Fallen Angel -- Chapters 5 & 6
Title: Fallen Angel
Pairing: Angel/Wesley...eventually
Rating: PG or so (character and plot stuff...no sex) *pout*
Setting: Part way through season 3, alternate universe type of thing (wherein I would take a different road than Joss...because last I checked, I wasn't Joss....)
Disclaimer: If wishes came true, Angel and Wesley would live in my closet, and I would play with them mightily...but alas...they do not
Feedback: gladly accepted...and greatly appreciated
Summary: Wesley draws closer to understanding what has happened, and Angel continues to get stronger, at least physically.
*cross posted to AO3*
Click here for chapters 1 & 2
Click here for chapters 3 & 4
Fallen Angel - Chapter Five
Wesley’s first stop was the occult bookstore a few blocks from his apartment. The proprietor there was an aging woman who had a surprisingly good grasp of demon linguistics, and kept her eyes open for rare volumes that Wesley would find useful.
The door chimed as Wesley slid in from the street and Ms. Wills looked up from the book she was perusing near the register. A smile spread across her ample face and she ran one hand through her graying hair as he waved hello. “Wesley, I was expecting you,” she said, her voice soft, musical.
“You were?”
She smiled again, this time with a touch of mischief around the edges. “That little secretary of yours called, said you would be by needing a book. She suggested this one.” She held up the dusty volume in front of her. “Can’t say that I understand it. In fact, I didn’t even know I had it.”
She turned it over and looked it up and down. “Came in with a bunch of stuff from an estate sale, Sumerian, Babylonian, bunch of others from that area. This one though….this one is different.”
Wesley took the book and opened it to a random page. The text appeared to be hand scribed and the markings had a vague semblance to the ones on Angel’s body. Wesley nodded to himself, leafing through the book. “What language is this?”
Ms. Wills shrugged. “Nearest I can figure it makes out as Kalvi. Can’t get a handle on it though. Anna seemed to think you could.”
Wesley smiled and closed the book. “Well, if that isn’t a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.”
“Its yours then. I owe you one for helping me with that squatter a few months ago. You want a bag?”
“No, Ms. Wills, thank you. We’ll have to get together for tea next week and talk about that dialect that was giving you headaches.”
“Anna said to send I should send you to the office. Sounded pretty urgent.”
“That’s my next stop. You have a good evening.”
”You too, Wesley. Watch your back.”
Wesley waved his reply and got into the car, tossing the book on the seat next to him. “Kalvi,” he said, to himself as he started the car. “Kalvidesh.”
The drive to the office took longer than usual as he got caught up in the early part of the evening rush hour, and he used the time to ruminate on what language the “desh” part of Kalvidesh came from. It was fairly obvious from his brief look that the marks on Angel’s flesh were a hybrid of the Kalvi in the book and something else.
The Wesley crawled through traffic until he was able to turn into the parking lot near the office, and by the time he had parked the sun was well on its way to setting. Opening the front door to the office, it was obvious to Wesley he wouldn’t need to go to Fred’s apartment to pick up Connor. His diaper bag was on the lobby counter, toys were scattered around the floor and the door to the conference room that doubled as a nursery was open, the sounds of Connor’s favorite musical toy emanating from within. Wesley crossed to the door, watching for a moment while Connor beat on the buttons. Quite suddenly though, Connor looked up, his face brightening as he spotted Wesley. He climbed to his feet and started toddling toward him and Wesley took two steps and scooped him up.
“There’s my big boy.”
“Da Da Da Da.” Connor replied, pressing wet kisses against Wesley’s cheek.
“Dada missed you.” Wesley kissed him back, one hand smoothing the dark hair. At ten months old, Connor was already ahead of other kids his age physically. He had been walking for almost a month and already had most of his teeth. His vocabulary had grown in the last few weeks to include calling Wesley “Dada” and calling the other immediate people in his life by some close approximation to their names. He was, however, exhibiting some of the stubbornness of his biological father, refusing to give up his bottle in favor of cups or solid foods.
Wesley held Connor and rocked him and Connor laughed. “Where is everyone else?” Wesley asked, though not expecting Connor to respond.
“Fed seep.” Connor said, pointing toward the back of the conference room. Wesley put him down and moved around the table. Fred lay on the floor, a book in her hand as if she had been reading to him. Her glasses rested at the very end of her nose, looking as if they might slip off with even a breath.
“I see, Fred’s sleeping.” Wesley said, turning to find Connor watching him. “Shall we go find Anna?”
“Gunn.” Connor said, moving toward the door.
“Gunn it is then.” Wesley scooped Connor up and flipped him around, causing squeals of delight. He could hear Gunn’s voice as he neared his office door, and he only paused to knock lightly before opening it enough to look in. Anna was with him, and beside her…a woman who had to be a sister. Nearly identical in every detail aside from hair and eye color, she sat beside Anna, looking up at Wesley expectantly as he paused.
“Ah, sorry to interrupt.” Wesley said.
Gunn stood and waved him into the room. ‘No, you’re right on time. This is Anna’s sister, Anan.”
Wesley held out and a hand in greeting. Her grip was firm and her eyes met his evenly. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Wyndham-Price. Anna’s told me a lot about you.”
“It’s Wesley, please. And I’m glad to meet you. Anna did mention she had sisters.”
“It seems that one of them is missing.” Gunn said.
“I was hoping you could help me find her.” Anan’s skin was darker than Anna’s, her hair a copper-red, her eyes a dark blue that Wesley found captivating. “She’s…proven elusive, and she’s not well. With her powers she’s dangerous on the streets.”
“That is what we do.” Wesley said, then turned to look at Gunn. “Of course, I’m rather busy with a personal matter at the moment. However, Gunn-“
“Already all over it, Wes.” Gunn sat back down in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “Anan’s been tracking her, got as far as LA and lost her trail. She’s a mystical mojo worker like Anna here, only she’s not so emotionally stable. I figure she’s headed into the underground, so some of our contacts might have seen her.”
“Then you are in good hands.” Wesley shifted Connor who was trying to lunge into Anna’s lap. He fussed until Wesley put him down and Connor launched himself at Anna, who caught him and smiled.
“Little man, little man.” She tickled him and he giggled.
“Happy.” Connor always said that whenever Anna held him, almost as if it were her name.
“Yes, little one, you make me happy.” Anna said, her face radiant. Wesley breathed in deeply, relishing the calm she could project into a room. She looked up at him and smiled. He felt his shoulders start to unknot. “How are things, sir?” she asked.
“Better. And, thank you for the book. Mrs. Wills told me you called.”
“I hope it helps.”
Connor crawled into Anan’s lap , putting his little hands on either side of her face. She looked startled, but not bothered, and after a moment, smiled.
Conner laughed and softly patted her face. “Happy,” he said again, then Wesley reached for him.
“Sorry about that.” Wesley said settling Connor onto his hip.
“Don’t be, he’s a precious child.” Anan said. “And powerful.” She cocked her head toward Anna. “He’s special.”
Wesley felt suddenly protective. “Yes, he is. Very much so.” He turned and caught Gunn’s eye. “Ah, I’m taking Connor home.”
Gunn made a face that Wesley knew was his “is that a good idea” face. “You sure you want junior up in that mess?”
Wesley nodded tightly. “Yes, I think its best for him. Can I talk to you for a moment, Charles?.” He crossed to the door. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Anan. I hope that we can help you in your search for your sister.”
Once he’d pulled the door closed, Wesley turned to Gunn. “If this sister is as powerful as Anna, this could be trouble. This could be the situation the council was sensing.”
Gunn nodded. “Yeah, we don’t even know what all she can do.”
