Title: The Observer
Author: Jane McCartney
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.
Summary: After a tragedy hits home for Xander, he moves to Los Angeles and becomes a shadow of his old self, shoving his friends away in his new life. Two years later, the pain and quarrel of his past is back to catch up with him. (BtVS/AtS crossover)
***
Xander couldn't quite get rid of the feeling that was crawling inside his belly, of the strange certainty that someone was following him. Turning around and sending a brief glance over his shoulder, he only saw a gathering of pedestrians though, with most people lost in their own world and problems and just looking absently at the person in front or the side of them.
When the dark-haired guy turned back, he accidentally bumped against a middle-aged, average-looking woman, who automatically yelled, "Hey! Watch it, you young whippersnapper!"
"Sorry," Xander muttered absently, his attention still splintered in three directions with an alert sideways glance to the crowd of pedestrians.
After so many years of fighting on the Hellmouth, the young man could not help but have developed some sort of sixth sense of approaching imminent danger. He tried to shrug it off, but the feeling didn't go away - leaving him with that familiar unsettling sensation.
***
The dark-haired man lost Xander from view and frowned for a second, casting a glance through the crowd. "Where did he bloody well go?" he whispered to himself.
***
Walking out of the empty alley he had rushed into, Xander noticed a man that had stopped abruptly and had his back to him, casting a watchful eye at the mass of pedestrians.
His steps were speedy and resolute when Xander walked to the still- unidentified guy, the civilians getting out of his way as the former Sunnydaler seemed to ignore the presence of anyone but him and the target.
Xander then patted the other man's shoulder none-too-gently, making him spin around.
"Good Lord, don't ever sneak up on me like that again!" Wesley Wyndam-Pryce cried out, wide-eyed for a second by the suddenness of the touch.
A startled Xander backed one step away and asked with incredulity, slightly aggressively, "Me sneaking up on you? Wesley, why the hell were you following me?"
"Xander," the dark-haired Englishman blurted out, just barely recomposing himself. "I, I wasn't - no, I suppose I was following you, in point of fact." After a frown, he continued more somberly, "Look, I didn't intend anything sinister, but I've uncovered something significant - that will be of great interest to you."
A little more cooled down, Xander said sardonically, "Really. I wonder, do Angel or Cordelia even know you're here?"
At the mention of the two names, bruised remembrances flashed in a millisecond through the older man's mind.
~ Flashback ~
Wesley, an IV in the back of his left hand and a bandage around his throat, was lying on the bed with his eyes closed when Angel walked into the hospital room. A heart monitor was beeping in the background, the sound that had been the sole company to the injured man for many long hours.
The vampire closed the door and walked over to the bed, as Wesley's eyes blinked open.
Angel's voice was calm and gentle. "Hey, Wes. I just - I want you to know I understand why you did it. I know about the prophecies and I know how hard it must have been for you to - do what you did. You thought I was gonna turn evil and kill my son. I didn't. It's important you know that. This isn't Angelus talking. It's me, Angel. You know that, right?"
Wesley blinked his eyes once, as if in confirmation.
"Good," Angel, still apparently calm, nodded.
And then, unexpectedly, the dark-haired vampire pulled the pillow out from under the former Watcher's head and pushed it down on his face.
The vampire's next words were accented by hints of madness, pain and anger. "You son of a bitch, you're gonna pay for what you did! You took my son! You son of a bitch! You bastard! You think I'd forgive you?! No! Never! You're gonna die! You hear me? You're gonna pay!"
Wesley's hands fumbled over Angel's arms and shoulders, unsuccessfully trying to push him away. An orderly ran in and pulled Angel and the pillow off the dark-haired man for a moment, but the vampire shrugged him off and pushed the pillow back down on Wesley's face.
Angel continued to yell, "You took my son! You took my son!"
Fred Burkle, who had just arrived into the room, begged him, "Stop it!"
Angel, however, didn't respond to the petite Texan's plea, "You took my son!"
Two more orderlies and Gunn grabbed ahold of Angel, and pulled him off Wesley. "Angel! Stop!" Gunn shouted.
