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 5 of 8. Many thanks for all the lovely feedback you've been sending – it truly is much appreciated. The rest of the story is pretty well drafted on paper (no Scooby gang -sorry) and I will do my best to update quickly. Unfortunately I go back to work on Monday, so I will probably only manage a chapter a week. About the cliffhangers – it's an addiction, I'm sorry.
The lyrics quoted in this chapter are from "Afraid of Sunlight" by Marillion (1995), and "Why Should I Cry For You?" by Sting (1990)
Chapter 5: Adrift in the Tide
'I have here a cask of most magical wine
A vintage that blessed every ship in the line
It's wrung from the blood of the sailors who died
Young white bodies adrift in the tide
She set the receiver back in its cradle carefully, and felt a little twinge of pain as she stretched her hand. She pushed up her cuff, and smiled wryly at the red fingertip marks that encircled her wrist. The bracelet of soon–to-be bruises a little gift from her favourite project of the moment.
Even more absorbing than this current contract she had worked out with the Council of Watchers. She was already getting noticed upstairs over this one, and it was pissing Linwood off that she had pulled a coup right under his nose. That thought made her smile grow wider. She gave herself a little mental shake. There was no time for daydreaming when there was work to be done. She pressed a button on her desk, arranged herself artfully in her chair.
She had showered and dressed after her visit earlier this evening, carefully replacing the items of underwear she had metaphorically rubbed in his face. Come to think of it…
Naughty thoughts, Lilah. She was having those way too often, especially at work, when she should be concentrating on more… mundane activities. There hadn't been a mind sweep for a while, and she had become rather lax, to the extent of allowing her mind to wander during Linwood's criminally boring staff meetings. If they brought in the mind readers now, they would discover just how much of her time she was devoting to her pet project.
And what a busy little pet bunny he had been. The call immediately preceding Teuer's had been from one of her contacts in the Futures Division. The shaman had revealed that a certain ungrateful vampire had just been released from a watery grave by the ex-watcher, the rogue slayer, and a very guilty looking kid. Can't resist, can you, Wes, she thought. No matter how many times they kick you, you just keep running back for more.
There was a soft knock at her door. At her invitation, her latest minion entered the room. Mitchell had done reasonably well with Faith, and she had decided to let him loose in the field. It wasn't like she had much of a choice.
Much as she hated to admit it, she missed Lindsey. They had spent most of their time at the firm with their knives poised at each other's backs. But the guy had class. He kept her sharp, made her work hard for information, and ultimately she had him to thank for the position she now occupied at Wolfram and Hart.
There really was nobody like him left. Since the wine cellar incident, most of the staff had been playing it safe, being good little yes men. Like Gavin, or even Linwood. She detested their pathetic office politics, their total lack of initiative. Life had been less comfortable with Lindsey and Holland around, but it had been a hell of lot more fun.
Maybe that was why she was spending so much time on Wesley. He offered that challenge, the edge that her job had been lacking. And she had a feeling that she was walking a fine line with him, that she was as much in danger from him as he was from her.
She crossed her legs languidly; knowing the split in her skirt offered the optimum view of her well-toned creamy thigh. Was rewarded with a little hitch in the man's breathing.
'Lloyd, sit down.' She purred, pleased to see the wary respect in her subordinate's attitude.
'You sent for me, Ms. Morgan?'
Good boy. Polite boy. She gave him a sweet smile. 'Yes. I've just received word that the vampire's child is … available for questioning.'
'You would like me to put together an extraction team?'
She frowned. Foolish boy. Spending too much time with Linwood, she guessed.
'Oh, I don't think we'll be needing to extract him, Lloyd.' A little hint of steel in her voice.
'But won't the vampire try to stop us…?' His voice faltered as she sighed in disappointment.
'Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd. You're not thinking.' She spoke in a tired tone, an exasperated teacher gently chiding a dense student.
'The kid stuffed his dad in a metal box for the best part of a month. I would say that daddy isn't going to be feeling too forgiving at the moment.'
She knew Angel. So caught up in his eternal search for redemption for his demonic sins, that he couldn't find it in his soul to forgive human mistakes.
'The only one we had to worry about was the ex-watcher. But that's been taken care of.'
