New Epiphany fic!
Jul. 23rd, 2002 11:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenHeads up gang! There's a new Epiphany fic in town!
No Answers
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: Wesley finds the role of leadership hard. (Part of the Epiphany series, takes place after "Lust For A Reason")
Thanks to: Steph for suggestions and Wolfling for the beta read.
***
HYPOTHESIS
THEN
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce sat amongst the books of the office of the Sunnydale High School Library - *his* office, in spite of what Rupert Giles said - and attempted to decipher the document in front of him.
For starters he'd assumed, based upon the context and origin of the text, that a Vigenère square and a standard frequency analysis would have more than sufficed. Finding himself thwarted, he moved on to apply the theories of Kerckhoffs, Turing and even Kober.
However it seemed that the greatest military ciphers and even Linear B had nothing on a young girl's schedule. Particularly as it was written down by the girl in question.
"One to two, famine ravished dairy products?" Wesley squinted at the pink piece of paper that Buffy had used when he had instructed her, as her Watcher, to inform him of where she was at any given moment.
Well - instructed her, and then been followed up by Rupert's heavy sigh and the request to "Oh just do it and perhaps he'll delight us with the gift of silence for the next five seconds."
Wesley had elected to take the mature route and not respond to Rupert's comments in front of the still-impressionable high schoolers.
He had, however, 'accidentally' spilled an entire bottle of correction fluid into Rupert's teacup and passed it off with a smile and a claim of "Whoops - butterfingers."
Wesley studied the paper again. "Two to three, joie de - history. That's *got* to be history." He squinted at it again. "Or maybe it's horticulture?"
There was a sound at his door. Wesley leapt out of his chair, then tried to act as though he hadn't been startled. "Yes, excellent, just finishing a round of - er - yoga and…"
Wesley became quiet. He stared at the doorway.
The vampire in it stared back at him.
"Buffy?" it said. Which wasn't a surprise. The few times Wesley had crossed paths with this creature it had been exceedingly single-minded.
Still, Wesley found it hard to answer. His mouth was dry. And the dark clothing of the vampire only helped it to blend in to the natural shadows of the library - shadows that never went away no matter how many lights Wesley tried to turn on.
He supposed it was hard to light a Hellmouth.
Thinking of the demons below, and of the monster in front of him, Wesley swallowed and tried to answer. "Er - no."
There was no movement. For all appearances the vampire could be a statue. Wesley found himself thinking of some of the choicer wax figures inside of Madame Tussaud's. Then he thought of the section on the guillotine, and the reproductions of severed heads, and his mind couldn't help but instantly and helpfully inform him of how many times, on record, *this* vampire had severed heads and -
"Where?"
His mind lost in the comparative safety of London, Wesley needed a moment to focus. "Pardon?"
"Where," the vampire repeated, "is Buffy?"
Wesley wanted to laugh. He, a Watcher, was being asked by Angel, a vampire, where Buffy, the Slayer, was.
There really wasn't anything in the guidebooks that *prepared* one for a moment like this.
Or, rather, there *were* but absolutely none of them involved giving the answer.
His eye fell upon the cross that he'd left on his desk.
The creature must have noticed. He shook his head, as though scoffing. "Never mind. I'll find her myself."
The doorway darkened - or at least there was a void where the darkness of the vampire had been - and Angel stepped away.
Without thinking, Wesley called out "Wait."
There was a pause, then Angel reappeared in the doorway.
"I - I don't know," Wesley confessed. "She doesn't tell me anything. I - I have her schedule, if it's of any help."
He offered the pink slip of paper. He held it by the edge, which made it bend towards the ground, but allowed the vampire to enter the room and take the note from him without making physical contact.
Wesley couldn't imagine what a vampire's touch felt like.
Angel studied the words. "Okay. Guess she's home."
"One of those words is *home*?" Wesley asked, his shock momentarily getting the better of him.
"Yeah," Angel said. He put the paper down and pointed. "See?"
Wesley squinted at a word which to all appearances looked like "kirb". "Oh. Right. Of course."
Was it his imagination, or was the vampire actually smiling at him? It was impossible to tell, in the midst of the creature's otherwise stone-faced expression. "You'll get the hang of it. Don't worry."
Wesley sat back down amidst the chaos of papers, pens and books that was his desk. "Yes… I - of course."
"Don't worry about it," the vampire repeated. With that he turned and walked away. "Night, Wesley."
"Good night, Angel," Wesley replied. The words came to his mouth automatically.
Just as automatically, he reached for his journal. It was an encounter with a vampire. It involved the Slayer. He needed to record it.
