Chapter Twenty-Five
It was over, as quick as that. Jonathan blinked in confusion as Charles Wyndham-Price turned and walked back through the hotel doors, followed by an angry Quentin Travers, who seemed at least as clueless as everyone else.
"Oh do shut up, Quentin," the elder Watcher was saying as they exited the hotel, "I'm sure Rupert will be happy to justify his salary by writing up a report on the situation. What reason is there for us to waste *our* time hanging about?"
The nameless younger Watchers shrugged, and joined their elders. Within moments, the lobby belonged solely to Angel Investigations and company again.
"That's it?" Cordelia exclaimed in disgust, breaking the stunned silence.
"It ... would appear to be so," Wesley answered her. He sounded like he had swallowed something very unpleasant.
Jonathan shook his head. "I don't understand. You pretty much told him you died, and he didn't get upset at all. I mean, bad father vibes, I get that, but still ..." He trailed off, unable to put into words the disquiet he was feeling.
"Wait a minute, Wes died? When?" Gunn wanted to know.
Wes shook his head. "It's a long story," he said, "and not important right now."
"And what was all that stuff about preparing you, Wes?" Fred asked. "He couldn't have known about the prophecies, you were the first one to translate most of them, right?"
Wes sighed. "He ... I thought, when I realised the truth, that it could have been ... it must have been the fact that I wasn't his own flesh and blood. That he had always measured me against what his own son could have done. But this ..."
Wesley paused again, locating a chair, and then sat down heavily. "I think ... I think he never even saw me as a person. I was a project to him. A puzzle, dropped through a portal at his feet."
"But you were just a baby!" Cordelia objected.
"And Slayers are just little girls," Wesley said, sharing a look with Giles. "It's a logical outgrowth of the Watcher mentality."
"Wes ..." Angel moved closer to Wesley, and gripped one of his son's shoulders.
Wesley shook his head. "I ... I think I need some time alone," he said. "I know there is much still to be said, and the fact that I turned out to be kidnapping myself does not really excuse my actions over the last few weeks ..."
"Wes ..." Gunn began to object.
"No." Wes stood up, and looked around the group, matching gazes with each of them. "I need to think. There's still Sahjhan to worry about, and prophecies to retranslate, and ... it's all too much." He sighed again, and for a moment, he looked older than anyone else in the room.
"That's understandable." Giles studied him for a moment, then glanced over at Jonathan. "If you don't need me any further today, I think I shall make a quick journey to Sunnydale and discover what this young miscreant's friends have been up to. Then I'll return to help with the translations."
"I'd appreciate that, Rupert," Wes said, smiling faintly.
Giles nodded, then picked up his suitcases from their resting place by the counter and exited the hotel. He paused only to fix Jonathan with a sharp look, and a quick word of advice. "If you truly intend to improve yourself, I suggest you stay here and learn from these people. If you ever set foot in Sunnydale again, however ..."
Jonathan agreed quickly. Only a fool, or an army, would mess with Giles when he had that expression on his face. "I have no problem with that."
He'd been sort of leaning that way, anyhow. What was there left for him in Sunnydale? Except for the Scoobies and his former partners, his only ties there were his adoptive parents, and phones existed for a reason. He'd always be one of the "lesser men" in that town, the ones who couldn't win, but here, there was a chance to start over. He'd be stupid to throw that chance away.
The doors shut behind Giles.
And then there were seven.
Wes seemed to sense that the others all had questions to ask and things of their own to say to him, regardless of his request for thinking time; he snatched his keys from where Jonathan had laid them on the counter and was gone with only a quick "Tomorrow" as explanation.
And then there were six.
Gunn and Fred shared a thoughtful look, holding tightly to each other's hands, then excused themselves. "I'll leave my cell phone on, in case of visions," Gunn told Cordelia as they left. "We'll be around."
And then there were four.
"Angel ..." Cordelia said tentatively, laying a hand on the vampire's arm.
He shrugged it off, almost impatiently. "Go home, Cordy. I'm sure Groo is waiting. We'll talk tomorrow, okay? When Wes is back."
Cordelia gave him a troubled look, then picked up her purse and traced the same path the others had taken across the tiled floor and through the double glass doors. For once, she did not bother with a snappy comeback.
And then there were three.
Lorne snorted. "You want to follow him, don't you? Make sure he doesn't suddenly disappear before tomorrow?"
Angel blinked, startled. "It's daylight out, Lorne. And I'm sure he'll be fine."
"Oh go on. I'm sure if you think about it, you can figure out where he's going, and there's sewer access almost everywhere in this town."
"You sound like you're trying to get rid of me."
Lorne smiled. "Sugar, not to be rude, but if you're planning on being Mr. Broody for the rest of the day, anyone would want to get rid of you."
"You have a point there." Angel smiled back, briefly, then headed for the basement.
And then there were two.
"So tell me, Lorne," Jonathan said, casually. "Are things always this interesting around here?"
Lorne laughed. "You have no idea, kid. You have no idea."
