+++++++++++++++++++++++
Inside
+++++++++++++++++++++++
inside where it's warm // wrap myself in you
outside where I'm torn // fight myself in two
in two // into you
Pug ~ Smashing Pumpkins
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Still chilly outside, Wesley noted. He had been waiting for them to come back - the hotel was quiet without her. It definitely lacked for atmosphere without Angel's unique gravity. Though Gunn was doing his best to fabricate his own, while wearing a fine bareness into the carpet - he didn't wear apprehension well. Neither of them did.
They'd gone over it. Many times. Sometimes just between themselves, more often in their own minds, just to trip the safety wire of sanity and hope it didn't disappoint them - but it never failed to make less sense. Except, personally, Wesley had long noted that it really made all the sense in the world - in all it's horrible ironic glory.
The slight cough at the stair derailed his morbid train of thought. Fred. Fred was there. God, Fred. He had almost forgotten about her. She looked as if she had been crying, or perhaps the light... She figeted with her hands, the lower lip trembled, bespoke of misery...yes, there had been tears, not so long ago. So easy to take her in his arms and comfort but Gunn had stopped his pacing at the reception area and was walking back to the desk, already speaking the words:
"You OK?"
"I'm..." she paused, her voice was smaller when she spoke again. "Are they back yet?"
Wesley shook his head. As did Gunn, the torment of his anxious energy drifting across the room with a shake of his shoulders. Taking a breath Wesley, relied on a sense of instinct and occasion perhaps over logic and custom, addressed the two of them:
"Perhaps it would be...perhaps you and Fred could go out somewhere..."
His voice palled off their looks, equally dark and bereft in different distillations.
"I mean't for coffee or...if you're hungry...to come back, of course."
Gunn took a second to take this in.
"You better believe that. There's a place just near here. I'm not straying too far. You know?"
Wesley knew; and he gave a brief smile to acknowledge the solidarity, before looking to Fred. Still rabbit-like her uncertainty only now and then peeked out from behind the glasses. She added hesitantly:
"Do they...do...tacos?"
Gunn smiled broadly a veil of faint amusement settling momentarily over his preoccupations:
"Yeah, they got all that and more. Coming?"
Fred smiled back at him. Fragile, so fragile, and yet she had survived the five years in Pylea; and yet her reserves remained mysterious - so well concealed.
"Sure. I've got to get my..."
Unlike Gunn's.
Taking the zip-down sweat shirt off his back, Gunn offered it to Fred.
"Here, I'm getting hot in it anyway." Then to Wes. "See you soon." Not before giving his the friend's shoulder a gentle squeeze and adding between them. "Who's got your back, English."
Wesley watched them leave across the lobby, feeling the need to add "Be careful." but feeling far too much like a worried parent saying so - feeling far too old. So he simply watched them go, observing the almost widening height disparity disappear and reappear in and out of the light; and, when Gunn paused at the door to help Fred with the awkward zipper, how his top - that fit him at the hip - dangled just over her knees making her look more like a child. Then the doorway was empty. Upon closing his eyes Wesley realised he kept their after image under the lids - like some fugitive butterfly. Made him afraid to open them again, to lose them completely.
But he did. Settling behind the desk he found a book in latin, and then started to look for the other relevant texts. There was no way of telling the outcome of these things but they knew what had happened in the past. The resolution of his gaze, faded the blue there until there was only gray. He knew and he understood. They had tried to find another way and failed. Perhaps they were all predestined to fail over that mighty conqueror Death. Angel's eternity was exactly that - Angel's eternity. He was now, and possibly ever would be, a demon. A demon with a soul. Or perhaps just a demon. But they would never stop trying, for each set back, a small victory - a greater sense of hope. For love there was no diminution.
They came through the door like a whisper. A shadow of their former selves. The awkwardness was apparent. Cordelia looked spare, the dress that she wore pure darkness, a shimmer of blue as she went - had he bought it for her? Bequeathed her with gifts while no one was looking? There was an understanding between them now and Angel was - strangely - at peace. Strange because Wesley had never seen it on those features before but it was congruous with all he had become. He was the vessel for her - a protective wall in her time of need, indeed for all of them extenuating blondes aside - here and now when her need peaked his response grew. Perfect peace. Wesley noticed the change but had to admit he had not expected to see it. Smaller victory.