When his hand touched his pen, he hesitated. He sat back, and reviewed the conversation in his mind.
It was brief, but offered him one inescapable conclusion.
Specifically, it was one of the kindest and most civilized conversations he'd had since arriving in America.
He looked at his journal, looked in the direction that the vampire had left in, and put his pen down.
There were some things the Council didn't need to know.
***
THEORY
NOW
"Ow!"
"Hold *still*."
"*Ow*!"
Wesley met Angel's eyes. "You *are* aware that I heard you the first time?"
"I'm thinking no," Angel replied. "Because *ow*."
Wesley tutted. Angel was practically whining like a three year old. "It wouldn't hurt nearly as much if you stopped squirming."
"I don't wanna, and it hurts, and *ow*."
Make that a two year old. In need of a lie-down. And perhaps a nappy change.
"Well," Wesley said philosophically as he shifted position to get a better angle, "perhaps if one wasn't quite so Hell-bent upon diving through windows we wouldn't be in this predicament."
"One was *trying* to get the bad guys," Angel said. He grumbled and turned sideways at Wesley's urging. "One was *trying* to do his job."
"One was *ignoring* the handy doorway," Wesley pointed out. He wiped his razor off on a clean cloth and exchanged it for a pair of tweezers. Retrieving glass splinters from Angel's body was one part surgery with two parts mathematics. If a 248 year old vampire healed at a rate of 3x and his entire chest, face, hands and forearms had taken the blow from a plate glass window, thus filling him with over one hundred glass shards, and if 23% of those shards were partially embedded in the skin while 48% of the shards were actually *inside* of the skin which had quickly healed over it and the remaining 29% were God alone knew where, how long would it take for one nearly 31 year old ex-Watcher to cut the vampire's skin and retrieve the glass before said ex-Watcher lost his patience entirely and began to use Holy Water as an antiseptic? "I mean honestly, it was *right there*."
"I was in the moment!" Angel defended himself. He jerked as Wesley pulled out a splinter. "Ow!"
"Hold *still*," Wesley repeated. He dropped the glass into an ashtray and moved on to the next spot. "And I don't care if you were 'in the moment' or not. You could be in the *doorway*. I daresay it would make a lovely change of pace."
"I got the job done, didn't I?" Angel asked. "Bad guys caught, client happy - "
"Angel hurt, Wesley annoyed," Wesley interrupted, mimicking Angel's nonchalant cadence. "Angel stupid, Wesley seeks new boyfriend -"
Angel didn't even pretend to believe in it. "You wouldn't."
"I'd bloody well *have* to if your head had been chopped off," Wesley said. He retrieved another shard, not caring if it made Angel bite off a sound of pain. "Honestly, Angel, don't you ever *think*?"
Angel rolled his eyes. "I've been through *plenty* of windows - "
"Oh *goody*. The evidence for your supposed intelligence just mounts and mounts, doesn't it?"
"- and they don't cut my head off," Angel finished. "They don't find some way of putting wood in my heart and they don't set me on fire either. So I'm having a hard time seeing why - "
Wesley silently yanked out another splinter.
"Ow!"
"I rest my case," Wesley said. He put the tweezers down and picked up the razor again. He studied Angel's arm under the light of his bedside lamp. He had to look carefully to see the tiny white marks that indicated recently healed skin. With luck they could finish the first aid before Angel's skin healed itself entirely and made it impossible to track the glass down. Wesley didn't cherish the thought of the jagged material tearing its way out of Angel's body as he moved. Fortunately only Angel's left arm remained.
"You don't have to do it so *hard*," Angel muttered.
"Aww," Wesley cooed. "Am I hurting the big, bad Scourge of Europe with my tweezers? Does he want a teddy bear to hold?"
"You're having *way* too much fun with this," Angel said.
"Perhaps," Wesley agreed. "Now be good and I'll give you a lolly when we're through."
Angel thought about it. "Define 'good'."
"Not complaining as though I've spiked your blood with melted gummi bears," Wesley said.
Angel made a face at the memory of Gunn's practical joke from the week before. "Maybe."
"I'll settle for *still*," Wesley said. He repositioned Angel's arm and began working again. "The mind just *boggles* at how a creature who made his name feared throughout an entire *continent* can't bear to withstand a tiny amount of medical attention."
"I don't *have* to," Angel said. "I'm dead. Cuts down on the doctor visits."
"You don't say," Wesley remarked dryly. "I'd wondered why you didn't sign up for the office insurance plan."
"It didn't cover dental," Angel deadpanned back.