“Be careful. When you know you’re close, call me. You shouldn’t go up against an unstable witch yourself.” Wesley started to walk away, then stopped. “You should probably wake Fred and send her home. She’s sleeping in the conference room.”
Gunn laughed. “She was up all night watching the Wizard of Oz with the wonder tyke here. He wouldn’t sleep.”
Connor babbled indecipherable baby talk as Wesley made his way back down the hallway to his office. He found it comforting, familiar and realized that was why the apartment had seemed so quiet since Angel had come. It wasn’t the sound of the wounded vampire, but that of the missing child. “Dada is going to take you home, Connor. Just a few more minutes.”
Wesley rummaged through his desk, not certain what he was looking for until his hand fell on the small package that had come from his mother two weeks before. Juggling Connor around so that he could open the package, Wesley pulled at the paper that wrapped the box until he could get in to the box itself. The note was typically short, well wishes, some of your things included, love mother. Inside the small box were odds and ends of trinkets, not unlike the other things she had sent in the past, and as always, at the bottom, one of his books.
He lifted it free of the wrappings, his thumb gliding over an ornate, but worn cover. It looked familiar. He had seen something similar only recently. Figuring that meant it might be helpful, Wesley tucked it into a pocket and left the office. He gathered the diaper bag and a few other things and left the office to get back to the apartment. He’d been gone longer than he’d wanted.
The smell of food cooking greeted him as he cleared the stairs. Connor was half asleep in his arms, his head heavy on Wesley’s shoulder. He cleared the energy barrier he’d established as he left and opened the door. Cordelia waved from the kitchen and he nodded.
The door to the second bedroom had been closed all week, all evidence of Connor’s existence hidden away behind it. Wesley opened the door and settled Connor into his crib, hoping he would sleep, at least for a little while. He waited a moment, stroking Connor’s hair softly and watching as the little one settled in and finally slept.
“How is he?” Wesley asked as he emerged from the nursery.
Cordelia shrugged. “Its been quiet. There was yelling a while ago, nightmares, crying. He asked for you. I told him you’d be back soon. I haven’t heard anything since.”
Wesley nodded. “Did you say you brought fresh blood?” She nodded. “Warm some up please.”
She opened the refrigerator and set about preparing Angel’s meal. “You hungry? I cooked. It isn’t much, but its hot and ready.”
Wesley smiled. “Yes, thank you Cordelia. I’ll check on Angel first though, see if I can get him to feed.”
The microwave beeped and Cordelia handed a black mug to Wesley, who in turn went to the door of his bedroom, knocking softly before opening it. He closed it behind him and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim room.
Angel sat in his corner, his knees bent in front of him, his gaunt body pressed against the wall. His face seemed vacant, his eyes glassy as he stared at the floor. Wesley moved a little closer. “I’m back, Angel. I’ve brought you something.”
Angel didn’t move, and Wesley came closer and turned on the bedside light, stopping short as his eyes caught on the stake in Angel’s hand. The point rested against his chest, right in the center of a circular pattern of the odd markings. It had already penetrated skin, as evident by the blood dripping from the spot.
“Angel?”
“It hurts.” Angel said, still unmoving. “Stop the pain.”
“I know it hurts, Angel. I know.” Wesley crouched down beside him. His heart raced, his breath stabbing at his lungs as he tried to martial his face into an expression closer to affection than fear. He had come this far, and he couldn’t lose him now.
“Stop the hurt.” Angel’s eyes closed as Wesley touched his knee. “No.” His hand with the stake pushed harder toward his heart. “Can’t be him again.”
Wesley’s other hand touched Angel’s, long fingers wrapping around the fist that held the wood, pulling back just enough to keep Angel from turning himself into a pile of dust. “Angel, please stay with me.” Wesley pleaded softly, his voice laced with his desire. There was no use denying that his need to keep Angel alive was mere friendship.
“Hurt. Stop the hurt. Stop the pain.” Tears streaked Angel’s face and when his eyes finally met Wesley’s, he found tears in his own as well.
“I promise Angel, we will find a way. It will get better.” Wesley’s left hand rose up to wipe the tears from Angel’s cheeks. “Just stay with me and I’ll make it better.”
Ever so slowly, Angel loosened his grip on the stake, until it fell to the floor. Wesley exhaled in relief, now holding Angel’s hand as his body shook with sobs. He moved so that he was sitting on the floor and took Angel in his arms, holding him as he cried. It seemed natural as the sobbing subsided for Angel’s mouth to find its way to Wesley’s wrist, as if nursing a newborn. It seemed to calm him, even though he only took a few swallows and when he was done, Wesley got him to sit up again.
“Here, drink this too,” he said softly, handing him the mug. “Cordelia brought it for you.”
Angel took it dully, looking into it for a long time before taking a sip of it. He made a face, but didn’t throw it. He lifted the mug again, this time tilting his head back and pouring the contents down, swallowing quickly, like a child taking his medicine.
“That’s good.” Wesley, said, taking the cup back. “Do you feel like telling me about it?”
Angel shook his head. “Inside out.”
Wesley looked at him closely. “What does that mean, Angel?”
“Inside out, Outside in.” He looked up at where Wesley was now standing.
“You’ve said that before, you know.” Wesley said, as if Angel were actually listening. “A few days ago. You were dreaming then.”
“Wes?” Cordy’s voice near the doorway drew his attention. She was leaning in the doorway. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
“Yes, right. Let me get him settled into bed again. I’ll be out.”
Wesley sighed as he set the cup and the stake on the counter. Behind him, Cordelia was moving plates and silverware to the small kitchen table that she had cleaned of his books and notes. He was tired, the kind of tired that sunk in to a person and dragged them down.
“Is he okay?” Cordy asked when Wesley didn’t move toward the table.
Wesley turned to look at her, his expression a mix of his apprehension and his desire to comfort her. “I don’t know.” He sighed again, more explosively than the first and moved to take a seat beside her as she started dishing up a salad. “If I hadn’t gone in just then, we might not have had to worry about it anymore.”
When she looked at him confused, he pointed at the stake before grabbing at the plate of rolls. “He was ready to stake himself.”
Cordelia grimaced and set aside the salad bowl. “Wow, just like Darla…only not with the noble intentions and all.”
Wesley finished filling his bowl with the rich stew Cordelia had brought and nodded. The similarity wasn’t lost on him. Darla had come to them, pregnant and ready to deliver, lost, tormented by the soul within her. Wesley would never be certain if her self-sacrifice had been for Connor’s benefit alone, or if she truly couldn’t take the pain anymore.
“He’s hurting,” Wesley said, aware that it was likely unnecessary.
“Those nightmares of his, they sounded pretty bad.”
Wesley nodded, he’d sat beside Angel as he’d thrashed about, caught in some dream that Wesley could only imagine, for days. He’d seen the echo of the terror in Angel’s face when he woke. He ate silently for a minute, remembering how his kiss had calmed him after the nightmares had driven him to tear at his own skin.
“I can stay.” Cordy said after a long silence. “It looks like you could use some help, especially with having Connor home.”
Wesley smiled and swallowed. “That isn’t necessary, Cordelia.”
She smiled too. “I know it isn’t necessary. I want to. No arguments. I’ll run out and get a few things and let Dennis know.”
Wesley could tell from the look on her face that disagreement wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he abandoned the effort and nodded. “We can take turns sleeping on the couch.”
“See, I told Fred you could be reasonable.” She smiled and stuffed a forkful of salad into her mouth. Wesley had to admit it was nice to have company, especially someone who knew how to make him smile.
