A/N: First of all, I just want to thank everyone for the reviews! They're really keeping me going. Oh, and remember how I said several chapters ago that I was almost done? Oops. The boys don't want to let go of me yet. =)
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Chapter Twenty
In the past thirty-six hours, Wesley had awakened four times. The first time had been in the hospital, at a baby's cry; next in a low-end hotel room, to the sound of a phone; then on the cold concrete, outside a bar; and now, in the Hyperion, in Angel's bedroom.
The first three times, there had been pain, and disorientation, and depression. This time, however, something was different. Oh, the pain was still there. Nothing but time would solve that problem. But for the emotions ... he still didn't really know how to define what he was feeling.
Wesley sighed, and opened his eyes to study the ceiling. His relationship with Angel had always been complex, and deeper than it should have been. Watchers kill vampires, but this watcher had sacrificed his career to help that vampire, not long after they had first met. Many Watchers, perhaps even most, would not have done as he had, no matter how extenuating the circumstances. He still remembered Weatherby's words, much later, when the retrieval team had come after Faith: "Do the sacred oaths you swore as a Watcher mean nothing to you now?"
That had been within months of Wes' arrival in Los Angeles. Even earlier that that, he'd been willing to commit greivous bodily harm on Angel's behalf. What was it he'd said to the man he'd pinned with the crossbow dart? "You should understand, the man I work for means a great deal to me. And I will not give you a single red cent. What I will do, Sir, is beat it out of you if I have to."
So much had happened in the next two years. During the time when Angel had fired them all and they'd continued the agency's work without him, Wes had told Angel that Cordy was the hardest hit by his betrayal, and perhaps even believed it. And yet, after the incident with the new clothes, who had been the one still feeling cheated and upset? Wesley.
There was the day he'd sent Angel to battle Groo, uncertain if Angel would be able to come back intact from another encounter with his internal Beast. The day he'd forced Angel to wear the pink motorcycle helmet; that one still brought up a smile every time he thought about it. The day Angel rescued him from the ruins of their first office. The day Gunn's old crew invited Caritas, and tried to get Gunn to stake Angel; Wes had bonded strongly with Gunn during Angel's dark period, but that day, Wes had realised that if forced to choose, he would have to choose Angel.
It was fascinating, thumbing through all these old memories from a new perspective. Interesting to imagine that he might always have known, somewhere deep down, that their destinies were connected. Strange to think about how different life might have been, had he grown up here, with Angel, in Los Angeles.
Of course, he couldn't have. The mind boggled, trying to imagine what would have changed had he *not* been sent back three decades and left on English soil. Although, it still made no sense that he'd seen Holtz at the Travers' gate, while the Wyndham-Prices lived nowhere nearby. That was a link that still needed further investigation.
A muffled ringing sound interrupted Wes' thought processes, and he abruptly remembered Rupert's words yesterday about leaving his mobile on. He'd done so, and tucked it into the pocket of his leather coat, which he had been wearing last night. Since he'd fallen asleep in the lobby, that meant the others had carried him in here as-is, so his coat must still be somewhere in the room.
Wes sat up quickly, and almost immediately regretted it. Not from the neck wound; it was not as bad as it had been the day before. Leather pants tended to chafe one's ... legs, and he had been wearing them for too many hours.
Gingerly, Wes slid off the bed, and located the chair the coat was suspended from. After a few moments, he managed to find the cellular phone, and put it to his ear. "Rupert?"
"Yes. I've arrived in Los Angeles. Where shall I direct the taxi?"
"Ah ... actually, Rupert, a great deal has happened since we spoke yesterday afternoon. I'm back at the Hyperion."
"The Hyperion?" Giles sounded rather puzzled. "Is this a positive development?"
Wes sighed. "Hard to tell, as yet. Ethan's been involved, and Travers, and someone you may remember from Sunnydale, a young man named Jonathan."
"Wesley ..."
"I doubt I can explain things more than once, Rupert, and I've put everyone off until noon today. Get here as soon as you can."
"Right. I'll be there directly."
The conversation ended, and Wes turned the mobile off again with a frown. He was in need a trip to the restroom, at the least, if not a shower, before facing anyone.
