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 passenger to help lead him to peace.
Chapter Four
Broken Angels Mending
"Well there’s a name that I haven’t heard lovingly whispered behind my back for such a long time," Elizabeth sneered as she crossed her arms over her chest. Wes blushed as he realized precisely how she’d taken his words. But he needn’t have worried, for Elizabeth was more astute than he gave her credit for. "And precisely how did you know that was what the kids used to call me?"
"Well," he hedged, unsure if he wanted to give Max’s position in his life away. He’d heard a few tales from Max about what she, her siblings and co-soldiers had endured at the hands of this woman. But seeing the mulish expression on her face knew that nothing would be forthcoming from her if he didn’t reciprocate. "I believe that I am acquainted with someone from your past life," he offered simply.
"Really?" she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. "Who might that be?"
"And why would that be important to you?" Wes chuckled. "After all, you don’t seem to believe your life is of any importance here. Just your death."
"Touché," she murmured. She seemed to square her shoulders, dropping her hands to plant them on her hips. "Apparently you’re not going to hand over the information about this friend of yours. Whether this is habit with you, or out of the misguided fear that I’m somehow going to harm said friend, I don’t know. Nor do I really care." Her lips thinned as she moved slightly closer to the paling Brit. "All I know is that I’ve been in this miserable form for a little over two years now and I am getting heartily tired of it. I want answers. And I will have them. And you’ll help me, whether you want to or not."
"Now see here," Wes bristled under her smoky glare, finally irked enough to respond. For Heaven’s sake, she was a ghost. She couldn’t harm him. "I didn’t say that I wouldn’t lend my talents to discovering the purpose or reason you’ve not crossed over. I merely hesitate on behalf of my friend, as you were not well liked by this person."
"Yes, I gathered that," she responded dryly. "Although I really am not much of the threat I was, these days." She glanced down at the ground, merriment dancing in her eyes. "I am a ghost, which you have realized. What could I do? Pass through her continually until she shudders herself to death?" Wes couldn’t help the small smile playing about his lips. He should have known that she would come to the same realizations that he himself had. "Although," Elizabeth continued, "if you don’t want to help me, I could always go back to Caritas. You seemed to be quite cozy with The Host. He seems to be a chatty fellow. I’m sure that he’d let something slip. It might take a little longer, but I think I could get answers out of him."
Wes heard the vaguely threatening tone underlying her words, but also saw the desperation in her eyes. And his decision was made. Max was a self-sufficient young lady who had little to fear among the regular populace of their lives. What harm could bringing a ghost do? Aside of course, from bringing up painful memories and feelings. But Wes brushed aside that pesky detail. There wasn’t even proof as yet that Max would even see this nemesis in her altered state. Firstly though, he needed to restore the good humor between them. "Yes, Lorne can be quite chatty. But you needn’t try that tactic. I’ll take you to my friend."
Elizabeth nodded, a little relief creeping into her eyes. And then her eyebrows drew together. "Lorne? The Host’s name is Lorne?" At Wes’ nod, she began to laugh, her head thrown back in abandonment. When the laughter finally trailed off, she noticed the perplexed question in his eyes. "Oh you know, Lorne Green…"
"Ah yes," he nodded wisely, a joke long forgotten. "Of Bonanza fame. Angel noticed the same thing."
"Angel? Your friend?"
"Ah no," Wes shook his head. "My friend’s husband. Although he’s my friend as well. Or rather we were friends and co-workers before they met. But she’s my friend now too. In fact, her father and I are colleagues that go back a ways." Elizabeth looked as if she had more questions to ask, but wasn’t quite certain where to start. She glanced off to her right and Wes realized that they had come full circle and had arrived back at the cemetery. When she turned back to him, it was with a speculative gleam in her eye.
"Don’t take this wrong," she began, "but as much as I’d like to see this friend of yours, there’s something I need to get first."
"O-oh," Wes stammered, surprised by the fierce, possessiveness her face held. "Of course." And then again realization dawned on him. "Ah and as it’s an actual thing, you need me to retrieve it for you." She nodded and waited for him to accept her unspoken proposal. Wes sighed and gestured ahead of them in a general direction. "Shall we?"
