TITLE: The Very Best Time of the Year
AUTHOR: Eloise
RATING: PG13
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise not to hurt them. Much.
NOTES: Chap 4 of 5. Glad that you're all enjoying the story; I had a horrendous tummy bug during the week, and when I finally logged on, your lovely reviews really cheered me up! Big blushing thanks to Lunatique/a terrible love who recced my stuff over at DoW, and sent me such detailed reviews of Present Imperfect and Soul Cages. You actually made me go and re-read my own stories! Hope you're enjoying this one! I am aiming to finish the fic before Christmas, hopefully by the 23rd. After the serious fluffiness of Chap3, I feel the urge to warn you that there may be angst ahoy.
Chapter 4: Sharing all the joy
'Families and friends together
Feel a special kind of love and cheer,
Sharing all the joys of Christmas time,
The very best time of year.'
He was an idiot.
How could he have believed that making the wish would bring him anything but trouble? It wasn't as if he hadn't been warned about the use of magic; it was one of Father's favourite lectures. He could almost hear his father's voice now, contemptuously listing his failures.
Too trusting, too weak, too soft…
As if to attest to that criticism, he felt tears gather behind his eyes and he blinked furiously, trying to stem their flow. He was blinded momentarily, and stumbled, tripping on a paving stone laid slightly askew. A searing pain in his forehead sent stars exploding behind his eyes, as his head came into sharp contact with the edge of the gatepost at the front of the hotel.
Adrenaline surged through his body, and he hauled himself to his feet, running as if in a nightmare, his legs heavy as lead. He reached a fingertip to the throbbing in his temple and was dismayed to find the skin there slick with blood.
Great. Not only did he have a vampire gang chasing him, he now had an open wound as an appetiser, thus greatly improving their chances of catching him. The odds of which were fairly high to begin with. There was no way he could outrun them, he realized. His only choice was to try and hide. He glanced around the courtyard and noticed a small garden area surrounding a fountain. There appeared to be another entrance to the building from this atrium, and he crept up the steps, pressing his ear as close to the doors as possible.
'You didn't tell him?' This sounded like the weirdly dressed demon he had just met.
'Yeah, well, it didn't come up.' He recognized Cordelia's voice, and felt tears well up again. 'I mean, what are you gonna say? Hey, tiny and half-scared-to-death Wes, here's a funny thing, you trained as a watcher and wound up working with a vampire.'
He so wanted to believe her. Wanted her to hold his hand and call him sweet and adorable and be soft and nice and gentle. But the sound of footsteps at the front of the hotel gave lie to her words.
'How far d'you think he got?' This was Gunn.
'Not far. See here? He fell – look at the drops of blood there. Looks like he doubled back on us.'
Terror gripped him and he pushed open the double doors and sprinted across the lobby, past a startled Cordelia, and under the counter, almost knocking over the demon. He looked around wildly for a safe place, then dived through a door into an inner office. He slammed it shut, breathing heavily. There was a key in the lock, and he twisted it savagely, then shoved it into his pocket. Looked around for some type of weapon, something to defend himself with. If they were going to eat him, he wasn't going to be an easy meal.
'Wesley! Come on Wes, open up!'
She wasn't yelling, but she sounded upset, which made him feel awful until he remembered that she was working for a vampire.
He scanned the contents of the shelves and was shocked to see his own toy soldiers set out carefully, in the very same formation he favoured on his bedroom shelves. They had not been lying. He truly did work here. But with a vampire?
He was supposed to be a watcher. From before he could even remember, his father had instilled in him the basic tenets of good and evil. There was the council, the slayer; they represented the powers of light. Demons, vampires, they were the darkness. There was no blurring, no grey area. How had the adult version of himself ended up working with this undead creature?
Unless - and the very thought sent tendrils of pure cold dread creeping round his heart – unless he was also a vampire. That thing had bitten him and made him drink, creating a soulless monster within his adult body. Father would have been absolutely furious with him.
The door rattled again, and he was shocked out of this disturbing reverie.
'Wes, please open up. We don't want to hurt you. If you'd just let me explain…'
It was the vampire speaking, his voice soft, full of plaintive worry. Lying to him, lulling him into a false sense of security. He tried to remember the words of the protection spell his father had set him to translate yesterday evening, but his mind was suddenly empty, just as it had been when Father had tested him on it.
