CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Angel came awake with a jerk when he felt a sharp sting on his chin.
"Relax," came a voice.
"Buffy?" he croaked, opening his eyes to the glare of the hall lights. Buffy was dabbing a piece of cloth to a cut on his chin, her delicate features pinched into worry.
"He dented you a little," Buffy murmured as she placed the bloodied cloth in the basin on a side table next to the sofa. "How are you doin'?"
Angel rubbed his chin. "Not bad," he muttered.
Buffy gave him a small nod as she dabbed his cut further. "A son, huh?"
He wasn't sure what to say to that. He merely nodded. Buffy merely gave him a humourless smile.
"I leave you for a few years …" she murmured with a small smile.
"Buffy," he murmured. But he didn't know what to say. She just shrugged.
"People change," she simply said.
He met her eyes and saw something in there. Something which explained the scent of Spike on her. It was something he didn't even want to think about with Wesley running amok back then. Now that that was over, he still didn't want to know. Really.
"Wesley?" he asked, turning away from her ministrations. That was it, case closed.
Buffy straightened up at his tone. A look of hurt passed her features, but it was gone quickly. "Gone."
"I have to find him," Angel got up, but was sidetracked by a wave of dizziness. It didn't stop him long. He walked unsteadily towards the door.
"Wait … Angel!" when that didn't stop him, Buffy ran to him and grabbed his hand. Surprised … and strangely touched, he found himself squeezing her hand. He met her blue eyes and saw the pleading look in them. It, however, did not prepare him for her words.
"I think … I think there's something going on here," she said.
Angel stared at her as if she just announced that she was the Virgin Mary. "Yeah, I would think so," he said levelly.
"No," she shook her head, her eyes serious. "It got me thinking … the things Wesley could do … he could've killed us any time, Angel, but he didn't. I mean, he helped me fend off the Luloth demons and he said some things-"
Angel could see the logic of her words, but that didn't mean he liked where it was going. "He tried to kill a child!" he snapped.
Buffy blinked, then placed her hands up in the air as if in agreement. "I know. But he got me thinking. He was right. Evil doesn't wear a convenient face."
"You think the girl is evil?" Angel said in disbelief.
"No, I mean …" she sighed. "I don't think we're seeing the whole picture here. And unless we do, we're going to lose the battle," she said gravely. "I've gone through enough apocalypses to know."
Angel frowned at that. It annoyed him, her claim of expertise – as if his years waging and going through apocalypses didn't count. "So have I. More than you can imagine. And you know what I learnt?"
Buffy opened her mouth to say something, but Angel went on before she could say anything.
"Wasting time is deadly. And I'm wasting enough already."
A flicker of hurt flashed on her face again. Angel winced at that and wanted to apologise, but everything is just a mess. There was just too damn much on his mind now. Cordelia. Connor. Wesley. Now this missing girl. He turned to leave.
"You know, you're full of shit."
Angel stopped in his tracks, but did not turn around.
"That's right," Buffy said, walking a few steps towards him. "Going on this holy crusade being angry at the man who wronged you. Being so righteous and all."
This time, he turned, growing fury etched on his face.
"You can be angry with me. That's fine. You can be angry with Wesley. That's fine too. But being righteous and unforgiving? That's pure BS. Because, what gives you the right?"
Angel clenched his fists, looking away.
"Jenny Calendar. Torturing my friends. Turning Drusilla-"
"Stop."
"-taking the only person Giles loved. Killing countless people. Unleashing hell on Earth-"
"I said, shut up." His voice did not rise, but it had an edge to it. As if it she didn't stop soon, he would do something. That realisation made him freeze in horror. What had he become?
"You let anger control you? You let unforgiveness take root? Then I don't know if you're Angel or Angelus."
"Don't be-"
"What? I'm no saint. I still haven't forgiven that shop assistant in LA for giving me a size 6 instead of a 3, but hey, I'm trying. You? You're determined not to."
"You don't understand-"
"I don't need to. The only way you can get over this – is to look at Wesley. Really look at him. Not through some hate-filled eyes."
Angel clenched his jaw as if he wanted to stop himself from saying something. Then he whirled around, barged through the door, thinking that perhaps if he walked fast enough, he could escape her words.
