WARPED REFLECTION

(Part Ten)

By Kith

Rating: PG-13 (for language and violence, same as show)

Disclaimers: This fan fiction is copyrighted (2004) by the author. No infringement on the rights of Mutant Enemy, Inc., Greenwolf Corp., Lazy Dave, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, Twentieth Century Fox Television, UPN or The WB, or any other legitimate holders of copyright for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, or any other characters contained therein is intended. This material is produced entirely for the entertainment of fans. No profit is made.

Fred, looking grim, said, "You keep him here. If he tries to move again, hit him." The next thing Wesley knew, Fred had roped the same doctor who'd seen him before into examining him again. The man was much gentler this time and obviously nervous of the two women who, despite their misleadingly slight appearances, stood with perfectly believable menace on either side of the doctor.

However, after some inevitable x-rays, the doctor agreed with Wesley's finally admitted assessment. He'd just overworked his damaged ribs. After some mild scolding about taking it easy, Wesley meekly took the two pain pills and drank from the paper cup the nurse handed him under the unnerving eagle eyes of the two dark haired women. He hadn't felt like this since his nanny had caught him finishing off an entire tin of biscuits in the kitchen when he was four and then efficiently, but unsympathetically, dealt with the inevitable tummy ache he'd experienced later for what seemed like an eternity afterwards.

He was sent to bed without his supper this time too.

The next day, the remaining casualties from the collapse of Sunnydale were released from the hospital outside of L.A. and transported to the city. They were the ones that had been too injured to travel with the rest of the group. Some moved into a local hospital and some moved into slayer central, the hotel where the slayers who'd arrived earlier were staying. All of them were doing well. All the Sunnydale people in the Wolfram and Hart clinic were released that day too. Giles insisted on being released to supervise the new arrivals and get them settled in properly. Willow was actually given a clean bill of health and released after getting checked out by the medical staff on the night of the Hyperion attack. But she didn't leave until Kennedy was released on the next day. Xander cheerfully went with Giles on babysitter duty after his eye was given the medical seal of approval and pronounced ready for public viewing.

Angel's group went to their various departments and dealt with the numerous tasks associated with running a large supposedly no-longer-evil law firm.

"This is the room, Gunn." Wesley unlocked the door, opened it, and stood aside to let the taller man by.

Gunn gaped at the shelves of tapes filling the tiny room, "Damn! Those were busy evil peeping toms!"

"Yes, well, the Special Projects branch was meticulous, if nothing else," Wesley commented somewhat sadly.

Gunn looked back at the Englishman, aware that Wesley was thinking of Lilah, the dead ex-head of Special Projects and Wesley's...what was she anyway? Girlfriend? Mistress? Lover? Manipulator? Maybe she was just Wesley's only connection to humanity at the time. Sad to think that Wesley's only lifeline for months was an evil bitch working for Wolfram and Hart. But Gunn thought surprisingly that she'd appeared to actually care and Wesley had obviously cared too. He supposed that loneliness makes strange bedfellows.

Wesley looked at Gunn and then looked away as Wesley grew uncomfortable with the openly assessing look coming from the other man. "Right then," Wesley walked in and placed his hand on a device resting on the workbench, "this is the demagnetizer. All you have to do is place the tape here," Wesley pointed, "and turn on the switch here for a few seconds. If you want to check any of the tapes, the player is here. If you want to go back to the bonfire idea, I checked into it and there's a furnace down in the basement. It would probably be quicker considering the large number of tapes. The furnace actually has a viewing window and is capable of reducing a body to ash. In fact, I'm fairly certain that was how it was used in the past by the previous management. You'd have to load the tapes onto a cart and it takes a little time to fire up. But otherwise, it's ready to go."

Gunn moved to the tapes and picked one up, "Yeah, I like the idea of fire. Sounds more permanent."

Wesley moved back to the door and said, "I'll get one of the custodians to fire up the furnace and gather up a cart for you, shall I?"

Gunn said suddenly, "You're just doing this for her, aren't you?"

Wesley replied steadily, "We all deserve our privacy, Gunn. You, her, me, all of us. Sometimes, that's all we have left." Then Wesley left.