"It covers enough," Wesley said. There was a moment of silence between them, and he knew they were both thinking about Cordelia.
"Don't worry about it," Angel said. He tried to meet Wesley's eyes. "It'll be okay."
"I'm sure it will," Wesley said, with a bravado he didn't really feel. He'd cracked every book that he owned, searched every website he could find and had even bugged every University friend he'd sworn never to speak to again. He'd still come up with no solutions. Even the Host had been out of his depths. Cordelia's visions did not relate to her own destiny, and therefore no amount of singing would reveal the cause of them. Had the *focus* of the vision come in for a song or two there might have been some help. But as it was, they were as clueless as ever. "It's bound to be all right in the end, yes?"
"It's gotta," Angel said. He stroked Wesley's back with his healed right hand. "Cordy's tough and - "
"She shouldn't *have* to be," Wesley replied. He felt himself tense with sudden anger. "It's absolutely absurd for her to suffer this long for no discernible cause. What the *Hell* are the Powers thinking?"
Angel, who'd heard the rant before and joined in on it many times himself, nodded sympathetically. "I know."
"It's been over a *month*," Wesley said. He felt the hint of failure just over his shoulder, waiting to come crashing down upon him. Part of him felt the tsunami *had* hit, and he was merely in denial of it. Surely this was a problem that should have only taken weeks to solve, or perhaps even days? And surely a *better* man would have noticed Cordelia's pain right from the beginning, and immediately known who to contact in order to -
"Hey," Angel said, interrupting his train of thought. "Cut it out."
Wesley looked up at him. "What?"
"Whatever you're thinking," Angel said. "Cut it out. I don't like it."
Wesley tried to look nonchalant. "I'm only worried about Cordelia."
Unfortunately, Angel knew him too well. "And you're blaming yourself. How many times do I have to tell you there's only room for one brooding guy in this relationship?" At Wesley's tiny smile, Angel added. "It's me, by the way. I've got the wardrobe and everything."
"I know, I know," Wesley turned Angel's arm over and removed another splinter. "Still - burdens of leadership I suppose."
"I get that," Angel said. He leaned in and kissed Wesley on the cheek.
"I suppose you would," Wesley agreed. He watched as Angel's skin healed over, then moved his hand to steady Angel's arm in the next position. "Still - ow!"
"What?" Angel took Wesley's hand in both of his and looked at it.
Wesley grimaced sheepishly at the pulse of pain that throbbed in his left index finger. "I found that one piece that kept eluding me."
"Didn't I tell you to wear gloves?" Angel scolded. He drew Wesley's hand towards the light. "Gimme the tweezers."
"They hampered my movement," Wesley protested. He gave Angel another pair of tweezers from their first aid kit and then shifted position to make it easier for Angel to see what he was doing.
"Yeah, well, now you've got glass in you," Angel said. He turned Wesley's hand over and studied his target. "Gee, Wes, don't you *think*? Didn't you see the handy gloves *right there*? What does this say about your so-called - "
"Yes, yes," Wesley sighed. "Turnabout is fair play. Now would you just get it out of me?"
Angel smiled and grasped the shard with the stainless steel. With a steady motion he pulled it out and dropped it into the pile that had already accumulated in the ashtray. "There you go, good as new."
Wesley watched a drop of blood well up on his finger. "Hardly 'good as'. I'll need a bandage."
"Aww," Angel said, grinning mischievously, "is the ex-Watcher scared of a little blood? Does he need a teddy bear?"
"He needs his lover to *shut up* and hand him a bandage," Wesley retorted. "And to stop being so smug."
"I dunno," Angel said. "I think you're cute when you're smug."
"You've convinced yourself that you're clever," Wesley said. "I think that's charming."
"I've got my good points," Angel agreed. He brought Wesley's hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "Don't worry. You'll be fine."
"Our sheets, on the other hand, will not," Wesley said. "Not unless you find bloodstains to be a fashion statement, and perhaps as a vampire you do, but as a *mortal* -"
"Nag, nag, nag," Angel complained, good-naturedly. He pulled back and let his tongue lap at Wesley's finger. The blood vanished into his mouth, and he swallowed.
The movement had been so easy that neither one of them realized what had happened until half a heartbeat later.
Angel pulled back. "Wesley, I - "
"Hush," Wesley said. They locked eyes. Wesley could see the glimmer of yellow hiding in Angel's. Without thinking about it, he drew his finger across Angel's mouth. "Hush."
Angel's lips parted. He chased the still bleeding finger. "Tell me to stop."
Wesley remembered the night they'd shared at the club not too long ago. "Would it matter?"
