Heart On A Sleeve (Interlude 1)
Restive Nature
Rated PG-13
Disclaimer- I own nothing of either Angel the Series or Dark Angel. They and all recognizable characters and settings belong to their respective owners, Whedon and Cameron/Eglee. The only character that is mine is Eva O’Connor.
Timeline: Takes place during Book 2 of the Warrior Souls, "Essence of the Heart".
Summary- Wesley finds himself on a journey of introspection, with an unexpected traveler to help lead him to peace.
Chapter Two
(Coincides with EotH Chapter 17: Bearer Of Bad News)
Un Ange N’a Aucune Armure*
Wes groaned lowly as the sunlight filtering into his bedroom finally pierced his brain. The lingering effects of his hangover rolled over him and he once again cursed himself for taking the coward’s way of dealing with his depression. Depression, while not very attractive on a person, was nothing to compare with depression bolstered by drunkenness. He vaguely recalled Lorne finally having convinced him to sing the previous evening. Wes had conceded just out of curiosity’s sake. He already knew what was wrong with him. But it had been a welcome comfort to have someone to trade ideas with to bring himself out of his recent funk. And Lorne, for all his mysticism, took a very practical route in his advice.
‘You’re fading bro,’ Lorne had intoned as he ordered another round for the small table they were at. ‘You’ve been letting things pile up on your shoulders. Let some of it go before it drowns you sugar plum.’
It was, technically speaking, good advice. But unfortunately for Wes, Lorne had in no way offered precisely how to do said letting go. There were some burdens that Wes would carry in his mind forever, unable to completely shed the mantle of his responsibility. Whether it was to himself, his family, friends or others completely. And neither was he able to deny that it was not just the responsibility, but the guilt, whether real or imagined that weighed more heavily than anything else.
Lorne had left him then, returning to his duties as The Host. Wes continued to nurse his beer until it was nearly closing time. Lorne had taken pity on him and called him a cab. But before the cabbie had arrived, Lorne led him to the door of the club and told him that he had an idea of what Wes could do to resolve his problem. If he cared to learn how, he’d return to the club the next evening.
But the clammy, fuzzy feeling coating Wes’ tongue made him seriously rethink that promise. Certainly, as an Englishman, he could hold more than his share of warm beer. But he was getting to that point where it was the not the choice of could he do so, but did he want to do so. Wes eased a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the lingering ache centered between his eyes. He sighed deeply, realizing that he would find no answers to any of his questions lying about his bed.
*****
He dreaded facing Cordelia the moment he entered the Hyperion. As well he should have, as she was right there, in his face to lambaste him for not responding to her call for help. He brushed her aside with the assertion that it wouldn’t have been the first time that it had happened and as she was still here, it mattered little. Cordy naturally went into a screeching rant about how little Wes valued her as a co-worker and friend. He backpedaled and tried to reassure her that he of course didn’t mean that, but she would not be deterred. He glanced about helplessly, only to see Gunn smirking at him. Wes pleaded with him silently, but Gunn held up his hands as if to say ‘you got yourself into this, I ain’t gonna rescue you!’
Even as he opened his mouth to try and make amends, a sudden lump lodged in his throat. He stared in consternation at the woman before him. It had taken a long time for them to move beyond what had occurred between them in Sunnydale, the differences in their personalities, to become a cohesive unit bolstered by friendship. But it stung him to the core now that even after all these years together, she still didn’t see him as anything more than a personal whipping boy. His spine stiffened as a resolution snapped into place.
"Enough whining Cordelia," he ground out. "I didn’t say that I was unconcerned about your welfare. All I’m saying is that when you called last night about your vision, I was in no way prepared to deal with it. So I took the liberty of making arrangements for it to be handled."
"Oh and I bet that worked out really well," Cordy rolled her eyes. She was still too caught up in her venom to notice the warning tone in his voice.
"I wouldn’t know about that," he remarked in a clipped tone. "I informed Spike of the demon and he assured me that he could deal with it. That was our arrangement with him, was it not?"
"And he did take care of it," another voice called out. Wes spun around as everyone else glanced at the direction the voice came from.
"Max!" Fred cried out, delighted to see her friend, especially so early in the day. But then, that was normal for one who had abnormal sleeping patterns. There was a rush to greet her, giving hugs and receiving them. Wes hung back a little, as did Gunn, knowing better than to get in a woman’s way when it concerned a friend. But finally it was their turn. Gunn asked after Angel and Eva and Max explained that they were still sleeping.
With a wry smile, Wes opened his arms as Max neared him and she wrapped her arms around his waist in an easy, comforting manner. He hugged her briefly, then let her loose as she shifted her stance. But to his surprise, she didn’t let him loose, rather, she stood at his side, one arm still looped about his waist. With delight, he left one arm about her shoulders as they faced the others.