Gunn hit the tape against his palm while he thought, then he spoke aloud to the empty room, "Yeah, sometimes that is all you have left." He surveyed the seemingly endless stacks of tapes. Speaking out loud to the empty room, "Now, do I look at some of these puppies before I destroy them or not?" The room didn't answer. The only sound in the room was the tape hitting Gunn's palm over and over in a kind of Morse code message Gunn couldn't decipher.

After helping Gunn, Wesley called the realtor agency again. Once again, all he got was an answering machine. He had intended to visit them yesterday, but got caught up in the preparations for the assault on the Hyperion. He would visit today. As he replaced the receiver, the intercom line on the phone buzzed immediately from the reception desk. He picked it up, "Yes, Harmony."

"Hey, Wesley, you've got some visitors out here," Harmony's voice sounded nervous.

"Who is it? I don't have any appointments today," Wesley was exasperated. Why couldn't the woman set up an appointment like she was supposed to?

"Um, I think you're going to want to talk to these folks. It's your dad and sister. And...uh...Angel's already out here."

As he hung up the phone, Wesley though he could hear Angel shouting in the background on the line.

Wesley ran down the hallway towards the increasing volume of Angel's angry voice speaking in the reception area, "You've got a lot of gall, coming here like this."

As Wesley arrived in the large reception area, he saw his father, his sister, and Angel. His father was dressed in a conservative three piece suit similar to the one he'd worn yesterday during the attack, but this time he fit the setting perfectly. With his neatly trimmed beard, distinguished mix of grey and black hair, and precise orotund accent, it was easy to imagine he was a prestigious member of the bar. He was silently pleased that his sister looked well, especially considering the nearly uniform destruction of the council. His sister Mary was around forty now and was as conservatively dressed as her father in a dark knee length skirt and jacket over a simple white blouse. Her blonde hair was neatly put up in a simple bun. She stood slightly back from her father and although she didn't say anything, she fidgeted worriedly while she watched her father speak.

Angel's entire stance conveyed barely restrained anger. In fact, he looked like he was about to pounce. On the other hand, Wesley's father appeared perfectly calm. Wesley knew his father's outward appearance of composure could be deceiving. In any case, Roger Wyndam-Pryce didn't seem concerned by Angel's aggressive attitude as he rejoined with smooth authority, "I have come to ensure we don't have a repeat of last night's events. It is in both our interests to avoid further conflict."

"Fine, you leave L.A. and never come back and there won't be any more conflicts," Angel's voice took on a deceptively quiet and dangerous tone. "And by the way, I threw Danvers out on his ear. Don't think to come sniffing around for information from my people again.

"Actually, he was quite forthcoming," the senior Wyndam-Pryce said haughtily. I simply came to this place," he said in disgust, "looking for my son, and Danvers quite happily told me where Wesley was and acquainted me with the details of your plans, such as they were. You may think these are your people," he waved his arm encompassing the room (but implying Wolfram and Hart as a whole), "but I assure you, they are leading you by the nose."

Wesley decided it was time for him to step in, "Why are you here, Father? Winston isn't here and we don't know where he is. If we did, we wouldn't tell you."

Wesley's father looked at Wesley briefly, then dismissed him and focused on Angel, "This is the council's business. We will take care of it."

"Funny," Angel said sarcastically, "Hadn't you heard? The council got blown up. Didn't you get the memo?" Angel crossed his arms impatiently, "Maybe you were too busy attacking people who know what they're doing."

Wesley's father spoke stiffly, "The council still exists. As long as there are families," his eyes flicked disdainfully towards Wesley briefly, "dedicated to the cause, the council will prevail. Those of us left, consisting mostly of the retired and inactive watchers, are reconstituting the council. We'll presently have the legal morass left by the destruction of the council's major headquarters' sites sorted. Quite soon we'll be in charge of the surviving facilities and resources. It's merely a matter of time." He then looked with irritation at Wesley who shifted uneasily at the conversation, "Why can't you ever stand still, boy?"

Wesley clenched his fists, shifted again, and then crossed his arms like Angel. "Winston said something odd, Father." Wesley tilted his head inquiringly, "Winston said he has a soul. You wouldn't have anything to do with that would you?"