The rest of the meal was fairly quiet, with what little talk there was revolving around Connor and the office. Together, the two of them cleared the table, washed the dishes and put them away, then Cordelia moved to grab her purse and jacket.
“I’ll only be about an hour. You should get some rest.” She kissed his cheek and headed out the front door.
“Rest.” Yes, he thought to himself, he really should rest. He watched her go, then remembered the book in his pocket. Pulling it out, he went back to the kitchen table and opened it.
It had been a book he’d found on one of his outings while he’d still been in school, an educational outing his father had arranged to allow him to see the work the watcher’s council was involved in. The book seller in the tiny flea market had no clue what it was, or what it was worth. For a few pounds, Wesley had managed to purchase it with none of his companions knowing. He had gotten good about smuggling contraband into the house without his father knowing.
In fact, it had been this book that had given him the idea for the spell he crafted to loosen his father’s hold on him. It told a tale of a binding put on the first people by their gods, binding them to their laws, creating the first consciences. The people could not do wrong, because it would cause them guilt, and mental pain. Wesley had reasoned that his conscience was overly burdened with his father’s discipline and rules, and that he needed to unbind himself from it in order to gain his freedom.
Wesley opened the book and slowly turned the pages. It still smelled of the incense burned all over the market where he’d bought it. His mind translated the words as he skimmed, looking for anything that might jog his memory or spark an understanding of what he was facing.
When Cordelia returned, he was still sitting at the table, reading and making notes. She made “tsk, tsk” sounds at him and took the book away, settling him onto the couch with a pillow and the afghan his mother had sent him last Christmas and stood nearby until he dutifully closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for the fatigue to pull him under and darkness to overtake him.
Chapter Six
“Wesley?” Angel moved around restlessly, lifting his head from the pillow.
“He’s sleeping.” Cordelia’s face emerged from the shadows on the side of the bed, leaning toward him. “I’m here though.”
“Cordelia?”
She smiled and nodded. “Yep. How do you feel?”
Angel closed his eyes and he fought back a wave of images: Cordelia’s face bruised and bloody, Cordelia hung from the ceiling of a cave, her blood slowly dripping into his open mouth. It felt so real. He could taste her. He licked dry lips and opened his eyes slowly. “Weak,” he finally responded. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
“Do you need anything?”
Angel shook his head. He needed Wesley. Somehow Wesley made it all seem real, made the images in his head feel like the dream. He was hungry, he could feel the burning inside him. He knew if he asked she would bring him blood.
That brought new images, the contaminated cups, blood laced with poisons and drugs that sent him reeling, that doubled him over in pain, and all the while she danced around him, laughing. Then the cutting would start, the chanting and cutting. Angel shook involuntarily and pulled away as Cordelia’s hand came close to him. “No.” he said almost plaintively and her hand fell away.
“Its okay, Angel.” She sat back, so that her face was hidden in the dark. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.”
He closed his eyes and tried to block out the helplessness, the pain. It wasn’t real, some part of him knew that. The part of him that needed Wesley knew that. He could smell Cordelia, not the faint perfume that she wore, but the smell of her flesh. He tried to concentrate on the smell. This isn’t how she would smell if he had killed her. She wouldn’t be sitting in the chair watching him sleep if he killed her.
He moved a little so that he could make out the shape of her in the chair. He watched her as she seemed to doze lightly, her eyes closed, her face peaceful. In his mind she was thinner, her hair longer and darker. In his mind she was screaming and crying and begging him to stop the pain.
In his mind he could hear her taunting him, reminding him that he and Angelus were one and the same, and no mere soul was enough to stop him from his true nature.
“Cordelia?” his voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. Her eyes opened and she moved so that he could see her better. “I’m sorry.”
Her folded hands moved to grasp her knee. He couldn’t tell what he saw in her face. She looked at her hands for a moment, then looked at him again. “I know, Angel.”
“You can’t see it, what I did to you-what my head says I did to you. I-I’m sorry.”
She crossed the distance between the chair and the bed to sit on the edge beside him. It was quick, and he only started a little, then her hand was on his and he couldn’t pull away. “I want you to feel this,” she said, her hand holding his tightly. “This is me, and I’m here, right here. Those things in your head, they aren’t real. I am.”
Her eyes searched out his and held them. He saw only acceptance and affection in them. Her hand was warm against his cold skin, not hot like Wesley’s, but he felt the fear retreat a little. “Thank you,” he said softly, looking away. Her gaze was too intense for him.
She smiled again, her face brightening. He remembered she could light up a room with her smile. “Now, I can bring you some blood, if you’re hungry, but you have to promise me, no tantrums.”
He looked back at her and nodded. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Cordelia let go of his hand and stood, looking back at him once before she slipped through the bedroom door. The room seemed to shrink around him with her gone, and he suddenly felt very alone. He couldn’t smell her, couldn’t even smell Wesley despite the fact that the room generally reeked of him.
He closed his eyes and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. He knew what came next, and he didn’t want it. If he kept his eyes closed he wouldn’t see her, if he plugged his ears maybe he wouldn’t hear her. He felt her though, the hand on the small of his back, tracing the scars she had cut into him, murmuring the words of the spell as her nail pulled its way over it.
He rolled over again, onto his back, and felt her touch move to his arm, onto his chest. He opened his eyes and she was there, straddling him, her pointed finger poking into the circular pattern as if it alone could stake his heart and end his life, end the pain.
The door opened and she was gone, replaced by Cordelia coming in with a coffee mug. He was shaking and didn’t trust himself to speak as she handed him the mug. It was warm, comforting, even if the smell turned his stomach. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Wesley, but he dutifully drank it, pulling it swiftly into his mouth and swallowing without tasting. The hunger subsided a bit. He only shook a little as he handed the cup back.
Cordelia smiled and touched his face. “You will be okay, Angel.”
He nodded, not really believing her. She set the mug down and helped rearrange the blankets around him. “I’ll just be in the next room if you need anything, okay?”
He watched her go, fighting the urge to rip at his skin, to scream, anything to keep the images from coming back. He watched them die over and over again, every time he fell asleep, and always she was there, taunting him, reminding him that he didn’t need Angelus to be cruel. Then there was the cage, the chains, the tainted blood she would feed him when the hunger was raging from days of starvation. The long hours of cutting, bleeding. He couldn’t make out which parts were real and which were the drug induced hallucinations. It all felt real.
Angel brought his hand to his face and sniffed at it. Cordelia’s scent clung to it. He tried to hold on to that scent, to the moment. He could feel the cool sheets around him, the firmness of the headboard at his back. In the dark he could make out the shapes of the furniture, the chair, the dresser. Faint lines of light outlined the bedroom door. Beyond that door he could sense Cordelia, her heart beat light, but strong. Nearby he could hear the steady breathing of Wesley sleeping. His heart beat was deeper, stronger. Then, Angel caught something unfamiliar. A third heartbeat. It was fast, faster than Cordelia’s. Smaller too somehow.
A child. He could almost make out the smell now. There was a child nearby. He listened to its heart, trying to fathom why there would be a child in Wesley’s apartment. Slowly Angel pulled himself out of the bed. He was unsteady on his feet, his head swimming and threatening to send him crashing to the floor, but he persisted. He shuffled the chair, then the dresser and finally to the door. He clung to it for a moment, letting his head clear of the dizziness his movement had caused, and fighting down a wave of nausea.
He opened the door and squinted against the sudden light spilling from the kitchen where Cordelia was moving around. He turned toward the living room and felt relief flood him as his eyes found Wesley. It was very early in the morning, at least an hour before dawn, he could sense it.