"Is dad up yet?" she asked quickly, glancing about the lobby.
"Haven’t hear a peep from him," Gunn smiled. "But I can go check if ya like?" Max nodded and the young man jogged off towards Giles’ rooms.
"What did you mean before?" Cordy asked suspiciously surprised at Max’s behavior with Wes. It was obvious that Wes was the most reserved person of their motley ragtag group, and Max was not one to be overly physical with her friends in such a manner. She couldn’t see that Max had recognized Wesley’s need for emotional support and had responded to it out of instinct.
"Just what I said Cor," Max chuckled. "Spike was here last night when we got home. Wes told him about the demon, he tracked it and killed it. It’s in a cave at the beach not far from their house, so we’ll have a little clean-up to do." She smiled up at Wes, acting for the entire world that it was some brilliant plan of his devising that had signaled the demise of the beast.
"Oh, okay," Cordy replied, her eyes still burning curiously at the new behavior. But the phone rang and she was in the mood to answer it and deal with something else. Fred as well returned to the desk, to take up whatever project she’d been at before Wes had arrived.
"Are you okay?" Max asked softly, obviously trying not to let the others catch the concern underlying the question.
"I’m quite all right," Wes shrugged. Max stared at him for a moment. Her piercing gaze penetrated his hastily constructed defenses and Wes knew that there was no way for him to fool her.
"Really?"
He sighed and his fingers fidgeted with his glasses for a moment. He glanced away, to see Gunn and Giles descending the grand staircase. Max followed his eyes and turned her head as well. She waved at her father, but made no move to go to him. "All right, no I am not fine. But I will be."
"Okay," she nodded. "But if you ever need to talk Wes…" she trailed off, leaving no doubt as to the openness of her invitation.
"I know," he assured her. She smiled brilliantly up at him before giving him one last friendly squeeze and moved off to effusively greet her father. Wes watched her, his head cocked to the side. ‘How is it that the person who has known me the least amount of time out of them all, knows me so much better?’
*****
Despite what had happened the evening before, Wes took to heart Max’s concern for him and so returned to Caritas that night. He knew that if his behavior was affecting even her, then something was drastically wrong with him. And in a strange way, he really didn’t want to let Max down. Nor did he really want to burden her with his trivialities. Although, being the newcomer in his world, she was without the memories and bias that the others carried about some of his previous behavior. He promised himself that if this new idea of Lorne’s didn’t pan out, then he’d talk to Max.
This time however, when the bartender asked what he wanted, he simply ordered a soft drink. It made no difference to the employee of the club. He was paid the same whether alcohol was involved or not. Wes caught Lorne’s eye and gestured to the table he’d sat at before. Lorne acknowledged him and held up one finger to let Wes know that he’d be with him in a moment. After the latest demon had sung and been advised, Lorne wove his way through the crowd to take a moment’s breather.
"Here I am," Wes opened dumbly.
"Yes," Lorne agreed mildly as he took the seat opposite the Brit. "I’m so glad you clarified that. I was afraid for a moment that my drink was spiked." He laughed at his own joke and Wes’ eyes flickered over to the blonde Slayer. Even through the press of bodies at the bar, Wes could see that Spike was definitely off in his own little world, and not looking too happy about it. There was a feeling of solidarity there, making Wes feel as if he weren’t the only one in his lonely little boat. But he dismissed the notion as Lorne began to speak again. "I’m glad you came back."
"Oh, how so?"
"Well," Lorne drawled. "It occurred to me that sometimes the best way to deal with our problems is to quit giving them so much credence."
A viable theory," Wes agreed. "But how would you suggest going about such a thing."
"Simple," Lorne shrugged an elegantly, if brightly clad shoulder. "Focus on someone else’s problems. Then maybe yours won’t seem so big."
"And I suppose you have someone in mind?" Wes was beginning to catch on. Lorne nodded, gesturing to the doorway. Wes glanced back, immediately recognizing the blonde that had sung so sweetly in French the evening before. "And who is she?" he asked disinterestedly.
"That’s just it. No one knows," Lorne chuckled, lifting his ever present Seabreeze to his lips. He took a small sip, swallowed, then grimaced, his eyes flickering once more to Spike. But the blonde Slayer still didn’t notice, or care. Lorne turned back to Wes. "She’s here, same time, every night we’re open. She comes, she sings, she leaves."
"And you’re unable to help her?" Wes asked, even though he knew the answer already. He recalled the evening before, when Lorne had refused her with a shake of his head. And then the blonde had left.
"It’s not for me to do," Lorne sighed. "Let me tell you, all I see is her past regrets." He glanced around before whispering conspiratorially; "she hasn’t a future for me to read."