THE END
It was over, as quick as that. Jonathan blinked in confusion as Charles Wyndham-Price turned and walked back through the hotel doors, followed by an angry Quentin Travers, who seemed at least as clueless as everyone else.
"Oh do shut up, Quentin," the elder Watcher was saying as they exited the hotel, "I'm sure Rupert will be happy to justify his salary by writing up a report on the situation. What reason is there for us to waste *our* time hanging about?"
The nameless younger Watchers shrugged, and joined their elders. Within moments, the lobby belonged solely to Angel Investigations and company again.
"That's it?" Cordelia exclaimed in disgust, breaking the stunned silence.
"It ... would appear to be so," Wesley answered her. He sounded like he had swallowed something very unpleasant.
Jonathan shook his head. "I don't understand. You pretty much told him you died, and he didn't get upset at all. I mean, bad father vibes, I get that, but still ..." He trailed off, unable to put into words the disquiet he was feeling.
"Wait a minute, Wes died? When?" Gunn wanted to know.
Wes shook his head. "It's a long story," he said, "and not important right now."
"And what was all that stuff about preparing you, Wes?" Fred asked. "He couldn't have known about the prophecies, you were the first one to translate most of them, right?"
Wes sighed. "He ... I thought, when I realised the truth, that it could have been ... it must have been the fact that I wasn't his own flesh and blood. That he had always measured me against what his own son could have done. But this ..."
Wesley paused again, locating a chair, and then sat down heavily. "I think ... I think he never even saw me as a person. I was a project to him. A puzzle, dropped through a portal at his feet."
"But you were just a baby!" Cordelia objected.
"And Slayers are just little girls," Wesley said, sharing a look with Giles. "It's a logical outgrowth of the Watcher mentality."
"Wes ..." Angel moved closer to Wesley, and gripped one of his son's shoulders.
Wesley shook his head. "I ... I think I need some time alone," he said. "I know there is much still to be said, and the fact that I turned out to be kidnapping myself does not really excuse my actions over the last few weeks ..."
"Wes ..." Gunn began to object.
"No." Wes stood up, and looked around the group, matching gazes with each of them. "I need to think. There's still Sahjhan to worry about, and prophecies to retranslate, and ... it's all too much." He sighed again, and for a moment, he looked older than anyone else in the room.
"That's understandable." Giles studied him for a moment, then glanced over at Jonathan. "If you don't need me any further today, I think I shall make a quick journey to Sunnydale and discover what this young miscreant's friends have been up to. Then I'll return to help with the translations."
"I'd appreciate that, Rupert," Wes said, smiling faintly.
Giles nodded, then picked up his suitcases from their resting place by the counter and exited the hotel. He paused only to fix Jonathan with a sharp look, and a quick word of advice. "If you truly intend to improve yourself, I suggest you stay here and learn from these people. If you ever set foot in Sunnydale again, however ..."
Jonathan agreed quickly. Only a fool, or an army, would mess with Giles when he had that expression on his face. "I have no problem with that."
He'd been sort of leaning that way, anyhow. What was there left for him in Sunnydale? Except for the Scoobies and his former partners, his only ties there were his adoptive parents, and phones existed for a reason. He'd always be one of the "lesser men" in that town, the ones who couldn't win, but here, there was a chance to start over. He'd be stupid to throw that chance away.
The doors shut behind Giles.
And then there were seven.
Wes seemed to sense that the others all had questions to ask and things of their own to say to him, regardless of his request for thinking time; he snatched his keys from where Jonathan had laid them on the counter and was gone with only a quick "Tomorrow" as explanation.
And then there were six.
Gunn and Fred shared a thoughtful look, holding tightly to each other's hands, then excused themselves. "I'll leave my cell phone on, in case of visions," Gunn told Cordelia as they left. "We'll be around."
And then there were four.
"Angel ..." Cordelia said tentatively, laying a hand on the vampire's arm.
He shrugged it off, almost impatiently. "Go home, Cordy. I'm sure Groo is waiting. We'll talk tomorrow, okay? When Wes is back."
Cordelia gave him a troubled look, then picked up her purse and traced the same path the others had taken across the tiled floor and through the double glass doors. For once, she did not bother with a snappy comeback.
And then there were three.
Lorne snorted. "You want to follow him, don't you? Make sure he doesn't suddenly disappear before tomorrow?"
Angel blinked, startled. "It's daylight out, Lorne. And I'm sure he'll be fine."
"Oh go on. I'm sure if you think about it, you can figure out where he's going, and there's sewer access almost everywhere in this town."
"You sound like you're trying to get rid of me."
Lorne smiled. "Sugar, not to be rude, but if you're planning on being Mr. Broody for the rest of the day, anyone would want to get rid of you."
"You have a point there." Angel smiled back, briefly, then headed for the basement.
And then there were two.
"So tell me, Lorne," Jonathan said, casually. "Are things always this interesting around here?"
Lorne laughed. "You have no idea, kid. You have no idea."
THE END