Buffy was tempted to stop him, but she had a big feeling that this was not her battle anymore. She wondered whether she had the right to say those things just now, but she felt such bitterness and anger coming from Angel that she knew she had to say something to shake him from this self-imposed emotional myopia. She probably didn't have the right. It could drive anyone bitter: being buried in the sea for the summer, losing his son and - she knew he'd rather die (well, shrivel to dust) than admit this – losing a best friend.
"Good luck," she whispered at the retreating back.
* * *
He didn't arrive at Hyperion fast enough, because when he burst through its gilded doors, he saw Fred and Gunn's worried faces. They directed their gaze to Willow's slumped figure on one of the sofas. She gave him a bleary gaze and didn't appear to have any strength to even give him a trademark sheepish smile.
"It was Wolfram & Hart," Fred murmured, as if that explained everything.
"The bitch on heels had some demon folks suck Willow's energy. She nearly died," Gunn almost growled the words out. "But somehow she managed to teleport here. I think she would've died otherwise."
"Wes?"
"No sign. But, er, good news. The professor said he needs to see us. I think he found a weapon," Fred gave him a shaky smile.
Angel walked to the weapon's closet, got a sword – what good will it do against an Elemental, honestly – and tossed an axe to Gunn.
"Fred?"
"I'll stay," she said immediately, understanding what needed to be done.
"At least until she's recovered."
Fred nodded.
Gunn quickly stepped to her and gave her a kiss. "We'll be back for supper."
Fred gave him a tight smile in return. "I'll make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."
With that, her boys left to fight the bad guy.
She returned her attention to Willow.
At least, she thinks she believed she knew who the bad guy was.
* * * *
Gunn and Angel froze, staring at what was once Percy Mason. The professor's face was one of shock, his empty eye-sockets staring at his killer. At the killer that bore a familiar face, and who incinerated him without a second thought.
"Damn. I wish I could teleport too," Gunn said weakly.
The shop was left mostly unscathed. Somehow Wesley only burnt Mason, leaving his body a mountain of human-shaped ash.
Tentatively, Angel reached towards the book that Mason's ashy hand rested on. Reluctantly, he pulled the book from the corpse's grasp, knowing what would happen.
With a quiet sigh, Mason became a cloud of dust. Gunn, who had the inconvenient habit of breathing, began to gag and cough violently.
"Sorry," Angel muttered, looking at the page.
The cloud of dust settled, Angel muttered: "And she still gives Wesley the benefit of doubt."
"Who?" Gunn asked hoarsely.
"Never mind," Angel was too busy studying the texts before him to know.
"Is there a weapon in there somewhere?"
Angel nodded, opening to the page Mason bookmarked before ... "The sword of Arjosa. Great. We have to find it."
He tossed the silver foil which served as the bookmark away.
"Where is it? Can't be that hard."
"It's in a hell dimension that has a name I can't even pronounce."
"Great. Things are looking up already." Frustrated, Gunn kicked a stack of books which went sprawling to the floor, kicking up another cloud of ash. Gunn coughed some more.
Suddenly, Angel looked up. "What's that?"
"Professor got into my lungs," Gunn complained.
"No, it's something-"
He didn't get to finish what he wanted to say.
* * *
"The Bokan symbol. Aurelian nighthawk. Portal … time … time…"
"Got anything?" Buffy slid next to him on the neighbouring chair, handing him a cup of coffee. She took a sneak look at Wesley's journals and came up blank – it was a bunch of squiggles and pictures. If Giles had a hard time trying to read Wesley's ramblings, she wouldn't even try.
"He seems obsessed with time. And dimensions. Thank you, Buffy," he took a sip of the coffee.
"Ah wait. I think I got something. It's in ancient Torellian-"
Buffy gave him a blank look.
"Another extinct demon language."
"Right. Aren't they always," she nodded, as if it meant something. She was 'escorting' Giles back to LA, and she reckoned that because he was so excited and anxious and everything, he could get himself into a serious accident if she didn't drive him. But in the end, after much arguing, he agreed that she could come along – in another car – and return to Sunnydale halfway.
"You're needed in Sunnydale, Buffy. And I don't want to distract you."
Distract her? Can't he see help when it's yelling at his face?
"What does it say?" she asked after a while, poking her slimy hamburger.
"Bokan of the …" Giles frowned in concentration. "…bayonet?"
Buffy frowned too. That was a mighty inventive name.
