By Misty Flores – mistyjox@hotmail.com
Teaser: Lorne has his hands full when three men who love three brunettes reveal three stories that meld surprisingly – and the three brunettes go missing.
Genre: Angel: The Series, Comedy/Romance/Action
Pairing: Angel/Cordelia, Gunn/Fred, Wesley/Faith
Rating: R for sexual situations
Special Thanks to: Vanessa, and her beautiful beta reading abilities.
Additional Notes on Chapters
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CHAPTER FIVE
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Tuesday – The Hyperion Hotel
Angel's body was tense with anticipation and dread. His hand pushed the door open, steps faltering at the sight of Cordelia seated on the edge of the bed, holding up a small blue jumper. Her smile broadened subtly at his entrance.
"Hey!" Rising to her feet, she acknowledged his half smile back with a distracted nod, as she extracted the baby from his arms, finally able to hold him. Chattering to his child, she turned her back on him as she placed Connor on the bed. "Isn't this adorable?"
He swallowed, mind whirling instead, on how he would begin the conversation, how on earth he would tell Cordelia that this, whatever it was, was over. For her own good.
Before he had a chance to come up with a segue way into the said conversation, Cordelia turned back, fastening clasps at light speed, and just as quickly, handing the child back to him. "There."
Mouth parting slightly, Angel held the child in front of him, eyes on Cordelia, until he realized he was supposed to be inspecting the jumper. He nodded mechanically. "It's great, Cordy. Really."
"Oh, please," she answered, obviously deflated. "You didn't even look."
"I looked! Look it's got - buttons! Shiny ones! With… flowers - and DUCKS!" He blinked, looking back down again. "You have my kid wearing ducks?"
"They're CUTE ducks, Angel." Cordelia crossed her arms, eyes flashing dangerously.
Angel pursed his lips, gaze drifting down to Connor, and when the child didn't complain, he decided to avoid the argument. There were other things that needed to be said.
"So… how'd you sleep?"
"All right," she responded, now back against the bed, folding the little jumpers and socks that had been spilled on the blankets. "What happened with the laundry? Fred usually has these things folded so well you'd think Martha Stewart had moved in."
"I haven't seen her this morning."
"Hmm." Cordelia's eyes flickered towards the door, frowning slightly, a thought flashing through her mind. "You think she's okay?"
Angel walked forward, taking in a deep breath for strength, before depositing the baby into the cradle. He paused to grip the bars, looking down at Connor. "I'm sure she's fine. She was with Gunn all day yesterday."
"Hmm. He didn't look too good today. Maybe I should -"
"Cordelia." Reaching out, he stopped her escape route to the door, a hand on her elbow, turning her back to him slowly. When she paused, she found intense dark eyes staring at her with a look she had come to expect with an overwhelming sense of anxious irritation.
"Oh, God, Angel. Tell me you didn't brood all night about this."
"I didn't… I didn't brood. I thought." He licked his lips slightly, distracted by the softness of her skin. Cold fingers drifted over the smooth forearms, tanned and bronze with a color that reminded him of the sun, almost as if the warmth of the rays had seeped through her skin permanently. "You belong to the day." The words escaped from his throat seconds later, cut off immediately when he snapped his mouth shut, looking away, embarrassed.
Cordelia was quiet, her reaction unknown, until he heard a shallow rasp There was a slight tremble to her body, beats before she extracted herself from his grip. "Angel…"
"I've hidden something from you." Dark, soulful eyes, ridden with guilt now pinned her with the luminous brilliance. Cordelia's throat parched immediately in reaction, every nerve suddenly waiting. Oh, God. What was it now? Another vampire love child? Another meeting with Buffy? Another killing spree?
Instead, Angel fished out a white envelope from his pants, fingers sliding over the side, studying it, before thrusting it to her.
Cordelia slowly took it, eyes curious as she opened it.
"A bachelorette party invitation?"