'The Rogue Slayer?'
Clever boy. She threw him an approving smile.
'Take a small team to the hotel. Special ops. Wait until the target leaves the building before you acquire him.'
She leaned forward slightly, and allowed a touch of ice into her tone.
'Be assured, Lloyd, I will not look favourably on any damage to the target. I want this done professionally.'
She took pleasure in the shudder that went through the man. It was nice to be able to command that kind of respect from your staff.
'Of course, Ms. Morgan. I'll get a team together right away.'
He backed out of her office, and she leaned back in her chair, stretching out her long legs. She turned her foot to the side, admiring the kitten heel on her new Manolo Blahniks, and let her mind wander back to a few hours earlier.
*~*~*~*
Faith's voluble and innovative stream of expletives was his initial alert to the onslaught that was to follow. Then she was thrown bodily into his arms, and he staggered under the force that had propelled her. She rubbed the back of her neck frantically, then stopped, looking at him in puzzled amusement.
'Jeez, Wes, Never figured you'd be hot for danger.'
She was pressed hard against him, and he pushed her upright, none too gently, extracting a stake from the front pocket of his jeans.
She barely missed a beat. 'Still with the preparation, preparation, preparation bit, then?'
He swung round and used the weapon to dust the first of the vamps who had materialized from nowhere.
She whipped out her own stake from her back pocket, and spun to face two of L.A.'s finest undead.
Perhaps finest was putting it a mite strongly. They had the look of rugby players, who have been at the bottom of one too many scrums, and now spend their leisure hours happily nailing each other's heads to the toilet seat. What they lacked in brains and cunning, they made up for in sheer weight of muscle. He was pretty sure he would have had trouble tackling these guys while they were alive, never mind with the added demonic benefits of the undead lifestyle.
Faith, naturally, was in her element. She aimed a roundhouse kick at the taller of the vamps, then dodged to the left, and drove her stake into his partner, who had been occupying himself by using Wes as a punching bag. He crawled out from under a layer of dust and brushed himself down. It was obvious that she did not require his assistance in taking out the last vamp. She was toying with him, had the opportunity to finish him off several times, but each time she feinted, sending a fist, elbow or knee in place of the stake.
Wes watched as she moved, her natural skill and grace undiminished by her years of incarceration. This was therapeutic for her, he knew, to be able to work off some of that excessive energy that slayers possess. It had to have been difficult for her in prison, trying to keep it under control, with no real outlet for her aggression. He was happy for her to take it out on the vampire, rather than let it bottle up.
'Let me know if you need any help.' He leaned nonchalantly against the harbour wall, twisting his stake in his hands.
She shoved her own stake into the vamp's chest, and the creature actually looked relieved as he crumbled into dust.
'Well, that was fun.' She was flushed from her exertions, eyes sparkling with vitality. Then she frowned suddenly, slid her hand around the back of her neck.
Wes stood up, slightly alarmed at the change in her expression. He came over beside her, and pulled out a handkerchief. She turned her back to him, and lifted her hair away from the nape of her neck. He drew her towards the streetlight, and dabbed at the area.
'What the hell is it?'
The white cotton was barely stained; only a tiny pinprick of blood now marred its pristine surface. He peered closer at the mark on her neck, an almost insignificant hole that was already healing, and then began to scan the vicinity.
'Wes! What are you looking for?' Her voice held a note of impatience.
He bent down and retrieved the object he had been seeking. It was about the size of a ballpoint pen, with a slightly broader circumference. He held it up for her to see.
'A pen? Why'd they stab me with a pen?'
'It's an epi-pen, Faith. People with severe allergies use them to self-administer adrenaline during a reaction.' He frowned.
'Right. I ask again, why would a vampire stab me with an epi-pen?'
He didn't like this at all.
'They were drugging you.'
'Vamp pushers?' She chuckled appreciatively. 'Original way to get you hooked.'
He shook his head, a little annoyed by her slow uptake. 'They knew you were going to be here. They weren't here to kill us; they were just the hired muscle. Someone has plans for you, and I'm guessing Evil Incorporated may have something to do with it.'
She pressed her fingertip against the back of her neck and winced softly. He saw it then, the tiniest flash of fear in her eyes, and then it was gone.