"No. Bay'ne. As in bai-nai."
"Weird. So who is he?"
"Um. It is sexless. The guardian of time. A powerful deity. It doesn't make sense … apparently Wesley tried to break through time and failed. The Bay'ne was too powerful for him." Again, another frown. "He fought the Bay'ne?" he sounded flabbergasted.
"And … that's a bad thing?"
"No. I mean … he survived. He shouldn't have. It shows me how powerful he is. If he had defeated the Bay'ne, I have no idea what would happen to the fabric of time."
Giles read some more and ran a finger down the indecipherable – at least to her – text and shook his head. "Why would he want to break through time? What could he possibly want to do?"
"Why do people want to time travel? Change things, of course."
Giles frowned. "He did mention Quor-toth in his ramblings."
Buffy could see that Giles was putting two and two together in his head. As far as she was concerned, the jigsaw puzzles is still scattered in her head.
After a little more reading, flipping through the pages at random, Giles came up, his expression grave. "This isn't right at all. There are just too many pieces … I can't make head or tails out of anything. Willow said he killed three people – totally unrelated to each other. Why did he kill them? And what has time travel and Quor-toth got to do with any of this?" he slammed the journal shut and frowned heavily, a hand on his forehead as if easing an ache there.
"Giles. What if he doesn't have a reason? What if these are the actions of a madman?"
Giles shook his head. "It doesn't seem so. At least my hunch says otherwise."
"Yeah," she looked down at her uneaten hamburger. "My hunch says so too. But the facts …"
"…says otherwise," he continued for her, staring at his coffee. "I have to go Buffy. I think I'm wasting too much time already. Don't bother to follow. Remember what I told you."
With that, he left, bursting through the doors and scaring a few customers.
Buffy merely sighed and took an adventurous bite off her hamburger.
"Does everyone hate wasting time these days?" she muttered.
* * *
Giles arrived a little while after Angel did, looking extremely worried and flustered. He zoomed straight to Willow who was sleeping on the couch.
"She seems okay," Fred told Giles. "Just tired."
"I'll take her up to a … do you have an extra room?"
"All hundred of them."
She led Giles to one of the extra rooms and watched as he placed her on the bed.
"She can't perform magic. Not like this. It's too dangerous for her."
"Not to mention that she won't stay awake to do it," Fred said, only to be met with an inscrutable look from Giles. "Sorry," she said lamely.
"Where's everyone?"
"Angel and Charles went off to see the Professor. Lorne and Connor … actually, I'm not really sure what they're doing."
"Ah, I remember. I asked them to check on some things for me."
"Connor and research? Doesn't seem like a good combination."
"I asked them to search through Wesley's house for more clues. They're not back yet?"
"Not yet. No. I hope something didn't happen to them."
Giles didn't know what to say to make her feel better. Right now, he was too confused to form a straight thought.
Just then, they heard something unusual.
"Is that … a bell ringing?" Giles asked, puzzled.
Fred listened, puzzled herself, until she placed what made it.
"Oh, it's a bell that Charles bought at this street market – he thought it looked cute so he hung it near the reception area – thought it'd be cute if we had clients and they rang it. Unfortunately, we didn't really have clients so-"
The bell was more insistent this time. Giles gave her another deadpan look.
"Right, so I get the bell."
Giles followed her down the stairs and nearly bowled into her when she suddenly stopped halfway.
"Oh great," she moaned.
Giles wondered what was the big deal. After all, the clients looked smartly-dressed, particularly the woman in front – quite attractive at that.
"Lilah," Fred said, her voice dripping venom.
"Well, hello to you too, Fred," the woman returned derisively.
* * *
"I'll offer you a deal. After all, we're all after the same goal. Rescue Cindy."
Fred considered this for a while, then straightened up as if steeling herself. They were seated at the lobby. Lilah has comfortably perched herself on one of the sofas, her goons staying protectively by her side.
"He has her?" Fred asked.
Lilah's cheeks became flushed, the only hint that she was embarrassed. "Yeah. Broke through our magical shields like paper mache and grabbed the girl."
"What makes you think that she's alive?" Giles interrupted.
Lilah looked at Giles curiously then smiled. "Of course, Rupert Giles. How's the Slayer?"
His gaze narrowed at her knowledge, but he pressed on: "What makes you think that she's alive?"