Cordelia haunted the lower steps of the Hyperion - where, not so long ago Fred had loitered - before ascending them silently. There was no time to talk to her, ask her what she felt, if she accepted the risk, whether she was afraid, still in shock, being eaten alive by a host of secondary horrors. But she paused at the top of the stairs; her decision to turn suddenly there making her hair that had grown below the shoulders over the last year hide her face. She brushed it away and with it some of the girl in her. The dark eyeshadow she wore made her look like a severe goddess looking down from high, yet the reassurance of her smile (which he, Wesley, needed just then) gave her back her humanity - like it always had. And like all (both it's and her) beauty it was doomed to be transient. Gone. He blinked and there was only railing.
And then there was Angel. How did men broach such matters, such uncharted conversational terrain? With difficulty.
"I...she..."
His former employer stalled and reconsidered his line of explanation.
"I mean, we..."
Wesley halted the obvious torture.
"It's OK, I...understand..."
He underlined the last word with a note of caution but Angel had turned to go before Wesley could finish.
"Angel."
The vampire whirled, perhaps nervously, the lesions beginning to show. With the peace but not of the peace.
"If something should go...If you should..."
"I know, Wesley."
"It was nice working with you."
Angel smiled wryly, the shadows about his face making him indistinct. Not a person an apparition. Of the flesh no longer.
"It was...it is. I trust you Wesley. You'll...know what to do. And only, if."
The Englishman nodded.
Through the far door, Gunn and Fred reappeared obviously lacking for something. Seeing Angel, Fred paled and seemed to shrink. But Gunn...the way his peer could cross a room in only a few steps almost soundlessly never failed to amaze Wesley (it was a very battle-worthy attribute); or the way he could limit conversation to it's essence when necessary.
"Cordelia?"
"She's upstairs."
"Is she?"
"She's come around."
"If you..."
"I know. I'm counting on it."
And that was it. That was the exchange Wesley had wanted but had not had. Perhaps he had been too close for too long. Or perhaps is was the difference in culture. Perhaps.
Angel was going now, tracing Cordelia's steps, following in her wake. It made him shudder to think, to guess. A new sense of stillness descended and in the silence, not long after his passing there was a only the sound of Fred's tears.
Inside
+++++++++++++++++++++++
inside where it's warm // wrap myself in you
outside where I'm torn // fight myself in two
in two // into you
Pug ~ Smashing Pumpkins
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Still chilly outside, Wesley noted. He had been waiting for them to come back - the hotel was quiet without her. It definitely lacked for atmosphere without Angel's unique gravity. Though Gunn was doing his best to fabricate his own, while wearing a fine bareness into the carpet - he didn't wear apprehension well. Neither of them did.
They'd gone over it. Many times. Sometimes just between themselves, more often in their own minds, just to trip the safety wire of sanity and hope it didn't disappoint them - but it never failed to make less sense. Except, personally, Wesley had long noted that it really made all the sense in the world - in all it's horrible ironic glory.
The slight cough at the stair derailed his morbid train of thought. Fred. Fred was there. God, Fred. He had almost forgotten about her. She looked as if she had been crying, or perhaps the light... She figeted with her hands, the lower lip trembled, bespoke of misery...yes, there had been tears, not so long ago. So easy to take her in his arms and comfort but Gunn had stopped his pacing at the reception area and was walking back to the desk, already speaking the words:
"You OK?"
"I'm..." she paused, her voice was smaller when she spoke again. "Are they back yet?"
Wesley shook his head. As did Gunn, the torment of his anxious energy drifting across the room with a shake of his shoulders. Taking a breath Wesley, relied on a sense of instinct and occasion perhaps over logic and custom, addressed the two of them:
"Perhaps it would be...perhaps you and Fred could go out somewhere..."
His voice palled off their looks, equally dark and bereft in different distillations.
"I mean't for coffee or...if you're hungry...to come back, of course."
Gunn took a second to take this in.
"You better believe that. There's a place just near here. I'm not straying too far. You know?"
Wesley knew; and he gave a brief smile to acknowledge the solidarity, before looking to Fred. Still rabbit-like her uncertainty only now and then peeked out from behind the glasses. She added hesitantly:
"Do they...do...tacos?"
Gunn smiled broadly a veil of faint amusement settling momentarily over his preoccupations:
"Yeah, they got all that and more. Coming?"