Angel's eyes were definitely golden, and the teeth behind the lips began to grow sharp. "Probably not."
Wesley slid his finger into Angel's mouth, and watched in fascination as his lover began to suck.
***
LAW
"I'm *fine*," Cordelia protested. "Dennis is just a big ol' worrywart and - "
"And your neighbors are clearly overreacting to the sight of you plunging headfirst down a staircase," Wesley said. They'd gotten the calls about a half hour ago. A finger in Angel's mouth had turned into a hand tangled in Angel's hair had turned into a mad wrestle to remove each other's clothing, only to be interrupted by Wesley's cellphone, Angel's pager *and* the office phone ringing out an undeniable chorus. They'd quickly assured everyone on the other line they'd be right over, dressed, and beaten their usual travel time by ten minutes, easily.
"I slipped!" Cordy said. She held out a foot which was slightly bruised around the ankle. "These are new shoes! The bottoms are all smooth! Anyway, *you* try wearing Edmundo Castillos on freshly waxed floors!"
"Gave it up for Lent," Angel muttered.
Cordelia's eyes flickered over at him, then away. She tried to appeal to Wesley. "Look - really. I'm okay. Just some bumps and oh-so-attractive bruises. I'll look like I'm modeling the latest in S&M wear for a few days and then it'll be back to normal."
Normal. Which meant Cordelia in God alone knew what kind of pain while none of them had any way to stop it.
"Unacceptable," Wesley decided. "Cordy, pack your things. You can't be by yourself while this is going on. We'll make up a room for you at the hotel."
Cordy looked as though she was being sentenced to detention. "But why? I'm not alone! I've got Dennis!"
"And he's a fine companion," Wesley said, mostly because he knew the ghost could hear him. "But I would feel better if you had the kind of attention that corporeal friends can provide." Trying to put a good spin on it, he added "We could make it like a slumber party."
"But I don't - I don't *want* to," Cordy said. She pressed her hands to her eyes. "Please, Wes? I'm fine right where I am."
Wesley gave Angel a look. Angel nodded in return. It looked like they were going to have to good cop/bad cop this.
Wesley wasn't unaware of the irony that he'd inadvertently placed himself in the role of "bad cop".
Angel squatted down to try to get Cordelia to look at him. He reached out to put a hand on her arm. "Look, Cordy - "
Cordy jerked, and then screamed. Her body fell back onto the couch. Angel immediately tried to catch her and pull her into his arms but she only spasmed harder.
Wesley came forward. His skin tingled with the sense of Dennis's nearby presence. "Cordy? Cordelia, can you hear me?"
"No," she gasped. Her body convulsed into a fetal position and tears streamed down her face. Her arms flailed out, striking at whatever they came in contact with. Angel took the brunt of the blows. "*No!*"
"Cordy," Welsey repeated. He knew from years of practice that sometimes his voice was the only thing that could get through to her. "Can you hear me? What do you see?"
"No," she said again. She twisted and turned, adding kicks to her inadvertent arsenal. "*No!*"
Angel ducked the blows. He grabbed her wrists to hold them still and tried to press her back onto the couch. "Cordy, it'll be okay. Wes and I are right here. It'll be okay, promise."
"No," Cordy moaned. She seemed oblivious to the world around her. Her body was racked with pain, which pulled her away from Angel's touch which….
With a sickening weight in his stomach, Wesley's observations underwent a sudden, terrifying paradigm shift.
"Angel, step away from her," Wesley said.
Angel looked at him in confusion as he tried to keep Cordy still. "What?"
"Step away from her," Wesley repeated. He watched as the vision controlled Cordy's body, and saw the undeniable patterns that it gave him.
Still uncertain, Angel let go of Cordelia and moved back. "Wes, what the -"
"It's her vision," Wesley said. He felt his hands grow cold as he saw Cordy's torment almost immediately subside when Angel let go of her. Tears continued to pour down her face, but she didn't even so much as shiver when Wesley stroked her leg in comfort.
"Yeah," Angel said. He stepped closer. Wesley saw Cordy twitch. "I don't get it. What's going on?"
"I'm afraid we've found the cause of our problems," Wesley said. He squeezed Cordelia's leg, trying to silently communicate to her that somehow he would make it all right. Part of him had already begun to dissect and analyze the situation - when had the visions started? How had she reacted to certain stimuli?
Why did he have to be so bloody awful at *watching* things?
"Great," Angel said, totally unaware of Wesley's internal diatribe. "What is it?"
Wesley wished that he could somehow find another response. However nothing suggested itself.
