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 Three
Ghost Of Herself
The woman’s, no, ghost’s question stunned Wesley for a moment. It took seconds only to assimilate the fact that outside Caritas, he seemed to be the only one who could see her. Which was strange, really, considering that Buffy was the Slayer, more connected to the mystics, than he, Wesley was. And she certainly hadn’t seen the pale woman. No, ghost.
"Of course I can see you," Wesley assured her, smiling grimly as he wondered what it was that Lorne had intended for him to do. And learn. He moved forward, his intrinsic politeness asserting himself. He held his hand out as he approached. "I’m Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. And you are?"
The woman, ghost… woman glanced down at his outstretched hand, a small glimmer of wry amusement crossing her face. "I’m wondering what on earth you’re thinking," she responded dryly. Wesley realized then, what an utter fool he must look and pulled his hand back quickly, conspicuously stuffing it into his coat pocket.
"Ah yes," he mumbled, embarrassed. "Naturally, when a corporeal being passes through a non-corporeal being, one would assume it holds true of all corporeal beings. Therefore shaking my hand is quite an absurd gesture."
"Naturally," she agreed after a moment’s pause. Wesley had the feeling that she was just humoring him.
"But still," Wesley continued, the curious part of his analytical nature taking over, "unless you’ve conducted this experiment quite a number of times, perhaps it is only certain beings that can pass through you. After all, if I can see you, perhaps I can touch you." Again, she raised a single brow and he realized how badly his last statement could be taken. "Not that I meant touching like that!" he exclaimed, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I simply meant that… that, well, perhaps you’re…" he trailed off before he could dig himself in any deeper. "You didn’t answer my question, you know?" he accused, trying to take her attention off his blunder.
The woman, it felt much easier referring to her in that manner, he decided, simply shifted her stance slightly, crossing her arms, as if she weren’t at all used to being questioned. "Does it matter?" she demanded bluntly. "It’s not like I’m myself anymore, you know. Not the person I once was."
Wes stared off in the distance a moment, trying to ascertain why she was being stubborn about giving up her name. Perhaps she didn’t remember it? Perhaps as a ghost she felt like she no longer had the right to a personality. To something that had made her human. The last thought, while quite a projected assumption, seemed to Wes to make the most sense. "I wouldn’t necessarily say that’s so," he argued. "There’s quite a bit of contention about ghosts, or whatever have you. Perhaps the reason why you’ve not, well passed over is because you have some unfinished business with your life. Business that requires dealing with to the fullest extent before you may take that final step."
To his surprise, the blonde laughed the sound deep, throaty and the first sign of true amusement that Wesley had garnered in their short acquaintance. "That reminds me of an old movie I used to watch when I was a teen. What was it? Oh yes, Casper."
"Casper the Friendly Ghost?" Wes asked, surprised at himself that he could remember the name of a children’s movie. "But that only came out a little over ten years ago. And Madam, forgive my bluntness, but you are well past the blush of youth."
"Yes, it just gets more confusing by the moment, doesn’t it?" she agreed calmly.
"Mm, perhaps you’d like to explain it to me then?" Wes suggested his curiosity raging now, despite the earlier reluctance he’d felt about this assignment.
"Only if you reciprocate by telling me what your stake in this is," the blonde countered coolly.
Wes nodded quickly. "Absolutely, Miss…?"
"Renfro, Elizabeth Renfro."
*****
There was a slight disagreement over whether or not to take Wes’ car. Elizabeth was quite adamant in her assertion that she could not make physical contact with things outside of Caritas. And to prove her point, she ran her hand through Wes’ elbow, chuckling at his nervous yelp at the sensation. So they walked about aimlessly. At first, the woman didn’t offer much, but when Wes explained that Lorne had sent him to aide her, she saw the reasoning, that perhaps this man could help her when no other could. Not that she wanted help, aside from figuring out what the hell she was doing there in the first place.
"I was born in the south of France in 1980," she began, reasoning out that it was best to give him the bare bones of her life. She had only the slightest, niggling feeling of why her non-corporeal self was still wandering the earth. But being an analytical creature as well, she saw the justification of going into this long buried information. "My parents were not ready to deal with a young child. So I was often left with my maternal grandmother." Without realizing it, her voice softened somewhat at the mention of the other woman. Wes smiled at this, seeing the great difference it made from her initial ice queen demeanor. "I lived with her until I was ten years of age. My parents returned, as my father had found a position in the United States. I stayed here, in Los Angeles until I was sixteen. At which point my parents were killed in a motor vehicle accident. Custody was granted once again to my grandmother. I returned to France and lived there until I was twenty-two."