Fred stood watching the group below from the walkway overlooking the reception area. The heartlessness of Wesley's father towards Wesley was clear. What was it that Wesley had said?

'I can live without love. I've done it all my life.'

She had spent five years as a slave in Pylea and the lack of meaningful contact and personal degradation had nearly driven her crazy. But at least she had grown up in a loving family. She always knew someone somewhere loved her—even if it was in another dimension.

What was it like for Wesley growing up in that cold, loveless home?

'I once told Angel a father doesn't have to be possessed by a demon to terrorize his children. I'm living proof.'

Wesley was a survivor just like Fred. He'd endured the unendurable and then gotten on with his life. But, just like her, it left him with scars.

'It's hard for me to share my feelings, Fred. I learned early on the high price of exposing my feelings to others.'

Exactly how long had Wesley felt...something...for Fred? Did his childhood experiences stop him from saying something sooner? Was that why he was so sure she couldn't feel anything for him?

She'd always assumed he wasn't interested. The way he'd pulled away when she'd tried to touch his cheek after that whole debacle with Billy, how awkwardly he'd hugged her when she was going to leave with her parents, and the way he'd so desperately contradicted those puzzle demons when they assumed she was his girlfriend. But maybe he'd been too interested instead. Maybe he cared too much and with the barriers he was forced to develop in his childhood, he had pushed her and the too strong feelings away. Of course, she'd been in the death throes of her juvenile crush on Angel at the time. That probably didn't help.

Things reached a crisis between Wesley and Fred during the period when they'd taken Angel's soul away in order to question Angelus about the beast. Angelus had gleefully revealed everyone's secrets and one of them was that Wesley had some kind of crush on Fred. After the disclosure, Wesley'd kissed her with a desperation that had almost convinced her of its genuineness. But finding out about Lilah immediately afterwards had shocked her to her core and forced her to withdraw into her shell again.

On the rooftop, their heated discussion exposed Wesley's emotions more clearly. He was in pain when he said he knew she didn't love him. Didn't that imply that he loved her? That was certainly what she'd assumed up on the roof. His emotions must run very deep for him to practically admit something so obviously embarrassing to the normally reserved Englishman.

She brought her attention back to the conversation taking place below her. Suddenly she saw something completely unexpected. Her attention focused intently on two of the people down below. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to make sense of the pattern exposed by her rare talent for obscure puzzles. She smiled a little. Well, at least this would give her something to talk to Wesley about.

"You are the last person I need to defend my actions to," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce Sr. took an intimidating step towards Wesley.

Wesley didn't move an inch, "That rather implies that there is something you need to defend, doesn't it?"

Wesley's father said coldly, "Bad things happen, boy. All one can do is try to make the best of a bad situation."

Wesley said just as coldly, "I assume Winston was killed by vampires and, rather than lose a valuable resource, you used the gypsy curse on him, didn't you, Father?"

Wesley's father looked at Angel pointedly and then back at Wesley, "Something like that. I would have thought you would approve. Isn't the soul supposed to make all the difference. Although," Wesley's father looked at Harmony, "perhaps you aren't as particular anymore. Isn't your allegiance to this organization proof of the inevitability of your downward slide?"

Wesley uncrossed his arms, leaned forward, and said hotly, "My allegiance is to Angel. Not this organization." Angel was pleasantly surprised at the words, but the next ones had him looking at Wesley thoughtfully.

"I support Angel because he's where the fight is, he's fighting for good and as long as he is, I'm staying here to help. But I know where my duty lies and I will do that duty no matter who I have to fight—even you. Even Angel. And certainly Wolfram and Hart. I would be in this fight if I were the last man on earth in an Armageddon. I finally grasped that last year." Wesley stopped suddenly, knowing he'd said more than he wanted to in the heat of the moment.

Wesley's father sounded amused, but there was a deadly undertone to his words, "Ah yes, last year. I heard about that. I didn't know vampires went in for pillow fights." His eyes met Angel's and Angel looked away in shame. It angered Angel to feel shame for anything the elder Wyndam-Pryce might say, but the uncontrollable anger he'd felt at Wesley that night shamed him more. But he couldn't change it and at least Wesley was still alive—however changed last year's experiences had left him—had left them all.