"My love," he said, looking up to see Angel's face. "It's you."
No Answers
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: Wesley finds the role of leadership hard. (Part of the Epiphany series, takes place after "Lust For A Reason")
Thanks to: Steph for suggestions and Wolfling for the beta read.
***
HYPOTHESIS
THEN
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce sat amongst the books of the office of the Sunnydale High School Library - *his* office, in spite of what Rupert Giles said - and attempted to decipher the document in front of him.
For starters he'd assumed, based upon the context and origin of the text, that a Vigenère square and a standard frequency analysis would have more than sufficed. Finding himself thwarted, he moved on to apply the theories of Kerckhoffs, Turing and even Kober.
However it seemed that the greatest military ciphers and even Linear B had nothing on a young girl's schedule. Particularly as it was written down by the girl in question.
"One to two, famine ravished dairy products?" Wesley squinted at the pink piece of paper that Buffy had used when he had instructed her, as her Watcher, to inform him of where she was at any given moment.
Well - instructed her, and then been followed up by Rupert's heavy sigh and the request to "Oh just do it and perhaps he'll delight us with the gift of silence for the next five seconds."
Wesley had elected to take the mature route and not respond to Rupert's comments in front of the still-impressionable high schoolers.
He had, however, 'accidentally' spilled an entire bottle of correction fluid into Rupert's teacup and passed it off with a smile and a claim of "Whoops - butterfingers."
Wesley studied the paper again. "Two to three, joie de - history. That's *got* to be history." He squinted at it again. "Or maybe it's horticulture?"
There was a sound at his door. Wesley leapt out of his chair, then tried to act as though he hadn't been startled. "Yes, excellent, just finishing a round of - er - yoga and…"
Wesley became quiet. He stared at the doorway.
The vampire in it stared back at him.
"Buffy?" it said. Which wasn't a surprise. The few times Wesley had crossed paths with this creature it had been exceedingly single-minded.
Still, Wesley found it hard to answer. His mouth was dry. And the dark clothing of the vampire only helped it to blend in to the natural shadows of the library - shadows that never went away no matter how many lights Wesley tried to turn on.
He supposed it was hard to light a Hellmouth.
Thinking of the demons below, and of the monster in front of him, Wesley swallowed and tried to answer. "Er - no."
There was no movement. For all appearances the vampire could be a statue. Wesley found himself thinking of some of the choicer wax figures inside of Madame Tussaud's. Then he thought of the section on the guillotine, and the reproductions of severed heads, and his mind couldn't help but instantly and helpfully inform him of how many times, on record, *this* vampire had severed heads and -
"Where?"
His mind lost in the comparative safety of London, Wesley needed a moment to focus. "Pardon?"
"Where," the vampire repeated, "is Buffy?"
Wesley wanted to laugh. He, a Watcher, was being asked by Angel, a vampire, where Buffy, the Slayer, was.
There really wasn't anything in the guidebooks that *prepared* one for a moment like this.
Or, rather, there *were* but absolutely none of them involved giving the answer.
His eye fell upon the cross that he'd left on his desk.
The creature must have noticed. He shook his head, as though scoffing. "Never mind. I'll find her myself."
The doorway darkened - or at least there was a void where the darkness of the vampire had been - and Angel stepped away.
Without thinking, Wesley called out "Wait."
There was a pause, then Angel reappeared in the doorway.
"I - I don't know," Wesley confessed. "She doesn't tell me anything. I - I have her schedule, if it's of any help."
He offered the pink slip of paper. He held it by the edge, which made it bend towards the ground, but allowed the vampire to enter the room and take the note from him without making physical contact.
Wesley couldn't imagine what a vampire's touch felt like.
Angel studied the words. "Okay. Guess she's home."
"One of those words is *home*?" Wesley asked, his shock momentarily getting the better of him.
"Yeah," Angel said. He put the paper down and pointed. "See?"
Wesley squinted at a word which to all appearances looked like "kirb". "Oh. Right. Of course."
Was it his imagination, or was the vampire actually smiling at him? It was impossible to tell, in the midst of the creature's otherwise stone-faced expression. "You'll get the hang of it. Don't worry."
Wesley sat back down amidst the chaos of papers, pens and books that was his desk. "Yes… I - of course."
"Don't worry about it," the vampire repeated. With that he turned and walked away. "Night, Wesley."
"Good night, Angel," Wesley replied. The words came to his mouth automatically.
Just as automatically, he reached for his journal. It was an encounter with a vampire. It involved the Slayer. He needed to record it.