"We kept a sort of tracking device on her. Life indicators on full. For some reason, he's keeping her alive. Like how he's keeping Angel and that Gunn person alive."
Fred's eyes widened. "He has-"
"Yeah. Torched Percy Mason and grabbed the two. Why? You ask me, I don't know how crazy people think."
Fred wrung her hands together, imagining Gunn as a pillar of-
*Stop it Fred! Be rational, take charge!*
"What's the deal?"
"Fred," Giles warned.
"What's the deal?" Fred repeated, with more force this time.
"Alright. Here it is. We can't hurt the Elemental, only you can."
"What?" Fred didn't buy that.
Lilah rolled her eyes. "Are you guys this thick? It's amazing how long you've survived doing what you do. He doesn't burn you to a crisp, didn't you notice? He has a thing for all of you." She gave her a sly smile. "Though I think he has a thing for you most."
Fred realised what she meant, but she didn't have the time to deal with the implications that Wes was in love with her all this while.
"So, you're the only person who could get close to Wesley," Lilah said with finality.
"And do what?" Fred was afraid to know.
A satisfied smile broke through the lawyer's flawless features. The cat has gotten the canary. She clapped her hands once and the goon behind her stepped up and presented Fred with a scabbard.
Giles recognised it at once. "The Sword of Arjosa. How? It was supposed to be lost!"
Lilah shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, just a little something one of my colleagues got while on a business trip in a hell dimension a while back."
Fred took it tentatively. "This will … kill…"
"That's right, honey bun. This belonged to the Elemental of White Water, Anosa. Gotta love the name. She threw this to another dimension and froze herself to death. Elementals are so dramatic, don't you think?"
When she saw only blank faces, Lilah sighed. "Yup. This will do it. Nothing is more deadly to a green fire elemental than the white water elemental. Their Achilles Heel."
"Why are you doing this?" Giles said, his voice heavy with scepticism.
"Because I want Cindy. And you can get Cindy for me."
"Why is she so important?" Giles prodded.
"That's for us to know, and for you to never find out," Lilah's voice became hard.
"Why would you let us rescue her? It's not as if we're going to hand her to you on a silver platter," Fred said, her voice equally hard.
"Oh, that's where you're wrong. We'll be there waiting to snatch her from you, just you wait." she winked.
Fred gripped the sword in her hands, trembling with indecision. Then she looked up, determined.
"Where are they?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Lilah gave her a sweet smile.
"Fred-"
"Giles," Fred said as gently and firmly as she could. "I have to. You have to stay here."
Giles opened his mouth to protest.
"If anything happens to me, at least you'll be around to do something," she whispered.
"Wow," Lilah said after a moment of silence, smirking. "What a hero."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
He was tied up. Angel fought against his chains, puzzled that they wouldn't break. Usually they do – if he used enough strength. Must be made by some kind of magical alloy.
He couldn't see Gunn. He must be tied up somewhere else.
"Hello Angel."
He snapped up, and his eyes narrowed in anger when Wesley stepped into view. He looked so deceptively normal – dressed as he was in a crisp black jacket and white shirt and pants. His blue eyes were clear, his hair neatly combed – no one would've suspected that his screws were loose. Perhaps, until he said:
"Look at you. All tied up."
"As if you didn't have anything to do with it," he growled.
Wesley shook his head. "No I didn't."
"So what, you've come to rescue me?" he sneered.
"How perceptive," Wesley said sardonically.
"I don't believe you. You killed Mason, and now … hell, now I have no idea what your twisted mind wants with me. Or Gunn."
Wesley didn't answer him, merely stared at him stoically.
"You're involved in something much bigger than you know," Wesley said after a while. "And they played you like a puppet on a string. Can't you see that?"
"Let Gunn go," Angel said, ignoring Wesley's rants.
Something flickered in Wesley's eyes – hurt?
"No. I guess you can't *see* that. You're seeing something else, aren't you, Angel?" A pause, then, "They have him tied in another room. Upstairs. I wonder why."
"Who's 'they'?"
"I didn't do this to you," Wesley said again, an edge to his voice.
"And I'm supposed to trust you?" he shot back.
"If you have trusted me, this wouldn't have happened."
Angel narrowed his eyes again. "At what point was I supposed to trust you?"