"Never! Never!" the souled undead ardently replied.
"Come on, man, stop!" the hunter appealed fruitlessly.
Angel ignored that too. "I'll kill him! You're dead!"
The orderlies and Gunn wrestled Angel backward out of the room, as the Afro- American guy repeated once more, "Angel, stop, man!"
In the meanwhile, Wesley was lying on his bed, gasping for breath. Angel started screaming as he was forcefully walked out of the room, "You're dead! You're a dead man, Pryce! You're dead! I'll kill you! I'll kill you. You're a dead man! Dead! Dead!"
~~~~~~
Wesley was lying in his hospital bed and staring up at the ceiling, when his sideways glance caught a glimpse of Fred. The Texan girl, carrying a box under her arm, knocked on the open door and he turned his head to look at her.
Fred smiled. "Hi, Wesley. How are you feeling?"
The injured man made a motion towards his throat, as Fred settled the box down on a chair.
"Oh," the petite brunette blurted out. "It's not permanent though. I brought you some of your stuff from the office. Things there... well, things. Gunn and I found your notes about - the baby, the prophecy. You took him away because you thought Angel was gonna kill him. You were trying to protect 'em - both of them. I just wanted you to know I understand that - and I also wanted to say, I thought what Angel tried to do to you was wrong - and I'm sorry."
A pause, and she turned to him again. "But he was right to blame you, Wesley. You should have come to us. You should have trusted us instead of going to Holtz behind our back. You're supposed to be our friend and you didn't even... if Angel sees you again, he'll kill you, Wesley. This time for real. Don't come back to the hotel - ever."
The Texan girl turned to go, but stopped halfway, with her back to Wesley. Then she said, "The prophecy was false. Angel was never gonna hurt Connor. It was all for nothing."
Wesley could do nothing but watch silently, distressed, as Fred walked out of the room.
~~~~~~
After hearing the banging the slightly scruffy-looking man, sporting an unfamiliar full beard, went to open the door - finding Gunn behind it.
"I need your help," the black man uttered, as Wes stood there.
At the lack of response on the other man's part, the demon hunter continued resolutely, "Look, I don't have time to get into it with you. I don't even wanna be here. The hotel is infested with something. Some kind of slug, jellyfish type thing. We don't know what they are," the youth paused as Wesley just walked past him and continued, slightly more unsure, "or how to kill them."
"Well, now, that is a problem," the former Watcher replied, looking very unperturbed.
"These things, there's hundreds of them. They get inside you and soak up the whole moisture out of your body. They drink you alive," Gunn persisted.
Wesley, fiddling with stuff on his table, answered nonchalantly, "Why come to me? I'm sure Angel will figure out a way to kill them eventually."
"That's not what I'm looking for. I need to know how to get these slugs out of someone who's been infected, force it out somehow," the bald man said.
"Sorry," Wesley replied, without a hint of remorse.
Gunn's eyes held a spark of frenzy, "Don't give me that - if you could see what these things do..."
"Wish I could help," the dark-haired man insisted, seemingly apathetic to the other man's presence in the room.
A hint of despair crossed Gunn's dark eyes as well now. "Wes..."
Wesley turned to look at him. "Sorry you wasted your time."
"It's Fred," he stated pointedly.
After a beat, the former Watcher turned and took a bottle of booze out of a cabinet.
"What? We're gonna have a drink now? Did you hear what I said? She is dying!" a shocked Gunn yelled.
For the first time, Wesley's voice showed emotion, the pain obvious in his eyes as he said, "I was dying. Throat cut, life pouring out of me - you know why I fought to live again?"
"Wes, I don't have time," Gunn retorted a little angrily, a little uneasily.
The older man ignored him. "I fought to live so I could see my friends again, to explain to the people I loved and trusted *my* side of what happened."
The Afro-American guy intervened, "We know what..."
"You don't know anything," Wesley spat out, and then threw the bottle at Gunn who captured it in the air. "I'll help because it's Fred, but don't come here again. Any of you," Wesley said at last, his voice coldly resolute.