When his hand touched his pen, he hesitated. He sat back, and reviewed the conversation in his mind.
It was brief, but offered him one inescapable conclusion.
Specifically, it was one of the kindest and most civilized conversations he'd had since arriving in America.
He looked at his journal, looked in the direction that the vampire had left in, and put his pen down.
There were some things the Council didn't need to know.
***
THEORY
NOW
"Ow!"
"Hold *still*."
"*Ow*!"
Wesley met Angel's eyes. "You *are* aware that I heard you the first time?"
"I'm thinking no," Angel replied. "Because *ow*."
Wesley tutted. Angel was practically whining like a three year old. "It wouldn't hurt nearly as much if you stopped squirming."
"I don't wanna, and it hurts, and *ow*."
Make that a two year old. In need of a lie-down. And perhaps a nappy change.
"Well," Wesley said philosophically as he shifted position to get a better angle, "perhaps if one wasn't quite so Hell-bent upon diving through windows we wouldn't be in this predicament."
"One was *trying* to get the bad guys," Angel said. He grumbled and turned sideways at Wesley's urging. "One was *trying* to do his job."
"One was *ignoring* the handy doorway," Wesley pointed out. He wiped his razor off on a clean cloth and exchanged it for a pair of tweezers. Retrieving glass splinters from Angel's body was one part surgery with two parts mathematics. If a 248 year old vampire healed at a rate of 3x and his entire chest, face, hands and forearms had taken the blow from a plate glass window, thus filling him with over one hundred glass shards, and if 23% of those shards were partially embedded in the skin while 48% of the shards were actually *inside* of the skin which had quickly healed over it and the remaining 29% were God alone knew where, how long would it take for one nearly 31 year old ex-Watcher to cut the vampire's skin and retrieve the glass before said ex-Watcher lost his patience entirely and began to use Holy Water as an antiseptic? "I mean honestly, it was *right there*."
"I was in the moment!" Angel defended himself. He jerked as Wesley pulled out a splinter. "Ow!"
"Hold *still*," Wesley repeated. He dropped the glass into an ashtray and moved on to the next spot. "And I don't care if you were 'in the moment' or not. You could be in the *doorway*. I daresay it would make a lovely change of pace."
"I got the job done, didn't I?" Angel asked. "Bad guys caught, client happy - "
"Angel hurt, Wesley annoyed," Wesley interrupted, mimicking Angel's nonchalant cadence. "Angel stupid, Wesley seeks new boyfriend -"
Angel didn't even pretend to believe in it. "You wouldn't."
"I'd bloody well *have* to if your head had been chopped off," Wesley said. He retrieved another shard, not caring if it made Angel bite off a sound of pain. "Honestly, Angel, don't you ever *think*?"
Angel rolled his eyes. "I've been through *plenty* of windows - "
"Oh *goody*. The evidence for your supposed intelligence just mounts and mounts, doesn't it?"
"- and they don't cut my head off," Angel finished. "They don't find some way of putting wood in my heart and they don't set me on fire either. So I'm having a hard time seeing why - "
Wesley silently yanked out another splinter.
"Ow!"
"I rest my case," Wesley said. He put the tweezers down and picked up the razor again. He studied Angel's arm under the light of his bedside lamp. He had to look carefully to see the tiny white marks that indicated recently healed skin. With luck they could finish the first aid before Angel's skin healed itself entirely and made it impossible to track the glass down. Wesley didn't cherish the thought of the jagged material tearing its way out of Angel's body as he moved. Fortunately only Angel's left arm remained.
"You don't have to do it so *hard*," Angel muttered.
"Aww," Wesley cooed. "Am I hurting the big, bad Scourge of Europe with my tweezers? Does he want a teddy bear to hold?"
"You're having *way* too much fun with this," Angel said.
"Perhaps," Wesley agreed. "Now be good and I'll give you a lolly when we're through."
Angel thought about it. "Define 'good'."
"Not complaining as though I've spiked your blood with melted gummi bears," Wesley said.
Angel made a face at the memory of Gunn's practical joke from the week before. "Maybe."
"I'll settle for *still*," Wesley said. He repositioned Angel's arm and began working again. "The mind just *boggles* at how a creature who made his name feared throughout an entire *continent* can't bear to withstand a tiny amount of medical attention."
"I don't *have* to," Angel said. "I'm dead. Cuts down on the doctor visits."
"You don't say," Wesley remarked dryly. "I'd wondered why you didn't sign up for the office insurance plan."
"It didn't cover dental," Angel deadpanned back.
"It covers enough," Wesley said. There was a moment of silence between them, and he knew they were both thinking about Cordelia.
