By Ten
RATING: PG13 (chap 4 is closer to R)
PAIRING: Wes/Dru
SUMMARY: How Wes & Dru got together, AU ... in this reality, Connor was saved from Holtz and did not enter the portal, Drusilla stayed in town under the protective eye of her sire and Angel Investigations.
SPOILERS: Angel Season 3 through "The Price" loosely
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to the god which is Joss Whedon (all hail and bow low before him), and WB, UPN, Mutant Enemy and some other people, but not me.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: For my sweet Kai, who thinks that Wes/Dru is just about the coolest thing ever. And eternal thanks to my lovely Ebs who thought Wes & Dru were a perfect couple and said so!
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters belong to the god that is Joss Whedon (all hail and bow low before him), and WB, UPN, Mutant Enemy and some other people, but not me. I just play with them like a delicious collection of immortal Barbies!
Gunn: What, we're gonna have a drink now? Did you hear
what I said? She's dying!
Wes: I was dying. I knew it laying in that dirty field,
life pouring out of my throat. Do you know why I fought
to stay alive?
Gunn: Wes, I don't have time--!
Wes: I needed to live to see my friends again. To explain to
the people I trusted... and loved... my side of what happened.
Gunn: We know what--
Wes: You don't know anything.
Chapter 1
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce pounded the punching bag with a fierce determination few had ever seen openly. There were times he was immensely grateful that Angel had demonstrated the finer points of physical exertion when working through frustration. Angel had a lot to work through, so he demonstrated a great deal it seemed. Wesley himself had utilized the workout room in the basement of the Hyperion frequently, particularly once he found himself becoming 'brother' to the one he preferred to court. It had been a nasty sting, losing Fred to Gunn, but he blamed himself for not speaking up in time. The possibility had been there, but he allowed his fears to hold him back, and this time it had cost him. Her.
Now that he was no longer welcome at the old hotel, he was glad he had begun putting together his own workout area at his flat. As his strength had returned over the last few days, he found relentless pounding an aide in thinking and resolving the untidy issues around him. Some of those issues, he feared, would never be resolved.
Connor had been saved, but Angel would never forgive him nor accept that what he had done was in the child's best interest according to the information he had. Angel had made him promise more than once that if Angelus returned, Wesley was to dispatch him immediately. He took this oath seriously, as he took most everything else, and he never left his flat that he didn't have a stake hidden on his body somewhere in the event that day had come. Though Angelus had not blatantly appeared, the cryptic prophesy that Angel would kill his son and Angel's suddenly unpredictable behavior had forced Wes to act on a primal level. Rather than kill Angel, he would protect the son however he could, by taking him away from danger. Apparently, no one at Angel Investigations understood that. No one had even tried to.
Wesley was recovering quickly according to the doctors, but not quickly enough for himself. He wanted to leave, get out of LA altogether. The place left a bad taste in his mouth. He wanted to get as far away as he possibly could, perhaps even back to England. He had a little money stashed away for just that purpose. However, he was still recovering and needed to watch his strength, and he'd been told his voice probably wouldn't return to normal for possibly several months. He discovered on his own that if he got particularly aggressive in his 'exercises' the scar at his neck would begin to weep again. More than once he had been so involved in exerting himself that he hadn't noticed he'd opened the scar until blood was running down his chest. Fortunately, that had only happened a few times before he began making a concerted effort to take more careful notice. It wouldn't do for him to bleed to death now after the efforts he had made to survive. It would be particularly annoying to bleed to death on the floor of his flat and be left there for several days without anyone noticing until he began to reek. That thought made him pound the bag harder. The flesh over his knuckles cracked, sending trails of crimson onto the punching bag.
He missed working. He missed his books, he missed diving into them with a purpose in mind and working toward a goal. He missed helping to rid the streets of Los Angeles of demons and vampires. He missed his friends. The brief appearances by Fred and Gunn did nothing to help, and in fact, made things worse. Angel's visit to the hospital was quite obviously a disaster, but at least it gave Wes a realistic idea of just how unforgiving and angry Angel really was.
Wes had experienced some real pain in his life. Unbearable physical pain. Life-altering emotional damage. But he wasn't sure he had ever felt as totally alone as he did right now. The sense of purpose and belonging he had enjoyed these last few years had been stripped away from him. Left in it's place was the ache of loss which would never go away. The echoing silence of it was agonizing. He was rejected. He had tried to do what was right, he very nearly lost his life for it, and yet he was still rejected, the betrayer, he who would not be forgiven.