~ End of Flashback ~
"They don't know," Wesley confessed nonchalantly. And then he added pointedly, with a cold tone, "And I'd prefer it to stay that way."
"'Cause protecting my very own personal stalker is on my 'to do' list for today?" Xander retorted sarcastically, eyeing the Englishman and expecting answers.
"Perhaps we could go somewhere to talk," Wesley suggested, somehow nervously.
"And perhaps you'll give me one good reason, why I shouldn't just give Dead Boy a call right now."
Wesley smirked bitterly, a hint of sadness in the act - as if it was a past wound that had never properly healed. "I take it someone's filled you in about the events of our... quarrel."
"Quarrel? Jeez Wes, I know you Watcher types are all into fancy names and stuff, but I think we can use the proper word, just between us guys huh? Try betrayal. Fits you better," Xander scoffed.
Wesley sighed deeply, the sorrow and languor evident behind the cracking shield of cold indifference. "I don't expect you to have any faith in my word, Xander-"
Xander cut him off, with acrid sarcasm imprinted in his voice. "I'm touched, really, 'cause for a second there I thought you were gonna ask me to do just that."
Despite the intervention, Wesley kept on, "But I do think you should hear me out, nevertheless."
Wesley's following words - simple, meaningful, and said in a slightly frantic tone - made Xander's heart skip a beat. "I've found a way to break his magic shield."
At the dark-haired youth's dazed silence, the Englishman gingerly added, "I don't believe I need to explain who I'm referring to. But first off Xander, I do need you to understand things that are of vital importance. You can't let either Cordelia or Angel know about this conversation, or anybody else- "
Wesley was cut off by Xander's tight grip on his throat. The guy carried him forward till the Englishman bumped against a nearby wall; and the strong collision made his eyes go wide for a second in pain.
Although a few curious pedestrians saw what they were doing, most others ignored it completely. Well, this was L.A. after all, and the motto for its citizens was 'don't get involved'.
Wesley couldn't breathe; but after having his throat slashed and becoming ostracized by his so-called friends, his survival instincts were razor- sharp. Grasping Xander's wrist at the appropriate pressure-point, the ex- Watcher squeezed and Xander let go.
And when finally released, a gasping Wesley automatically raised his hand to the bruised throat, rubbing it absent-mindedly.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take you to Dead Boy right now," Xander said firmly and coldly, and surprisingly even-tempered.
"This is not a trick," Wesley replied slowly, his voice still affected by Xander's sudden attack as the pedestrians walked by. More recomposed and eyeing the other guy intensely, he amended with more than a little harshness, "And I'm telling you the truth, you can choose to believe it or not."
"Okay," the younger man smirked humorlessly. "I choose not to. Now, where were we? Right, taking ya to Dead Boy. Guessing here that, after taking Junior away from him way back when and joining that creepy law firm's side, you've really done wonders for his appetite. And you know, the angry papa plus the vampire-y bloodthirstiness thing? Not good, Wes. Do ya think British blood's tasty? Gotta remember to ask him, later..."
The words came out so directly, so pained and so frank that, for a single second, Xander inwardly shivered strongly.
"I'm with Wolfram & Hart now, I won't deny it. But I'm there as a double agent. And Angel, Cordelia or anyone else does not have the slightest idea - every night I go to bed, I relive the mistakes I made or almost made in the past, and understand how bloody close I came to losing myself to what I've never stopped believing as being the wrong side. And the price I'm paying is all that I've done during the past three years is help them, even though they'll never know it. I do not dare to not let my facade down, Xander, because I'd have lost valuable knowledge I now otherwise have."
Xander, despite the sudden and strong hint of uncertainty crawling inside his belly at the unexpected confession, chuckled dryly yet energetically. "Right, so we're in the Twilight Zone now? Some kind of freaky deaky conspiracy, and you're the oh-so-altruistic martyr that helps his old buddies in the dark of the night? Isn't that like, the new "24" plot?"