'What do you think it is, Wes?' She spoke quietly, her voice steady. 'Poison?'
'I don't think so. They could have poisoned you in prison if they had wanted. Why go to all the trouble of releasing you, simply to kill you?'
'Thanks for the comfort.' She said sourly.
'Look, right now they're out there looking for us. We should go somewhere they won't be expecting.' An idea was forming in the back of his mind.
'Any suggestions, Mr. Stealthy? Your place being out, obviously.'
He nodded. 'I think I know someone who may be able to help us.'
*~*~*~*
This was unendurable.
The ride home in Gunn's truck had been bad enough. He had felt the hostility coming from the two humans, as if it were tangible. And the vampire. His words to Wesley had turned his stomach to liquid, his blood to ice. He was ashamed of the way his hands had trembled in terror, as he had clung to the handle of the door.
'Please, I…'
'Don't speak, Connor.' His voice had been cold, verging on arctic, his eyes unreadable.
Connor had obeyed.
When they had reached the hotel, Gunn had helped Angel into the lobby, and he had followed miserably, Fred marching behind him.
When they had settled the vampire on the couch, Fred had approached him, her lips set in a firm line.
'I'm sorry,' he had whispered desperately.
'You lied to us.' He had never heard this voice before, full of hate and disgust. She had swung her hand hard, leaving the imprint of her fingers on his stinging cheek.
'No.' the vampire's voice had been oddly quiet. 'Nobody touches him but me.'
It had been the calm control in his voice that scared him more than anything. As if he had already decided his fate, and nothing Connor could say would stop it. He badly wanted to be back with Wesley and Faith, with people who would at least try to understand him.
'I'm sorry.' He had spoken softly, barely able to look at the man he had condemned to a living death. 'Wesley said I…'
'You will not mention that name again. Do I make myself clear, Connor?'
He had nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to speak. Afraid that if he had opened his lips, the sobs would come, and if he started he would never be able to stop.
'You will go to your room and wait for me.' His voice still terrifyingly calm.
He had known it was pointless to argue. Had gone up to his room obediently.
And here he was. Almost half an hour had passed, with no sign of his father.
Unendurable. The awful waiting, knowing that punishment was coming, but being powerless to stop it. On the rare occasions in his childhood when he had been in trouble, or disobeyed his father, chastisement had been swift, and always without malice. His human father, his real father, had been a good man. He would never have made him wait in fear. Just the thought of Holtz now released tears, and he buried his face in the soft down of the pillow and wept.
Time passed slowly, and he realized that this was all part of the plan. To break him down, make him sorry for what he had done. Angel had not killed his father, Wesley was sure of that, and Connor trusted Wesley. Believed him. But he was still not truly sorry for his actions.
When the vampire had taken his hand, back on the boat, and rubbed a cool thumb across his numb fingers, he had felt real remorse. He had regretted his stupidity, his naivety where Justine was concerned. If he had apologized then, it would have been genuine.
But then he had seen the true nature of his father. His heart so full of grief and hurt and rage that he could not find it in himself to forgive another. The awful things he had said to them, that had made both their faces twist in pain. Connor was not willing to offer an apology that would be thrown back in his face.
He had to get away from him, from the anger and fear and guilt in this place. And he knew where he wanted to go.
He moved quietly to the window, and was surprised to find it open. He pushed it up carefully, and slipped out onto the ledge of the window. He climbed across the next two sills, then swung his leg over the iron railing of the fire escape. He descended silently, jumping the last eight feet to land, knees bent, in the alley behind the hotel. Looking up at his window, he was satisfied that no one was following him, and made his way along the alley swiftly.
He was about a block from the hotel, when he noticed the black car tailing him. He stopped, as did the vehicle, and several people dressed in black slid noiselessly from its interior. He felt in his pockets and was dismayed to discover that he had foolishly left without a weapon. The men surrounded him expertly, quickly overpowering him, forcing his hands behind his back.
They marched him over to a second black sedan, and an electric window rolled down.
'Connor. I know some people who are very anxious to talk to you.' The blonde-headed man inside the car smiled pleasantly.
