Coffee And Tea
© Jessica Knorr, 2001
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: "Angel", the series, not the episode. Pretty non-cannon(yay!).
CONTENT: Really bad attempts at fluff. Angst. Brooding. Y'know, norm.
SUMMARY:
DISCLAIMER: Wesley, Gunn, Cordy, et cetera belong to Master Whedon and he alone. No suing.
DEDICATION/DISTRIBUTION: For Jess. Again. She gave me the idea. And, because, I forgot a lot of things, like clothes for our clone(but it's better naked, isn't it!?!?!). My site, Jess' if she wants it. If you'd like it, please ask. I'll probably say yes.
Wesley Whyndham-Pryce rushed about his Los Angeles flat, dodging and weaving around empty boxes of all shapes and sizes. He knew his collection of ancient Australian talismans was in one of them, but he couldn't remember which. He'd been using them as coasters, really, but they weren't in his box of cutlery and china, which was bad.
Wesley wouldn't have been in such a rush if everything would just go his way for once. But, it could never. If life had just taken him into favor once, he wouldn't have spent almost four months recovering from a punctured stomach and popped vertebra. He wouldn't have been fired, from two of the only jobs he'd ever had, or humiliated, laughed at, cast aside like some child. Enough was enough for him. Even if he did have to clean loos and sell the public the latest batch of Royal lies, it was obvious no one in America wanted him. Just as he finally dug the talismans out from his summer sweaters, someone knocked on his door. Wesley growled to himself and shot looks to whoever was behind the sheet of wood.
"You left nothing here, Virginia!"
"Wesley?" another woman called out. Obviously not Virginia, but aggravating to him nevertheless. The Brit stomped over the door, overturning his telly and its Styrofoam packing, and threw it open. In the hallway stood a short, tanned, Brunette young lady and a taller black man, both with the same looks of confusion and alarm on their faces.
"Do I look rich and blonde to you?" Charles Gunn asked him, pointing to his bald, dark head. Wesley shook his head, relaying his annoyance at the intrusion from behind his glasses.
"What's going on, Wesley?" Cordelia Chase stood on her tiptoes, even in her impossibly high platform sandals, to see inside over his shoulder. Wesley moved into the hall with them and shut the door behind him. "What's your problem?"
"Absolutely nothing. However, as it seems either Angel will never come out of his rut or you will never accept him back, and also our significant lack of funds, I've chosen to return home to my parents in hopes that I'll be able to find a more meaningful way of existence where I could be more appreciative. It's been nice knowing the both of you."
"What!?"
"Huh?"
"You can't go back to England, Wesley!" Cordelia grabbed his arm. The ex-Watcher shrugged it off and scowled to himself. "We're a team! It's slow, yeah, that's because…I dunno, it's almost summer. Fun in the sun doesn't exactly to apply to a lot of demons."
"That's not the reason and you know it, Cordelia." He turned back around to face her. "There's nothing coming in because there's no business in fighting demons. We're obviously not strong enough to combat the evil that surrounds us. It's not just the Hellspawn that's wrong with this world. We humans are also quite capable of maliciousness and wrongdoing. The first breed is best left to those called upon to find and fight them…the Slayers, the Watchers…Angel…but the second, we just can't get rid of that. We will always be impure, none of us can ever be sin free. That's what the Judgement Day is for." Wesley moved for the knob again, only to find Gunn blocking his way.
"So?" Gunn pressed him. "We can help keep the innocent innocent, at least. And what about you, you were a Watcher!"
"Key word, were."
Cordelia turned him around again. "Okay, y'know what? Maybe we aren't making the biggest dent in the Evil World that we could. We aren't exactly the most capable, but the only superpowers any of us have is my great ability to get headaches with pictures! But, it's time for us to-" a chiming noise interrupted her. She picked the pager out of her belt and looked at the message. "Oh! You just may be wrong about having no income Wesley. I'll be at the office. Keep him here," she pointed at Gunn and walked away. Wesley sighed and looked at the youth barricading his entrance.
"C'mon, Wes. There's plenty other stuff for you to do here. Librarian? You like books, right?"
"I've made up my mind, Gunn, please move." He did and entered the apartment with the Brit. "I just don't see any real need for me any more. In over two years, the only people I've met and kept in constant contact with have been those who're linked to this fight. I have virtually no friends."
"What about 'Ginnie?"
"I'd never fit in with that crowd. I'm merely a thing of entertainment to most of those aristocrats. It's depressing."
"All that money? Gotta be." Wesley wheeled around.
"She also broke up with me. I didn't recall inviting you over, Gunn, and your petty attempts to humor me aren't working. You can't change my mind, my plane leaves the International Airport in six hours."
"I know I can't change your mind, Wes," Gunn watched him with dark eyes, shutting the door behind him. "Not unless you really listen. I'll help you get your stuff together, but you gotta hear me out. If I don't help you realize just what you're doing by the time your shuttle gets here, I'll let you go. Deal?"
"Fine, fine. Help me pack my chesterfield and I'm all ears."
Wesley listened intently to Gunn as they wrapped his ratty, second hand couch in plastic and prepared it for shipping. Gunn was highlighting the better points of Wes' career, which were pretty much even with the number of darker points. The Brit had gone in unprepared and had only 3 years, tops, experience fighting this way. That was an excuse, but it wasn't good enough to explain how Wesley had always seemed to mess up all the time.
"It's still not enough," he finally voiced his concern. Gunn looked at him square in the eyes.
