He leaned over the counter, quickly gabbing at the supplies and writing down the information from her vision. With his other hand he reached out to the phone and dialed Gunn and Angel's pagers, plugging in the code which meant return to the hotel and hoping that in his rush to leave Angel hadn't forgotten to take his beeper with him.
***
The warehouse crackled with energy. Wesley found it difficult to breathe.
"You okay?" Angel asked softly. He'd been tense since he'd been called back, but he hadn't complained. Wesley resigned himself to being without him once the vision was solved and Angel was temporarily free to do as he desired.
"I'll be all right," Wesley replied, not really looking at him. He stared across the dark expanse of space, trying to make out anything. Somewhere in the building, Gunn and Cordelia were doing their own reconnaissance.
"You're breathing a little - "
"I'm *fine*," Wesley snapped, not needing a vampire's eyes to see the flicker of emotion that crossed Angel's face. He sighed and tried to remain professional. "Do you see anything?"
"No." There was a pause, as though Angel debated if he should continue. "Feels like I'm covered in ants though. Somebody's charged this place good."
Wesley nodded. His own skin felt tight and the hairs on his arms stood on end. Magic was one possible cause. "The building may be haunted. Can you sense a presence of any kind?"
"Cordy didn't say anything about ghosts," Angel said.
"It's still possible."
Angel acknowledged this, then shrugged. "Nothing specific. Something strong. That's about it."
This was unsurprising, since vampires were about as capable of detecting ghosts as humans were.
"Wait," Angel said. He held a hand out as though Wesley had been about to step forward. "I see something."
Wesley looked in the same direction but saw only the spots before his eyes. "What?"
"Can't tell. Might be an alter. Come on." With that Angel lead the way. Wesley followed, reflecting on the humor of a vampire clad entirely in black trying to guide him through the darkness.
He also wished that their flashlights worked. Their failure to do so was either a fault of old batteries or further proof of paranormal activity.
As though reading his mind, Angel silently handed over his cigarette lighter. "Here. Take a look."
Wesley popped the lighter open and got the flame to catch on his second try. He knelt down in front of two large tablets covered with what looked like centuries-old wood carvings. He slowly waved his small torch in front of them, trying to make out the runes amongst the jumping shadows.
"P'cskish?" Angel asked.
Wesley shook his head. He ran his fingers over the wood, relying on touch to tell him where the lines began and ended. He could feel a tingling along his fingertips. "It's similar, but I think it's another dialect. Or possibly an older version of it. It's difficult to tell in this light."
"You sure you should be touching that?"
"About as sure as I am that I *shouldn't* be," Wesley replied. He stood up again, flicking the lighter closed to save on fuel. "Which is to say not at all in either direction. It's impossible to tell in this light. For all I know I should be using it as a board in a hearty game of Scrabble."
"Let's take it out of here then," Angel said. "Get it into the light."
"May as well," Wesley agreed. He reached for the tablet closest to him. "It could be a dead end, but let's eliminate the possibility."
"There's a door over there," Angel said, running his hand down Wesley's arm and guiding it in the right direction, even though by now his eyes had readjusted to the dark.
"I see it," Wesley reassured him. He hefted the tablet and tucked it under his arm, carefully working his way around the angular shapes of boxes. As he walked, the air around him felt colder. "When we get outside, let's - "
"Wes, wait," Angel cut in. "I think I -"
Suddenly the world went white.
***
"Should we hit him?"
"Cordy, you do *not* hit someone who just got himself a nasty bump on the head."
"Why not?"
"Why *not*? How 'bout because we're trying to wake the man up, not give him a matching set of bruises?"
"I was just trying - "
"Quiet, I think he's coming out of it."
The last voice was Angel's. Wesley recognized it. He also recognized Angel's hand on his arm, holding him gently. The rest of the world felt prickly and thick. "A-Angel?"
Cordelia dropped into view, and the sight of her worried face was his first realization that he'd opened his eyes. "Jeez, Wes - you scared the crap out of us."
Wesley tried to sit up, unable to keep from smiling at Cordelia's concern. "What happened?"
"Careful," Angel's hand moved to his shoulder, holding him down. "I don't think you're ready to move yet."
"You got a nasty dose of somethin'," Gunn explained. Behind him, Wesley could see the exterior of the warehouse. He wondered when they'd moved outside.
"There was something on the floor," Angel said. He looked faintly guilty. "Lines. Made out of paint and chalk. Didn't see 'em until you were on your way out. Your foot hit one of them - "
"And that whole place lit up like a nuclear Christmas tree," Cordy finished.
"Looked like it started right where you were standing," Angel said. "You kind of jerked, and fell, and hit your head on the way down."
"Which explains why my head feels as though it's been inhabited by a Skilosh," Wesley said. He made himself sit up, going slowly so Angel wouldn't complain about it. "I can't say I remember any of it. How did we get outside?"
"By leaving the big, ol' I'm-really-mysterious-so-maybe-you-shouldn't-touch-me things on the inside," Cordy explained. She rolled her eyes, finishing the gesture with a glare in Angel's direction. "Boys. Do you *always* have to play with things you don't understand?"