"It came about a week ago." Angel moved past her, sinking down onto the couch, looking so lost and sad. "I wasn't going to… it's one of your old friends, and I didn't want to - I'm sorry."
He looked so guilty over one silly invitation, and Cordelia couldn't help the giggle that escaped. "Angel! It's just a silly invitation - though if you ever DO hold mail from me again, I'll whip your little ass."
"Little?" The small smirk on his handsome made her grin.
"I'll add 'tight'."
Resisting the urge to crane his neck to the side to see if his butt did in fact match that description, he instead cleared his throat. "I already RSVP'd for you."
Her eyes widened, and once again she glanced at the invitation. "Angel - this is on Saturday."
"I think you should go."
"You want ME to go to a bachelorette party. With strippers. And screaming women." Her words were flat, and at the mention of the word 'stripper', Angel blanched slightly, but stuck to his words by nodding emphatically.
"I - in fact… here." He stood, hastily digging into his pocket and retrieving his wallet, opening it and retrieving his credit card.
Cordelia's jaw dropped at the sight of the plastic. "What are you doing?"
He continued to hold it out to her. "Get something nice to wear for it."
She blinked, immediately suspicious. "Angel," she began sharply, "What's going on?"
"NOTHING!" The words were said a little too quickly for her tastes, and ever observant, Cordelia only crossed her arms, studying him, eyes moving back to the tempting credit card.
"Mmmhmm."
"Really," he insisted, and the tip of her mouth quirked in amusement.
"You, the eternal tightwad, giving me money to spend on a bachelor party? I don't think so. Spill."
"I … feel guilty?"
"What else is new?"
He shifted his feet slightly, and his eyes caught Connor squirming in the crib. "He's a little tired." Reaching forward, he plucked up his son and deposited him in Cordelia's arms. "Look! He's smiling."
"Mmm. And you're evading. Angel." Her last word has a warning note attached to it, eyebrow raising threateningly.
It still never failed to amuse her, despite her better judgment, how the vampire killer seemed to shrink under her glare.
"Nothing, I just… maybe you need a couple days off, you know?"
"A day off."
"We're in between cases. Go out. Have fun."
Her eyes narrowed. "Go out. Into the people world?"
"With the people parties."
"Angel, I haven't been to a people party in -"
"I know." He came forward, smiling down at her. "And I think you should. Go. To a people party."
Cordelia remained quiet, studying the vampire, the earnest expression on his features adorably distracting. Her hands shifted Connor, the baby gurgling happily in her embrace, as she looked down at Angel's son.
Eyes roving over the bedroom, she saw one of her jackets hanging over the chair, and her watch, forgotten in the little sleepfest of last night, still on the dresser.
Angel's sweater, smelling of her perfume.
Frowning slightly, Cordelia took in a hesitant breath. She knew full well he was evading, but common sense made her give him back a tight smile. "Give me the card," she grumbled. "I'll go shopping today. But don't think you're getting rid of me that easily, buster."
A dark expression was what she got back, smile barely reaching his lips before he leaned forward, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against hers.
The embrace was almost desperate, and Cordelia considered pushing the vampire away, demanding to know what was going on his big, brooding, cro-mag head, but his hands slipped about her waist before she could get a word out. When her body swayed unconsciously toward him, she finally just let her eyes close, resting her cheek against his dark sweater.
At least like this, Connor would be safe from any vision.
Her hand tightened around Angel's waist when she realized he was trembling, but still battling the splintering headache from the vision aftermath, Cordelia said nothing, suddenly feeling very tired.
--
Present – Kate Lockley's Apartment
"Oh, geez." Kate looked severely put out, her head flopping onto her knee, which was drawn up to press against her chest. "Don't you people have anything HAPPY to say?"
Cordelia blinked, taking another drink of champagne before setting down the glass. "Kate. We showed up at your apartment drunk off our asses, and spilling a little blood. Do you REALLY think it gets ANY happier after this?"
Faith snorted. "Yeah. And we haven't even gotten to the sex."