Wesley walked up to him slowly, his eyes unreadable. "We were friends."
"And that's supposed to be enough?"
"I thought it was."
"Yeah, I thought so too. Until you stole my son."
Pain flashed across the man's features. "I think about that everyday. Until my heart bled. Until I didn't what to do. Until I realised that there was only one thing to do. Be what I am."
Angel struggled from his restraints, but to no avail. "Oh yeah, and what is that? A child-killing monster."
Wesley's glowing green eyes seem to sparkle. He gave Angel a madness-tinged smile.
"An elemental. A Fire elemental. What I've always been. My father thought he could take it away from me, shut it out of me with a spell. But the Elemental had a mission to complete, and it will burn itself out of me one day anyway. So I decided to help it."
Angel glared at him. "To do what? Destroy the world?"
Wesley frowned. "You really think that?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Angel growled out his words. "You killed innocent people. That family in-"
"I did not kill them." Wesley muttered. "Neither did I call Professor Mason. I may be insane, but I have a goal. And killing innocent people isn't in the agenda."
Angel didn't buy it. "You killed a cop, a young woman and a man – no connection to each other. Just random people-"
"Not as random as you think, Angel," Wesley sounded annoyed. "Obviously, your research skills are as simplistic as ever. And I don't have to justify myself to anyone."
"Listen to you. Going on about how *innocent* you are. You think I buy this hero act? You think it'll erase what you've done?!" Angel was trembling with fury, wishing he could kill the man he once called friend. However, the moment the thought left his mind, he realised how hypocritical it sounded. Those words he had just uttered could've burst out from Giles, Buffy and other countless people he had tortured and mutilated.
"No. It wouldn't," Wesley murmured.
Wesley looked embarrassed … or guilty, he couldn't tell. But the sight of it held no pleasure for him, only disgust – for himself. He felt it then – a softening, a pang of guilt at causing Wesley to feel pain.
Has it come this far? That I would rejoice when a friend is in pain?
*You let unforgiveness take root? You let Anger control you? Then I don't know if you're Angel or Angelus.*
He tried to shake Buffy's words away, but found himself thinking about it. Yes… she was right. He had no right to behave this way. It stung to admit it, but she was right. And when his eyes met Wesley's, he only saw the love of Connor stolen from him. By an act …
… of desperation by a friend who wanted to save the one person he loved more than Buffy.
Wesley suddenly shrugged, pacing from left to right. His eyes began to lose focus, and his hands became restless. It told Angel that the madness that plagued him was back again.
"But I'm powerful. You know how much? I could level whole cities. Destroy evil with a thought. Rip through dimensions …" he trailed off, suddenly biting his nails.
*Look at him. Not through hate-filled eyes. But really look at him* Buffy's voice urged.
And it hit him like a four-tonne truck. And he felt horror … horror that all this destruction waged by Wesley … was really for him.
"You …" his voice failed for a while, but he managed to gain some measure of control. "You … you wanted to get to Quor-toth."
Wesley smiled, a smile of a lunatic. He was still nibbling his fingers as if it could help him focus somehow.
"It was the only way. I thought … well, what did I think? I can't really remember, but I thought I could somehow do that? You know, rip through time and dimensions to heroicly rescue Connor from the pit of hell. Then …" he shrugged, and his eyes went sideways as if distracted by something. "… then I couldn't." His voice was bitter. "The Powers that Be wouldn't let me. The Elemental wouldn't let me. You see, I had other important things to do." His hands fluttered before him, and Angel saw that madness had finally taken complete hold of his friend.
His friend.
*Angel. You're full of shit.* Buffy muttered.
It was true then. He had caused this. His unforgiveness, his anger, had driven Wes to do this – again, in another misguided attempt to help. He had truly driven his friend mad.
Like Drusilla.
*I don't know if you're Angel or Angelus.*
And it was then that he remembered Cordelia's words. If you don't forgive him … something bad will happen. Isn't that what she had said?
Was it too late?
"Wes," he began.
"So Connor grew up in Quor-toth, and it was all for nothing," Wes continued, ignoring Angel. Bitterness tinged his words. "I was so angry at first. That I failed again. That I-I become this *thing* for nothing! I could feel myself slipping away, like some kind of sand on … on …" Wes' thoughts wandered, his eyes glazing over.
"Wes. Listen to me."