"One would assume that there’s quite a bit more to the story than you are offering so far," Wes sighed. She gave him an odd look, but nodded.
"Quite a bit," she agreed. "But you’ll forgive me my impatience. I’ve been searching for reasons and answers for a long time now. I’d like to get this over and done with as quickly as possible."
"Really?" he sneered. She was making a somewhat obvious statement to him. Added to the fact that something about the woman was preying on his mind. As if he should know her. It had taken about two city blocks of walking for him to recognize it and when he finally had, well now it was driving him mad. This sense that she was important to something in his mind. But he couldn’t figure it out yet. "Go on."
"I graduated from college when I was twenty-two," she continued, as if he hadn’t interrupted. "I had schooling in medicine, one of the things my grandmother encouraged me in. I returned to America to pursue more schooling. But in university, I was introduced to a brilliant man who eventually led me into my final career choice, the military. I spent many years working my way up into the upper echelons of that hierarchy and was finally assigned my own special project. I was killed, shot in 2020." She barely realized that Wes had stopped walking. She stopped as well, turning back to smile at his gaping form.
"Th-that’s impossible," he stammered. "You do realize that this is the year 2005, don’t you?"
"Yes," she answered simply. "I am aware of that."
"Then what’s all this malarkey about 2020?" he demanded petulantly.
"That’s what I’d like to know," Elizabeth’s frown unsurprisingly matched his. Wes heaved a sigh; his mind working at the convoluted knot she’d presented him with.
"So, you claim you’re from the future?" he asked unnecessarily. She didn’t bother to reply. It was her claim and the truth whether he believed or not. "Quite a sensational idea. Especially on the grounds that I can’t disprove it at this moment in time. Perhaps down the road, any information you give me could be found to be false."
"Why don’t we just save time and you accept it as a working theory," Elizabeth interjected before Wesley could really get going. Like so many others around him, she had little patience for anything but the bare bones. But oddly, Wes wasn’t really in the mood for making a long speech any more than she was ready to hear it.
"Fair enough," he agreed. He waited half a beat before asking, "would you tell me about your death? And how you came to be here?"
She shrugged, wrapping her arms about her waist in a slightly defiant, oddly vulnerable pose. "I told you, I was shot. I died. When I regained what you could call my consciousness, I was lying about that cemetery, wondering what the hell happened to me."
"Did you believe yourself to be alive when you woke up?" Wes asked, intrigued by the process. There weren’t many people he could talk to of the subject of resurrection. The few people he did know were naturally reluctant to revisit that period in their lives.
"I suspected I was, at first," Elizabeth remarked with a grimace. "When I was shot, I went cold, all over. And it was a struggle, to breathe, to talk. I had a duty to fulfill. And once I did, I…"
"You what?" Wes could see the difficulty the woman had in admitting the details of something so intrinsically personal. Death, while alive was not an easy subject to converse on. But the dead’s perspective on death was fascinating him.
"I gave up," she admitted bitterly, her face twisted. They continued walking. Wes had the sense to let the woman collect herself somewhat. And finally she began to speak again. "I suppose my first real clue that I was not living was the fact that I wasn’t breathing. Of course, if I thought about it, my chest would rise and fall. Quite the mockery. Then there was the fact that I was neither warm nor cold. Quite temperate, depending of course on my surroundings."
"Really?" Wes breathed. Of all the tales he’d been told, the dead always had an icy feel to them and he’d felt that earlier in her touch. But of course, that made sense as even temperatures were often colder than a human’s core temperature. Angel, when he’d been a Vampire, had always been cold to the touch, except when he was able to pick up large amounts of body heat radiating from large crowds, or on extremely hot days in the summer. But as he slept during the day and his crew did not disturb him at these times, they wouldn’t have realized that there were times when he was quite warm. And it didn’t bother him one way or the other because his body didn’t need to regulate his heat for survival.
"And then there was the fact that I woke up in a completely different place than were I was shot," Elizabeth continued. "Many things about my situation just weren’t adding up."
"What do you mean?" Wes puzzled. "Where were you shot? I mean geographically of course. Not physiologically."
"Just outside of Seattle, Washington," she blinked owlishly at him, surprised by his vehement reaction.
It all clicked together in his mind. The place, the year, Lorne’s hint about her name. "Good Lord! You’re the bitch!"
Broken Angels Mending
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