A Bar on the Mainland | Baltimore, MD | Tuesday Evening Fandom Time
Wesley had thought he would go home. Or, well, back to school, rather, though for a while now "home" had been the best word for it. Either way, he'd been on the verge of calling for a cab from the mainland when he suddenly just -- couldn't. Not now, when his ineptitude was so obvious from looking at his face. Or really any part of him -- the injuries covered most of his body, and his every step or movement was accompanied by a wince of pain at the very least. And as he didn't much favor the idea of returning to school so people could gawk and bear witness to said ineptitude, he found himself somewhere rather uncharacteristic.
In a bar. In Baltimore. Where he was throwing darts, with exceptionally precise aim, at the bulls' eye of the dartboard. It wasn't even interesting, and he certainly didn't need the practice given that they hit one hundred eighty every time, but the only other thing he could think of to relieve this much anger would involve a gun, and all of his were locked away in his dormitory.
And he was drinking beer. Apparently if you looked this beat-up, people tended not to ask for identification, though he'd foregone his usual choice of scotch out of wariness of whatever swill they'd be passing off as whiskey here.
He was having a miserable evening, but that was fine so long as no one was around to bear witness to anything he'd botched up. Throwing darts, at least, he had some skill at. And practicing in spite of the limp, the pain all over his body that the bad American beer was doing absolutely nothing to help numb, and the lack of feeling in his throwing arm, well, that was an extra challenge, wasn't it?
Collins, Weatherby and SmithIt was a bit unfortunate that Wesley had been hoping not to be reminded of his failures tonight. Because there was a dart whizzing past his left ear, and suddenly there were three very familiar men sitting opposite him.
"Hello, Wesley."
WesleyWesley ducked the dart, then fully turned to see who had thrown it.
Weatherby. Collins. Smith. Three of his one-time fellow Watchers, all of them members of the Watchers' Council Special Operations Team. Wesley had a sudden flash of a memory of himself at seven, introduced to the three of them at a function for senior Watchers. He'd been the only child in the room, he remembered, and they'd told him about their very impressive jobs - though his father had punctuated their speech by reminding Wesley that he had to keep his grades up to ever be like them.
"Hello, gentlemen."
WeatherbyNoting Wesley's apparent surprise, Weatherby gestured over to a booth. "Have a seat, why don't you," he encouraged.
"And shut your mouth. I spotted a fly in here."
WesleyWesley sank into the offered seat, utterly disoriented. He hadn't seen another Watcher since -- well, since he'd met Constance Aluko, he supposed, and even that wasn't quite the same. He hadn't expected to ever cross paths with his old world again, not now that he was determined to go about his demon-hunting alongside Angel rather than as part of the Council.
It was odd how much he still craved their respect. He sipped his beer, doing his best to look older.
Collins"So," said Collins, lighting up a cigarette in blatant disregard of the no-smoking sign. "Baltimore."
Wesley"Maryland," Wesley agreed.
He couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't sound juvenile or desperate, so he quieted.
Collins"Who would've thought this was where you'd end up?" Collins said, putting the laziest amount of inflection possible to still make it clear that that was a question.
Wesley"Well, it seemed as good a place as any to -- re-evaluate my situation after being asked to resign my position with the Council," he said, aiming to sound cool and disinterested. And it, well, almost worked.
"And the weather," he added, uselessly. "I find it... sporadic."
Because sometimes it rained small animals, Fandom.
WeatherbyWeatherby snorted. "Daddy wouldn't cough up the dosh for the airfare home, would he?"
WesleyThere had been a time when Wesley would've sharply defended his father. But the four of them knew that that time had long since passed, and he let it slide.
"No," he admitted in a mutter. "He wouldn't."
SmithSmith scowled. "In the pocket of all those higher-ups and he sends his son to American school," he said. "Hateful old bastard."
CollinsThere was a shift among the three of them. Wesley knew, of course, that there was an agenda being discussed, and that they would try to get at it by means of appealing to -- well, to something of importance to him, but this was the shift that indicated that it was coming up.
And he wasn't wrong.
"Good thing there's others up at the Council with better attitudes, then, innit?" Collins said carefully.
WesleyWesley froze. This could either be very, very good... or some nasty Council trick.
"Better attitudes," he repeated.
He was almost afraid to phrase it as a question.