"Or the death," Fred murmured, tying her long, dark tresses into a makeshift ponytail.
"Or the fact I found Angel in khaki. Let me tell you, SCARY," Cordelia added, shuddering.
Kate checked her watch, a wave of exhaustion floating over her. "And we're not even past Tuesday."
--
Tuesday Afternoon – The Hyperion Hotel
Charles Gunn grunted, shifting his weight on the dolly before pulling himself back under the truck, looking warily to make sure the cement block was in place. That last thing he wanted was to be pinned under the damn thing if the jack went out. The last time he had forgotten, his wrist had been pinned under the tire. It had taken George, Rondell, two guys from across the street and his sister to help him out.
He froze, suddenly sighing, resting his head on the carpeted wood as he stared at the pipes in quiet contemplation. That damn wrist still hurt when he thought about it.
Flexing his left hand, he studied it, swallowing down the memories that associated with the pain, and forced his mind back on the job at hand. He didn't want to think, didn't want to dissect every second, every moment that led up to this particular situation. The last thing he needed was the dark eyes of his sister haunting him as he looked into Rondell, and the large brown orbs of Fred pleading with him not to get lost.
His breathing became erratic, and realizing he was forgetting his resolve not to think, and be the good little 'muscle', Charles sniffed it all in, and continued to work. Blindly, his hand reached out for the wrench, flailing slightly for it, until it was unceremoniously placed into his palm. Freezing slightly, Charles took hold of the truck and pulled his body out, to find himself inches from a crouching physicist.
"Fred," he blurted, as if without thinking.
Fred's hair was loose, falling around her delicate shoulders in long tresses, blow dried and straightened. The wind was playing with it, picking it up and moving it with short whispers. He found his eyes drawn to the way the small dark brown strands skimmed her creamy pale skin. The way it made him slightly breathless embarrassed him, his lack of control at her appearance forcing him to swallow. Immediately the scowl returned to his face, blush darkening his features as he pushed back at the dolly. "What are you doing out here, Fred?"
She stopped him from hiding again under the truck, using her hand to grab his thigh, pulling him back so his face was now looking up directly into hers. "Gunn, are ya still goin' through with what … you're going to do tonight?"
He was quiet for a moment, gauging her expression, unsure how to react to it, when just a few hours before she had been scribbling crazily in her room, desperate and lost and scared. The memory made him close his eyes, his voice gruff when he responded, "Why do you care?"
"Someone has to."
His eyes jerked open. Something about the words, how she said them, twisted deep inside of him, and his next sentence came tumbling out before he could stop it. "Is that all? You care because you have to?"
"No."
That was it, one little word. But her hand on his thigh, squeezing reassuringly, was damned distracting, and Charles bit his lip, finally overcome. Sitting up, he watched as her hand descended from his leg, eyes finally on level with her own brilliant gaze. "Fred," he began seriously. "You going to tell on me?"
That amused her, he could tell. She gazed at him, her mouth gently twitched as her gazed shifted away. When her eyes returned to lock with his again again, her stare was a little harder, but the smile was gentle. "No. 'Cause I'm going to go, too, and I can't tell on both of us."
He blinked, everything suddenly sinking in and landing in the pit of his stomach. Reaching for her hand automatically, he shook his head firmly. "NO. You ain't going anywhere, Fred. You're staying right here where it's safe -"
"If you're going, I'm going, Charles."
"Fred, I'm not letting your little skinny -"
"CHARLES."
Sometimes, he wished she didn't call him by his first name. In her drawl, his name came off regal and noble, charming and soft, delicate and angry. When she said it in that tone, it ripped deep inside of him, reminding him of how she saw him, how he wanted to see himself.
He pushed out a long rush of air, hand still clinging to hers. "I'm not going tonight." She blinked, mouth parting in surprise, but he hastily continued. "Rondell called, said the nest moved or something. That Justine chick is going to find it and then, we'd go. Might be tomorrow night, or the night after. But you're still not going, Fred."