Wesley sighed deeply, but the dark-haired guy continued stubbornly, "So, let me see if I got this straight: it's all been part of a plan, you're one of the good guys, yadda yadda yadda. Well, just for the sake of argument, let's say you're not just some freakin' Judas and the whole oddball, Mulder- like thing is actually true..."
Xander paused. "The first person you confess the deeply buried secret to is me, Xander Harris? Someone you actually knew for only a few months as the teen buddy of a Slayer that, if I recall correctly, treated you as nothing but an unwelcome British gimp? Now, either you had some real nasty feelings for me that I never knew about, or, and my pet theory here by the way, it's all a whole lotta bullshit that's part of some twisted plan cooked up by those evil lawyers you chose to make friends with. The stories Cordy told me about them? Not something to write home about."
The thirty-something Englishman looked briefly at the ground, and then glanced at his dark-haired companion. "Your low opinion of me is not without justification, as are your conclusions. But that was the wild card I had to play - because you wouldn't have any reason to believe me if I hadn't told you all this, and I wasn't willing to take the risk. Now I can do no more but say that you'll have to take my word on this, just as I'll have to take yours not to tell anyone what I've told you now."
The ex-Watcher then looked right into the other man's eyes. "Just hear me out, Xander. All I'm asking for is ten minutes," a more desperate tone accented Wesley's words.
The younger man hesitated, and the question came out in a suddenly small, almost fearful voice. "How - how do you know how to break it? And, something else: how come you even know of the shield's existence?"
Wesley cast another dark glance to the ground, and then turned back to lock eyes with Xander again. "Because Wolfram & Hart were the ones that created it in the first place."
***
AN: OK, I'll make sense. Soon! And I need you to remember that I'm not using any S4-7 spoilers, because I didn't watch a single episode - Brazil'n network will only transmit it in march... Yeah, it sucks!
Anyway, please, pretty please, review me! I'm kinda super nervous with this fic...
Author: Jane McCartney
Feedback: Don't make me beg for it. Oh hell, whatever: pleeeease? Pretty please? It'll just take a sec from ya! I really wanna know what you think about this particular fic.
Acknowledgments: Every beloved reviewer, and my beloved Theo. My fics are practically his work too. But probably not half as good as his own fics.
Author's note: This fic takes the movie "The Watcher", the one with James Spader and Keanu Reeves, as a reference - but you don't need to have watched the movie in order to follow this fic. It's probably better if you don't watch it after all, because you'll have more surprises that way.
Summary: After a tragedy hits home for Xander, he moves to Los Angeles and becomes a shadow of his old self, shoving his friends away in his new life. Two years later, the pain and quarrel of his past is back to catch up with him. (BtVS/AtS crossover)
***
Xander couldn't quite get rid of the feeling that was crawling inside his belly, of the strange certainty that someone was following him. Turning around and sending a brief glance over his shoulder, he only saw a gathering of pedestrians though, with most people lost in their own world and problems and just looking absently at the person in front or the side of them.
When the dark-haired guy turned back, he accidentally bumped against a middle-aged, average-looking woman, who automatically yelled, "Hey! Watch it, you young whippersnapper!"
"Sorry," Xander muttered absently, his attention still splintered in three directions with an alert sideways glance to the crowd of pedestrians.
After so many years of fighting on the Hellmouth, the young man could not help but have developed some sort of sixth sense of approaching imminent danger. He tried to shrug it off, but the feeling didn't go away - leaving him with that familiar unsettling sensation.
***
The dark-haired man lost Xander from view and frowned for a second, casting a glance through the crowd. "Where did he bloody well go?" he whispered to himself.
***
Walking out of the empty alley he had rushed into, Xander noticed a man that had stopped abruptly and had his back to him, casting a watchful eye at the mass of pedestrians.
His steps were speedy and resolute when Xander walked to the still- unidentified guy, the civilians getting out of his way as the former Sunnydaler seemed to ignore the presence of anyone but him and the target.
Xander then patted the other man's shoulder none-too-gently, making him spin around.
"Good Lord, don't ever sneak up on me like that again!" Wesley Wyndam-Pryce cried out, wide-eyed for a second by the suddenness of the touch.