His eyes swept his field of vision, coming to rest on the partially open door near the bathroom. It was coming from in there. He stumbled out of the bedroom, ignoring Cordelia’s surprise and lurching toward the door, catching himself on furniture and walls to keep from falling. His legs felt heavy, like he was moving through sand, but he kept moving.
Closer and closer, until he was in the room, standing in front of a crib, holding on to it tight enough for the wood to cut into his hands. Conner pulled himself to standing, his tiny hands in between Angel’s, his face turned up to look at Angel who stared back. It didn’t make any sense. Angel could smell him, feel his heart beating. He knew he was real.
Yet, it couldn’t be. There was a familiarity to his smell…like someone he knew…like…Darla. Angel shook his head, watching as Connor mimicked him. “No.” he whispered, fighting back another wave of nausea. It was a trick. He was hallucinating.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” he heard Cordelia ask, suddenly beside him.
Angel couldn’t respond. His head felt thick. He closed his eyes, seeing Darla in his mind as she had been when they had last been together…newly remade into a vampire. She had thought to turn him back to Angelus. He had used her and thrown her away.
“He’s mine?” he whispered it.
Cordelia touched his arm and he moved away, stepping back from the crib. “Yes, Angel. His name is Connor.”
Angel stumbled back until he felt something behind him, the rocking chair catching him as he collapsed. “Not real. Not real.” He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of Cordelia lifting Connor from the crib.
She came to stand in front of him, holding Connor. “He is real, Angel. As real as you and me.” She knelt, settling Connor on one knee. Her hand reached out to capture Angel’s. “Feel me?” She squeezed until he nodded and opened his eyes. Then she put his hand on Connor’s face. Connor smiled, his tiny hands reaching up to touch his. Angel stared into Connor’s face, expecting it to disappear. When it didn’t Angel shuddered.
“Real?”
“Yes Angel, he’s very real.” Wesley said, coming into the room.
Connor jumped off Cordelia’s knee and went to Wesley. “Dada.”
Wesley picked him up and moved closer to Angel. “We’ve been taking care of him.”
Angel watched them, Connor clung to Wesley, but watched Angel. Wesley held Connor like a father, but watched Angel. Cordelia knelt in front of him still, her hand on his knee. It was too much. He couldn’t make it make sense. He closed his eyes. His body shook. He could hear them talking, but the words were unclear. He pulled his body in, his legs up to his chest, his head ducked under his hands. The chair rocked beneath him and he let its rhythm carry him away into the darkness.
Wesley watched as Angel withdrew into himself, and felt guilty for bringing Connor home so soon. He shook his head and handed Connor off to Cordelia. “I’ll see if I can get him back to bed.”
“I’ll feed Connor.”
Wesley nodded and watched her leave the room. He had hoped that having Connor and Cordelia here would help Angel. Now he worried it was too much stimulation. He went to Angel, rubbing his arms and legs to let him know he was there, kissing the top of his head, though he wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to comfort Angel or himself.
Ever so slowly, he felt the vampire loosen up, his taut muscles going slack, his body less rigid. Wesley spoke to him quietly, touching him, kissing him gently until he could maneuver him up out of the chair. Wesley nearly carried him back to the bedroom, closing the door behind them and settling Angel onto the bed.
“There now Angel, you can rest some more.” Wesley said, tucking the blankets around Angel’s bare torso. His fingers brushed over the raised marks on Angel’s skin above the blanket. The spot above his heart was slightly bruised, making the characters seem to form a funnel, pulling everything in.
“Outside in.” Angel murmured as Wesley’s hand hovered over the spot. Wesley looked up at his face, but Angel’s eyes weren’t looking at him.
Wesley bent to kiss him, his lips brushing against Angel’s lightly. “Rest now. It will be better soon.”
Wesley emerged into the glow of the kitchen lights, squinting as he watched Cordelia give Connor his bottle along with some cereal that Wesley knew he wouldn’t eat. His eyes swept the table, the stack of his books, coming to rest on the mythology that Anna had sent home with him. “Outside in.” he said, half aloud, moving toward the books.
“What?”
“Something Angel said.” Wesley responded, pulling the book to him. He flipped the pages, his eyes scanning the page searching for something.
“Ah, here it is.” He cleared his throat and translated out loud, “And the Gods brought forth healing, the Inside Out and the Outside In, that joy and peace might emerge and pain and suffering might withdraw.”
“What?” Cordelia asked again, her hands on her hips.
“Well, taken at its most literal, it is something like ‘She who draws the external within’…the Outside In.”
“Okay…who is she?”
Wesley lowered the book. “I have no idea.”
“Well then, that was helpful.”
“It’s a start.” Wesley was about to say more when the phone rang. He set the book down and reached for the phone. “Hello?”
“Just checking in. Anna seemed to think I should call.”
“Good morning, Charles, any luck?”
“If you call spending all night following elusive clues about a raving psycho bitch luck. People who’ve seen here aren’t much with the liking of her.”
“If it were easy, Anna and her sister wouldn’t have needed us.”
“Yeah, whatever. How are things there?”
“We may have had a break through. I found a reference to something Angel’s been saying.”
“Good. I’ll call if we get any closer than hours behind her.”
“Very good, Charles. Watch your back.”
“Yeah, you too English.”
Wesley hung up the phone and settled into a chair beside Connor’s high chair. The sleep had done wonders for him, he felt almost like himself. He thought that coffee might be a good idea, and before he could do more than think it, Cordelia was setting a cup in front of him.
“Its fresh. I figured you’d want some.”
He smiled at her and wrapped his hands around the cup. It was hot, and the heat felt good. “Thank you.”
She sat opposite him, and lowered her head into her hands. It was a posture he was familiar with. “You’ve had a vision.”
She nodded. “Pretty ugly one.”
He sat up a little straighter. “What was it?”
She swallowed and gingerly shook her head. “I wish I knew. At first it was Angel, being all suicidal, staking himself. Then it went woosh and I saw Buffy die, only it was Buffy like when she first came to Sunnydale, and then there was fire in the sky and chaos, and then it all went dark.” There were tears in her eyes as they met his. “It hurt, Wesley, like my body was being torn apart.”
Wesley sipped at his coffee. The visions had been bad before, but what he saw in her eyes was different. Something about this one was different. “When you say it went dark-“
“Like nothing. I was still in the vision, but everything was gone. The world was gone.”
“That’s not good.” Wesley murmured.
“Duh.” She rubbed at her temples. “What does it mean?”
“Well, if Buffy had died when she first came to Sunnydale, how many apocalypses would not have been averted? Anyone of them could have turned out the lights.”
“But Buffy didn’t die.”
Wesley nodded in agreement. Perhaps there was something about Angel staking himself? Maybe it had something to do with the markings on him. “What if the characters carved into his skin are words to a spell?” he mused out loud.
“To do what?”
Wesley shrugged, “End the world?” It was insane, he knew that, but his brain was starting to work. “I’d know better if I could translate even some of it.”
“So, translate.” Cordy said, releasing Connor from his high chair as he started throwing Cheerios at them.
“Right.” Wesley nodded and rose to start gathering books and journals to get started. “Why don’t you get some rest. I’ll take care of Connor.”
Cordelia yawned and moved toward the couch. “Wake me if you need me.” She settled under the afghan and closed her eyes.
Connor toddled over to Wesley and pointed to Cordelia. “Dee seep.”
Wesley smiled at him. “Yes, we need to be very quiet and let Cordelia sleep. Can we do that?”
Connor’s eyes were bright and he nodded. “There’s my very good boy.” Wesley kissed Connor’s forehead and watched him settle in to play with his favorite stuffed toy, then set about his own quiet time, with the Kalvi book and the mythology as his guides.
