"Touched"
"Ew. That's the most hideous thing I've ever seen in my entire life." Cordelia muttered.
"Sad to say I must agree," Wesley said, nervously polishing his glasses on the hem of his blue shirt, before popping them back on. "But how to kill it?"
"I dunno, but that stuff is nasty," Gunn said, pointing a finger at the blackened mold that had crept onto the walls of one of the hotel's guest bathrooms.
"Ugh, when Angel SAID 'fix it up a little', he could at least mean that--fix it up a LITTLE. Little being the key word. Did I mention this is NOT little?"
"Yes, Cordelia," the boys chorused obediently, and, as she turned back to gaze thoughtfully at the molding walls, Gunn and Wesley exchanged a bemused, knowing look.
Fred skipped in then, wearing bright green rubber gloves and holding a bottle of Mr. Clean. Her perkiness evident, she seemed to think, with great confidence, that she had the cure to their mold problem.
"Hey guys," the Texan genius said brightly, brandishing the bottle. "Ah think Ah got the solution to…um…well, that's some pretty yucky mold…but this oughta do the trick."
Cordelia, pushing her short brown hair out of her face, flashed Fred a sardonic, half-there smile, and reached out to take the bottle.
"Thanks, Fred, sure you don't want to stick around and help?" Cordy said, putting particular emphasis on those words, while sneaking a look at Wesley and Gunn…hey, at least it'd make those whiny boys happy, while she got another set of hands to help scrub the room up to perfection again.
Fred shook her head nervously, backing hastily away from potential labor.
"Well, uh, actually, Angel a-asked me to…to update the website, yeah! So Ah'm just gonna go do that, you guys have fun!" Giving them the typical, big-hearted smile she usually wore, Fred practically bolted from the room.
"If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was getting lazy," Cordelia remarked. Wesley smiled secretly from one corner of his mouth while polishing the spout of the shower, and Gunn, grinning openly, worked on the basin of the old sink. Fred? Lazy? Two entirely polar opposites.
"If anything, she could do with some winding down," Wesley muttered to himself.
"You say somethin', Wes?" Gunn remarked, turning to peer at the Englishman over his shoulder. Wesley started to stammer what was sure to be an awkward reply, when Cordelia interrupted with something far more distracting.
"Hang on, guys--vision." As they both reached to steady her, she waved them impatiently away, one hand up to the side of her head. "Part demon now, remember? No need to accidentally drop me." Gunn and Wes, shifting uncomfortably, recalled that one time (just one!) where they had, not on purpose of course, dropped Cordelia when she was having a vision--back when they were painful for her, of course.
"Okay…there's a big warehouse…pfft, why is it ALWAYS a warehouse…? Okay…there's two boys…they look between thirteen and sixteen, by rough estimate, and, oh, yuck…"
"Oh, yuck, what?" Wesley said nervously. "Is it a demon?"
"Is it slimy?" Gunn added.
"No, yuck the mold is staining my clothes." Getting to her feet and brushing down her old jeans, Cordelia made a face of disgust. When she looked back up, she saw the expectant, impatient looks on Gunn and Wesley's faces, and said sharply, "What?"
"Cordy--" Gunn began.
"The vision?" added Wesley helpfully.
"Oh, right! Sorry…um, yeah, it's the warehouse by the docks, between Rosa Street and Park Avenue…the door's locked…and the two boys…um…" she closed her eyes…the images flashed again, this time less rapidly, from behind her closed eyelids. "They're being attacked by some kind of blue demon…he's vicious."
"Any other distinguishing features?" Wesley asked quietly, fishing out a pen and a small pad of paper. "Or did you just get the blue bit?"
"…there might be some kind of forked tail. It's dark." Cordelia sighed, opening her eyes. "…Now go. Go do that crime fighting thing with Big & Broody. I have to stay here and convince Lorne to help me finish this place up while Connor's napping."
"But Angel's not here, Cordelia," Gunn said flatly. "He left for the other case in downtown L.A., remember? That little kid, Harry something? With the fur?"
"Oh, yeah! Right…and his name's Henry, Gunn," Cordelia said pointedly. "Welllll, I'm sure you guys can handle it without Angel. Now go away." She shooed them out of the room with her hand.
"I still don't think this is a good idea," Gunn said, dragging his choice weapon, a large medieval battleaxe, out of his Ford pickup.
"It's never a good idea to go chasing demons in the dark," Wesley responded, looking at his notes, then up at the warehouse they were parked in front of. "…But we do it every day. Or night. Come on…" he started off across the street, Gunn jogging behind with a large sack of weapons slung over his shoulder. "I'm not sure, exactly, what we're dealing with. It could be any species of forty blue-colored demons I assessed with my notes, from the carnivorous brute called a X'goth demon, to the venomous and cunning Herelf demon, and from the looks of it--"
"Wesley." Gunn said.
"Yes, Charles?" He replied, turning to offer Gunn a look.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you sound like a text book?" He said, smirking.
"Frequently," Wesley said snidely. "It's a requirement when we Watchers graduate from Watcher school."
"Whoa, wait a minute--was that sarcasm? From you?" Gunn said, laughing.
"Yes I suppose it was…now, open the door with your large metallic object," Wesley said idly, still peering at his notes. "According to this, if it's a Herelf, it would have already spelled the door locked from the inside, creating an invisible barrier…"
"Wesley!" Gunn said sharply.
"Yes, yes I know, text book, do carry on--"
"No, I mean Wesley--DUCK!" With a blood-curdling screech, something that had been resting atop the building dove down at them, reaching out long, black talons in an effort to claw at their unprotected faces. Wesley let out a cry and dove out of the way, but Gunn swung the battleaxe up at the demon, and, as they connected, the force of the blow drove Gunn down into the pavement, his back hitting the ground with an audible crack. Wesley, hurriedly scrambling for the bag, ("WES! GET ME SOMETHIN' ELSE!") Wesley came up with a large, curved knife, and, with a wild yell, leapt at the demon. One kick to his face, and Wesley was sent sprawling.