CollinsCollins did him the decency of switching the hand that held his cigarette and tapping it against the ashtray.
"How'd you like to come home, Wesley?" he offered. "Back to England?"
WesleyWell. That jarred him out of the bored expression.
For all that Wesley said he was comfortable learning at Fandom and being a rogue demon hunter, and for all that he enjoyed assisting Angel when he could (and when he didn't utterly botch things up), that was all before he'd known that there was another option, one that he'd wanted since… well, birth.
"Home?" he repeated, his voice cracking just slightly.
Collins"The Council is willing to have you back," said Collins. "You can finish the year at the Academy and graduate with your class. Oxford in the fall. That was a nasty business back in Sunnydale, but nobody blames you."
WesleyIt was that last part that broke Wesley out of his daze. Collins had gone just one step too far, he thought bitterly. While the Council could try to manipulate him all they liked, they could never convince him that nobody blamed him.
"Really?" he said, now feigning the enthusiasm that had been genuine only a moment ago. Funny how that had all changed. Then, dryly, and over the the rim of the glass of beer that he had just brought to his lips: "Because I rather got the impression that they did when they sacked me."
The three of them exchanged looks, which Wesley watched bitterly. Of course, they hadn't expected him to pick up on that, had they? Because he was eighteen and malleable and had once been the most eager student the Watchers' Academy had. Because of those idiotic letters he'd sent the Council all last year, pleading with them to reconsider and have him back. Because even at Fandom, when the opportunity presented itself for him to find the Council headquarters in Victorian England, he would always, always take it.
Collins, Weatherby and Smith"As I said," said Collins, as though it weren't obvious that the jig was up. "Mistake." Smith handed Wesley an envelope, and Collins added, "One that can now be corrected with your help."
WesleyWesley wearily slid the paper out of the envelope, wondering what it would be this time.
And he found -- a picture of Faith. Well. Why hadn't he guessed?
Smith"We know where she is," Smith said. "And we know you have access to her."
WesleyIt really was pathetic, the way they thought of him, Wesley thought bitterly.
"No," he said flatly, closing the envelope and setting it back down on the table. "I couldn't possibly."
Collins and WeatherbyWeatherby gaped at him. "Loyalty to a vampire now, is it?"
Collins shot him a look, and Weatherby fell silent.
"It's all right," he said. "That's not why we're here. A rogue Slayer, Wesley. Far more dangerous than any single vampire. Surely you understand that."
WesleyOh, so now they'd reached the sweet-talking part of the evening.
Wesley couldn't help reaching a hand up touch his fingers to a particularly deep cut on his cheek as he conceded quietly, "All too well."
But they didn't see that that wasn't the point. As furious as Wesley was with Angel for overlooking what had happened to him the night before, he wasn't about to turn Faith over to the guidance of the Council. Particularly not after their treatment of him in the past.
It really was stunning, that they still thought he'd help them. Almost insulting, really.
Unless...
Collins"Will you help us?" Collins asked, leaning forward just a touc
WesleyWesley caught the enthusiasm, and was all too pleased to redirect the conversation, knowing it would keep the three of them waiting and uncomfortable.
"Why come to me?" he asked sharply. "You know where she is; why not take her yourselves?" When they didn't immediately look at him, he proceeded, "You three are the best. The Council's elite."
And then he pretended the answer was only just dawning on him, and broke into a smug little smirk. It wasn't kind, doing this to them, but neither was their strategy of appealing to poor, desperate little Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.
"She cleaned your clocks, didn't she?"
CollinsCollins cleared his throat, fixing Wesley with a stare that could be considered contemptuous if he wasn't so obviously trying to hold back.
"She's betrayed her calling," he gritted out. "The Council. You. She has power and the willingness to use that power for evil. She must be stopped."
WesleyWesley was no idiot. He knew how this game was played.
So he took another sip before conceding, "Well, yes. Yes, she does."
CollinsThe three of them looked to one another. Then a napkin was slid across the table. In it, a syringe.
As Wesley went to touch it, Collins interrupted, "Careful. The sedative contained in that syringe is powerful enough to bring down a man twice your size -- or a Slayer."
WesleyPurely curious now, Wesley had to ask, "How does it work?"
Weatherby"How do you think?" snarled Weatherby, who had grown consistently more unpleasant after his last few rounds of drinks. "You jab her with it, don't you?"