A startled Xander backed one step away and asked with incredulity, slightly aggressively, "Me sneaking up on you? Wesley, why the hell were you following me?"
"Xander," the dark-haired Englishman blurted out, just barely recomposing himself. "I, I wasn't - no, I suppose I was following you, in point of fact." After a frown, he continued more somberly, "Look, I didn't intend anything sinister, but I've uncovered something significant - that will be of great interest to you."
A little more cooled down, Xander said sardonically, "Really. I wonder, do Angel or Cordelia even know you're here?"
At the mention of the two names, bruised remembrances flashed in a millisecond through the older man's mind.
~ Flashback ~
Wesley, an IV in the back of his left hand and a bandage around his throat, was lying on the bed with his eyes closed when Angel walked into the hospital room. A heart monitor was beeping in the background, the sound that had been the sole company to the injured man for many long hours.
The vampire closed the door and walked over to the bed, as Wesley's eyes blinked open.
Angel's voice was calm and gentle. "Hey, Wes. I just - I want you to know I understand why you did it. I know about the prophecies and I know how hard it must have been for you to - do what you did. You thought I was gonna turn evil and kill my son. I didn't. It's important you know that. This isn't Angelus talking. It's me, Angel. You know that, right?"
Wesley blinked his eyes once, as if in confirmation.
"Good," Angel, still apparently calm, nodded.
And then, unexpectedly, the dark-haired vampire pulled the pillow out from under the former Watcher's head and pushed it down on his face.
The vampire's next words were accented by hints of madness, pain and anger. "You son of a bitch, you're gonna pay for what you did! You took my son! You son of a bitch! You bastard! You think I'd forgive you?! No! Never! You're gonna die! You hear me? You're gonna pay!"
Wesley's hands fumbled over Angel's arms and shoulders, unsuccessfully trying to push him away. An orderly ran in and pulled Angel and the pillow off the dark-haired man for a moment, but the vampire shrugged him off and pushed the pillow back down on Wesley's face.
Angel continued to yell, "You took my son! You took my son!"
Fred Burkle, who had just arrived into the room, begged him, "Stop it!"
Angel, however, didn't respond to the petite Texan's plea, "You took my son!"
Two more orderlies and Gunn grabbed ahold of Angel, and pulled him off Wesley. "Angel! Stop!" Gunn shouted.
"Never! Never!" the souled undead ardently replied.
"Come on, man, stop!" the hunter appealed fruitlessly.
Angel ignored that too. "I'll kill him! You're dead!"
The orderlies and Gunn wrestled Angel backward out of the room, as the Afro- American guy repeated once more, "Angel, stop, man!"
In the meanwhile, Wesley was lying on his bed, gasping for breath. Angel started screaming as he was forcefully walked out of the room, "You're dead! You're a dead man, Pryce! You're dead! I'll kill you! I'll kill you. You're a dead man! Dead! Dead!"
~~~~~~
Wesley was lying in his hospital bed and staring up at the ceiling, when his sideways glance caught a glimpse of Fred. The Texan girl, carrying a box under her arm, knocked on the open door and he turned his head to look at her.
Fred smiled. "Hi, Wesley. How are you feeling?"
The injured man made a motion towards his throat, as Fred settled the box down on a chair.
"Oh," the petite brunette blurted out. "It's not permanent though. I brought you some of your stuff from the office. Things there... well, things. Gunn and I found your notes about - the baby, the prophecy. You took him away because you thought Angel was gonna kill him. You were trying to protect 'em - both of them. I just wanted you to know I understand that - and I also wanted to say, I thought what Angel tried to do to you was wrong - and I'm sorry."
A pause, and she turned to him again. "But he was right to blame you, Wesley. You should have come to us. You should have trusted us instead of going to Holtz behind our back. You're supposed to be our friend and you didn't even... if Angel sees you again, he'll kill you, Wesley. This time for real. Don't come back to the hotel - ever."
The Texan girl turned to go, but stopped halfway, with her back to Wesley. Then she said, "The prophecy was false. Angel was never gonna hurt Connor. It was all for nothing."