Click here for chapters 7 & 8
Pairing: Angel/Wesley...eventually
Rating: PG or so (character and plot stuff...no sex) *pout*
Setting: Part way through season 3, alternate universe type of thing (wherein I would take a different road than Joss...because last I checked, I wasn't Joss....)
Disclaimer: If wishes came true, Angel and Wesley would live in my closet, and I would play with them mightily...but alas...they do not
Feedback: gladly accepted...and greatly appreciated
Summary: Wesley draws closer to understanding what has happened, and Angel continues to get stronger, at least physically.
*cross posted to AO3*
Click here for chapters 1 & 2
Click here for chapters 3 & 4
Fallen Angel - Chapter Five
Wesley’s first stop was the occult bookstore a few blocks from his apartment. The proprietor there was an aging woman who had a surprisingly good grasp of demon linguistics, and kept her eyes open for rare volumes that Wesley would find useful.
The door chimed as Wesley slid in from the street and Ms. Wills looked up from the book she was perusing near the register. A smile spread across her ample face and she ran one hand through her graying hair as he waved hello. “Wesley, I was expecting you,” she said, her voice soft, musical.
“You were?”
She smiled again, this time with a touch of mischief around the edges. “That little secretary of yours called, said you would be by needing a book. She suggested this one.” She held up the dusty volume in front of her. “Can’t say that I understand it. In fact, I didn’t even know I had it.”
She turned it over and looked it up and down. “Came in with a bunch of stuff from an estate sale, Sumerian, Babylonian, bunch of others from that area. This one though….this one is different.”
Wesley took the book and opened it to a random page. The text appeared to be hand scribed and the markings had a vague semblance to the ones on Angel’s body. Wesley nodded to himself, leafing through the book. “What language is this?”
Ms. Wills shrugged. “Nearest I can figure it makes out as Kalvi. Can’t get a handle on it though. Anna seemed to think you could.”
Wesley smiled and closed the book. “Well, if that isn’t a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.”
“Its yours then. I owe you one for helping me with that squatter a few months ago. You want a bag?”
“No, Ms. Wills, thank you. We’ll have to get together for tea next week and talk about that dialect that was giving you headaches.”
“Anna said to send I should send you to the office. Sounded pretty urgent.”
“That’s my next stop. You have a good evening.”
”You too, Wesley. Watch your back.”
Wesley waved his reply and got into the car, tossing the book on the seat next to him. “Kalvi,” he said, to himself as he started the car. “Kalvidesh.”
The drive to the office took longer than usual as he got caught up in the early part of the evening rush hour, and he used the time to ruminate on what language the “desh” part of Kalvidesh came from. It was fairly obvious from his brief look that the marks on Angel’s flesh were a hybrid of the Kalvi in the book and something else.
The Wesley crawled through traffic until he was able to turn into the parking lot near the office, and by the time he had parked the sun was well on its way to setting. Opening the front door to the office, it was obvious to Wesley he wouldn’t need to go to Fred’s apartment to pick up Connor. His diaper bag was on the lobby counter, toys were scattered around the floor and the door to the conference room that doubled as a nursery was open, the sounds of Connor’s favorite musical toy emanating from within. Wesley crossed to the door, watching for a moment while Connor beat on the buttons. Quite suddenly though, Connor looked up, his face brightening as he spotted Wesley. He climbed to his feet and started toddling toward him and Wesley took two steps and scooped him up.
“There’s my big boy.”
“Da Da Da Da.” Connor replied, pressing wet kisses against Wesley’s cheek.
“Dada missed you.” Wesley kissed him back, one hand smoothing the dark hair. At ten months old, Connor was already ahead of other kids his age physically. He had been walking for almost a month and already had most of his teeth. His vocabulary had grown in the last few weeks to include calling Wesley “Dada” and calling the other immediate people in his life by some close approximation to their names. He was, however, exhibiting some of the stubbornness of his biological father, refusing to give up his bottle in favor of cups or solid foods.
Wesley held Connor and rocked him and Connor laughed. “Where is everyone else?” Wesley asked, though not expecting Connor to respond.
“Fed seep.” Connor said, pointing toward the back of the conference room. Wesley put him down and moved around the table. Fred lay on the floor, a book in her hand as if she had been reading to him. Her glasses rested at the very end of her nose, looking as if they might slip off with even a breath.
“I see, Fred’s sleeping.” Wesley said, turning to find Connor watching him. “Shall we go find Anna?”
“Gunn.” Connor said, moving toward the door.
“Gunn it is then.” Wesley scooped Connor up and flipped him around, causing squeals of delight. He could hear Gunn’s voice as he neared his office door, and he only paused to knock lightly before opening it enough to look in. Anna was with him, and beside her…a woman who had to be a sister. Nearly identical in every detail aside from hair and eye color, she sat beside Anna, looking up at Wesley expectantly as he paused.
“Ah, sorry to interrupt.” Wesley said.
Gunn stood and waved him into the room. ‘No, you’re right on time. This is Anna’s sister, Anan.”
Wesley held out and a hand in greeting. Her grip was firm and her eyes met his evenly. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Wyndham-Price. Anna’s told me a lot about you.”
“It’s Wesley, please. And I’m glad to meet you. Anna did mention she had sisters.”
“It seems that one of them is missing.” Gunn said.
“I was hoping you could help me find her.” Anan’s skin was darker than Anna’s, her hair a copper-red, her eyes a dark blue that Wesley found captivating. “She’s…proven elusive, and she’s not well. With her powers she’s dangerous on the streets.”
“That is what we do.” Wesley said, then turned to look at Gunn. “Of course, I’m rather busy with a personal matter at the moment. However, Gunn-“
“Already all over it, Wes.” Gunn sat back down in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “Anan’s been tracking her, got as far as LA and lost her trail. She’s a mystical mojo worker like Anna here, only she’s not so emotionally stable. I figure she’s headed into the underground, so some of our contacts might have seen her.”
“Then you are in good hands.” Wesley shifted Connor who was trying to lunge into Anna’s lap. He fussed until Wesley put him down and Connor launched himself at Anna, who caught him and smiled.
“Little man, little man.” She tickled him and he giggled.
“Happy.” Connor always said that whenever Anna held him, almost as if it were her name.
“Yes, little one, you make me happy.” Anna said, her face radiant. Wesley breathed in deeply, relishing the calm she could project into a room. She looked up at him and smiled. He felt his shoulders start to unknot. “How are things, sir?” she asked.
“Better. And, thank you for the book. Mrs. Wills told me you called.”
“I hope it helps.”
Connor crawled into Anan’s lap , putting his little hands on either side of her face. She looked startled, but not bothered, and after a moment, smiled.
Conner laughed and softly patted her face. “Happy,” he said again, then Wesley reached for him.
“Sorry about that.” Wesley said settling Connor onto his hip.
“Don’t be, he’s a precious child.” Anan said. “And powerful.” She cocked her head toward Anna. “He’s special.”
Wesley felt suddenly protective. “Yes, he is. Very much so.” He turned and caught Gunn’s eye. “Ah, I’m taking Connor home.”
Gunn made a face that Wesley knew was his “is that a good idea” face. “You sure you want junior up in that mess?”
Wesley nodded tightly. “Yes, I think its best for him. Can I talk to you for a moment, Charles?.” He crossed to the door. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Anan. I hope that we can help you in your search for your sister.”
Once he’d pulled the door closed, Wesley turned to Gunn. “If this sister is as powerful as Anna, this could be trouble. This could be the situation the council was sensing.”
Gunn nodded. “Yeah, we don’t even know what all she can do.”