Collins sighed and reached over, uncapping the syringe. He should've known Wesley would ask about it. He'd always been that sort of student. "Just a little pressure on the flesh," he explained. "In moments she'll feel the effects."
Wesley"So you intend to take her alive, then?" Wesley confirmed, without hesitating.
Collins"Of course," Collins said, as if comforting a very young child. "She'll be out long enough for us to secure her for transport back to England. There she'll begin her rehabilitation."
WesleyRight, that was just too much crap in one sentence for Wesley to even pretend to buy. He remembered what Kenzi had said about rehabilitation, remembered his own guilt at trying to force it on Faith.
"Does the Council really believe she can be rehabilitated?"
Collins"We have every confidence," lied Collins. "You'll signal us as soon as it's done," he instructed Wesley. "And we'll come in and take care of the rest."
A waitress arrived to bring Weatherby another drink, and Collins hastened to cover up the syringe.
Wesley"I have some conditions of my own," Wesley said softly, because even in this role he was playing, they had to be expecting soft-heartedness from him. "Just one, actually. No harm must come to the vampire."
Weatherby"Oh, don't be a ponce!" cried Weatherby, nearly upsetting his drink as he slammed the table with his fist.
Wesley"That's it," said Wesley resolutely, pushing the syringe away. "Unless you agree to that, you won't get any help from me."
Collins and WeatherbyAnd Collins pushed it right back to him, assuring him, "We have no quarrel with the vampire."
"Unless you count the fact that he is a vampire," sneered Weatherby.
Wesley"He's a special case," Wesley said sharply. "He is reformed. He has a soul."
When the other three turned away in disgust, Wesley leaned in, snapping, "In point of fact, I've confronted more evil, slain more demons -- in short, done more good -- while working with Angel than I ever did while I was in the Council's employ."
Well. If you counted Fandom as well, at any rate.
Collins"We'll make every effort," Collins assured him.
Wesley"No, not 'every effort,'" Wesley snapped, leaning forward quickly enough to warrant a hiss of pain at tugging one of his cuts back open. Bugger. "No harm." He drew back. "I must have your word."
CollinsCollins hesitated.
Then --
"Done," he said at last, and they shook on it.
[[Taken and adapted from Angel 1x19, "Sanctuary." NFB, NFI, OOC would give me the warm fuzzies, and this is post six of seven. Follows this, this, this, this, and this.]]
In a bar. In Baltimore. Where he was throwing darts, with exceptionally precise aim, at the bulls' eye of the dartboard. It wasn't even interesting, and he certainly didn't need the practice given that they hit one hundred eighty every time, but the only other thing he could think of to relieve this much anger would involve a gun, and all of his were locked away in his dormitory.
And he was drinking beer. Apparently if you looked this beat-up, people tended not to ask for identification, though he'd foregone his usual choice of scotch out of wariness of whatever swill they'd be passing off as whiskey here.
He was having a miserable evening, but that was fine so long as no one was around to bear witness to anything he'd botched up. Throwing darts, at least, he had some skill at. And practicing in spite of the limp, the pain all over his body that the bad American beer was doing absolutely nothing to help numb, and the lack of feeling in his throwing arm, well, that was an extra challenge, wasn't it?
Collins, Weatherby and SmithIt was a bit unfortunate that Wesley had been hoping not to be reminded of his failures tonight. Because there was a dart whizzing past his left ear, and suddenly there were three very familiar men sitting opposite him.
"Hello, Wesley."
WesleyWesley ducked the dart, then fully turned to see who had thrown it.
Weatherby. Collins. Smith. Three of his one-time fellow Watchers, all of them members of the Watchers' Council Special Operations Team. Wesley had a sudden flash of a memory of himself at seven, introduced to the three of them at a function for senior Watchers. He'd been the only child in the room, he remembered, and they'd told him about their very impressive jobs - though his father had punctuated their speech by reminding Wesley that he had to keep his grades up to ever be like them.
"Hello, gentlemen."
WeatherbyNoting Wesley's apparent surprise, Weatherby gestured over to a booth. "Have a seat, why don't you," he encouraged.
"And shut your mouth. I spotted a fly in here."