Angel ducked his head, avoiding her gaze. "We should take Wes to the hospital."
"Duh," Cordy said. She stood up, holding her hands out to help Wesley to his feet. "Come on."
Angel was beside her at once. "You should go home. This place - it's not safe. Maybe we should - "
"I'll take her," Gunn volunteered. "Think you can get English to the ER and back before sunrise?"
"Um - yeah," Angel said. He looked as though he might say more, but turned his attention to Wesley instead. "Come on. You can lean on me if you want."
Wesley didn't turn the offer down, particularly since he wasn't entirely certain if he was standing or not. Mentally he listed the warning signs of a concussion and found himself putting a checkmark next to every one of them. "Perhaps you should drive as well," he joked, trying to put a good show on for everyone.
"Get him there quick," Gunn said.
"I will," Angel promised.
"Wait," Wesley protested, thinking of the warehouse, "we should - "
"I'll get some guys to watch it," Gunn said.
"Excellent," Wesley replied. "I think that will be…"
He trailed off, slipping once more into unconsciousness.
***
Angel paced in the tiny and far too bright examination room they had placed him in. "Hate these places. They take too long."
Wesley glanced at the clock. They had hours yet until sunrise. "It's the emergency department of a Los Angeles hospital on a…" he paused, trying to remember what day the doctor had said it was. "Saturday?"
"Sunday," Angel corrected.
"Sunday," Wesley repeated, trying to commit it to memory, then finding it funny to think it wouldn't matter once midnight passed - or had midnight passed already? He looked at the clock again. "Sunday night. It's bound to be a bit crowded."
"I don't care," Angel came over to him, his brown eyes worried. "Fuck - you looked like a bolt of lightening went through you. That's not good."
"I wasn't about to suggest it as an ideal activity for a date," Wesley said.
"It's not funny, Wes," Angel reached out as though to touch the bump on his head, then stilled. "Do you - is it okay?"
"Being *alive* makes it throb with pain," Wesley replied. "If anything the cool touch of a room temperature hand should feel heavenly against it."
Angel nodded, running his fingertips lightly over the swollen area, studying it critically. "I've seen guys with bumps like this. It's not good. And this was *magic*, Wes."
"I'm sure it's just a concussion."
"You can barely remember where you are!"
"Which would be one of the signs of a concussion," Wesley pointed out. "Angel, I in no way discount the potential danger of whatever spell it was that we triggered, but right now I don't think it will do us any good to panic and assume the worst. It's a minor medical problem. It will be all right."
Angel looked skeptical. "Can you tell me what day it is?"
Wesley paused, fighting the urge to look at the clock. He took his chances with 1 in 7 odds. "Monday?"
"Still Sunday," Angel said, grimly. "Fuck - I should have *looked*. I should have -"
"We can't change what happened," Wesley said, "*I* was in possession of a light source which I willingly chose not to use. Likewise I daresay I've been on more magical expeditions than you and should have done more of a look-round to make sure the area was secure. It was an accident. These things happen. You can't let yourself take on the responsibility for it. We'll be more careful next time. It's all we can do."
"I'm still not happy about it," Angel said. "Wes - you couldn't even remember your *name* when you got in here."
"Perhaps not," Wesley admitted, not wanting to add that he couldn't remember being checked in either. Instead he covered Angel's hand with his own, pulling it away from his wound and squeezing it gently. "But I can assure you, there are some things, at least, which I *do* remember."
Angel shifted uncertainly, glancing at the door. "Wesley -"
The sound of the doctor coming in interrupted them both. Angel stepped back, standing by the stainless steel sink and watching the proceedings with a steady eye.
"It is a concussion," the doctor said. He took a small flashlight and shone it into Wesley's eyes, making his view an odd combination of the bright light from it and the reflected dots of fluorescent light which decorated the man's balding head. Wesley fought off the urge to vomit. "Pupils are still enlarged. Have you tried to walk?"
"No," Angel answered for him.
"It doesn't *look* like there are any complications," the doctor said, putting his flashlight back into his shirt pocket. He picked up Wesley's file and began writing in it. "You're going to need to keep a watch though. Don't sleep more than a few hours at a time. Do you have someone who can stay with you? Make sure you wake up?"
"I will," Angel said. He gave a half-smirk, including Wesley in the gesture. "I'm not much of a day person."
Wesley smiled back at him.
"Okay," the doctor said. He handed some pamphlets to Angel, who skimmed them quickly. "Keep an eye out for any of these signs. Anything big - he can't walk, talk, whatever - call 911. Same if he can't wake up after 3 or 4 hours of sleep."
"I got it," Angel said, putting the paperwork into his coat pocket. "Can I take him home now?"
The doctor shrugged, already halfway out the door. "Make sure he signs everything on the way out."
"It's rather like being a child again," Wesley said. He moved to stand up. Angel assisted him. "Come on. Let's go back to the hotel."
Angel appeared to think about it, then nodded. "Sure. Lemme get your clothes."
***
It wasn't often that they used the hotel lift. As it groaned underneath his feet, Wesley was reminded why.
"I should have let you carry me," he told Angel. He leaned against the wall, feeling as though he'd rather be lying down.