He heard Cordelia's voice indistinctly, something about 'another one here somewhere', and then, to his horror, he heard a key turn in the lock. The unbolted door gave way easily. He seized the only weapon he could find on the desk, and retreated to the farthest wall of the office.
The vampire entered first, closely followed by Cordelia and Gunn. The green demon remained at the office door, obviously guarding the exit for his accomplices.
'Get back, creature of the night!'
He had been aiming for bravely bold, but was disappointed to hear his voice sound timidly terrified. He raised the pencil in his fist, reading to shove it into the vampire's chest. Made a few dummy stabs, in what he rather futilely hoped was a threatening manner.
His total lack of menace was evidenced by Cordelia's soft sigh and look of tender concern.
'Oh, sweetie, you're hurt. Let me look.'
She took a tentative step towards him and he backed away against the book case.
'Wes, honey. Angel's a good guy. Really.'
He was suddenly extraordinarily angry.
'Of course you'd say that. You work for him. What did he promise you? Eternal life? Everlasting beauty?' He took a swift, sobbing breath. 'How could you do that to me? I trusted you, believed you, and you betrayed me.'
Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened as if she'd been slapped.
'You were just feeding me up for him, you…' he searched furiously for the word he wanted. 'You minions!'
He was dismayed by the little half giggle that she desperately tried to stifle. In fact, they all looked anything but scared. The tall vampire looked sheepish, Cordelia had that 'I want to hug him' look again, and the demon lounging in the doorway seemed quite amused by the thought of himself as a minion. Gunn, however, though clearly not intimidated by him, was not laughing. He was watching him intently, his dark eyes unreadable.
'Don't you dare come a step closer!' He waved the pencil ominously at them. 'I'm not afraid to use this!'
Cordeila was the first to break. 'Oh my God, he's like, mini watcher! Have you ever seen anything more adorable?'
'I am not adorable!' he yelled as loudly as he could, stamping his foot to emphasis this lack of cuteness. He felt his lower lip beginning to wobble. 'And I am not a vampire!'
The cut on his forehead gave an extra painful throb, and the tears that had been threatening all evening began to spill over. He was suddenly enveloped in a bear hug, and he fought against the broad chest, his fists hammering against solid muscle. He swung the pencil ineffectually, and it fell from his grasp, inflicting no damage. As he twisted in the man's grasp, desperate to keep his neck protected, it dawned on him that the chest he was pummelling rose and fell; he could hear the man's heartbeat, deep and steady. Not the vampire.
He pulled away from the man, and strong hands released him immediately. He removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes roughly with the sleeve of his shirt. Bit down hard on his lip to stop the tremble there.
He was such a baby. He was supposed to be a watcher, and here he was, crying his eyes out in front of the enemy. Father was right. He'd never last a day in the field. He looked down at the cuff of his shirt, noticing the smear of red that now tinged the pale blue cotton. The adults in the room remained very still. He wasn't sure why the vampire hadn't attacked him yet, it wasn't as if he hadn't had opportunity. But he stood motionless by the chair, as if stricken by guilt.
Gunn knelt on the floor next to him, a hand not quite touching his back.
'You're not a vampire, Wes.' His voice was incredibly gentle, and the kindness in his tone made tears well up all over again.
'Then why do I work with him?' He hated the petulant whine of his own voice.
'Because you're one of the good guys, Wes. And you see the good in other people, no matter how well hidden.'
For a moment, Wesley imagined that there was a sharp little edge to Gunn's voice, accompanied by a brief glance over at Angel, who, if possible, looked even more forlorn.
'He's got a soul, kid. Cursed by gypsies for being one seriously nasty specimen of the living undead. We told you the truth. We work for the Powers that Be. Help the helpless, dust the demons.'
Cordelia nodded vigorously.
'I get the mind splitting visions to guide us.' She looked upwards quickly. 'That wasn't an invitation, by the way. I am planning a foresight-free Christmas.'
He was still having trouble with the idea of remorseful vampire, who worked on the side of good. It just didn't fit with anything he had been taught about the world. He wasn't sure what shocked him more, the existence of this souled vampire, or the thought that his father might be wrong.
