TITLE: Soul Cages
AUTHOR: Eloise
RATING: PG13
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise to put them away carefully when I'm finished.
NOTES: Chapter 3 of 8. This chapter contains dialogue from "Five by Five"
Chapter 3: The Child with his Father's Eyes
Where is the fisherman, where is the goat?
Where is the keeper in his carrion coat?
Eclipse on the moon when the dark bird flies
Where is the child with his father's eyes?
He stood in the doorway, couldn't quite shake the feeling that he had arrived in the middle of something slightly… sordid. The woman's voice had held a mocking quality, and the rather rumpled Englishman who stood before him looked extremely angry. He shuffled his feet a little, and hunched his shoulders.
'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your…' He was unsure of the correct word to describe this situation. 'I should go.'
Immediately Wesley's temper seemed to evaporate, the scowl vanished.
'No, Connor, it's I who should apologize.' He stood back from the door. 'Please, come in.'
Connor stepped into his apartment. It was incredibly neat; every object in the room appeared to have a correct and proper place. And it reminded him somewhat of the office back at the hotel. Then he realized why.
'It used to be your office.'
The older man looked up from his tidying. 'I'm sorry?'
'It's nothing.' He glanced at the bottle and two empty glass tumblers in Wesley's hands. 'That's whisky, isn't it?'
The Englishman smiled wryly. 'How old are you now, Connor?'
He drew himself to his full height. 'I'm seventeen.'
A soft sigh escaped his lips. 'Seventeen lost years.' Connor thought he heard him whisper. Then – 'What do you know about whisky?'
'It's a drink people in this dimension use to relax. My father told me about it.' Remembering the man's previous confusion, he added. 'Holtz, I mean.'
Wesley carried the glasses over to a small kitchen area and began to rinse them in hot water.
'I'm surprised. I imagined Holtz… your father, to be a man of abstinence.'
Connor shook his head, fiercely proud. 'Father told me about all the good things in his world. We would sit down every night, before sleep, and he would tell me stories about the place he had come from. His family, his home, the county where he lived'
He could feel himself tearing up even speaking of his father, and he was glad that Wesley was busy with the electronic device that Fred always used to heat up inedible snack foods. He regained his composure, as the Englishman brought over two mugs of a steaming, oatmeal coloured brew. He eyed them nervously.
'Sit down, Connor.'
He obeyed, took the mug which was offered. He sipped at it cautiously, and was pleasantly rewarded with a warm, milky sweet sensation.
'What is this?' He couldn't help the broad grin that spread across his face.
'It's another drink people in this dimension use to relax. A rather more age appropriate one, in your case. It's called Ovaltine.'
He looked blankly at him, so Wesley continued. 'A bedtime drink, made from milk, malt and chocolate. I used to have it at my aunt's home…' He spoke pensively, as if he had forgotten that Connor was there. He looked up and smiled wistfully, his blue eyes full of unexplained sadness. 'It's supposed to be soothing.'
He sat down in the armchair opposite, and stretched out his long legs. Connor couldn't help noticing his loosely buttoned shirt, remembering the woman had been similarly dishevelled.
'That woman, is she your… girlfriend?'
The Englishman's laugh was entirely without mirth.
'No. She is most definitely not what one would call a girlfriend. Lilah is…' He stopped, half smiled to himself. 'You know, I'm not actually sure what one would call Lilah. Any of the things I can think of would be unrepeatable to your tender ears.'
He meant swear words. It was obvious that Wesley disliked the woman intensely, and yet they had clearly been in bed together. He found the whole thing puzzling.
'Then you don't love her?'
Wesley almost choked on his drink.
'No, Connor, I don't love her.'
'But when I arrived you and she had been…' Wesley face was growing red, so he stopped, afraid he had angered the man. But when he spoke again, he did not sound angry, his voice was tender.
'People don't always do things for the right reasons, Connor. This world is very different from Quortoth.' He paused, rubbing his hand over the bridge of his nose. 'Love and hate aren't as far apart as you might think.'
'Is she a bad person, then, this Lilah?' He knew he should stop asking these questions; they made him sound like a foolish child.
But Wesley did not seem particularly irritated by them.
'Let me try and explain it.' He said patiently. 'Remember we talked about Justine. I told you she couldn't be trusted?'Connor nodded, his attention wholly focused on the Englishman's soft voice. 'You told me she was fighting evil, that she was simply protecting the innocent.'