"Don't worry about it," Angel said. He tried to meet Wesley's eyes. "It'll be okay."
"I'm sure it will," Wesley said, with a bravado he didn't really feel. He'd cracked every book that he owned, searched every website he could find and had even bugged every University friend he'd sworn never to speak to again. He'd still come up with no solutions. Even the Host had been out of his depths. Cordelia's visions did not relate to her own destiny, and therefore no amount of singing would reveal the cause of them. Had the *focus* of the vision come in for a song or two there might have been some help. But as it was, they were as clueless as ever. "It's bound to be all right in the end, yes?"
"It's gotta," Angel said. He stroked Wesley's back with his healed right hand. "Cordy's tough and - "
"She shouldn't *have* to be," Wesley replied. He felt himself tense with sudden anger. "It's absolutely absurd for her to suffer this long for no discernible cause. What the *Hell* are the Powers thinking?"
Angel, who'd heard the rant before and joined in on it many times himself, nodded sympathetically. "I know."
"It's been over a *month*," Wesley said. He felt the hint of failure just over his shoulder, waiting to come crashing down upon him. Part of him felt the tsunami *had* hit, and he was merely in denial of it. Surely this was a problem that should have only taken weeks to solve, or perhaps even days? And surely a *better* man would have noticed Cordelia's pain right from the beginning, and immediately known who to contact in order to -
"Hey," Angel said, interrupting his train of thought. "Cut it out."
Wesley looked up at him. "What?"
"Whatever you're thinking," Angel said. "Cut it out. I don't like it."
Wesley tried to look nonchalant. "I'm only worried about Cordelia."
Unfortunately, Angel knew him too well. "And you're blaming yourself. How many times do I have to tell you there's only room for one brooding guy in this relationship?" At Wesley's tiny smile, Angel added. "It's me, by the way. I've got the wardrobe and everything."
"I know, I know," Wesley turned Angel's arm over and removed another splinter. "Still - burdens of leadership I suppose."
"I get that," Angel said. He leaned in and kissed Wesley on the cheek.
"I suppose you would," Wesley agreed. He watched as Angel's skin healed over, then moved his hand to steady Angel's arm in the next position. "Still - ow!"
"What?" Angel took Wesley's hand in both of his and looked at it.
Wesley grimaced sheepishly at the pulse of pain that throbbed in his left index finger. "I found that one piece that kept eluding me."
"Didn't I tell you to wear gloves?" Angel scolded. He drew Wesley's hand towards the light. "Gimme the tweezers."
"They hampered my movement," Wesley protested. He gave Angel another pair of tweezers from their first aid kit and then shifted position to make it easier for Angel to see what he was doing.
"Yeah, well, now you've got glass in you," Angel said. He turned Wesley's hand over and studied his target. "Gee, Wes, don't you *think*? Didn't you see the handy gloves *right there*? What does this say about your so-called - "
"Yes, yes," Wesley sighed. "Turnabout is fair play. Now would you just get it out of me?"
Angel smiled and grasped the shard with the stainless steel. With a steady motion he pulled it out and dropped it into the pile that had already accumulated in the ashtray. "There you go, good as new."
Wesley watched a drop of blood well up on his finger. "Hardly 'good as'. I'll need a bandage."
"Aww," Angel said, grinning mischievously, "is the ex-Watcher scared of a little blood? Does he need a teddy bear?"
"He needs his lover to *shut up* and hand him a bandage," Wesley retorted. "And to stop being so smug."
"I dunno," Angel said. "I think you're cute when you're smug."
"You've convinced yourself that you're clever," Wesley said. "I think that's charming."
"I've got my good points," Angel agreed. He brought Wesley's hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it. "Don't worry. You'll be fine."
"Our sheets, on the other hand, will not," Wesley said. "Not unless you find bloodstains to be a fashion statement, and perhaps as a vampire you do, but as a *mortal* -"
"Nag, nag, nag," Angel complained, good-naturedly. He pulled back and let his tongue lap at Wesley's finger. The blood vanished into his mouth, and he swallowed.
The movement had been so easy that neither one of them realized what had happened until half a heartbeat later.
Angel pulled back. "Wesley, I - "
"Hush," Wesley said. They locked eyes. Wesley could see the glimmer of yellow hiding in Angel's. Without thinking about it, he drew his finger across Angel's mouth. "Hush."
Angel's lips parted. He chased the still bleeding finger. "Tell me to stop."
Wesley remembered the night they'd shared at the club not too long ago. "Would it matter?"