“Be careful. When you know you’re close, call me. You shouldn’t go up against an unstable witch yourself.” Wesley started to walk away, then stopped. “You should probably wake Fred and send her home. She’s sleeping in the conference room.”
Gunn laughed. “She was up all night watching the Wizard of Oz with the wonder tyke here. He wouldn’t sleep.”
Connor babbled indecipherable baby talk as Wesley made his way back down the hallway to his office. He found it comforting, familiar and realized that was why the apartment had seemed so quiet since Angel had come. It wasn’t the sound of the wounded vampire, but that of the missing child. “Dada is going to take you home, Connor. Just a few more minutes.”
Wesley rummaged through his desk, not certain what he was looking for until his hand fell on the small package that had come from his mother two weeks before. Juggling Connor around so that he could open the package, Wesley pulled at the paper that wrapped the box until he could get in to the box itself. The note was typically short, well wishes, some of your things included, love mother. Inside the small box were odds and ends of trinkets, not unlike the other things she had sent in the past, and as always, at the bottom, one of his books.
He lifted it free of the wrappings, his thumb gliding over an ornate, but worn cover. It looked familiar. He had seen something similar only recently. Figuring that meant it might be helpful, Wesley tucked it into a pocket and left the office. He gathered the diaper bag and a few other things and left the office to get back to the apartment. He’d been gone longer than he’d wanted.
The smell of food cooking greeted him as he cleared the stairs. Connor was half asleep in his arms, his head heavy on Wesley’s shoulder. He cleared the energy barrier he’d established as he left and opened the door. Cordelia waved from the kitchen and he nodded.
The door to the second bedroom had been closed all week, all evidence of Connor’s existence hidden away behind it. Wesley opened the door and settled Connor into his crib, hoping he would sleep, at least for a little while. He waited a moment, stroking Connor’s hair softly and watching as the little one settled in and finally slept.
“How is he?” Wesley asked as he emerged from the nursery.
Cordelia shrugged. “Its been quiet. There was yelling a while ago, nightmares, crying. He asked for you. I told him you’d be back soon. I haven’t heard anything since.”
Wesley nodded. “Did you say you brought fresh blood?” She nodded. “Warm some up please.”
She opened the refrigerator and set about preparing Angel’s meal. “You hungry? I cooked. It isn’t much, but its hot and ready.”
Wesley smiled. “Yes, thank you Cordelia. I’ll check on Angel first though, see if I can get him to feed.”
The microwave beeped and Cordelia handed a black mug to Wesley, who in turn went to the door of his bedroom, knocking softly before opening it. He closed it behind him and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim room.
Angel sat in his corner, his knees bent in front of him, his gaunt body pressed against the wall. His face seemed vacant, his eyes glassy as he stared at the floor. Wesley moved a little closer. “I’m back, Angel. I’ve brought you something.”
Angel didn’t move, and Wesley came closer and turned on the bedside light, stopping short as his eyes caught on the stake in Angel’s hand. The point rested against his chest, right in the center of a circular pattern of the odd markings. It had already penetrated skin, as evident by the blood dripping from the spot.
“Angel?”
“It hurts.” Angel said, still unmoving. “Stop the pain.”
“I know it hurts, Angel. I know.” Wesley crouched down beside him. His heart raced, his breath stabbing at his lungs as he tried to martial his face into an expression closer to affection than fear. He had come this far, and he couldn’t lose him now.
“Stop the hurt.” Angel’s eyes closed as Wesley touched his knee. “No.” His hand with the stake pushed harder toward his heart. “Can’t be him again.”
Wesley’s other hand touched Angel’s, long fingers wrapping around the fist that held the wood, pulling back just enough to keep Angel from turning himself into a pile of dust. “Angel, please stay with me.” Wesley pleaded softly, his voice laced with his desire. There was no use denying that his need to keep Angel alive was mere friendship.
“Hurt. Stop the hurt. Stop the pain.” Tears streaked Angel’s face and when his eyes finally met Wesley’s, he found tears in his own as well.
“I promise Angel, we will find a way. It will get better.” Wesley’s left hand rose up to wipe the tears from Angel’s cheeks. “Just stay with me and I’ll make it better.”
Ever so slowly, Angel loosened his grip on the stake, until it fell to the floor. Wesley exhaled in relief, now holding Angel’s hand as his body shook with sobs. He moved so that he was sitting on the floor and took Angel in his arms, holding him as he cried. It seemed natural as the sobbing subsided for Angel’s mouth to find its way to Wesley’s wrist, as if nursing a newborn. It seemed to calm him, even though he only took a few swallows and when he was done, Wesley got him to sit up again.
“Here, drink this too,” he said softly, handing him the mug. “Cordelia brought it for you.”
Angel took it dully, looking into it for a long time before taking a sip of it. He made a face, but didn’t throw it. He lifted the mug again, this time tilting his head back and pouring the contents down, swallowing quickly, like a child taking his medicine.
“That’s good.” Wesley, said, taking the cup back. “Do you feel like telling me about it?”
Angel shook his head. “Inside out.”
Wesley looked at him closely. “What does that mean, Angel?”
“Inside out, Outside in.” He looked up at where Wesley was now standing.
“You’ve said that before, you know.” Wesley said, as if Angel were actually listening. “A few days ago. You were dreaming then.”
“Wes?” Cordy’s voice near the doorway drew his attention. She was leaning in the doorway. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
“Yes, right. Let me get him settled into bed again. I’ll be out.”
Wesley sighed as he set the cup and the stake on the counter. Behind him, Cordelia was moving plates and silverware to the small kitchen table that she had cleaned of his books and notes. He was tired, the kind of tired that sunk in to a person and dragged them down.
“Is he okay?” Cordy asked when Wesley didn’t move toward the table.
Wesley turned to look at her, his expression a mix of his apprehension and his desire to comfort her. “I don’t know.” He sighed again, more explosively than the first and moved to take a seat beside her as she started dishing up a salad. “If I hadn’t gone in just then, we might not have had to worry about it anymore.”
When she looked at him confused, he pointed at the stake before grabbing at the plate of rolls. “He was ready to stake himself.”
Cordelia grimaced and set aside the salad bowl. “Wow, just like Darla…only not with the noble intentions and all.”
Wesley finished filling his bowl with the rich stew Cordelia had brought and nodded. The similarity wasn’t lost on him. Darla had come to them, pregnant and ready to deliver, lost, tormented by the soul within her. Wesley would never be certain if her self-sacrifice had been for Connor’s benefit alone, or if she truly couldn’t take the pain anymore.
“He’s hurting,” Wesley said, aware that it was likely unnecessary.
“Those nightmares of his, they sounded pretty bad.”
Wesley nodded, he’d sat beside Angel as he’d thrashed about, caught in some dream that Wesley could only imagine, for days. He’d seen the echo of the terror in Angel’s face when he woke. He ate silently for a minute, remembering how his kiss had calmed him after the nightmares had driven him to tear at his own skin.
“I can stay.” Cordy said after a long silence. “It looks like you could use some help, especially with having Connor home.”
Wesley smiled and swallowed. “That isn’t necessary, Cordelia.”
She smiled too. “I know it isn’t necessary. I want to. No arguments. I’ll run out and get a few things and let Dennis know.”
Wesley could tell from the look on her face that disagreement wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he abandoned the effort and nodded. “We can take turns sleeping on the couch.”
“See, I told Fred you could be reasonable.” She smiled and stuffed a forkful of salad into her mouth. Wesley had to admit it was nice to have company, especially someone who knew how to make him smile.
The rest of the meal was fairly quiet, with what little talk there was revolving around Connor and the office. Together, the two of them cleared the table, washed the dishes and put them away, then Cordelia moved to grab her purse and jacket.
