Wesley was eager to leave, lately he'd been having the oddest fancies. He'd been having vague intimations of the future. It was nothing definite, certainly not like Cordelia's Technicolor visions, but at the edges of his consciousness, when he was between sleep and full wakefulness, he could almost see the image of a girl, a girl he'd never met, but knew was important to him.
These images never quite came into focus, but they were accompanied by feelings of joy and loss, anger and affection. Once he had a vivid dream about Angel holding a baby who then turned into a young man. It was worrisome. Wesley wondered if constant exposure to magic and seers had somehow seeped into his soul, granting him some slight psychic abilities.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door being opened. It was Angel returning from his latest adventure. To Wesley's surprise, he was not alone. Angel was carrying a young man, a struggling, cursing, young man. It appeared to be, yes, it was, Lindsey McDonald. This was surprising, as far as Wesley knew, Lindsey had left town the previous day, after quitting Wolfram and Hart.
"Hi Wes," Angel said cheerfully.
"Uh, uh," Wesley said.
Lindsey snarled at Angel in a manner reminiscent of Wuffles, a terrier Wesley once owned. "Put me down, NOW," he snapped. Angel ignored Lindsey's outburst.
"What the devil is he doing here?" Wesley demanded.
"I'll explain later," Angel said nonchalantly, ignoring Lindsey's attempt to gouge his eyes out.
Wesley watched in bemusement as Angel carried Lindsey up the stairs. Curious, he followed the duo at a discrete distance; he was rather startled to see Angel take Lindsey into his own suite. Pausing at the top of the stairs he could hear Angel saying, rather kindly, "It's okay, Lindsey, I'll try to be gentle" followed by several soft moans and the unmistakable sound of a zipper being unzipped. He froze. Oh dear, he thought, whatever shall I tell Miss Chase.
A sudden yelp enamated from the room. Wesley took a step forward, then stopped. This can't be good, he thought. Eager to get away, he tripped over his feet and fell to the ground with a loud crash.
Mortified, Wesley started slinking away when Angel called out, "Come on in, Wes."
Cheeks flushing with embarrassment, Wesley entered the room. Much to his relief, he saw that Lindsey was clothed except for his boots and jeans, whilst Angel was applying what appeared to be an ice pack to Lindsey's swollen right ankle. Wes looked inquiringly at Angel.
"He got hurt, I'm taking care of him tonight," Angel said. "Go get some of those painkillers Cordy keeps in her desk, willya." Wesley quickly complied.
When he returned to Angel's room, Angel took the bottle, shook out two pills and leaned over his unexpected guest. "Here," he said, "take these."
Lindsey glowered up at Angel. "I don't want any drugs," he said sullenly.
Exasperated, Angel said, "I'm not going to poison you, and believe me, if I were going to hurt you I wouldn't give you a painkiller first."
Lindsey folded his arms across his chest.
"Do I have to force you?" Angel said, almost threateningly.
"Gentlemen, please," Wesley said. "Mr. McDonald, I can assure you that there is nothing unsafe about the medication. Angel, please don't loom over our guest."
Lindsey grudgingly downed two pills, and resumed glaring at Angel.
Angel gave Lindsey one of his rare smiles. Actually, it was more of a smirk. "Settle down, Lindsey, I'm not going to hurt you. This time." Lindsey continued to stare laser-like at the vampire. Wesley half expected Angel to burst into flames.
Gradually, despite his best efforts to stay awake, Lindsey's eyelids soon fluttered shut. Angel waited until the medicine took full effect, lifted Lindsey, carried him to a vacant room, put him down carefully, and covered him with a blanket.
In answer to Wesley's unspoken question, Angel said, "I'm being nice to him. He has no idea why. It'll make him completely paranoid." Wes stared at him blankly.
Angel sighed. "That's the fun part, Wes. I like to toy with Lindsey, keep him off-balance. It's called 'subtlety'."