WesleyWesley sank into the offered seat, utterly disoriented. He hadn't seen another Watcher since -- well, since he'd met Constance Aluko, he supposed, and even that wasn't quite the same. He hadn't expected to ever cross paths with his old world again, not now that he was determined to go about his demon-hunting alongside Angel rather than as part of the Council.
It was odd how much he still craved their respect. He sipped his beer, doing his best to look older.
Collins"So," said Collins, lighting up a cigarette in blatant disregard of the no-smoking sign. "Baltimore."
Wesley"Maryland," Wesley agreed.
He couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't sound juvenile or desperate, so he quieted.
Collins"Who would've thought this was where you'd end up?" Collins said, putting the laziest amount of inflection possible to still make it clear that that was a question.
Wesley"Well, it seemed as good a place as any to -- re-evaluate my situation after being asked to resign my position with the Council," he said, aiming to sound cool and disinterested. And it, well, almost worked.
"And the weather," he added, uselessly. "I find it... sporadic."
Because sometimes it rained small animals, Fandom.
WeatherbyWeatherby snorted. "Daddy wouldn't cough up the dosh for the airfare home, would he?"
WesleyThere had been a time when Wesley would've sharply defended his father. But the four of them knew that that time had long since passed, and he let it slide.
"No," he admitted in a mutter. "He wouldn't."
SmithSmith scowled. "In the pocket of all those higher-ups and he sends his son to American school," he said. "Hateful old bastard."
CollinsThere was a shift among the three of them. Wesley knew, of course, that there was an agenda being discussed, and that they would try to get at it by means of appealing to -- well, to something of importance to him, but this was the shift that indicated that it was coming up.
And he wasn't wrong.
"Good thing there's others up at the Council with better attitudes, then, innit?" Collins said carefully.
WesleyWesley froze. This could either be very, very good... or some nasty Council trick.
"Better attitudes," he repeated.
He was almost afraid to phrase it as a question.
CollinsCollins did him the decency of switching the hand that held his cigarette and tapping it against the ashtray.
"How'd you like to come home, Wesley?" he offered. "Back to England?"
WesleyWell. That jarred him out of the bored expression.
For all that Wesley said he was comfortable learning at Fandom and being a rogue demon hunter, and for all that he enjoyed assisting Angel when he could (and when he didn't utterly botch things up), that was all before he'd known that there was another option, one that he'd wanted since… well, birth.
"Home?" he repeated, his voice cracking just slightly.
Collins"The Council is willing to have you back," said Collins. "You can finish the year at the Academy and graduate with your class. Oxford in the fall. That was a nasty business back in Sunnydale, but nobody blames you."
WesleyIt was that last part that broke Wesley out of his daze. Collins had gone just one step too far, he thought bitterly. While the Council could try to manipulate him all they liked, they could never convince him that nobody blamed him.
"Really?" he said, now feigning the enthusiasm that had been genuine only a moment ago. Funny how that had all changed. Then, dryly, and over the the rim of the glass of beer that he had just brought to his lips: "Because I rather got the impression that they did when they sacked me."
The three of them exchanged looks, which Wesley watched bitterly. Of course, they hadn't expected him to pick up on that, had they? Because he was eighteen and malleable and had once been the most eager student the Watchers' Academy had. Because of those idiotic letters he'd sent the Council all last year, pleading with them to reconsider and have him back. Because even at Fandom, when the opportunity presented itself for him to find the Council headquarters in Victorian England, he would always, always take it.
Collins, Weatherby and Smith"As I said," said Collins, as though it weren't obvious that the jig was up. "Mistake." Smith handed Wesley an envelope, and Collins added, "One that can now be corrected with your help."
WesleyWesley wearily slid the paper out of the envelope, wondering what it would be this time.
And he found -- a picture of Faith. Well. Why hadn't he guessed?
Smith"We know where she is," Smith said. "And we know you have access to her."
WesleyIt really was pathetic, the way they thought of him, Wesley thought bitterly.
"No," he said flatly, closing the envelope and setting it back down on the table. "I couldn't possibly."
Collins and WeatherbyWeatherby gaped at him. "Loyalty to a vampire now, is it?"
Collins shot him a look, and Weatherby fell silent.
"It's all right," he said. "That's not why we're here. A rogue Slayer, Wesley. Far more dangerous than any single vampire. Surely you understand that."