He stopped pounding the double-end martial arts bag and clung to it, heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He was exhausted, so exhausted that his knees could hardly hold him upright. A tiny stream of blood began to flow down his neck onto his bare chest, he smeared it with one hand, somehow trying to wipe the stain away, yet it continued to trickle down, an incessant reminder of his vulnerability and his betrayal.
Through the raspy sound of his breathing he heard a faint knock at the door. He ignored it. A solicitor no doubt. He began pounding the bag again as the knock became more insistent. He tried to growl a discouraging, "Go away" toward the door, but his vocal cords would not cooperate. Instead he snarled to himself, tucked a dagger into the back waistband of his sweatpants and grabbed a stake before approaching the door. He doubted the stake would do him much good. If it were Angel, here to finish the job he started at the hospital, Wesley was in no condition to fight him off, even if he had wanted to. He pulled the door open as far as the chain would allow and without looking out grumbled, "What do you want?"
The music of a feminine voice wafted through the hallway and into his flat. "A moment with you?"
Wesley unchained the door and opened it fully, staring into the deep, blue-green eyes of a stunning woman dressed in turn of the century lace, dark, ebony hair cascading down her back with wisps tickling the very tops of her bosom which peeked out proudly from the low, empire neckline.
"Drusilla?" Wesley's expression was beyond surprise.
She smiled. "You remembered. You have been gone so long I thought perhaps you had forgotten." The lilt of her voice sang of innocence and sadness.
Wesley's expression hardened. "Did Angel send you around?"
Drusilla's expression went to that of a mischievous child. "Oh no. Shhhhhh. Daddy would be very angry if he knew I had come." She pressed her well-manicured index finger to her lips and gave a conspiratorial giggle.
"He's not sent you here to kill me?" Wes couldn't believe it. Drusilla here? Venturing out of the hotel without proper escort? She rarely ventured out of her own room since she'd arrived, in fact, she made Fred look like a socialite. She had kept quietly to herself, rarely talking to anyone except Angel ever since that unfortunate adventure she'd had with Darla. Angel had taken her in for any number of reasons, but one was to keep her from being seduced and used again. After Darla's death, Drusilla was already settled and Angel saw no reason to send his childe away as long as she remained relatively sane and didn't go off on anyone, either clients or those who worked there. In fact, he had become quite protective of her and she mostly had kept to herself. In fact, Wes was surprised she recognized his absence at all.
"Nooooo, "she crooned, "Miss Edith told me Daddy was very cross with you and not to tell him I was coming." Wes suddenly realized she couldn't enter without an invitation, but she wasn't asking for one, waiting instead for him to ask on his own. He weighed the situation carefully. True, Drusilla was certifiable which made her a risk, but she was not known to be deliberately deceptive. If Angel had sent her, she would have indicated it when he asked her with some great, ethereal avoidance rather than resorting to child-like innocence.
"Drusilla? Would you like to come in, luv?" He stepped back, allowing her to enter, realizing he was taking an enormous risk and having no idea why.
Once inside, she stopped directly in front of him, looking deeply into his eyes and seeing his pain as clearly detailed as an intricate tapestry of his life. She raised a dainty, gloved hand to his brow and wiped away the perspiration there, then she brushed her lips across his softly in greeting. Without a word, she dipped her head down to lick the trail of drying blood from his chest, sending a shiver of pleasure-filled fear through him, then she nonchalantly stepped into the main room.
Wesley caught his breath. "Would you like some tea?" He suddenly became the proper Englishman, offering tea as he slipped back into his cotton shirt. Drusilla stayed close to him, buttoning the shirt for him as she replied.
"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you."
They chatted cordially for well over an hour, discussing England, California, their health, the weather, and all the proper things discussed at tea. She had been delighted when he produced real English biscuits, a treat he usually kept squirreled away for rare occasions. They laughed. Wesley could not remember the last time he had laughed. They did not discuss Angel. They did not discuss anything unpleasant.
As the sun set, she rose to leave and they exchanged a soft, sweet kiss at the door. It was nothing promising, nor intensely romantic, it was simply a closure to their afternoon. It had not even occurred to Wes to ask her how she had come to his flat in broad daylight or why, and he did not wish to be indelicate about it now.
"Should I see you home, Drusilla?" he asked cordially. He wanted to be sure she arrived back at the Hyperion safely, but he was also seriously concerned about anyone from Angel Investigations seeing him with her and thus betraying Drusilla's visit.
"Oh no, dear Wesley, I shall be quite all right." She kissed him lightly on the cheek and slipped through the doorway and down the hall almost unseen.
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