Angel's eyes were definitely golden, and the teeth behind the lips began to grow sharp. "Probably not."
Wesley slid his finger into Angel's mouth, and watched in fascination as his lover began to suck.
***
LAW
"I'm *fine*," Cordelia protested. "Dennis is just a big ol' worrywart and - "
"And your neighbors are clearly overreacting to the sight of you plunging headfirst down a staircase," Wesley said. They'd gotten the calls about a half hour ago. A finger in Angel's mouth had turned into a hand tangled in Angel's hair had turned into a mad wrestle to remove each other's clothing, only to be interrupted by Wesley's cellphone, Angel's pager *and* the office phone ringing out an undeniable chorus. They'd quickly assured everyone on the other line they'd be right over, dressed, and beaten their usual travel time by ten minutes, easily.
"I slipped!" Cordy said. She held out a foot which was slightly bruised around the ankle. "These are new shoes! The bottoms are all smooth! Anyway, *you* try wearing Edmundo Castillos on freshly waxed floors!"
"Gave it up for Lent," Angel muttered.
Cordelia's eyes flickered over at him, then away. She tried to appeal to Wesley. "Look - really. I'm okay. Just some bumps and oh-so-attractive bruises. I'll look like I'm modeling the latest in S&M wear for a few days and then it'll be back to normal."
Normal. Which meant Cordelia in God alone knew what kind of pain while none of them had any way to stop it.
"Unacceptable," Wesley decided. "Cordy, pack your things. You can't be by yourself while this is going on. We'll make up a room for you at the hotel."
Cordy looked as though she was being sentenced to detention. "But why? I'm not alone! I've got Dennis!"
"And he's a fine companion," Wesley said, mostly because he knew the ghost could hear him. "But I would feel better if you had the kind of attention that corporeal friends can provide." Trying to put a good spin on it, he added "We could make it like a slumber party."
"But I don't - I don't *want* to," Cordy said. She pressed her hands to her eyes. "Please, Wes? I'm fine right where I am."
Wesley gave Angel a look. Angel nodded in return. It looked like they were going to have to good cop/bad cop this.
Wesley wasn't unaware of the irony that he'd inadvertently placed himself in the role of "bad cop".
Angel squatted down to try to get Cordelia to look at him. He reached out to put a hand on her arm. "Look, Cordy - "
Cordy jerked, and then screamed. Her body fell back onto the couch. Angel immediately tried to catch her and pull her into his arms but she only spasmed harder.
Wesley came forward. His skin tingled with the sense of Dennis's nearby presence. "Cordy? Cordelia, can you hear me?"
"No," she gasped. Her body convulsed into a fetal position and tears streamed down her face. Her arms flailed out, striking at whatever they came in contact with. Angel took the brunt of the blows. "*No!*"
"Cordy," Welsey repeated. He knew from years of practice that sometimes his voice was the only thing that could get through to her. "Can you hear me? What do you see?"
"No," she said again. She twisted and turned, adding kicks to her inadvertent arsenal. "*No!*"
Angel ducked the blows. He grabbed her wrists to hold them still and tried to press her back onto the couch. "Cordy, it'll be okay. Wes and I are right here. It'll be okay, promise."
"No," Cordy moaned. She seemed oblivious to the world around her. Her body was racked with pain, which pulled her away from Angel's touch which….
With a sickening weight in his stomach, Wesley's observations underwent a sudden, terrifying paradigm shift.
"Angel, step away from her," Wesley said.
Angel looked at him in confusion as he tried to keep Cordy still. "What?"
"Step away from her," Wesley repeated. He watched as the vision controlled Cordy's body, and saw the undeniable patterns that it gave him.
Still uncertain, Angel let go of Cordelia and moved back. "Wes, what the -"
"It's her vision," Wesley said. He felt his hands grow cold as he saw Cordy's torment almost immediately subside when Angel let go of her. Tears continued to pour down her face, but she didn't even so much as shiver when Wesley stroked her leg in comfort.
"Yeah," Angel said. He stepped closer. Wesley saw Cordy twitch. "I don't get it. What's going on?"
"I'm afraid we've found the cause of our problems," Wesley said. He squeezed Cordelia's leg, trying to silently communicate to her that somehow he would make it all right. Part of him had already begun to dissect and analyze the situation - when had the visions started? How had she reacted to certain stimuli?
Why did he have to be so bloody awful at *watching* things?
"Great," Angel said, totally unaware of Wesley's internal diatribe. "What is it?"
Wesley wished that he could somehow find another response. However nothing suggested itself.
"My love," he said, looking up to see Angel's face. "It's you."