Connor glanced back at the silhouette of the Hyperion in the distance, thinking of the trouble that awaited him if he returned home. At the moment, the people in this car seemed like the safer option.
*~*~*~*
'You're him. The guy, right?'
The woman who addressed Wesley was a petite brunette, with corkscrew curls that not so much waved as cheered. She held the door ajar, not completely open, and did not invite them in.
'Please Aggie, its important.'
'I'm getting that. Look, no offence, but he doesn't want to see you. After what you did, who can blame him?' She did not speak harshly, but there was a note of finality in her tone.
'Jeez, Wes, what did you do?' Faith was beginning to wonder if there was anyone left in L.A. that he had not pissed off.
He dropped his gaze, evidently ashamed of his behaviour. 'It's a long story…'
'Which I'm sure the lady would love to hear.'
A green skinned red-eyed demon stepped from behind the door. What surprised Faith most was his outfit, a navy brocade smoking jacket, and a lilac silk cravat.
'Why don't you come in so we can all share the guilt.'
They entered the apartment, and Wes seated himself on the couch, his head bowed low.
'Lorne, I'm so sorry…' he began, but the demon cut him off.
'Coming off you in waves, my lamb. You were in a bad place, back then.' He leaned forward and looked deep into Wesley's eyes. 'And not much better now. Okay, start singing.'
Wes shook his head. 'I know my destiny.'
He looked up at her. 'She needs help. Faith was… is a slayer.'
The demon – Lorne – raised his hand.
'Know the lore, lamb, the big guy filled me in. It's the old story; good girl goes bad, plots with evil genius to take over the world, falls into a coma, swaps bodies with good slayer, comes to the big city, hooks up with evil lawyer types, tortures her former watcher and tries to dust our hero. Speaking of whom, where is the leather-clad lovely – isn't he your twelve step sponsor?'
Faith stared at him, somewhere between indignation and astonishment, unable to speak. Wes spoke again, his voice soft.
'Angel was missing. We found him. He's back at the hotel with the others.'
Hmm, she thought. Cagey.
'What about the munchkin?'
If possible Wes looked even more dejected. 'Connor was… involved in his father's disappearance. But they've been reunited.'
'I told Angel to watch his back. Kid's got some serious daddy issues going on.'
He turned his gaze upon her.
'Anyhoo, the show ain't over till the lady sings, so swing it, sweetie.'
She blinked slowly, then glanced at Wesley for clarification. He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed.
'He can see your future, your destiny. Set you on your path. But only if you sing.'
She made a face at him.
'You gotta be kidding me.' Wes shook his head. 'What the hell I am gonna sing?'
'It's not about the song, sweetie. It's all about the singer.
Faith took a breath and began.
"Drive the road to your surrender; time comes around… out of my hands
Small boats on the beach at the dead of night; come and go before first light
Leave me running in the wheel
King of the world, how do you feel? What is there to feel?
So how do we now come to be afraid of sunlight?
Been in pain for so long; I can't even say what hurts any more
I will leave you alone; I will deny
I will leave you to bleed; I will leave you with your life
So how do we now come to be afraid of sunlight?
Tell me why you and me, scared of sunlight?
Dayglo Jesus on the dash; chalk marks on the road ahead; friendly fire in hostile waters
Keep the faith; don't lose your head
So how do we now come to be…?"
Her voice was soft, faltering slightly on the last line. She saw the demon studying her intently, but her attention was fixed on the ex-watcher who sat opposite her on the couch. When she began, he sat forward, his eyes on the floor. The whole time she was singing, he did not move. When she finished, she realized he had been holding his breath.
Lorne let his breath out too, when she stopped. 'Interesting choice.'
She gave herself a little shake.
'So what did you see? Why did they let me out? Who's trying to drug me? What the hell is going on around here?'
'Enough with the questions.' But his voice was gentle.
He looked deep into her eyes, and she was lost for a moment in their red depths.
'Yes, you are lost, aren't you, honey. Been that way for some time. You think you've found peace, but you're still hiding. You're going to have to face it.'
She trembled, tried to pull away from his intense scrutiny.
'Face what?'