Luckily, it appeared that someone had remembered his suitcases; they were in a corner by the door. It might be time to face the music, but at least he could do so wearing more comfortable clothing.
TBC
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Chapter Twenty
In the past thirty-six hours, Wesley had awakened four times. The first time had been in the hospital, at a baby's cry; next in a low-end hotel room, to the sound of a phone; then on the cold concrete, outside a bar; and now, in the Hyperion, in Angel's bedroom.
The first three times, there had been pain, and disorientation, and depression. This time, however, something was different. Oh, the pain was still there. Nothing but time would solve that problem. But for the emotions ... he still didn't really know how to define what he was feeling.
Wesley sighed, and opened his eyes to study the ceiling. His relationship with Angel had always been complex, and deeper than it should have been. Watchers kill vampires, but this watcher had sacrificed his career to help that vampire, not long after they had first met. Many Watchers, perhaps even most, would not have done as he had, no matter how extenuating the circumstances. He still remembered Weatherby's words, much later, when the retrieval team had come after Faith: "Do the sacred oaths you swore as a Watcher mean nothing to you now?"
That had been within months of Wes' arrival in Los Angeles. Even earlier that that, he'd been willing to commit greivous bodily harm on Angel's behalf. What was it he'd said to the man he'd pinned with the crossbow dart? "You should understand, the man I work for means a great deal to me. And I will not give you a single red cent. What I will do, Sir, is beat it out of you if I have to."
So much had happened in the next two years. During the time when Angel had fired them all and they'd continued the agency's work without him, Wes had told Angel that Cordy was the hardest hit by his betrayal, and perhaps even believed it. And yet, after the incident with the new clothes, who had been the one still feeling cheated and upset? Wesley.
There was the day he'd sent Angel to battle Groo, uncertain if Angel would be able to come back intact from another encounter with his internal Beast. The day he'd forced Angel to wear the pink motorcycle helmet; that one still brought up a smile every time he thought about it. The day Angel rescued him from the ruins of their first office. The day Gunn's old crew invited Caritas, and tried to get Gunn to stake Angel; Wes had bonded strongly with Gunn during Angel's dark period, but that day, Wes had realised that if forced to choose, he would have to choose Angel.
It was fascinating, thumbing through all these old memories from a new perspective. Interesting to imagine that he might always have known, somewhere deep down, that their destinies were connected. Strange to think about how different life might have been, had he grown up here, with Angel, in Los Angeles.
Of course, he couldn't have. The mind boggled, trying to imagine what would have changed had he *not* been sent back three decades and left on English soil. Although, it still made no sense that he'd seen Holtz at the Travers' gate, while the Wyndham-Prices lived nowhere nearby. That was a link that still needed further investigation.
A muffled ringing sound interrupted Wes' thought processes, and he abruptly remembered Rupert's words yesterday about leaving his mobile on. He'd done so, and tucked it into the pocket of his leather coat, which he had been wearing last night. Since he'd fallen asleep in the lobby, that meant the others had carried him in here as-is, so his coat must still be somewhere in the room.
Wes sat up quickly, and almost immediately regretted it. Not from the neck wound; it was not as bad as it had been the day before. Leather pants tended to chafe one's ... legs, and he had been wearing them for too many hours.
Gingerly, Wes slid off the bed, and located the chair the coat was suspended from. After a few moments, he managed to find the cellular phone, and put it to his ear. "Rupert?"
"Yes. I've arrived in Los Angeles. Where shall I direct the taxi?"
"Ah ... actually, Rupert, a great deal has happened since we spoke yesterday afternoon. I'm back at the Hyperion."
"The Hyperion?" Giles sounded rather puzzled. "Is this a positive development?"
Wes sighed. "Hard to tell, as yet. Ethan's been involved, and Travers, and someone you may remember from Sunnydale, a young man named Jonathan."
"Wesley ..."
"I doubt I can explain things more than once, Rupert, and I've put everyone off until noon today. Get here as soon as you can."
"Right. I'll be there directly."
The conversation ended, and Wes turned the mobile off again with a frown. He was in need a trip to the restroom, at the least, if not a shower, before facing anyone.
Luckily, it appeared that someone had remembered his suitcases; they were in a corner by the door. It might be time to face the music, but at least he could do so wearing more comfortable clothing.
TBC