Dust Thou Art
by Jeanne Rose
Part 17
Angelus came up through the trap door and stood leaning against furnace. "What? Still here? You are a real glutton for punishment, did anyone ever tell you that?" He glanced at the table, piled high with Wesley's books. "Or did you let them stop you?"
Angel stared at him wordlessly, feeling the weight of despair settle over him again.
Angelus shrugged. "It doesn't really matter, I suppose. You'll get it right eventually. In the mean time . . . ."
He glanced around the kitchen; his eyes lit on the stove. He walked over and turned on the gas. Then he picked up one of Wesley's books and held it in the flames until it was burning brightly. He used the book to light the shelves over the sink.
Angel began to feel the heat as the fire spread along the shelves, eventually leaping high enough to catch the ceiling. Soon he was surrounded by angry orange flames and black, choking smoke. He hid his face from death, coughing in the smoke until finally the flames consumed him.
When he awoke he took long, gulping breaths of clean air and glanced around to make sure the walls weren't charred or blackened. Wesley looked up from his book and watched him closely but didn't speak.
Even the dim kitchen light hurt his eyes. He glanced at Wesley, then crawled past him into the comforting darkness of the study. He found a corner where he could just fit and hunched against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest, waiting for Angelus to return.
Wesley closed the last dusty leather-bound book with a slow gesture of finality. There was nowhere else to look. There was simply no other mention of the amulet anywhere.
His sense of failure was only exacerbated by the fact that Giles hadn't found anything either. Precious little help he could offer Angel now. Even if this wasn't some form of punishment sent by the Powers That Be, he didn't know how to stop it. And as difficult as it might be, he owed it to Angel to tell him.
He stood up and stretched to ease his cramped and tired muscles, then walked slowly into the darkened study. The lemon fresh scent of the room clashed oddly with the sickly green glow cast by the amulet. Angel hadn't moved since he'd wedged himself into the cramped space between the sofa and the weapons cabinet over an hour ago.
Wesley wasn't sure at first if Angel was awake, but he lifted his head slowly at the sound of hesitant footsteps.
Wesley looked around for a chair but there was none handy so he lowered himself awkwardly to the floor. Angel watched him with hooded eyes. "Did you find something?"
Wesley forced himself to look Angel in the eye. "No, I'm afraid not. And I've looked everywhere I can think of. Twice. Giles has been searching as well. If anything else was written about the amulet, it must have been lost in the intervening centuries."
Angel nodded as if in some inexplicable way the news was a burden lifted. "Wesley . . . you don't have to stay."
It was quite useless to insist that he did, so Wesley said nothing. It occurred to him that despite his long life, Angel probably didn't have much experience with friends who stuck by him in a crisis. As it happened, Wesley didn't have much practice at being such a friend, but he was certainly giving it his best shot. Not that he was helping much now.
Angel rubbed his thumb back and forth across the raised lines and swirls on the amulet, a mindless gesture. Finally Wesley worked up the courage to ask, "Do you still believe what Doyle said was true?"
"I don't know." Angel sounded broken, defeated. "Angelus says I'm a fool to think the Powers care at all."
Wesley tried not to look as shocked as he felt. "What – who says that?"
Angel gave no sign that he noticed Wesley's surprise. "Angelus," he repeated. A note of normality crept into his voice, a more subtle sign of despair. "God, I'm an ugly bastard as a vampire."
Wesley blinked, trying to assimilate this most peculiar turn of events. Angelus? He still remembered more vividly than he cared to his own recent encounter with Angel's dark side. He could only imagine the biting truths Angel's soulless self could vent on him. Or . . . twisted truths. He leaned forward.
"Don't you believe a word he says."
"Sometimes the truth is more cruel than a lie. And I was good at cruelty." Angel paused. "Maybe it was all an illusion – Doyle, the Oracles, everything."
"Cordelia's visions are not an illusion. Which means that Doyle's weren't either." Even if he didn't believe it himself, Wesley was afraid to strip away Angel's only source of hope. "If Doyle told you the Powers sent this, then maybe it's true. And if they did, they must mean for you to get through it."
"Or maybe I am meant to die. The world doesn't want me. I don't deserve life. I never have."
Wesley suddenly felt as if he were trying to divert the flood waters of Angel's despair with a single sandbag. Still, he had to try.
"Now you're talking nonsense," he said. "Look at all the people you've helped here. Look at Cordelia and me. Where would we be without you?"
"You'd find your way. And you wouldn't have to live every day with the danger of what I could become."
"It's our choice to take that risk, not yours. Angel, listen to me. If you die now, at your own hand . . . you'll only be adding one more murder to your list."
For that Angel had no answer.
The silence stretched between them as Wesley groped for words to voice his thoughts. Finally he found them, and spoke with quiet intensity. "We all live at the edge of despair, secretly terrified that at any moment our worst fears about ourselves and the world will suddenly prove true. You live closer to that edge than most of us, and I'm sure that it feels desperately lonely. But the truth is . . . the ground you're standing on is well trodden."
The naked anguish on Angel's face was painful to see, but Wesley hoped it meant he'd thrown him a lifeline, however painful to grasp. He glanced at his watch.
"It's nearly dark. Cordelia and I have a plan to free the sea dragon. Then we'll come back and see you through this, no matter what it takes." He stared intently into Angel's ravaged eyes as if to bind him to life by the force of his own will. "Promise me you'll be here."
To his vast relief, Angel met his eyes and slowly nodded.