Yet here he was, trapped in an enclosed space with a blood-sucking demon, who was making no effort whatsoever to feed from him. He crept over to the desk, hardly daring to touch the polished wood surface.
'What do I do?' he whispered.
'You mean, apart from boss us around?' Gunn smiled good-naturedly at him. 'This is your office. All the books, research, translation – that's your speciality. And, as I said before, you're handy with a crossbow.'
Wesley looked down at the back of his hands, the thin lines across his knuckles contradicting Gunn's words. He felt a warm blush spread across his cheeks. Nobody; nobody had ever given him such praise. He was suddenly aware of Gunn behind him, and he turned to see the tall man staring at a walking stick that rested between the edge of the bookcase and the wall.
'And you're my – our friend.'
He knelt down again, and Wesley was surprised by the liquid in the dark eyes. Gunn reached up and touched a finger to the gash above his eyebrow.
'That's a mean little cut, man. Better get it cleaned up.' There was a definite tremor in his voice.
Wesley allowed himself to be led into the lobby.
Boys do not cry. Men do not cry. A lesson that his father never tired of teaching him. For the second time that evening, he was confronted with the heretical thought that his father was wrong. As he settled himself on the settee, waiting for Cordelia to bring the First Aid kit, he could have sworn he saw Gunn wipe away a tear.
*~*~*~*
He lounged against the counter, trying to glance covertly through the office door without alerting the child to his presence. Wesley was seated at the desk, surrounded by several ancient, dusty volumes. Well, not so much seated as perched. He knelt on a cushion that Cordy had borrowed from the sofa, and was leaning over a large manuscript, the light from the desk lamp glinting off the rim of his glasses.
The image was powerfully familiar, reminding him of the adult Wes so much that had his heart been capable, it would have skipped a beat. Intent on his studies, Wesley chewed the edge of his lip unconsciously as he read; and every few minutes he would write some careful notes in a pad beside him on the desk.
He was dressed in pale blue pyjamas, decorated somewhat incongruously with Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Chewbacca motifs. The little boy's eyes had sparkled when Gunn had produced the garments from a Maceys' bag, after Cordy had spent some time seeing to the cut above his eye.
Angel was feeling incredibly guilty about the whole episode; Wes would never have fallen if he hadn't been trying to get away from him. And clearly it had hurt. Wesley had tried to sit very still as she dabbed at the gash with antiseptic, but had not been able to stop himself from flinching as the cotton gauze touched his skin.
Cordelia had been at her most gentle, the side of her that they didn't get to see very often. She had drawn the edges of the cut together and fixed a couple of paper butterfly stitches to hold the skin in place, and Wesley had blinked, sending a single teardrop splashing directly onto his hand. Cordy had rubbed her thumb gently under his eye, and had taken him upstairs to get him changed for bed. Lorne had headed back to the club, promising to make a few enquiries about recent elf sightings, though considering the season, he didn't hold out too much hope.
They had all agreed that Wesley would stay in the hotel, although Wesley himself wasn't too keen on the idea, until both Gunn and Cordy said that they would sleep over too. It hurt him to realize that the child version of his best friend seemed completely terrified of him, but given the circumstances of Wesley's upbringing, it was only natural that he should be wary of vampires, even ones who professed to have a soul.
He looked to be in his element now, searching for information on wish magic and elves. Gunn sat in an armchair near the desk, his long legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He was flicking through a smaller book, supposedly helping with the research. With a pang of selfish sorrow, Angel had acknowledged that mini Wes was much more at ease with Gunn, and it made sense that he should be the one to keep the kid company.
'I think I found something!' The little boy's voice was ecstatic, and Angel cautiously approached the office door, and leaned in.
'This passage here, it talks about the power of the wish, and those who wield it. See?' He held the book out to Gunn, who took it dutifully and scanned the page.
'Sorry, Wes. It's all Greek to me.'
There was an explosive giggle, and Wesley collapsed face first onto the manuscripts, doubling over as he giggled.
'What? What did I say?' Gunn was smiling at the sight of Wesley wrapping his arms around his midriff, shaking silently with laughter.
'It's – It's not Greek!' he gasped, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 'You see, it's – it's Latin!' and he was off again, another fit of giggles overtaking him.
Angel couldn't help but smile. Only Wes, only Wesley Wyndam-Pryce would be so tickled by such a joke.