Wesley could do nothing but watch silently, distressed, as Fred walked out of the room.
~~~~~~
After hearing the banging the slightly scruffy-looking man, sporting an unfamiliar full beard, went to open the door - finding Gunn behind it.
"I need your help," the black man uttered, as Wes stood there.
At the lack of response on the other man's part, the demon hunter continued resolutely, "Look, I don't have time to get into it with you. I don't even wanna be here. The hotel is infested with something. Some kind of slug, jellyfish type thing. We don't know what they are," the youth paused as Wesley just walked past him and continued, slightly more unsure, "or how to kill them."
"Well, now, that is a problem," the former Watcher replied, looking very unperturbed.
"These things, there's hundreds of them. They get inside you and soak up the whole moisture out of your body. They drink you alive," Gunn persisted.
Wesley, fiddling with stuff on his table, answered nonchalantly, "Why come to me? I'm sure Angel will figure out a way to kill them eventually."
"That's not what I'm looking for. I need to know how to get these slugs out of someone who's been infected, force it out somehow," the bald man said.
"Sorry," Wesley replied, without a hint of remorse.
Gunn's eyes held a spark of frenzy, "Don't give me that - if you could see what these things do..."
"Wish I could help," the dark-haired man insisted, seemingly apathetic to the other man's presence in the room.
A hint of despair crossed Gunn's dark eyes as well now. "Wes..."
Wesley turned to look at him. "Sorry you wasted your time."
"It's Fred," he stated pointedly.
After a beat, the former Watcher turned and took a bottle of booze out of a cabinet.
"What? We're gonna have a drink now? Did you hear what I said? She is dying!" a shocked Gunn yelled.
For the first time, Wesley's voice showed emotion, the pain obvious in his eyes as he said, "I was dying. Throat cut, life pouring out of me - you know why I fought to live again?"
"Wes, I don't have time," Gunn retorted a little angrily, a little uneasily.
The older man ignored him. "I fought to live so I could see my friends again, to explain to the people I loved and trusted *my* side of what happened."
The Afro-American guy intervened, "We know what..."
"You don't know anything," Wesley spat out, and then threw the bottle at Gunn who captured it in the air. "I'll help because it's Fred, but don't come here again. Any of you," Wesley said at last, his voice coldly resolute.
~ End of Flashback ~
"They don't know," Wesley confessed nonchalantly. And then he added pointedly, with a cold tone, "And I'd prefer it to stay that way."
"'Cause protecting my very own personal stalker is on my 'to do' list for today?" Xander retorted sarcastically, eyeing the Englishman and expecting answers.
"Perhaps we could go somewhere to talk," Wesley suggested, somehow nervously.
"And perhaps you'll give me one good reason, why I shouldn't just give Dead Boy a call right now."
Wesley smirked bitterly, a hint of sadness in the act - as if it was a past wound that had never properly healed. "I take it someone's filled you in about the events of our... quarrel."
"Quarrel? Jeez Wes, I know you Watcher types are all into fancy names and stuff, but I think we can use the proper word, just between us guys huh? Try betrayal. Fits you better," Xander scoffed.
Wesley sighed deeply, the sorrow and languor evident behind the cracking shield of cold indifference. "I don't expect you to have any faith in my word, Xander-"
Xander cut him off, with acrid sarcasm imprinted in his voice. "I'm touched, really, 'cause for a second there I thought you were gonna ask me to do just that."
Despite the intervention, Wesley kept on, "But I do think you should hear me out, nevertheless."
Wesley's following words - simple, meaningful, and said in a slightly frantic tone - made Xander's heart skip a beat. "I've found a way to break his magic shield."
At the dark-haired youth's dazed silence, the Englishman gingerly added, "I don't believe I need to explain who I'm referring to. But first off Xander, I do need you to understand things that are of vital importance. You can't let either Cordelia or Angel know about this conversation, or anybody else- "
Wesley was cut off by Xander's tight grip on his throat. The guy carried him forward till the Englishman bumped against a nearby wall; and the strong collision made his eyes go wide for a second in pain.