“I’ll only be about an hour. You should get some rest.” She kissed his cheek and headed out the front door.
“Rest.” Yes, he thought to himself, he really should rest. He watched her go, then remembered the book in his pocket. Pulling it out, he went back to the kitchen table and opened it.
It had been a book he’d found on one of his outings while he’d still been in school, an educational outing his father had arranged to allow him to see the work the watcher’s council was involved in. The book seller in the tiny flea market had no clue what it was, or what it was worth. For a few pounds, Wesley had managed to purchase it with none of his companions knowing. He had gotten good about smuggling contraband into the house without his father knowing.
In fact, it had been this book that had given him the idea for the spell he crafted to loosen his father’s hold on him. It told a tale of a binding put on the first people by their gods, binding them to their laws, creating the first consciences. The people could not do wrong, because it would cause them guilt, and mental pain. Wesley had reasoned that his conscience was overly burdened with his father’s discipline and rules, and that he needed to unbind himself from it in order to gain his freedom.
Wesley opened the book and slowly turned the pages. It still smelled of the incense burned all over the market where he’d bought it. His mind translated the words as he skimmed, looking for anything that might jog his memory or spark an understanding of what he was facing.
When Cordelia returned, he was still sitting at the table, reading and making notes. She made “tsk, tsk” sounds at him and took the book away, settling him onto the couch with a pillow and the afghan his mother had sent him last Christmas and stood nearby until he dutifully closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for the fatigue to pull him under and darkness to overtake him.
Chapter Six
“Wesley?” Angel moved around restlessly, lifting his head from the pillow.
“He’s sleeping.” Cordelia’s face emerged from the shadows on the side of the bed, leaning toward him. “I’m here though.”
“Cordelia?”
She smiled and nodded. “Yep. How do you feel?”
Angel closed his eyes and he fought back a wave of images: Cordelia’s face bruised and bloody, Cordelia hung from the ceiling of a cave, her blood slowly dripping into his open mouth. It felt so real. He could taste her. He licked dry lips and opened his eyes slowly. “Weak,” he finally responded. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
“Do you need anything?”
Angel shook his head. He needed Wesley. Somehow Wesley made it all seem real, made the images in his head feel like the dream. He was hungry, he could feel the burning inside him. He knew if he asked she would bring him blood.
That brought new images, the contaminated cups, blood laced with poisons and drugs that sent him reeling, that doubled him over in pain, and all the while she danced around him, laughing. Then the cutting would start, the chanting and cutting. Angel shook involuntarily and pulled away as Cordelia’s hand came close to him. “No.” he said almost plaintively and her hand fell away.
“Its okay, Angel.” She sat back, so that her face was hidden in the dark. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.”
He closed his eyes and tried to block out the helplessness, the pain. It wasn’t real, some part of him knew that. The part of him that needed Wesley knew that. He could smell Cordelia, not the faint perfume that she wore, but the smell of her flesh. He tried to concentrate on the smell. This isn’t how she would smell if he had killed her. She wouldn’t be sitting in the chair watching him sleep if he killed her.
He moved a little so that he could make out the shape of her in the chair. He watched her as she seemed to doze lightly, her eyes closed, her face peaceful. In his mind she was thinner, her hair longer and darker. In his mind she was screaming and crying and begging him to stop the pain.
In his mind he could hear her taunting him, reminding him that he and Angelus were one and the same, and no mere soul was enough to stop him from his true nature.
“Cordelia?” his voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. Her eyes opened and she moved so that he could see her better. “I’m sorry.”
Her folded hands moved to grasp her knee. He couldn’t tell what he saw in her face. She looked at her hands for a moment, then looked at him again. “I know, Angel.”
“You can’t see it, what I did to you-what my head says I did to you. I-I’m sorry.”
She crossed the distance between the chair and the bed to sit on the edge beside him. It was quick, and he only started a little, then her hand was on his and he couldn’t pull away. “I want you to feel this,” she said, her hand holding his tightly. “This is me, and I’m here, right here. Those things in your head, they aren’t real. I am.”
Her eyes searched out his and held them. He saw only acceptance and affection in them. Her hand was warm against his cold skin, not hot like Wesley’s, but he felt the fear retreat a little. “Thank you,” he said softly, looking away. Her gaze was too intense for him.
She smiled again, her face brightening. He remembered she could light up a room with her smile. “Now, I can bring you some blood, if you’re hungry, but you have to promise me, no tantrums.”
He looked back at her and nodded. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Cordelia let go of his hand and stood, looking back at him once before she slipped through the bedroom door. The room seemed to shrink around him with her gone, and he suddenly felt very alone. He couldn’t smell her, couldn’t even smell Wesley despite the fact that the room generally reeked of him.
He closed his eyes and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. He knew what came next, and he didn’t want it. If he kept his eyes closed he wouldn’t see her, if he plugged his ears maybe he wouldn’t hear her. He felt her though, the hand on the small of his back, tracing the scars she had cut into him, murmuring the words of the spell as her nail pulled its way over it.
He rolled over again, onto his back, and felt her touch move to his arm, onto his chest. He opened his eyes and she was there, straddling him, her pointed finger poking into the circular pattern as if it alone could stake his heart and end his life, end the pain.
The door opened and she was gone, replaced by Cordelia coming in with a coffee mug. He was shaking and didn’t trust himself to speak as she handed him the mug. It was warm, comforting, even if the smell turned his stomach. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Wesley, but he dutifully drank it, pulling it swiftly into his mouth and swallowing without tasting. The hunger subsided a bit. He only shook a little as he handed the cup back.
Cordelia smiled and touched his face. “You will be okay, Angel.”
He nodded, not really believing her. She set the mug down and helped rearrange the blankets around him. “I’ll just be in the next room if you need anything, okay?”
He watched her go, fighting the urge to rip at his skin, to scream, anything to keep the images from coming back. He watched them die over and over again, every time he fell asleep, and always she was there, taunting him, reminding him that he didn’t need Angelus to be cruel. Then there was the cage, the chains, the tainted blood she would feed him when the hunger was raging from days of starvation. The long hours of cutting, bleeding. He couldn’t make out which parts were real and which were the drug induced hallucinations. It all felt real.
Angel brought his hand to his face and sniffed at it. Cordelia’s scent clung to it. He tried to hold on to that scent, to the moment. He could feel the cool sheets around him, the firmness of the headboard at his back. In the dark he could make out the shapes of the furniture, the chair, the dresser. Faint lines of light outlined the bedroom door. Beyond that door he could sense Cordelia, her heart beat light, but strong. Nearby he could hear the steady breathing of Wesley sleeping. His heart beat was deeper, stronger. Then, Angel caught something unfamiliar. A third heartbeat. It was fast, faster than Cordelia’s. Smaller too somehow.
A child. He could almost make out the smell now. There was a child nearby. He listened to its heart, trying to fathom why there would be a child in Wesley’s apartment. Slowly Angel pulled himself out of the bed. He was unsteady on his feet, his head swimming and threatening to send him crashing to the floor, but he persisted. He shuffled the chair, then the dresser and finally to the door. He clung to it for a moment, letting his head clear of the dizziness his movement had caused, and fighting down a wave of nausea.
He opened the door and squinted against the sudden light spilling from the kitchen where Cordelia was moving around. He turned toward the living room and felt relief flood him as his eyes found Wesley. It was very early in the morning, at least an hour before dawn, he could sense it.