He was beginning to understand.
'But she did things that were wrong.' His eyes flicked to the other man's scarred throat. 'She attacked you.'
Wesley nodded solemnly; encouraging him to make the connections, figure it out.
'But she thought she was doing it for the right reasons.' He was beginning to grasp the concept.
Again the Englishman nodded, guiding him gently.
'But that still doesn't make it right. You see, Connor, she made choices. Some good and some…' He paused, touched the line at his throat. 'Not so good. We all do. That doesn't make her a bad person, much as it pains me to admit it. This world is not just good and evil, black and white.'
He was well aware of that already.
'But you're a good man. Father said so.' He knew he sounded like a stubborn child.
'Perhaps he truly believed that. But I am not the saint your father brought you up to believe in. Just as Lilah is not evil incarnate.'
It was difficult to hear him belittle himself so.
'You were trying to save me.'
Wesley drew back, as if he had slapped him across the face.
'But I failed, Connor. You've spent your life in a hell dimension – a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, let alone my best friend's son. I made a terrible mistake.'
He spoke quietly, but Connor could sense the emotion that lay behind his words.
'It wasn't so bad. I had my father to look after me. And things made sense there.' He smiled encouragingly. 'Black and white, like you said.' He dropped his eyes, then. 'Things here are just too…complicated.'
It wasn't exactly a lie.
Wesley nodded. 'You miss him. Your father.'
He bent his head, overwhelmed by the feelings of grief and longing. Managed a small nod.
'Tell me about him. If you want.' The gentle acceptance in the man's tone was almost more than he could bear.
And so he told him. Of the man who had been everything to him; his father, his guide, his protector, and his friend. Things he had told no one else in this awful world, because they hadn't wanted to hear. The others had wanted him to forget his father, and his home. Get down on his knees and be eternally grateful that he was no longer stuck in Quortoth. And here was a man who was willing to listen, who would at least give him a chance to talk.
'You come from the same country as my father?'
'Yes. I come from England.' Wesley answered
'He used to tell me about his home. York. Do you know the place?'
The older man smiled widely. 'My aunt and uncle lived just outside York. We often visited in the school holidays. I loved that part of the country.'
'Could you tell me about it?' He pleaded softly, and the Englishman obliged.
'Oh, the city has changed greatly since your father's day.' He continued on, and Connor began to feel pleasantly drowsy, imagining himself safe and warm, as when his father had told him his bedtime stories.
He was drifting into sleep, when somewhere in the distance he heard the telephone ring.
'Wyndam-Pryce here. Oh. Fred. This is unexpected. What can I do for you?'
Connor's eyes jolted open.
*~*~*~*
'Sir, I hope your meeting wasn't too dreadful'
The younger man was uncomfortable, he knew, these circumstances were unusual, to put it mildly. He looked more closely at the man, and a name clicked in the back of his mind.
'Quite acceptable, Hewitt.'
It really had not been so dreadful. Ms. Lilah Morgan had certainly lived up to her name; he had been tempted to compliment her on it. A woman of many and varied charms, most of them treacherous and deadly. A woman who could get the job done. He respected that kind of dedication to duty, no matter which side she fought on.
He realized that the man was still standing in the doorway.
'Was there something else you wanted, Hewitt?'
The younger watcher shuffled his feet, infuriatingly indecisive.
'Come on, man, out with it!' He snapped.
'It's just… well, this working with Wolfram and Hart. They represent everything we've always opposed.'
He was still so young. He guessed late twenties, still shiny from the Watcher Academy. Filled with naïve zeal, and foolish, immature ideals about the nature of good and evil. He wondered if they taught any classical philosophy at all nowadays.
'You have, one assumes, studied Plato's Protagoras?
He could almost hear the gears shifting in the other's brain, trying to access some long forgotten but suddenly vitally important piece of information.
'I think, um, we read it in my first year' He dropped his gaze, shamefaced. 'Platonic Latin was never my strong suit.'
'No, I imagine not. Perhaps I should refresh your memory.' He settled himself in the armchair; leaned over to the adjacent table and opened a dark cherry wood cigar box, inlaid with strips of ebony and walnut. He chose one, lit it, using an intricately carved antique silver lighter. He puffed at the cigar contentedly, enjoying the power he had over the other man, watching him squirm.