"Quite," Wesley said, privately thinking Angel's proverbial screw had come loose. Too late to worry about his mental stability tonight, Wesley thought. Giving Angel a rather insincere smile, he said, "Was Mr. McDonald the subject of Cordelia's vision?"
"Yeah, she got me good with this one," said Angel grumpily. "I go rushing over to the warehouse district, expecting a good fight and hopefully a pretty girl to impress. I had the hair gelled to perfection, I was wearing my good leather coat, the whole works. But what do I get? Mr. Evil Hand himself, about to get jumped by a couple of Wolfram and Hart's goons. Ha! Very funny."
"Goons?" Wesley inquired.
Angel's peevishness grew. "That's right. Not demons, not vampires, just ordinary hired muscle. Apparently his old bosses decided to get back at the Tiny Texan for quitting, and I ended up saving him. Anyhoo, he banged up his ankle during the fight when he tried to save his truck, so I thought I'd bring him here for the night." Angel shook his head sadly. "Shame about that truck. They don't make them like that anymore. That's the problem these days, Detroit has no sense of style." Angel yawned. "Time to call it a day. Good night, Wes," he said. "Hey, do you think there's a chance Lindsey will pay me for saving his life?"
"I rather doubt it," Wesley said.
"Yeah, you're probably right," Angel conceded. "Go home, Wes, you look tired," he said.
"What about our guest?" Wesley asked.
"Don't worry about him. I'll put him on a Greyhound to Podunk first thing tomorrow," Angel said. His expression changed. "Then I'll have a little chat with Cordy about giving me the complete story when she has a vision," he said sternly. "I don't want anymore surprises. What next? I save Lilah from a runaway train?"
Wesley felt the need to protest. "Angel, the Powers wouldn't have sent a vision to Cordelia unless there was an excellent reason."
Angel stretched. Yawning, he said, "Yeah, right. I'm starting to suspect that the Powers were just messing with me for kicks."
"Either that, or they've developed a fine sense of irony," Wesley said.
"Ya think?" Angel said. "I think Cordy's getting a little burned out on all this seer business. Maybe we should all take a vacation. How does Vegas sound? I haven't been out there since I was a guest at Elvis and Priscilla's wedding."
Name dropper, Wesley thought. Although, he had to admit, the prospect of a holiday, one with scantily clad showgirls, did sound enticing. "Yes, quite. Shall I invite Gunn and Lorne?" Wesley said.
"Sure, why not. What the hell, we'll take Lindsey along too. It'll really freak him out," Angel said with a chuckle.
Wesley turned to go. Before he reached the stairs, he felt a sudden rush of vertigo. Angel was immediately at his side. "Anything wrong, Wes," Angel said.
Wesley shivered. Giving Angel a puzzled look, he said, "Just now I had the strangest feeling that by leaving Los Angeles tomorrow, in some odd way, we've fundamentally altered our destinies. That in some way, by leaving Los Angeles at this precise time, certain paths won't be taken, certain events will be irrevocably changed, people we're destined to meet will remain unmet. For one moment I felt as if my entire future hung in the balance." He looked at Angel with an almost fearful expression. "Perhaps we shouldn't go."
Angel momentarily seemed concerned, then he relaxed. Grinning, he patted Wes's back and said. "Nah, it's just a vacation. You've been working too hard lately. Tell you what, we'll stay a few weeks, really do the town right. Maybe take in a show or two. We'll catch Frank, Deano, or maybe Sammy."
Reassured, Wesley said, "You're probably right."
Angel patted his arm. "Now go home and pack," he said.
Wes smiled back. "Capital idea." He couldn't resist. "You are aware that Frank Deano and Sammy are all dead, aren't you?"
Angel groaned. "I'm so old."
Wes laughed as he left the Hyperion. It was ridiculous to think that merely by going on holiday he, Angel, Lorne, Gunn, Cordelia and even Lindsey had somehow thwarted fate.
The End.