"Need help walking?" Angel held the elevator doors open for him once they reached the second floor.
"No. I can manage," Wesley said. Attempting to hide the effort it took he made his way down the hall. "But thank you."
"Okay," Angel said. He followed along behind him. "Should you sleep?"
Wesley opened the door to their rooms. The couch in front of the TV called out to him. He curled up on it, pillowing his head against the armrest. "Probably. But I don't feel as though I can."
Angel nodded, taking off his coat and putting it away. "Adrenaline's still going through your system."
"Most likely," Wesley agreed. He reached out for the remote control. "Come join me? I'm sure there's some absolutely horrible program on at this hour that we can both be bored or appalled by."
"Logan's Run is on," Angel pointed out, indicating a TV Guide he'd been looking through the day before.
"Oh yes," Wesley said. "Let's watch a movie about how useless one becomes at 30, particularly while I feel as I currently do."
Angel looked sheepish. "Sorry."
"I'm joking," Wesley moved to make room for Angel on the couch. "Please - watch whatever you like. At the moment I don't believe I can comprehend enough to deserve a full vote in the matter."
"Casablanca?"
Wesley gave him the remote. "Wonderful."
Angel changed the channels, then sat down. Wesley shifted position, watching the light from the TV play over Angel's features. Angel looked up, catching his gaze. "Can I - do you need anything?"
"I'm sorry about our quarrel," Wesley said.
Angel looked uncomfortable. "Don't worry about it."
"Angel - "
"Wes," Angel turned to face him, "you've had one Hell of a night. Don't - don't worry about anything right now, okay? Just get better."
Wesley sighed, resting his head back down. "Fine."
***
"Wes? C'mon, wake up."
The world tilted, then revealed the form of Angel kneeling in front of him, frowning worriedly. "Is it four hours already?"
Angel nodded. "Yep."
Wesley took a few deep breaths. He had to wake up fully in order to prove his symptoms hadn't gotten worse. It took a few moments, but he managed it. "This is becoming easier with practice."
"Should heal up on its own," Angel said.
"Hopefully," Wesley said. He took a few sips of water from a glass Angel had brought him earlier. "Dear Lord - with a headache like this you'd think I was working for the Council again."
Angel smirked.
"Could I bother you for a refill?" Wesley asked, holding out his glass. He readjusted his blanket, which Angel had covered him with sometime after the first or second test of his reactions.
Angel filled the glass in the sink in the kitchenette. "Think we should move you to a bed?"
"Tempting," Wesley said, "but I don't think I could move right now if I were on fire."
"Maybe we shouldn't test that," Angel suggested.
"I appreciate that."
"Get some sleep, Wes."
Wesley yawned. "I defy you to stop me."
***
Morning came. Or, Wesley thought as he looked at his watch, most likely afternoon. Assuming his watch hadn't been harmed in the previous day's blast. Had he even worn it then or did he put it on sometime during the night? Everything was still a blur. His own thoughts felt clear, though. At least clearer than they had been.
He stood up. He was alone in the suite, which made sense given the hour. He assumed everyone was downstairs working on Cordelia's vision and any possible leads as to what had happened to him. He resolved to join them as soon as he was able. Prior to that, however, he desperately needed a shower.
He navigated into the bathroom on autopilot. He stripped off his clothes and idly wondered if it would be worthwhile asking Angel to examine them for clues or if the hours he'd spent in hospital had effectively overridden any useful smells they might have contained. It also occurred to him that taking a shower would effectively rid *himself* of any such clues, but beyond the still tender bump on his head he didn't think he bore any.
The hot water, though soothing to his muscles, was agony on his brain. He changed the temperature to cold and lathered up as best as he was able. Bending down was a hardship. The idea of washing his hair was unthinkable. It would have to be done at another time, perhaps even in a bath. In the meanwhile it was enough to get clean again. He debated shaving, then decided to leave it for a moment when he had steadier hands.
He let a final blast of water rinse his body, then stepped out of the tub. His glasses were fogged, but he found the towel rack easily and wiped himself down, sitting when that made it easier to reach everything. Feeling dry enough to trust the cool air of the hotel against his skin, he wrapped the towel around his waist and entered the bedroom.
The bed itself was inviting but he refused to give in to sleep. There would be time enough for that later. Instead he went to the closet, moving aside Angel's silk shirts and -
"Hey, Wes? You up?" Angel's voice came to him from the other room. "I thought I heard something."
Wesley ran a hand over his forehead, blinking as though it might clear his vision. "Angel, where are my things?"
Angel turned around in a slow circle. "Um - did you leave them in the bathroom?"
"No," Wesley said. "I mean yes, I did. What I wore last night. But what about my clothes?"
"What about them?" Angel asked.
"Where are they?" Wesley pointed to the racks filled with Angel's clothing. "They're not here."
"Well yeah," Angel said. "Wes - that's *my* closet."
Wesley blinked. He looked around. There were no other closets in the room. "What - did you put my things in the bureau?"
"I didn't put them anywhere," Angel said.
"Surely I - "
Angel put his hand on Wesley's shoulder. "Wes - this isn't your bedroom."
"What?"
TBC