"Gunn -"
"It's too dangerous -"
"Charles, two years ago, I was kidnapped by a troicla mob. They're… cannibals, but they have these tools, and I really needed them. So, I let them find me, and that night, after all the torture and the regular fright fest, I got myself loose and managed to sneak into the main den. Everything went off okay, until I woke up one of the beastie dog things and then I had the whole crowd runnin' after me in the middle of the night - and here I was on barefoot weighted down with fifty pound shovels and hammers and -"
"Fred," he interrupted, his voice soft and fragile and just a little bit unlike Gunn. "What's your point?"
She paused the rambling, blowing out her breath in a long, drawn out sigh, before eyes that flashed with unmistakable strength turned their gaze on him and she answered, "My point is that you don't know what dangerous really is."
--
The Present – The Hyperion Hotel
"Now, just sink back, okay, yes. Good. Ohhhh, pumpkin. That must really hurt."
Angel and Gunn exchanged exasperated glances. Lorne continued to fuss over Wesley, pushing him back onto the couch.
Wesley whimpered, a sigh of agony and self pitying pain, when Lorne wiped the cloth over his nose. "Wow. That's going to leave a shiner, poor guy."
Charles snorted. "Yeah. You won't be singin' that tune when you find out what he did."
Angel turned, curiously glancing at Gunn. "You know what he did?"
"Not the specifics, but considering Faith AND Fred jumped his skinny white ass, it must have been enough."
Angel could hardly contain the smile that illuminated his face. "Fred's the one that gave you that shiner?"
"Just the bloody nose. Faith gave me the black eye," Wesley commented, glaring at the men, before leaning his head back down on the sofa pillow. "And don't bloody start. She's surprisingly strong."
Angel grinned, knees swaying slightly, gratified that the little Pylean ex-slave had managed to hold her own against the librarian wannabe. "Fred punched you out?"
"Angelcakes, unless you want me to remind you of a certain contraption that was in your possession, and is now dying a watery death in the sink, I'd suggest you keep your mouth shut about Wesley's little bruises," Lorne snapped, eyes pinning the vampire with a smirk. "And you, Mr. Gunn, at least I didn't fall off the BED the night I woke up from my first drunken orgy."
Charles gulped, Angel stared, and Wesley smirked.
"You were saying?"
--
Tuesday Afternoon – The Redondo Beach Pier
The air tasted salty, tangy on her tongue. Humidity made the salt stick to her skin, her tank top offering no protection against the sea air, making her feel sweaty, and a little dirty. Pulling her hair into a makeshift ponytail, Faith felt a gratifying rush of cool air over her exposed neck, sending a delicate shiver down her body.
When her eyes opened, she noticed Wesley's eyes fixed to the spot on her neck. The look made her uncomfortable enough to look away, down at her feet where the wet sand now spooled around her boots, her feet sinking in.
He was walking silently behind her, his jaw hard and his eyes cold. Faith wondered, after resisting another glance at her tall ex-watcher, if the guy ever let up. He was going to sprain something. Wesley hadn't said more than a couple words since they had arrived, the crowded beach and pier now dwindling to couples as families packed their belongings, heading up the beach to their cars waiting above.
"Faith, I'm getting rather tired."
Wow. A complete sentence. Rolling her eyes, she shrugged, hands buried in the pocket of her pants as she continued to walk. Eyes that were sharp and clear glanced around the beach, looking back towards the pier. "He didn't say exactly where it was, but I'm guessing that's a good place to start."
Wesley turned his head in the direction she pointed, mouth pursed as he studied the deserted sewage pipe roughly five hundred yards away. "It would make an ideal place," he admitted grudgingly. The ocean's tide was beginning to pick up, wind growing colder around them. "There are fewer people here now, with good reason." He pointed to a sign posted on the beach. Curious, Faith kneeled down, eyes skimming it over thoughtfully.
"The water's contaminated?" Faith frowned. "Shit. Hell yeah, it would make an 'ideal' place. Nobody in their right mind would swim here, unless they had a freakin' death wish, anyway."