"Really?" Wes moved forward, his mind engaged despite himself. This was too intriguing for his ever-working brain to pass up. "Just her?" he ascertained, recalling another similar case that he hadn’t been privy too during one of his sojourns into unemployment. Lorne nodded. "Is she a demon?" was his next question.
"Not quite," Lorne smiled. He glanced back at the blonde, impeccably dressed in a black business suit, opened to reveal a sky blue tank top. Her short, spiky blonde hair flashed under the club lights. Her face, while not young, held few lines to lend certainty to her age, but her eyes were dark and fathomless pools of pain. He supposed that some humans might consider her attractive. "I believe the nom d’affection* for her was…bitch." He chuckled again at Wes’ raised eyebrow. "Just wait, you’ll see."
With that, Lorne rose from his seat. He took up a position beside the stage and nodded for the blonde to begin. Again she took up her place in the center of the stage, assessing the crowd with the cool gaze of one that was often in this position. Wes admired her stance, cool, unconcerned and completely in control. He leaned forward; his elbows resting on the tabletop as her smoky voice took up the lilting tones of French as one born to it. He listened to the song, the same that she had sung last night. When she finished, she stepped back in the lull she had created, then proceeded to ignore the swell of applause. She looked to Lorne and the green demon shook his head sadly. She heaved a small sigh and slowly descended from the stage. Wes watched as the woman left the club, her body moving easily out of the way of others. He turned back to Lorne as the anagogic spoke to the next performer, then introduced it to the crowd. As the music began, Lorne grabbed up a napkin and scribbled something on it. He approached Wes, throwing it on the table.
"Go to that address and maybe we’ll both get some answers," the demon instructed. Wes nodded, stuffing the napkin in his jacket pocket. He swallowed the last gulp of his soda and rose to follow the woman into the night.
*****
Wes found the address easily enough. It was a cemetery. And he groaned at that. So many theories were running through his mind, trying to recall the many things esoteric that he was familiar with. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an encyclopedic memory and knew that there were a million more possibilities of what he might be dealing with. As he exited the car, he carefully extracted a stake from underneath his car seat. He stuck it in his jacket, sighing at the rudimentary weapon. Hopefully it would serve in whatever predicament he found himself in. He locked the car, depositing the keys in his pocket and crept past the slightly askew iron wrought gates.
A flash of blonde hair was his first clue, until he realized that it in no way could be the mystery woman, unless she was some sort of shape shifter that had taken on the persona of the Slayer. Even as he thought it, he watched the young woman shudder slightly. Wes grimaced momentarily. Naturally, that would be too easy a path to be laid at his feet. "Buffy!" he called, but the woman made no response. He approached carefully, but somewhat noisily. Knowing the far-reaching ability of her ears, he made no effort to soften his footfalls as he approached her. He called her name again, but still there was nothing.
Wes wove his way through the headstones, slightly proud of the way Buffy had given herself over to whatever had drawn her attention, even as his Watcher’s training criticized this behavior. It was an easy way for a Slayer to get herself killed. But when she whirled on him, her foot connecting with his chest in a perfectly executed kick, he reminded himself dryly that he hadn’t been that excellent of a Watcher. It only took a moment to shake that thought off as he contemplated the sensation of a bony appendage lodged between his legs and the stake poised over his chest.
"Oh God Wes!" the woman shrieked. Wes fought the urge to scramble back and cross his legs. Really, it was a little much for any male to deal with and to his great relief, she hurried away from him, stuffing her stake into it’s secure location Once done, she held out her hand to him. "Are you okay?" she asked as he arched an eyebrow at her hand. The hand that was ready to end his existence a moment ago. No he bloody well wasn’t all right. "What are you doing here?" she babbled on, betraying the embarrassment at what she had almost done.
Wes forgave her immediately for it. He’d many times been in a similar predicament. He set his hand in hers and she yanked him easily to his feet. As Wes regarded her, he was reminded fiercely of her behavior in high school. Hell, the entire time he knew her. She always seemed to him a little flighty. That is, until it was time to get down to business. And if she was flighty now, then he had little to worry about. But he did resist the urge to clean his glasses.
"I was," he paused, wondering how she would take his real excuse for being in the cemetery. "Well, honestly," he cleared his throat, glancing back at the ground. "I was trying to prevent just that from happening." He almost chuckled at the tinge of red that swept over her cheeks.
"You should know better than to sneak up on a Slayer," Buffy chided him in a lecturing tone, as Wes began to brush himself off.
"I didn’t sneak!" he proclaimed indignantly, his head shooting up to stare at her. She didn’t quite seem to believe him, which rankled a little. "Really. I called your name and made as much noise as possible as I approached."
"Uh huh," Buffy murmured, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I did," Wes protested vehemently. "It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention."