'To prefer evil to good is not in human nature, and when a man is compelled to chose one of two evils, no one will choose the greater when he might have the less.'
A lazy curl of cigar smoke drifted delicately upward.
'To put it more simply, needs must when the devil drives.' He raised an eyebrow. 'I hope that makes our position a little clearer.'
The man nodded nervously, unwilling to pursue the matter any further. As it should be. He did not appreciate being questioned on these matters. The harsh trill of the telephone interrupted his thoughts.
'Teuer here. Ah, Ms. Morgan, I was just thinking of you…' He paused, listening intently to the voice on the other end of the line. 'Already? I have to say I'm impressed… Of course. I'm a man of my word.' Another pause. 'Very well. I'll contact you to let you know when you can proceed. Good day to you, Ms. Morgan.'
He replaced the receiver thoughtfully, called Hewitt back into the room.
'Sir?'
'I presume the necessary arrangements have been made?'
Hewitt wavered visibly. 'Almost. The negotiations were delicate… But everything will be in place by tomorrow night.'
'See that it is. I do not like to be disappointed.' He left the threat unspoken; the terrified look on the young man's face was all the assurance he needed.
*~*~*~*
He put the 'phone down, looked hard at the boy who sat opposite him. Only a few minutes ago, he had been dozing off, lulled into sleep by descriptions of Holtz's hometown. Now, he was wide-awake, staring miserably at the floor, his palms nervously tracing the worn denim of his jeans.
Angel was missing. Cordelia, too. For a month now.
He wanted to be angrier that it had taken Fred a month to call and tell him, but if he was honest, it didn't come as much of a surprise. They only contacted him now when they were desperate, needed his help only as a last resort. But this was not the time for wallowing in self-pity and hurt feelings. What concerned him more was the fact that Connor had neglected to mention that Angel was missing, and was now sitting across the room from him, looking as guilty as hell.
It was blatantly obvious that the boy was hiding something; Wes knew he would not have to dig far before he cracked.
'That was Fred.'
No answer, Connor remained very still, his eyes cast down in shame.
'She tells me that Angel and Cordelia are missing.'
His head jerked up. 'I didn't do anything… to her…' He closed his mouth too late, suddenly aware of what he had said.
This kid would not be good at lying, he guessed. He imagined that Holtz would have taught him the Old Testament values of right and wrong pretty thoroughly. Knew those lessons too well himself.
'Do you know what happened to Angel?' The boy did not answer. 'Connor?' he raised his voice, just enough.
'No.' There was a sullen edge to his tone.
'You know that lying is wrong, don't you? I'm sure your father told you that.' It was cruel, he knew, to use these tactics, but he had to find out what had happened to his friends. Okay, former friends. He repeated the question; his voice quiet, but firm.
'Do you know what happened to Angel?'
A whisper, so low he almost didn't catch it.
'He's the prince of lies.'
His own voice soft now. 'That's not what I asked, Connor.'
He looked up at Wesley; his eyes, so dark, reminding him of painfully of his father's, his real father's. Full of anguish and despair. As Angel's had been at their last meeting.
'Tell me what happened.'
Connor told him. Quietly. His voice full of shame. He did not interrupt, simply allowed him to make his confession. When he had finished, Connor looked up, met his eyes fearfully, expecting anger, blame, punishment.
(Always tell the truth, Wesley. I know when you are lying. Things will be much worse for you if you lie to me…)
'She lied to you. Angel would never have killed your father. He loved you too much to do that.'
Connor dropped his head low, his hair hanging over his eyes. Wes felt an ache in his heart, remembering the warmth of a small blue bundle against his chest, hearing the baby's contented gurgle. This was his fault. He should never have let him be taken. Connor was lost, and he was to blame.
'Aren't you angry?' Connor rubbed his fists across his eyes fiercely.
'No.'
He didn't want to admit to Connor that somewhere, deep down, some part of him felt that Angel deserved this. The part of him that had struggled against a pillow in his face. The part of him that liked the look on Lilah's face when one of his barbs struck home. The part of him that had briefly considered the Council's offer of reinstatement in return for Faith. The secret dark part of him that he hated.
The boy was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak.
'What about Cordelia?' He watched him closely this time.
'I swear I didn't touch her. She was on her way to meet him the night that I…' his voice tailed off, head dropped.
'And you didn't see her?' He asked sternly.