His eyes swept his field of vision, coming to rest on the partially open door near the bathroom. It was coming from in there. He stumbled out of the bedroom, ignoring Cordelia’s surprise and lurching toward the door, catching himself on furniture and walls to keep from falling. His legs felt heavy, like he was moving through sand, but he kept moving.
Closer and closer, until he was in the room, standing in front of a crib, holding on to it tight enough for the wood to cut into his hands. Conner pulled himself to standing, his tiny hands in between Angel’s, his face turned up to look at Angel who stared back. It didn’t make any sense. Angel could smell him, feel his heart beating. He knew he was real.
Yet, it couldn’t be. There was a familiarity to his smell…like someone he knew…like…Darla. Angel shook his head, watching as Connor mimicked him. “No.” he whispered, fighting back another wave of nausea. It was a trick. He was hallucinating.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” he heard Cordelia ask, suddenly beside him.
Angel couldn’t respond. His head felt thick. He closed his eyes, seeing Darla in his mind as she had been when they had last been together…newly remade into a vampire. She had thought to turn him back to Angelus. He had used her and thrown her away.
“He’s mine?” he whispered it.
Cordelia touched his arm and he moved away, stepping back from the crib. “Yes, Angel. His name is Connor.”
Angel stumbled back until he felt something behind him, the rocking chair catching him as he collapsed. “Not real. Not real.” He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of Cordelia lifting Connor from the crib.
She came to stand in front of him, holding Connor. “He is real, Angel. As real as you and me.” She knelt, settling Connor on one knee. Her hand reached out to capture Angel’s. “Feel me?” She squeezed until he nodded and opened his eyes. Then she put his hand on Connor’s face. Connor smiled, his tiny hands reaching up to touch his. Angel stared into Connor’s face, expecting it to disappear. When it didn’t Angel shuddered.
“Real?”
“Yes Angel, he’s very real.” Wesley said, coming into the room.
Connor jumped off Cordelia’s knee and went to Wesley. “Dada.”
Wesley picked him up and moved closer to Angel. “We’ve been taking care of him.”
Angel watched them, Connor clung to Wesley, but watched Angel. Wesley held Connor like a father, but watched Angel. Cordelia knelt in front of him still, her hand on his knee. It was too much. He couldn’t make it make sense. He closed his eyes. His body shook. He could hear them talking, but the words were unclear. He pulled his body in, his legs up to his chest, his head ducked under his hands. The chair rocked beneath him and he let its rhythm carry him away into the darkness.
Wesley watched as Angel withdrew into himself, and felt guilty for bringing Connor home so soon. He shook his head and handed Connor off to Cordelia. “I’ll see if I can get him back to bed.”
“I’ll feed Connor.”
Wesley nodded and watched her leave the room. He had hoped that having Connor and Cordelia here would help Angel. Now he worried it was too much stimulation. He went to Angel, rubbing his arms and legs to let him know he was there, kissing the top of his head, though he wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to comfort Angel or himself.
Ever so slowly, he felt the vampire loosen up, his taut muscles going slack, his body less rigid. Wesley spoke to him quietly, touching him, kissing him gently until he could maneuver him up out of the chair. Wesley nearly carried him back to the bedroom, closing the door behind them and settling Angel onto the bed.
“There now Angel, you can rest some more.” Wesley said, tucking the blankets around Angel’s bare torso. His fingers brushed over the raised marks on Angel’s skin above the blanket. The spot above his heart was slightly bruised, making the characters seem to form a funnel, pulling everything in.
“Outside in.” Angel murmured as Wesley’s hand hovered over the spot. Wesley looked up at his face, but Angel’s eyes weren’t looking at him.
Wesley bent to kiss him, his lips brushing against Angel’s lightly. “Rest now. It will be better soon.”
Wesley emerged into the glow of the kitchen lights, squinting as he watched Cordelia give Connor his bottle along with some cereal that Wesley knew he wouldn’t eat. His eyes swept the table, the stack of his books, coming to rest on the mythology that Anna had sent home with him. “Outside in.” he said, half aloud, moving toward the books.
“What?”
“Something Angel said.” Wesley responded, pulling the book to him. He flipped the pages, his eyes scanning the page searching for something.
“Ah, here it is.” He cleared his throat and translated out loud, “And the Gods brought forth healing, the Inside Out and the Outside In, that joy and peace might emerge and pain and suffering might withdraw.”
“What?” Cordelia asked again, her hands on her hips.
“Well, taken at its most literal, it is something like ‘She who draws the external within’…the Outside In.”
“Okay…who is she?”
Wesley lowered the book. “I have no idea.”
“Well then, that was helpful.”
“It’s a start.” Wesley was about to say more when the phone rang. He set the book down and reached for the phone. “Hello?”
“Just checking in. Anna seemed to think I should call.”
“Good morning, Charles, any luck?”
“If you call spending all night following elusive clues about a raving psycho bitch luck. People who’ve seen here aren’t much with the liking of her.”
“If it were easy, Anna and her sister wouldn’t have needed us.”
“Yeah, whatever. How are things there?”
“We may have had a break through. I found a reference to something Angel’s been saying.”
“Good. I’ll call if we get any closer than hours behind her.”
“Very good, Charles. Watch your back.”
“Yeah, you too English.”
Wesley hung up the phone and settled into a chair beside Connor’s high chair. The sleep had done wonders for him, he felt almost like himself. He thought that coffee might be a good idea, and before he could do more than think it, Cordelia was setting a cup in front of him.
“Its fresh. I figured you’d want some.”
He smiled at her and wrapped his hands around the cup. It was hot, and the heat felt good. “Thank you.”
She sat opposite him, and lowered her head into her hands. It was a posture he was familiar with. “You’ve had a vision.”
She nodded. “Pretty ugly one.”
He sat up a little straighter. “What was it?”
She swallowed and gingerly shook her head. “I wish I knew. At first it was Angel, being all suicidal, staking himself. Then it went woosh and I saw Buffy die, only it was Buffy like when she first came to Sunnydale, and then there was fire in the sky and chaos, and then it all went dark.” There were tears in her eyes as they met his. “It hurt, Wesley, like my body was being torn apart.”
Wesley sipped at his coffee. The visions had been bad before, but what he saw in her eyes was different. Something about this one was different. “When you say it went dark-“
“Like nothing. I was still in the vision, but everything was gone. The world was gone.”
“That’s not good.” Wesley murmured.
“Duh.” She rubbed at her temples. “What does it mean?”
“Well, if Buffy had died when she first came to Sunnydale, how many apocalypses would not have been averted? Anyone of them could have turned out the lights.”
“But Buffy didn’t die.”
Wesley nodded in agreement. Perhaps there was something about Angel staking himself? Maybe it had something to do with the markings on him. “What if the characters carved into his skin are words to a spell?” he mused out loud.
“To do what?”
Wesley shrugged, “End the world?” It was insane, he knew that, but his brain was starting to work. “I’d know better if I could translate even some of it.”
“So, translate.” Cordy said, releasing Connor from his high chair as he started throwing Cheerios at them.
“Right.” Wesley nodded and rose to start gathering books and journals to get started. “Why don’t you get some rest. I’ll take care of Connor.”
Cordelia yawned and moved toward the couch. “Wake me if you need me.” She settled under the afghan and closed her eyes.
Connor toddled over to Wesley and pointed to Cordelia. “Dee seep.”
Wesley smiled at him. “Yes, we need to be very quiet and let Cordelia sleep. Can we do that?”
Connor’s eyes were bright and he nodded. “There’s my very good boy.” Wesley kissed Connor’s forehead and watched him settle in to play with his favorite stuffed toy, then set about his own quiet time, with the Kalvi book and the mythology as his guides.
Click here for chapters 7 & 8