Glowing green eyes shifted to him.
What the hell could he say to him? What words could he say to make him feel better? To undone all the stupid things he'd said?
"You have to stop this. Only you can."
Wes looked surprised. Then it became astonishment. Then he laughed, a high-pitched laugh of the mad.
"The vampire with a soul thinks it could stop us!"
"If anyone can stop this. You can."
Wes blinked, then said, "Why are you being so nice to me?"
It was such a child-like question that Angel didn't know how to answer at first.
"I realised some things," he said, knowing how lame it sounded.
Wesley's eyes searched furtively across the room as if it could give him an answer to Angel's behaviour. Then his eyes met his again.
"I can't let them escape."
"Who?"
"The Aman-yar. That's why I'm here. Sorry. That's why we're here. They will reach their zenith tomorrow. And … and they will use the Mother to fulfil their desires. Can't let that happen," he whispered, looking at his restless hands.
"Wes-"
"You're calling me Wes. That's nice. For a while I thought you forgot my name. So you see… I was a fool. A pawn of prophecy once more. I thought I could use the Elemental. But I'm letting it use me instead." He shrugged. "I guess an old dog cannot learn new tricks."
"Wesley, let me help you."
"Angel," he whispered, his voice suddenly whispery and fearful. It made Angel's heart clench at the sound of it. And he wanted to make Wes feel better – something he didn't think he'd desire again. But before he could say anything, Wesley looked at Angel with pleading eyes. They were tears in them, Angel realised.
"I think something bad is going to happen to me. And I can't stop it," he whispered, his voice so fearful, so soft that his vampire hearing could barely pick it up. Wesley then bent forward and whispered in his ear. "If that happens. You have to stop them. Promise me." Wes reached behind him and touched his chains.
Then with a swiftness that made Angel gasp out loud, the chains that had trapped him disappeared in a flash of heat. He felt his wrists for burns, but there were none.
"You can stop this," Angel said again, desperately. "You can make the Elemental go away."
Wes's green eyes glowed. He shook his head angrily. "You *cannot* stop me. You will only die trying!" he growled, his voice rising.
Angel grabbed Wes by the shoulders, shaking him. "You can!"
"And I say to you…" the ex-watcher's voice deepened into an unnatural growl. "You cannot stop us." The green in Wesley's eyes shone brighter, and with a start, Angel realised that it was not Wesley talking. It was the Elemental.
"Let him go," he hissed, his hands tightening his grip on Wesley's shoulders.
The Elemental did not answer. It stared at him balefully, the green in Wesley's eyes growing brighter and brighter.
Steam rose from Angel's hands as they began to burn. He tried to hold on to Wesely and met his eyes, only to see a flicker of fear in the glowing depths which quickly disappeared. Crying out in pain, Angel let go.
And then he heard someone screaming and Wesley lurched forward as if he was pushed from behind. He doubled over in surprise, and when he looked up, the glowing green presence was gone from Wesley's eyes. He looked relieved.
"I'm me again," Wesley said in surprise, a small trembling smile on his face.
Angel smiled and reached out for him. "I knew you could-"
The relief on Wesley's face turned into a grimace of pain. He slowly sank down, and would have fallen if Angel had not grabbed him.
"Wesley?"
That was when he smelled it. Blood. He looked down. Horrified, he realised that a sharp point of a sword protruded from Wesley's side.
Wesley's pained expression seems to say, "I told you so". Then he gave the vampire a shadow of a wry grin before it collapsed in pain.
He looked up and saw who did it, and he couldn't understand it at first.
It was Fred, standing there confused but determined. Horror was on her face, but she looked justified, as if she realised she had to do it for the right reasons.
Only this wasn't the right reason.
*Something bad is going to happen to me. And I can't stop it,* Wesley had whispered.
Wesley became limp in his grasp and Angel realised that he had lost consciousness. His body slumped forward, and Angel caught it, desperately searching for a pulse. It was there – thready but weak. Smoke rose from his wound and Angel heard a hissing sound. Like the sound of acid burning … flesh.
Horrified, he glanced down and saw rivulets of blood spreading upwards – not downwards like it should. He ripped Wesley's shirt open and gasped when he saw tendrils of blood snaking quickly towards his heart. The blood leaked from beneath his skin, staining his chest. Something in the sword was entering his veins – and with horror he realised that it had to be the Element of Water, there to work its deadly magic on Wesley.