WesleyOh, so now they'd reached the sweet-talking part of the evening.
Wesley couldn't help reaching a hand up touch his fingers to a particularly deep cut on his cheek as he conceded quietly, "All too well."
But they didn't see that that wasn't the point. As furious as Wesley was with Angel for overlooking what had happened to him the night before, he wasn't about to turn Faith over to the guidance of the Council. Particularly not after their treatment of him in the past.
It really was stunning, that they still thought he'd help them. Almost insulting, really.
Unless...
Collins"Will you help us?" Collins asked, leaning forward just a touc
WesleyWesley caught the enthusiasm, and was all too pleased to redirect the conversation, knowing it would keep the three of them waiting and uncomfortable.
"Why come to me?" he asked sharply. "You know where she is; why not take her yourselves?" When they didn't immediately look at him, he proceeded, "You three are the best. The Council's elite."
And then he pretended the answer was only just dawning on him, and broke into a smug little smirk. It wasn't kind, doing this to them, but neither was their strategy of appealing to poor, desperate little Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.
"She cleaned your clocks, didn't she?"
CollinsCollins cleared his throat, fixing Wesley with a stare that could be considered contemptuous if he wasn't so obviously trying to hold back.
"She's betrayed her calling," he gritted out. "The Council. You. She has power and the willingness to use that power for evil. She must be stopped."
WesleyWesley was no idiot. He knew how this game was played.
So he took another sip before conceding, "Well, yes. Yes, she does."
CollinsThe three of them looked to one another. Then a napkin was slid across the table. In it, a syringe.
As Wesley went to touch it, Collins interrupted, "Careful. The sedative contained in that syringe is powerful enough to bring down a man twice your size -- or a Slayer."
WesleyPurely curious now, Wesley had to ask, "How does it work?"
Weatherby"How do you think?" snarled Weatherby, who had grown consistently more unpleasant after his last few rounds of drinks. "You jab her with it, don't you?"
Collins sighed and reached over, uncapping the syringe. He should've known Wesley would ask about it. He'd always been that sort of student. "Just a little pressure on the flesh," he explained. "In moments she'll feel the effects."
Wesley"So you intend to take her alive, then?" Wesley confirmed, without hesitating.
Collins"Of course," Collins said, as if comforting a very young child. "She'll be out long enough for us to secure her for transport back to England. There she'll begin her rehabilitation."
WesleyRight, that was just too much crap in one sentence for Wesley to even pretend to buy. He remembered what Kenzi had said about rehabilitation, remembered his own guilt at trying to force it on Faith.
"Does the Council really believe she can be rehabilitated?"
Collins"We have every confidence," lied Collins. "You'll signal us as soon as it's done," he instructed Wesley. "And we'll come in and take care of the rest."
A waitress arrived to bring Weatherby another drink, and Collins hastened to cover up the syringe.
Wesley"I have some conditions of my own," Wesley said softly, because even in this role he was playing, they had to be expecting soft-heartedness from him. "Just one, actually. No harm must come to the vampire."
Weatherby"Oh, don't be a ponce!" cried Weatherby, nearly upsetting his drink as he slammed the table with his fist.
Wesley"That's it," said Wesley resolutely, pushing the syringe away. "Unless you agree to that, you won't get any help from me."
Collins and WeatherbyAnd Collins pushed it right back to him, assuring him, "We have no quarrel with the vampire."
"Unless you count the fact that he is a vampire," sneered Weatherby.
Wesley"He's a special case," Wesley said sharply. "He is reformed. He has a soul."
When the other three turned away in disgust, Wesley leaned in, snapping, "In point of fact, I've confronted more evil, slain more demons -- in short, done more good -- while working with Angel than I ever did while I was in the Council's employ."
Well. If you counted Fandom as well, at any rate.
Collins"We'll make every effort," Collins assured him.
Wesley"No, not 'every effort,'" Wesley snapped, leaning forward quickly enough to warrant a hiss of pain at tugging one of his cuts back open. Bugger. "No harm." He drew back. "I must have your word."
CollinsCollins hesitated.
Then --
"Done," he said at last, and they shook on it.
[[Taken and adapted from Angel 1x19, "Sanctuary." NFB, NFI, OOC would give me the warm fuzzies, and this is post six of seven. Follows this, this, this, this, and this.]]