He refrained from commenting, pretended not to notice when Faith shivered slightly, presumably from the cold, and began to walk to the pipe, pace quickening. Faith followed, and when she shivered again, his upbringing nagged him, and with a 'bloody hell', he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it around her shoulders. "I suggest the next time we embark on a night quest, you bring sufficient protection from the cold."
Her large brown eyes, darkened with the make-up she wore, flitted to him thoughtfully. When that blasted smirk reemerged, he realized what he had said. "The next time?" she repeated.
"Bloody hell," he repeated, stalking onward by himself, a feat that would have appeared plenty more masculine if the blasted sand hadn't been interrupting his strides.
"Hey, you brought it up, English, not me. I'm just here for the shrimp."
He cursed under his breath, shooting her a narrowed glance of warning before finally giving up, sighing as his steps faltered, coming to a stop. Curious, Faith followed, pulling her arms into his jacket, wrapping it around her as she crouched down next to him, thigh brushing against him. The movement brought an unconscious shudder with it, and it threw Faith, as she blinked and moved away from him, hoping to God he hadn't seen it. But Wesley's attention was only fixed at what appeared to be a blob of jelly. "Uh… Wes? What the fuck are you doing?"
He was somber, glasses glinting in the rapidly setting sun as he turned, eyes scanning over the beach. "Jelly fish," he responded, motioning with his palm. "The tide will rush in and they'll be here, stranded." He swallowed, looking back down at the quivering mass.
Faith was quiet, unsure why he was sharing this, unsure why she cared. Silent, she felt slightly unnerved at the obvious emotion on Wesley's face, as his hand reached out to what still looked like a bunch of jelly to her, and then retracted at the last minute.
"Let's go," he said suddenly, tone breaking slightly.
Surprised, she stood, following him. "Aren't you going to throw it back? Save it or do some nice 'save the planet' thing?"
"I can't," he answered shortly. "Even if I throw this one back, chances are it's too fragile to fight the tide, and will be sucked back in. Or it'll sting me, and regardless of that, there'll just be more."
She froze, features suddenly blank. "That doesn't sound like you. I thought you liked lost causes."
His voice was harsh when he tossed back, "You don't know me, Faith."
She forced back the tears, more pissed off than hurt at his little Freudian slip, and with a deep breath in she shrugged off the bastard's jacket and flung it to him as she passed by him, reaching the sewage pipe first.
He had to run to keep up with her, but he was already out of her mind as she jumped into the darkness. The wind blew around her as the first vampire came, bellowed out a warning to his other compatriots, launching towards her.
The violence was familiar. The first punch, the feel of the bone crunching against the flesh, was gratifying. It filled her senses with joy, release. Faith's smile was blurred by the tears as her hand lashed back, burying the stake into the chest. She felt the dust explode as she moved onto the next, ducking under and pushing up until the body was tossed over her, landing on his back. In two seconds, she was astride him, arm slamming down and again until the dust exploded.
In the dimness of light, she held her own, never even remembering about the Watcher, until she heard a very human cry of pain behind her. Jerked back into the present, torn from her euphoria, Faith whirled. Panic overcame her anger as she sprinted forward, launching forward and taking Wesley around the waist, pulling him away seconds before the vampire lunged. Straddling the Watcher, Faith kept him safe, pinned under her thighs. Hands and arms did all the work now, building up a sweat as she punched and threw another out of the way.
When two came at her at once, she cursed, rolling forward, and pulling until Wesley was now on top. The new position left her arms and legs free to trip the second and dust the third, before she shifted and was on top again.
Two minutes later, she was breathless, panting and sweaty, her nerves tingling and mind racing as the dust settled. Shifting her weight, she ground her hips distractedly, legs moving to let herself up. Everything came to a sudden halt when a labored groan came from under her.
Something warm and hard and stiff was pressed against her leather clad groin.