Elizabeth naturally took the lead, seeing how she knew where the thing was and precisely what she wanted. She led him deep into the graveyard and to Wes’ surprise, nothing bothered them. Even though he and Buffy had been there an hour earlier and patrolled, Vampires had the annoying habit of returning to places they’d been before. Finally however, she stopped before a large tomb. Wes forgot his nervousness and rushed forward. For some reason, cemeteries were not his foray, even with all the time spent in Sunnydale and he’d never had occasion to wander them, seeing the splendor of what had been buried there. And he knew now that he’d give over time in the future for doing so.
"This is marvelous," he breathed, his eyes taking in the white marble building. Etched into the door of the mausoleum were hieroglyphics of some ancient language. Wes brought his hand up, clearing away the mossy vines that had grown down, curling about the words like a veil, protecting them from eyes unseen. "Oh yes," he murmured, inching so close that his nose was almost pressed against the building material.
"I’m so glad you like it," Elizabeth grunted. "Can you read that?"
"Oh, I’m sure I could translate it," Wes nodded his head quickly, his excitement taking hold, coursing through his veins. "I could get my books and return-!"
"I’ll save you the trouble," she sighed. She moved to stand beside him, her hand hovering near each glyph as she read them. "Herein lies the woman who watches. In darkness she abides. For the light she strives."
"Curious," Wes grinned. "Is that Egyptian or…?"
"Etruscan," she supplied. "My grandmother taught me."
"Interesting."
Again, Elizabeth crossed her arms, waiting for him to move. She could have gone ahead into the tomb, but she had the feeling that it would have been pointless. If he were not encouraged to continue she figured this Wesley would have stood at the entrance most of the night, applying his logistical brains to analyzing the find step by step. And there was the fact that she couldn’t physically handle the thing she’d been searching for and had found. She needed him to do that. She cleared her throat and Wes’ hands came up guiltily to remove his glasses from his face. He gestured towards the door with them.
"I suppose we should," he murmured as she nodded, an exasperated grin on her face. He nodded as well and pushed the glasses up onto his nose. He slipped one hand into the pocket that held the stake he’d taken care to put there and with the other hand shoved hard against the door. It swung inwards with a little effort, not as heavy as he would have expected. He gasped when he stumbled in, not from the unexpectedness of the door giving way, but by the fact that the tomb was ablaze with light. He looked about, seeing endlessly burning torches in brackets all along the walls. Inside, the marble shone more brightly than the moon had allowed outside. It seemed, cleaner, purer almost as if there were a otherworldly presence in their midst. Aside from the ghost, naturally. Wes felt the urge to run back outside and purify his hands before daring to touch anything within.
Instead he took to studying his surroundings even more. The tomb was huge and appeared to house more than one sarcophagus. They lined the walls, square enclosure, each one filled with a coffin. Whether the coffins were occupied or not, Wes wouldn’t venture an assumption. The one that interested him and apparently Elizabeth was set firmly in the center of the open area. She stood beside it, looking down upon the covering a wistful look covering her featured. Wes blinked rapidly as he saw tears come to her eyes. He moved to stand beside her, intrigued as to what had her in this unfamiliar state. He could tell already that Elizabeth, in life, had not been a woman given over to emotional outbursts or the weakness of tears. He knew that was how she would see it.
‘Elizabeta Matin’, he read. He looked up at her as she sniffled.
"My grandmother," she confirmed quietly. Wes looked back down, puzzled to see the small crack under the woman’s name. He crouched down a little, following the crack as it ran outwards, to the edge of the stone fixture.
"It looks as if someone has tried to open it," he murmured.
"I’m not surprised," Elizabeth grunted, stepping back out of his way. "There’s a great treasure buried within."
"Oh yes, of course," Wes nodded, babbling a little. "Your grandmother naturally."
"She’s not in there," Elizabeth laughed a little. "Not that she wasn’t a treasure. No, there’s something far more important in here. The truth."
"Yes," Wes frowned slightly. "Truth is a prize, but who precisely would be fighting for it enough to disturb the tomb of the dead?" He really shouldn’t have asked, he realized. He was well acquainted with those forces that sought truth and the ways to twist and manipulate it. "But how do you know that your grandmother is not buried here?"
"I popped in and had a look about," Elizabeth snarled at him, clearly bothered by the fact that she’d had to do so. "What did you think I did?"