'Oh, you already know that, sweetie, you just don't want to.' He paused. ' Oh, by the way, our favourite vampire, he's not your guide. Never was. He helped you make the changes, and that was good. But you're a slayer. And as we all know, slayers and vampires are never a good combination. Slayers need, well…'
He sat back and waited for her to realize.
'Are you saying I need a watcher?'
She looked at Wesley, who wore a look of utter disbelief.
'Wesley is my guide?'
'There's trouble brewing. For you, for Wes, even for Angel and the kid. Don't know what it is. But I can see the only way through it is together.'
She stared at him, open-mouthed in shock.
'Don't blame me, honey. Not the author, just the narrator.'
Faith stood up and walked over to the window, desperate to be out of the gaze of those piercing red eyes. He had seen it. Some where deep down, where she had kept it hidden, even from herself.
She could hear him talking in a low voice to Wesley, whose head was still bent in shame. Her heart rate quickened, and she felt a sudden burst of empathy for him. She knew what it was like to be the object of hate, when those you most cared about wanted nothing to do with you. She had lived with self-loathing for so long that it was second nature.
She could hear him now; Lorne had made him sing and the words carried across the room to her.
"All colours bleed to red; Asleep on the ocean's bed
Drifting in empty seas, for all my days remaining
But would north be true? Why should I, Why should I cry for you?
Dark angels follow me, Over a godless sea,
Mountains of endless falling, For all my days remaining,
What would be true?"
She shivered, the hairs on the nape of her neck rising, as she felt the weight of grief behind the haunting melody. He stopped, and she turned round to look at him. He had raised his eyes to the demon's to see if this was enough. God, he was lost too. Saw it in his eyes, despair and disgust, the blueness bleeding out to a pale grey.
She strained to hear the advice that Lorne was offering, but he spoke so quietly that she could barely make him out. So she watched them as they talked, and wondered about what he had read in her.
Two lost souls bound together by destiny. It sounded like so much mystic crap. She'd told him once she didn't believe in that stuff. But he had been her watcher. Hell, he always would be. His betrayal of her and her torture of him would not change that. Someone up there had decided to give her another chance. She knew she'd better take it.
They stood outside the apartment building, and a gentle breeze made her rub her arms a little.
'Are you cold?' He sounded concerned, and then she remembered the drug. He would be wondering about its effects.
'Just the breeze, Wes.' She hadn't really felt any physical difference in her body since the vamps had injected her with whatever-the-hell it was.
'So what did you two talk about?'
He pursed his lips in a thin line, and she knew she'd be getting nothing out of him.
She attempted to make light of the situation. 'Always fun, though, having someone poke around your head, reading your innermost thoughts.'
'I imagine Buffy felt the same way.'
She pressed her own lips together.
'God, Wes, you got a real mean streak, you know that?'
Every time she felt she was getting close to him, he would pull something like this, reminding her of that room, and the pain she had happily inflicted on him. She strode out in front of him, towards the bike. He followed slowly, deep in thought.
Shit, he knew. Whatever Lorne had read in him, he knew what was coming.
She grabbed him hard, gathering a fistful of shirt at his collar.
'Okay, Watcher,' She spat spitefully, 'You better tell me every damn thing Kermit told you!'
She twisted his shirt savagely, and was shocked to find herself on the pavement, the full weight of Wesley's body upon her. She thrust her palm upwards with all the force she could muster, and he slapped it away easily. He grasped both her wrists, and shoved them to the ground behind her head, very hard.
It hurt like hell.
He stopped, saw the pain in her eyes, both of them realizing at the same moment.
'Shit, Wes.' She heard the tremble in her voice, felt her eyes filling up with tears.
'Oh God. The drug.' He got off her, helped her to her feet, the gentleness of this touch only emphasized by the roughness of those preceding it.
'I'm… not strong.' She had experienced this feeling once before, at her cruciamentum, remembered the blind panic and terror that it had induced.
'Faith. It's okay.' He had his arm around her shoulders, and she gradually realized why. She was shaking uncontrollably.
'Why would Wolfram and Hart do this to me? Take away my powers?'
His face darkened, she saw raw anger smoulder behind those blue eyes.
'It isn't them.'
She raised her liquid eyes to his. 'Who is it?'
She knew his answer before he spoke.
'It's the Council.'