At first disbelieving, Faith shifted again, and the reaction was instantaneous. Wesley's eyes closed and his hands, before clenched on the floor around them, moved to her thighs. Her chest began to rise, faster now, as she took in a huge gulp of air, looking down in surprise, and then in growing excitement.
Shit, oh shit…
The post-slayage wreaked havoc in her mind, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she had her body pressed against his chest, her arms wrapped around his body, and her mouth was dancing hungrily against his. Moaning, she moved sinuously, eyes closed as his head tilted and his mouth opened, allowing her to suck his tongue into her mouth and tangle her own against it; harsh and slick and warm and HOT -
And then he pushed her away.
Faith, thrown off balance, was still, reality swinging back to her as she blinked at Wesley, the two staring at each other with panicked expressions. "Oh, shit - Wesley, I -"
"Let's go…" If she didn't know better, she would have thought he might have been nervous. Standing, she trembled, and then stood in shock when Wesley tripped, landing in what appeared to be fish guts.
"Oh, eww."
Thirty minutes later, Faith found herself in the hallway of his apartment, wrinkling her nose at his fishy smell as he let her in. He dropped keys on the dresser and moved to the bedroom, stripping off his soiled jacket along the way.
Reaching the safety of his bedroom, Wesley leaned against the wall, finally allowing himself a moment to breathe, his mind still whirling from the events at the pier. Breathing heavily, he pushed away from the wall. Moving towards the bathroom he unbuttoned his shirt hastily, letting it fall into a cluttered pile on the floor.
"Hey, Wes?"
"What?"
"I'm making a phone call."
She didn't ask. Bloody hell, of course she didn't ask. Since when did Faith ask? She simply took.
Then why the hell had she looked like she needed to believe in him so much?
Swallowing, he reached his sink, hands clumsily reaching for the faucet and turning it on. Letting his hand splatter the cool water over his face and his hair, he tried to cool himself down. Taking a moment to breathe, he took notice of the reflection in the mirror - a bare-chested man with the slicked wet hair - and, after pulling off his glasses and blurring the figure, Wesley wondered how the hell he had ended up making a complicated situation even worse.
Pulling off his pants, he found a pair of jeans, slipping them on and moving toward the door, pausing when he heard Faith's hushed voice. Waiting, he took in her end of the conversation, eyes growing dark. His chest constricted at the implication of her words.
Increasingly self conscious of being in Wesley's apartment, Faith put the phone down hastily when the door opened, a tall, lean, bronze body entering. Her mind was already laid out in splintered fragments all around her, but her breath caught as she realized that exactly what she wanted yesterday was being shown to her at this moment.
Wesley's unbuttoned shirt revealed a trim chest, and etched over a pectoral, was a long, jagged white scar.
Oh… fuck.
Faith reeled, suddenly drawn back into that night. Images flooded through her, and she was there: his body against hers, her fingernails cutting into the fine skin, and a large pane of glass sliding into that exact shape on a less trim, paler version -
A small gasp, tortured and painful, ripped from her throat, and Faith, shaken at the memories, let the phone clatter to the floor. "I gotta go."
"Faith."
She was suddenly trapped. Her steps backpedaled, but with her panic came clumsiness and she stumbled, dropping a lamp and breaking it.
"Faith!" He barked almost sharply, but she was beyond hearing now, trying desperately to make it to the door before any more visions manifested themselves, before her already shaken heart would completely shatter in two. The hand closing around her wrist clicked on her reflexes, and without another word, she flinched, throwing a punch that cracked on Wesley's jaw.
He lost control then, and seconds later, her own cheek was stinging with a forceful slap that sent her sprawling back against the wooden door. Stunned into silence, the pair only stared at each other, Faith's breathing constricted, the act of violence against Wesley just too much, too much -
Her hand scrambled for the knob, her eyes locking with his, and as she tried to open the door she nearly broke it with her strength.
He sank slowly down to the floor as she fled, palm stinging, the look of horror on his face mimicking her own expression perfectly.
--
end chapter