"Me?" the Slayer scoffed. "I was paying attention." She argued, but then bit her lower lip. Wes stared at her, falling back on the glare that he’d been trying to perfect of late, but with no success. But surprisingly, it seemed to work on Buffy. "I guess just not to you," she finally confessed. Wes’ brow furrowed as he glanced around the placid cemetery.
"And what were you concentrating on?" he wondered aloud.
"It’s nothing," Buffy finally dismissed, waving her hand, unconcerned. "Just a ghost on my grave."
"That’s odd," Wes grimaced. He wondered how much of a coincidence it was that Lorne had sent him to this graveyard just as Buffy had been patrolling it. That spoke simply of one thing. Perhaps this mystery woman of his was a Vampire.
"So what are you doing here?" Buffy asked quickly, bringing Wes out of his silent musings.
"Oh, well, er," Wes stammered, trying to decide whether or not to mention his new conundrum to the woman. But surely, if the woman was a Vampire, the Slayer was his best bet to find her, sensing them, as she could. "I was looking for someone," he admitted
"In a graveyard?" she chuckled. "At night? Without a weapon?" Wes could hear the underlying chiding tone in her voice. It grated a little as he patted himself down, trying to remember where he’d stuffed his stake. He finally located the sharpened wood and pulled it forth. She gave a grudging little nod. "Was it a contact?"
"No," Wes shook his head. "Not really." ‘How could someone be a contact if you’d never had contact with him or her?’ he wondered idly, but brought himself back to his task. "You didn’t happen to see a blonde woman, probably early to mid forties pass by here?"
"Uh uh," Buffy shook her head as well. "Nobody’s been around for a while. Just you and me."
"Well that’s odd," Wes ruminated again. "I could have sworn… she came this way." He sighed and stuffed the stake back in its secret place, wondering if having no future meant that Lorne’s information was invalid. Perhaps this was all a practical joke on him.
"Who?" Buffy asked, startling him a little.
"Oh, I don’t know her," Wes chuckled candidly. Buffy grinned at him.
"But you’d like to, huh?" she teased gently. Wes stared at her a moment, processing what she’d said, but before he could comment, she’d told him to never mind. "Well, have fun finding her. I’m going to head home."
"You’re not going to help me?" Wes asked incredulously. Of course, it occurred to him that he hadn’t been very clear with his former Slayer and she really hadn’t any reason to help him.
"Wes," Buffy giggled, "I’m a Slayer, not a dating service." His eyes popped open a little wider, as he realized that she truly thought he was after a woman for, well reasons she wouldn’t normally equate with him.
"Oh no no," he grunted, pleased that one of his acquaintances actually saw him as more than a walking book. "It’s nothing like that…" he trailed off, glancing away uncertainly, unsure if he wanted to admit that he was on a mission. Buffy just rolled her eyes.
"All right you studly manly man," she sighed good-naturedly, grabbed his arm and heading back the way she’d came. "Let’s go find your mystery woman."
"Really," Wes protested as she dragged him through the neatly trimmed grass. "It’s not like that."
"What’s not like what?" she asked cheerfully.
"This woman I’m looking for," he began, trying to pull his arm loose.
"Yeah about that," Buffy giggled as her eyes swept the graveyard. "What’s she look like? ‘Cause you know, with all the honeys running around, I might have a hard time picking her out." Wes stopped dead in his tracks and frowned at her. She turned back as he slipped loose from her.
"Now there’s no need for sarcasm," he growled. Her face was instantly contrite and he felt himself softening, before he caught it. He straightened up a little and tried to block the helplessness most men felt when dealing with that universally pouty face that women seemed to have. "Sorry," he muttered finally and was rewarded with a sunny smile. "It’s just that Lorne directed me here to find her." With those words she was instantly all business.
"Vampire?"
"Not certain."
"Okay, let’s go."
It took them a good long while to search the entire cemetery and by the end of it, once they’d gotten back to the main gate where his car was parked, he was quite frustrated. Buffy tried to offer little platitudes, but he felt as if he’d been sent on a wild goose chase. She finally gave up and said her good-byes to him. Wes straightened his coat and absently turned to pull the gate a little more securely shut behind him. When he turned back, his mouth fell open as there, standing right next to his car, was his mystery woman. He was about to call off Buffy when to his shock; the Slayer walked right through the apparition.
The older blonde waited until Buffy was through her, then half turned to watch the petite Slayers progress away from her. "Damned rude kid," she growled to herself.
Wes clearly heard her words and approached cautiously. No mere Vampire this! "So you are real?" he blurted out, thankful that she wasn’t all in his imagination. The woman whirled around to face him, amazement evident in her wide eyes.
"C-can you see me?" her voice choked out in a whisper.
* Un Ange N’a Aucune Armure - An Angel Has No Armor
*nom d’affection- name of affection
Ghost Of Herself
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