'What's so funny?' Cordy swept past him and into the office, carrying a steaming mug of something that was clearly not blood.
Wesley took a big gasp of air. 'Gunn – he said, he said, it's all Greek…' and he started all over again.
'Hmm. I think maybe it's time we called it a night, boys. Looks like somebody's ready for bed.'
'Oh, Cordy, not yet. Can't you let Gunn stay up a little longer?' This time Wes actually howled with laughter, and banged his little fist on the desk. Gunn was not much better, and Angel felt a little chuckle build in his chest.
'Very funny, kiddo.'
Cordy was trying to sound stern, but failing miserably, as the child's insouciant laughter infected her as well. She set the mug down in front of Wesley and began to clear away the books.
'Hot milk. To calm you down before bedtime. Drink up.'
The little boy obeyed her, sipped from the mug and smiled. 'Thank you, Cordy.'
'It's my pleasure, Wesley,' she replied, returning the smile.
He finished the milk, and climbed down from the chair, knocking his upper arm against the edge of the desk. He made a small sound, a tiny hiss of pain, audible only to vampire hearing.
'You okay, Wes?' he asked quietly.
The child looked suddenly as small and afraid as when they had first discovered him in the closet.
'I'm fine. Really.'
Immediately Cordy was all mother tigress.
'Wes, did you bump your arm when you fell before?'
He shook his head dumbly.
''You're hurt, man.' Gunn's voice was full of worry.
Angel guessed that this Wesley would not be a good liar, even as the child shook his head, his eyes were downcast, fixed on a single spot on the floor. He took a step towards the boy, saw him cringe a little as he approached.
'If you're hurt, we need to take a look, Wes,' he reasoned. 'Cordy won't hurt you; just let her look at your arm.'
The head remained down. 'I'm not hurt. Please, can't I just go to bed?'
Angel hated himself for what he was about to do. He hardened his features; put a little mean in his voice.
'You do as you're told, Wesley.' His tone was harsh, strict, and Cordelia threw him a look of utter disgust, her eyebrow raised.
But the stringency of his tone achieved the desired results. The little boy unbuttoned his pyjama top, and obediently slipped his arm out of the sleeve. Around the thin muscle of his upper arm, there was a pattern of five fingertip-shaped bruises tattooed on the pale skin. They looked perhaps a day or two old, and had clearly happened previous to mini Wes's arrival in present day L.A. The child stood very still, his head bowed, his cheeks suddenly very red.
Gunn curled his hand into a tight fist, and Angel thought for a moment that he might be the recipient of the other man's rage. Then the fist relaxed, deliberately, and Gunn gently pulled the pyjama top back over the child's shoulder. Lifted Wesley easily and settled the small boy on his hip. Wesley pressed his face into Gunn's chest.
'Time for bed, kid,' he murmured, shooting Angel a warning look. He understood then that there would be no further discussion of the bruises in front of Wesley.
As Gunn carried Wes out of the office towards the stairs, Angel put out a hand to stop them. The child raised his head from Gunn's shoulder.
'I'm sorry, Wes,' he said quietly and sincerely.
The little boy nodded, old beyond his years.
'That's okay, Angel.' No trace of fear in his voice now, just gentle acceptance.
It made Angel want to weep.
*~*~*~*
He peered through the blinds into the inner office, watched the vampire brush his hand awkwardly over the dark head, cradled against the other man's chest. It brought a tear to the eye, even to one as cynical as himself. He was rather pleased with the results of the wish, although it had been touch and go for a while there. But it had worked. The kid was getting a happy family Christmas.
'Norman!' A hissed whisper from the entrance door of the hotel interrupted his warm fuzzy thoughts.
He tiptoed over and opened the lobby doors to see Arthur, head of the North American division, pulling off his coat.
'What the hell are you doing in L.A.? Everyone's been going berserk! I mean, they've pulled people out of Production to form search parties for you. And we're now two days off schedule.'
The other elf was shaking his head in bemused wonder.
'I was just – um – checking on somebody, I mean something…'
'Don't play the innocent, Norman, we know what you've been up to. You're to get back to H.Q. - ASAP.' He paused and gave him a sardonic look.
'Oh, and Norman? Let's just say the boss isn't feeling particularly jolly.'