"Never mind," Wes waved a peaceful hand. "So what is in there that contains the truth?"
"A book," she answered simply. "But according to legend, it can only be removed in the presence of a woman who watches."
Wes’ thoughts went briefly back to the glyphs outside. "Can I assume that these women were part of some group or sect?" She nodded. "And you were one of them?" Again she nodded. "You do realize that a ghostly presence may not be enough to fulfill the requirements of this legend?" A nod and a graceful shrugging of shoulders. "All right then," he shrugged himself. "Let’s give it a try."
Elizabeth stepped a little closer to the sarcophagus; enough that Wes’ hair was trying to stand on end. Whispers if icy coldness flowed through his arm, but he didn’t dare ask her to step back. It seemed she had quite the stake in this venture. He prepared himself for another rough attempt at pushing cool, heavy marble from its mooring. Again he was surprised by the ease with which the covering lid came away. The cover rotated, almost as if it had been designed to at his merest touch. And the lower end promptly swung around, nudging his behind as if to remind him to keep a reverent tongue in his head when he would have sworn.
He cleared his throat and straightened up. But Elizabeth didn’t notice. She was peering into the open coffin below. Wes looked as well and there, as promised was the book she had sought. He glanced at her again and understood that she was waiting for him. Slowly, he reached down; wondering what event might be in store for him. But nothing impeded him and his fingers closed around the book. He pulled it up from its resting-place and turned around so that the light of the torches fell fully upon it. It was not black as he’d first believed, but a deep red, almost blood red. Writing, another hieroglyph it appeared, graced the front cover, looking as if it had been burned into the leather of the journal he held.
"Is that a glottal stop?" he asked, lifting his glasses to peer closely at it. Elizabeth burst out laughing at his slightly disgusted tone. She found a strange humor in the situation. That he couldn’t immediately read the door, yet he recognized the rarely used symbol representing a guttural sound made in certain languages.
"Go on," she encouraged when the laughter finally died away. "Open it up."
Wes did as directed. He was relieved though, when he found that the words were in French, not glyphs as he’d thought they would be. ‘The diary of Elizabeta Matin, ´ He inhaled sharply. "This will be fascinating reading."
"So read already!"
"Oh oh, yes," he chuckled. She was certainly impatient. He turned over to the first page, carefully smoothing the pages flat. Again he had the feeling as if he should clean his hands, or put on gloves. Anything to keep from sullying the page with his touch. But forcing himself to ignore the feeling, he read aloud from the journal, translating as he went. ‘For the daughters that come after me, for the daughters that must know, who do not have a guide in this terrible battle, I keep this journal. Long have I stood in the darkness, waiting for the day when She would come. Waiting for the day that She would discover me and the gift we have for her. Forged in secrecy, this gift will be hers, to be used as She sees fit. May it be a light in her darkness. I will go and wait, hidden from the Shadow Men. But before I return to the Scythe, I give over my life so that someday, someone will know the truth. This is my story.’
"No," Elizabeth breathed, her eyes wide and worried.
"Amazing," Wes sighed in awe. As soon as he’d seen he words ‘Shadow Men’ and ‘Scythe’, he’d known precisely what the book was. Giles and then Buffy had told him of the Slayer’s encounter with the old woman. The only person who knew anything about the Scythe, the weapon that had turned the battle in the Slayers’ favor in the war against the First. And now here he was, holding the key to the mystery behind it, holding it in his hands.
"No!" Elizabeth yelled. Wes, startled, glanced up at the woman. Her eyes were furious and he cringed back a little from her, wondering what had angered her so badly. "That’s not right! Scythe? What the hell is she talking about?"
"What do you mean, it’s not right?" he demanded, unknowing of the knowledge she’d carried around all her life.
"It wasn’t a thing we were protecting," she exploded. "Not a… a Scythe!"
"What were you protecting?" he demanded softly, a feeling of mild dread settling in his chest. Elizabeth looked up at him, appearing defeated.
"A girl," she admitted softly, the weight of guilt pulling heavily at her. "Just a girl." She started suddenly as the book snapped shut. She stared at Wes as a look of implacable will came over his body.
"I think it’s time we go visit my friend," he declared. She cocked her head to the side, silently questioning. "I believe you knew her as X5-452."
One Woman's Dream
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