Connor shook his head dumbly, his eyes still hidden behind his fringe.
'Look at me when you answer, boy.' Hated the cold familiarity of those words.
Connor raised his head and looked at him. ' I didn't see her, I swear.'
His eyes shone with pure clear innocence. He obviously had nothing to do with Cordy's disappearance.
'Wesley?' Connor whispered softly, his tone fearful.
'It's okay, I'm not angry. I just had to know you were telling the truth.'
He stood up, fetched his worn leather jacket from the hall cupboard.
'Where are you going?' Connor's voice rose in panic. 'You're not going to tell them? Please, Wesley. They'll kill me.'
'Relax. I won't tell them.' Not yet, anyway. There were more pressing matters that needed attention. ' I want you to promise me something.'
The boy looked up. 'Stay here while I'm out. I won't be gone long, and you'll be safe here. Okay?'
'Okay.' He sounded so forlorn.
'We'll sort this out, Connor. I promise you.'
He would not fail him again.
*~*~*~*
She flipped a lock of chestnut hair back from her face. Caught a glimpse of herself in the window of a parked car and stopped dead. It was like seeing a ghost. The once skintight leather pants were loose around her waist, the dark red top accentuating her pale skin. Like the dream version of herself. But she was not that girl any more. He had pulled her back from the edge of that precipice.
As she had walked out of jail this morning, her first thought had been Angel. He would be able to help her, figure out why the hell the lawyers had gotten her out. But she hadn't seen him in a while. His visits to her, though welcome, had never been regular, and lately not at all. She thought back to the last time.
He had told her of his visit to another dimension, and she hadn't been sure if he was tripping on some pharmaceutically enhanced AB neg. Had been even more convinced of it when he told her that Wesley was now the boss at Angel Investigations. And Cordelia, a princess. She had giggled insanely at that. Like she needed to have that particular delusion confirmed.
He had told her that Buffy was gone. She had caught a breath at that, hitched tight in her throat. Typical B, sacrificing herself for little sis, for love, family, friends, all the things that Faith had cut out of her heart. Had closed down until he had reached her.
She had been numb until that moment in the alley, when he had held her in the rain. She smiled sadly to herself. Well, maybe not numb. Not in that room above the alley.
There had been a moment, a heartbeat, when she had ungagged him.
'I was your watcher, Faith. I know the real you. Even if you kill me, there's just one thing I want you to remember.'
'What's that, love?' His eyes met hers, burned with a blue-flamed intensity. And she had wanted desperately for him to see it. See past the living dead girl.
('I believe in my heart that you are not a bad person.')
But his answer had brought the darkness, and she had hurt him, more than she had meant to.
No, she had not been numb.
She dumped her duffel bag onto the pavement and searched through the front pocket until she found the scrap of paper she was looking for, the address she had scrawled almost three years ago – 212 Pearson Arms.
*~*~*~*
She knocked the door carefully. No answer.
This time a little harder. "Cordelia. You in?'
This was dumb. Queen C. probably didn't even live here any more. She slung her duffel bag back onto her shoulder and turned to leave.
The door opened.
'Hey, Cordy, I guess I should explain…'
There was no one there.
A memory clicked in the back of her mind.
'Phantom Dennis! Let us in. It's alright, it's only Wesley!'
'Dennis your ghost, I presume?'
'Yes. He's jealous. Don't worry, hell will freeze over before I have sex with him!'
Okay, the ghost butler was letting her in.
'Thanks… Dennis, right?'
She stepped over the threshold. The apartment looked much as she remembered it. Very neat and tidy. She moved towards the kitchen, and noticed a photograph, face up, on the dining table, as if someone had been studying it. It was a picture of the three of them, Angel, Cordelia and Wesley. They looked happy.
She suddenly realized that she was hadn't eaten since this morning, moved away from the picture quickly. Into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was empty. Where the hell was Cordelia? She opened the freezer compartment and picked out a tub of Ben and Jerry's, still in its store bag.
'Dennis, she wouldn't mind, would she?'
It had been so long since she had eaten this stuff.
The drawer next to her hip opened magically, and a spoon hovered up to her hand in answer.
'Thanks'
She dug the spoon deep into the rich fudge-swirled cream and licked it delicately, closing her eyes in ecstasy.
Then froze, as she felt the tip of something sharp in the small of her back.