Fred smiled back at him. Fragile, so fragile, and yet she had survived the five years in Pylea; and yet her reserves remained mysterious - so well concealed.
"Sure. I've got to get my..."
Unlike Gunn's.
Taking the zip-down sweat shirt off his back, Gunn offered it to Fred.
"Here, I'm getting hot in it anyway." Then to Wes. "See you soon." Not before giving his the friend's shoulder a gentle squeeze and adding between them. "Who's got your back, English."
Wesley watched them leave across the lobby, feeling the need to add "Be careful." but feeling far too much like a worried parent saying so - feeling far too old. So he simply watched them go, observing the almost widening height disparity disappear and reappear in and out of the light; and, when Gunn paused at the door to help Fred with the awkward zipper, how his top - that fit him at the hip - dangled just over her knees making her look more like a child. Then the doorway was empty. Upon closing his eyes Wesley realised he kept their after image under the lids - like some fugitive butterfly. Made him afraid to open them again, to lose them completely.
But he did. Settling behind the desk he found a book in latin, and then started to look for the other relevant texts. There was no way of telling the outcome of these things but they knew what had happened in the past. The resolution of his gaze, faded the blue there until there was only gray. He knew and he understood. They had tried to find another way and failed. Perhaps they were all predestined to fail over that mighty conqueror Death. Angel's eternity was exactly that - Angel's eternity. He was now, and possibly ever would be, a demon. A demon with a soul. Or perhaps just a demon. But they would never stop trying, for each set back, a small victory - a greater sense of hope. For love there was no diminution.
They came through the door like a whisper. A shadow of their former selves. The awkwardness was apparent. Cordelia looked spare, the dress that she wore pure darkness, a shimmer of blue as she went - had he bought it for her? Bequeathed her with gifts while no one was looking? There was an understanding between them now and Angel was - strangely - at peace. Strange because Wesley had never seen it on those features before but it was congruous with all he had become. He was the vessel for her - a protective wall in her time of need, indeed for all of them extenuating blondes aside - here and now when her need peaked his response grew. Perfect peace. Wesley noticed the change but had to admit he had not expected to see it. Smaller victory.
Cordelia haunted the lower steps of the Hyperion - where, not so long ago Fred had loitered - before ascending them silently. There was no time to talk to her, ask her what she felt, if she accepted the risk, whether she was afraid, still in shock, being eaten alive by a host of secondary horrors. But she paused at the top of the stairs; her decision to turn suddenly there making her hair that had grown below the shoulders over the last year hide her face. She brushed it away and with it some of the girl in her. The dark eyeshadow she wore made her look like a severe goddess looking down from high, yet the reassurance of her smile (which he, Wesley, needed just then) gave her back her humanity - like it always had. And like all (both it's and her) beauty it was doomed to be transient. Gone. He blinked and there was only railing.
And then there was Angel. How did men broach such matters, such uncharted conversational terrain? With difficulty.
"I...she..."
His former employer stalled and reconsidered his line of explanation.
"I mean, we..."
Wesley halted the obvious torture.
"It's OK, I...understand..."
He underlined the last word with a note of caution but Angel had turned to go before Wesley could finish.
"Angel."
The vampire whirled, perhaps nervously, the lesions beginning to show. With the peace but not of the peace.
"If something should go...If you should..."
"I know, Wesley."
"It was nice working with you."
Angel smiled wryly, the shadows about his face making him indistinct. Not a person an apparition. Of the flesh no longer.
"It was...it is. I trust you Wesley. You'll...know what to do. And only, if."
The Englishman nodded.
Through the far door, Gunn and Fred reappeared obviously lacking for something. Seeing Angel, Fred paled and seemed to shrink. But Gunn...the way his peer could cross a room in only a few steps almost soundlessly never failed to amaze Wesley (it was a very battle-worthy attribute); or the way he could limit conversation to it's essence when necessary.
"Cordelia?"
"She's upstairs."
"Is she?"
"She's come around."
"If you..."
"I know. I'm counting on it."
And that was it. That was the exchange Wesley had wanted but had not had. Perhaps he had been too close for too long. Or perhaps is was the difference in culture. Perhaps.
Angel was going now, tracing Cordelia's steps, following in her wake. It made him shudder to think, to guess. A new sense of stillness descended and in the silence, not long after his passing there was a only the sound of Fred's tears.