Although a few curious pedestrians saw what they were doing, most others ignored it completely. Well, this was L.A. after all, and the motto for its citizens was 'don't get involved'.
Wesley couldn't breathe; but after having his throat slashed and becoming ostracized by his so-called friends, his survival instincts were razor- sharp. Grasping Xander's wrist at the appropriate pressure-point, the ex- Watcher squeezed and Xander let go.
And when finally released, a gasping Wesley automatically raised his hand to the bruised throat, rubbing it absent-mindedly.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take you to Dead Boy right now," Xander said firmly and coldly, and surprisingly even-tempered.
"This is not a trick," Wesley replied slowly, his voice still affected by Xander's sudden attack as the pedestrians walked by. More recomposed and eyeing the other guy intensely, he amended with more than a little harshness, "And I'm telling you the truth, you can choose to believe it or not."
"Okay," the younger man smirked humorlessly. "I choose not to. Now, where were we? Right, taking ya to Dead Boy. Guessing here that, after taking Junior away from him way back when and joining that creepy law firm's side, you've really done wonders for his appetite. And you know, the angry papa plus the vampire-y bloodthirstiness thing? Not good, Wes. Do ya think British blood's tasty? Gotta remember to ask him, later..."
The words came out so directly, so pained and so frank that, for a single second, Xander inwardly shivered strongly.
"I'm with Wolfram & Hart now, I won't deny it. But I'm there as a double agent. And Angel, Cordelia or anyone else does not have the slightest idea - every night I go to bed, I relive the mistakes I made or almost made in the past, and understand how bloody close I came to losing myself to what I've never stopped believing as being the wrong side. And the price I'm paying is all that I've done during the past three years is help them, even though they'll never know it. I do not dare to not let my facade down, Xander, because I'd have lost valuable knowledge I now otherwise have."
Xander, despite the sudden and strong hint of uncertainty crawling inside his belly at the unexpected confession, chuckled dryly yet energetically. "Right, so we're in the Twilight Zone now? Some kind of freaky deaky conspiracy, and you're the oh-so-altruistic martyr that helps his old buddies in the dark of the night? Isn't that like, the new "24" plot?"
Wesley sighed deeply, but the dark-haired guy continued stubbornly, "So, let me see if I got this straight: it's all been part of a plan, you're one of the good guys, yadda yadda yadda. Well, just for the sake of argument, let's say you're not just some freakin' Judas and the whole oddball, Mulder- like thing is actually true..."
Xander paused. "The first person you confess the deeply buried secret to is me, Xander Harris? Someone you actually knew for only a few months as the teen buddy of a Slayer that, if I recall correctly, treated you as nothing but an unwelcome British gimp? Now, either you had some real nasty feelings for me that I never knew about, or, and my pet theory here by the way, it's all a whole lotta bullshit that's part of some twisted plan cooked up by those evil lawyers you chose to make friends with. The stories Cordy told me about them? Not something to write home about."
The thirty-something Englishman looked briefly at the ground, and then glanced at his dark-haired companion. "Your low opinion of me is not without justification, as are your conclusions. But that was the wild card I had to play - because you wouldn't have any reason to believe me if I hadn't told you all this, and I wasn't willing to take the risk. Now I can do no more but say that you'll have to take my word on this, just as I'll have to take yours not to tell anyone what I've told you now."
The ex-Watcher then looked right into the other man's eyes. "Just hear me out, Xander. All I'm asking for is ten minutes," a more desperate tone accented Wesley's words.
The younger man hesitated, and the question came out in a suddenly small, almost fearful voice. "How - how do you know how to break it? And, something else: how come you even know of the shield's existence?"
Wesley cast another dark glance to the ground, and then turned back to lock eyes with Xander again. "Because Wolfram & Hart were the ones that created it in the first place."
***
AN: OK, I'll make sense. Soon! And I need you to remember that I'm not using any S4-7 spoilers, because I didn't watch a single episode - Brazil'n network will only transmit it in march... Yeah, it sucks!
Anyway, please, pretty please, review me! I'm kinda super nervous with this fic...