"Damn my uncoordination," he muttered, springing back to his feet. But the demon, switching tactics, turned to face him. It's face was humanoid, with a long, well-formed jaw and nose, small, pointed, elf-like ears…and pitch-black eyes, along with a mouth full of white, pointed fangs for teeth. It was long-limbed, the hair a dark brown, and swept back from a high brow, the blue skin slick in the dim lamplight, apparently perspiring from nerves. It let out another unearthly shriek and dove for Wesley's throat, a long, forked tail springing out to, at the same time, slap the side of Gunn's head, rendering him momentarily stunned.
In that fraction of a second or so, the demon's strong--too strong!--hands threw Wesley against the earth, talons pinching against his skin--before the demon sank its teeth--those sharp, barbed fangs!--into his shoulder, between the neck and shoulder bone, into the soft muscle and flesh.
Wesley screamed in pain--it felt like his skin was set afire--and then Gunn, on his feet once more, was hauling the demon off, even as its talons tried to clutch, scraping Wesley's face--and then, there was a sickening crunch and a sort of soft thumping noise, and the demon, a crossbow shaft in the back of its skull, slumped to the earth.
"Wesley." Gunn said, kneeling down in front of the disabled Watcher. Wesley, vision hazy, felt, rather than saw, black dots swim before his eyes. "WESLEY!" Gunn said in a somewhat sharper tone, shaking him by the shoulder.
"Ah!" Wesley cried out, jerking away.
"Sorry," Gunn added gruffly. "Can…can you stand?"
"Yes, I think so…um…" Wesley, staggering to his feet, and assisted by Gunn, picked his cracked glasses up off the ground, squinting at them, before putting them back on, and, leaning heavily on the shaken Gunn, murmured, "How--how bad is it?"
"Fatal."
"Fatal?" Wesley gulped.
"Well, yeah, dude, the demon's dead--"
"No, I didn't mean the demon!" Wesley snapped weakly. "I meant me…is it deep?" Gunn surveyed Wesley's wounds…the scratches on his face looked raw, but shallow…the bite in his neck, though…man, it was nearly to the bone.
"You're fine." Gunn lied, steadying the unstable Wesley. "Now, lean on me, I'll drive you back to the hotel."
"But--the boys--"
"Save it," Gunn said grimly, already heading for his pickup truck. "By the looks of it, the demon had quite a few mouths to feed."
"Oh." Wesley said weakly, looking back, dimly seeing glittering, dark eyes in the deeper darkness of the warehouse. "…that's not good…"
"--Not good at all, Angel," Fred said, twisting her hands anxiously, and looking up at the big, handsome vampire. "It says ya'll have got only about a handful of hits today, and Ah swear, I gave out the right web link to everybody Ah knew…"
"Look, Fred, don't worry about it," Angel muttered, peering into the computer screen. "I'm sure…just…I'm sure business is just…slower than usual."
"Tch, you're telling me!" Lorne chimed it, lounging against the doorway, bouncing Connor, Angel's little boy, on a hip. "I haven't been able to afford a tequila in weeks, thanks to the little stunt Gunn's boys pulled in Caritas."
"Stop your mopin'," a voice said from the doorway, making the three of them abruptly turn. Gunn, standing there, with a half-fainted Wesley on him, smiled slightly. "They ain't my boys anymore. You guys are."
"Oh mah God, Wesley!" Fred squeaked, bringing her hands up in front of her mouth in horror. Angel and Lorne, who thrust Connor into Fred's arms, hurrying forward, took Wesley from Gunn, who winced as the weight was lifted from him.
"Wes, can you hear me?" Angel said, staring down at the fallen Watcher, as he and Lorne deposited him on a nearby couch. Lorne was thoughtful enough to elevate Wes's head with a pillow.
"Angel?" Wesley said faintly, squinting at him blearily. "Aren't you supposed to be helping Horace--"
"Henry," Angel intervened.
"Yes, I--"
"That's done. Wesley, what happened?" Angel demanded grimly, a look of intense worry ill-hidden on his face.
"We were attacked by some freaky demon," Gunn said. "I mean, man, this thing was fast!"
"And blue," Wesley added.
"It was sad?" Fred whispered. Angel, Lorne, and Gunn, even Wes, gave her a faintly exasperated look. "Sorrah," she muttered, dropping her gaze to the floor.
"We went to the warehouse Cordy saw in her vision," Wesley muttered, trying to sit up. "Ahh…" he hissed in pain, holding his shoulder, "And we unfortunately were discovered by the demon, before we could discover him…needless to say, things got a little messy."
"Wes got bit," Gunn put in helpfully. "And scratched, but the bite's the worst."
Angel, nodding quickly, lifted the ripped flap of Wesley's shirt, staring down at the bite wound. He was silent, frozen, for a long time, whether for the sight of the blood, or the vastly disturbing sight of that raw, gaping bite wound.
"…Angel?" Wesley murmured after a moment.
"What? Oh. Sorry." Angel mumbled, taking his hand away…Wesley's blood stained his pale fingertips. He stood abruptly. "Gunn, I want a detailed description of this demon, Lorne, Fred, find Cordelia, help her bandage up Wesley, and I…I'm gonna go back and make sure those monsters are still dead." Angel, shooting them all a somewhat dark look, did the billowing coat trick, and disappeared out the front doors.
"…he can be SO melodramatic," Lorne remarked with a sigh, shaking his head.