Wesley didn't look back at Angel though when he simply said, "I deserved it, Father." His words grew more heated, "He had a much better reason for his actions than you did for yours when we were children." Wesley paused and tried to gather his composure.

Wesley's father seemed to finally lose his as he yelled, "That thing tried to kill you and you defend it! And you crawled on your belly to get back into its good graces! It was at the bottom of the ocean and you dredged it up, patted it dry, and sent it back home so it could ignore you some more until it needed you again! I knew you were useless when you were born, but this is beyond my wildest nightmares."

Wesley looked away, stone faced, while his father screamed at him. When his father finished, the older man's chest heaving and face red, Wesley looked at him calmly, "I've always known your opinion of me, Father. I think we'll both agree that each of us represents nightmarish aspects to the other. But the issue here is Winston. You've damned him! How could you do it? If you believe so absolutely that Angel is terrible, why would you consign Winston to the same fate? How could you possibly not know what would happen? You know what our childhood was like. Unlike Angel who seeks redemption, Winston is released from all the repression of our upbringing and finally free from you dictatorial control. He's corrupted his soul to obtain power. Every death he's caused lies at the feet of your insatiable need to keep him under your thumb—even beyond death!

Enraged, Wesley's father struck Wesley across the face heavily. Wesley's face was forced sideways and he staggered slightly. Angel took a step forward angrily but stopped as Wesley's hand held him back.

Wesley caught his balance, held his other hand against his darkly reddened cheek, and looked at his father calmly, "You should have let him rest-in-peace." Wesley took a step forward, his face displaying a dangerous predatory calm his father had never seen. Roger Wyndam-Pryce, for the first time in his life, involuntarily backed up a step from his son. He had thought he knew his son—but he had never met this man. This man had death in his eyes.

"Winston has attacked my friends and me. I'm going to clean up your mess for you, Father. I'm going to kill him. Now get out."

Behind the older man, a young woman's cold voice spoke out, "You heard him. Get out. Only the fact that you're Wesley's father is letting you leave in one piece. But it won't last forever. Tick, Tock...Dad."

Wesley's father was almost afraid to turn, his son's deadly gaze seemed to pin him in place, but he forced himself to turn and see Buffy Summers, her arms crossed defiantly, at the head of a group of young girls. All of them were very angry.

He muttered, "Come, Mary. We have work to do." Mary looked back at her brother and then the two moved to the elevator. Mary pushed the button.

"By the way old man, the reason we all act like slayers is because we all are slayers." Both Mary and her father looked astounded at this statement. Buffy continued, "And if you think any of us will ever follow your orders...well, let's just put it this way. We destroyed the First, the Bringers, and the evil uber-vamps. I'm thinking destroying evil groups is our forte and all the good watchers are already on our side."

Buffy strode aggressively right up to the older Wyndam-Pryce and spoke fiercely, "You just try to give me an order. You won't like where I stick it."

The man was beside himself with rage, but he turned immediately towards the doors, anxious to get on the elevator when it dinged. The doors opened, Faith stood there casually and calmly slammed her fist into Roger Wyndam-Pryce's face. The surprised man cried out in pain clutching at his face as blood dripped through his fingers. His daughter supported his frame as he staggered slightly and moaned.

Faith traipsed unconcernedly by the pair of watchers and said to Buffy as she passed, "Hey B." She walked over to an astonished Wesley, patted his arm, and said, "And the psychiatrist said I didn't know how to direct my anger." She continued down the hallway out of sight. Several of the slayers in the group tittered.

Buffy watched Faith enviously and said under her breath, "Now why didn't I think of that." She looked back serenely at the two watchers and met Mary's gaze. Mary said firmly, "Come, Father. I think we've outstayed our welcome." She moved him into the elevator, pushed the button, and the doors slowly slide shut.

To be continued...

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Pari 106, Wesfan1234, White Rabbit (yes, I am better, thanks!), Tariq (actually, I thought the Danver's scene was pretty good Dark Avenger stuff (although I know it was short). Sorry there really isn't much more in this one. However, next chapter has more Angel and I will keep it in mind for some stuff coming up soon (I promise)), Elizabeth 5 (Yea! New reviewer! If you like Fresley, wait until you see next chapter!).

Thanks everybody!