"Why not? No one's perfect, no one can have a clean rap sheet. At least you can do some things right, right? And, who remembers the last time you messed up here?" Wesley opened his mouth to comment, but Gunn forged on. "Exactly. No experience was a good enough reason. So what no one liked you back there? Me and Cordy, we're your friends. Hell, I'll go as far as saying we're family, okay? Point is, we need you, Wes. I hate books, and God knows at what level she can read at. Plus, you've got a lotta cool weapons. And a wicked right hook?"
Wesley half smiled and straightened out at the compliments. "Really?"
"No, I just threw that last part in." The ex-watcher slumped down and went to get his packing tape. "But, c'mon, Wesley! What's in England for you? Selling crumpets? Here, you've got us, you've got a nice flat...you had a beautiful girl.... But, who cares if we're not exactly rolling in the cash? At least you're not rolling in the gutter!" Wesley stared down at the thick roll of tape, contemplating Gunn's words. He had a point. Wesley had more support in Los Angeles than in London, even if his support in his current location was only one more person than home. Gunn and Cordelia, like the boy had said, were some sort of demented family to Wesley. Virginia had much more; the only woman he truly had fallen in love with. In Sunnydale, with Cordelia, that had been infatuation. Completely childish. Now, they'd both had the chance to grow up and move on.
Wesley gave a loud sigh and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. He prayed to whoever was above them all and listening that he was really making the right decision as he threw the tape down on the plastic covered couch and stood there.
"You okay, Wes?"
"Yes. And don't worry, Gunn. I've decided I won't go back to England. You're right, there's much more here than there is there. So, you wouldn't be so kind as to help me get all of this stuff out again, would you?" Gunn stood up, from the last box of books he was trying to close, and looked at the Brit as if in awe, or he'd been told his mother had died.
"After all that...3 wasted hours trying to convince you to stay...and now, I have to touch your pansy-ass crap again!?"
"For the last, bloody time, my ass is not pansy and it is not crap!"
"Whatever you say."
At seven o'clock, Wesley and Gunn finally collapsed, soaking with sweat from moving around furniture all over the flat and trying to reorganize things.
"You're stronger than you let on, dude, I didn't think you can lift that bed. Why do you need such a huge thing, anyway?" Wesley looked over at him, getting up once more and headed to the kitchen. It sunk in while the sound of gushing tap water filled the space. "Oh...."
"Would you like some tea, Gunn? Might help you wind down, relax, especially after all that."
"No way, I don't drink tea like a li'l girl. Got anything of the alcoholic variety?"
"No," Wesley fibbed, setting his kettle on the stove and turning it to the maximum setting. "Would you like some coffee, then, perhaps? I don't have any soda or anything like that."
"Yeah. Black. Maybe a little sugar?"
"Why doesn't that surprise me one bit?"
15 minutes later, the Brit sat back down in his armchair with their drinks and a tray of different sandwiches. Someone knocked on the door again and then decided to let themselves in. Even if it was only Cordelia, Wesley was somewhat annoyed with the intrusion.
"What? Wow, Gunn! You did it! Well, right? I mean, you're not plotting to kill him with poison in the baloney and then run off to the airport?" They just stared at her. Cordelia set her purse down, took one of the sandwiches, and smelt it. She looked as if she were actually waiting for an answer.
"You've had a very long day, haven't you, Cordelia?"
"No kidding. It was a wrong number. And I was stupid enough to stick around and see if there were any other calls." She sat beside Gunn and wolfed down the half of sandwich she'd picked. "I came back here as soon as I realized no one cares about us for another day, without even stopping at, like, Madame Chou's down the street from here. I'm starving. These are-"
"There's no poison," Gunn assured her, ripping into his own to demonstrate. As Cordelia moved to her mouth, he started gagging. He clutched at his throat and gasped, trying to force the food out. She and Wesley threw looks at one another and ran to Gunn's side as he started hyperventilating, his hands flailing all around. They shouted his name and told him to hold on. Cordy was almost at the phone when he fell off the floor. The gagging, muffled screaming and flailing of the arms stopped completely. Gunn just lay there, on his stomach. Wesley was sheet white as he bent down and, with a shaky hand, felt around the jugular.
The Brit turned to her and said, "He's dead."
Cordelia let out a little shout and ran the rest of the way, nearly ripping the receiver off the wall. When she had almost pressed the last 1, Gunn's body started laughing. And then Wesley grinned and helped the black boy up. They were almost crying when Cordelia finally got the joke.
"Oh, ha-ha-ha, very funny." She slammed the receiver back with equal force, stalked out of the kitchen and punched them both in the arm.
"Ow!" Gunn whined. "What was that for?"
"For being a jerk!"
"Well, can I punch you back for being such a bit-"
"Okay, you two, that's quite enough." Wesley became the parental figure, as he tended to do. "I think we've all had enough excitement for one day. How's about you two go home, and I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe we'll have to visit the Host again-"
Cordelia and Gunn both whirled around on him. "No!"
"Not to sing! To see if he's picked off something from his clientele!"
"Oh."
"Of course."
"Right."
"Goodnight Wesley," the teenagers waved to him as they exited. Wesley Whyndham-Pryce sighed into his slightly disorganized apartment, stretched his arms. A new beginning. Just as he went for the light switch, Cordelia came back in.
"I'm coming to pick you up tomorrow. And if this place is empty and you're on your way to the jolly ole homeland, so God help you!"
"Go home, Cordelia! Rant and rave to Dennis if you wish. I'm not going anywhere."
"You better not, because I talked with your mother once, and-" Gunn came back inside, grabbed the door handle and closed it on you.
"Thank you, Gunn!" Wesley shouted to it. He clicked off the light and walked to his bedroom, letting Cordelia's muffled rambling send him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The End