"Pull it out," he told Fred, his eyes still on the carnage.
Fred looked at him in confusion and was about to protest but Angel yelled, "Damn it, pull it out!"
"I'll do it," Gunn said from somewhere. "I don't know why you're-"
"Shut up. It was all a scam," he didn't want to elaborate because Wesley was waking up, making small whimpering sounds of pain. Damn it. It was the wrong time to do so. If Wesley wasn't in such a bad shape already, he would've tried to knock him out.
Gunn did not give any warning when he pulled the sword out. It caught Wesley by surprise, and he cried out in pain, clutching Angel's coat with bloodied fingers. He stared at Angel, his blue eyes wide with hurt and surprise, then they rolled back in his head and he went limp again.
"Wes? Wes?" he called, knowing he would not get an answer. A gush of blood was dripping on Angel's pants, where Wesley's back rested. He felt for his pulse again, and was relieved to find it there – even if it was weaker than before. He glanced down and saw that the bloody trail had slowed down its deadly track to Wesley's heart. But more ruptured veins were appearing on his skin.
"What the hell is going on?" Gunn asked, his voice low because he realised that something bad had just happened – even though this was what they were working towards all this while.
To kill Wes.
"I'll tell you why. In fact, I really want to," came a smooth, saccharine-sweet voice.
Lilah Morgan stepped into view and made sure they saw the retinue behind her. Four robed demons and a squad of Wolfram & Hart goons, there to ensure that nothing untoward would happen to Lady M.
"Look at all of you. It's amazing. Little chess pieces all lined up for the play. And congratulations Angel. Oh wait, Fred," she shifted her gaze to Fred, whose confusion was starting to give way to horror.
"That's right. It's Fred isn't it? Who pulled the killing blow? And the Bishop takes the King!" she laughed, clapping her hands.
"You know," she said when met with stony silence, "I didn't think it would work at first. I mean, psychological manipulation isn't my forte. I don't excel in it, but my client does. So she set up the plan; and because you're so damn predictable-" Lilah sounded disappointed, "-and so damn petty, you fell for it, hook, line and sinker." Her gaze shifted to Wesley and something flickered in her eyes. Regret? Can't be.
She returned her gaze to all of them. "All it took was your anger and resentment towards Wesley, some burnt corpses – thanks to the Four Musketeers behind me – and a little girl. Frankly, I'm disappointed." And she sounded like it. There was no gloating behind her voice at all. As if she expected more and was let down.
"We know we couldn't kill the Elemental. One look and he'd fry us to a crisp. But his friends?"
Fred looked away, tears running down her cheeks. She was beginning to tremble.
"His friends …that's another story. He'd do anything for them. He won't lay a finger on them. He'd even drive himself mad for them. Wes is such a …"
Angel dared her with a look to say what she wanted to say.
"…loyalist," she smiled, her smile surprisingly gentle. "It's something we at Wolfram & Hart appreciate, so I'm not putting him down here," she said seriously. "But hey, it's nothing personal. Business is business."
"Who is your client?" Angel said, his voice taut.
"Ah. The mastermind. It's up to her if she wants to show herself to you."
"I do."
The voice. Wesley was right. Damn you Angel. He was right all along.
Cindy came towards them, gently guided by a Wolfram & Hart suit. She was dressed in a fine, pink silk frock, with white lace ribbons tying her blonde hair in place. The picture of innocence.
"I am glad you were who you were," Cindy said giving him an angelic smile. "Or else, I wouldn't have accomplished what I have. And the Aman-yar thanks you for your cooperation." She gave him a curtsy, her blue eyes glinting with the evil he saw too late.
"I will stop you," he hissed.
"I'm sure you will," Cindy said in agreement. "But can you stop me when you turn to ashes?"
They heard the four demons chanting. Almost immediately, steam began to rise from the floor. Fred gasped looking around desperately. Gunn reached out and held her close.
"I'm sorry it'll have to end this way," Lilah said. "We were good ... sparring partners."
"Lilah?" Cindy asked, tugging on her skirt.
The lawyer bent down and gave the girl an indulgent smile.
"I think I want a Baskin Robbins sundae. It's getting hot," she said petulantly.
"Sure. Bye guys," Lilah gave them a smile, took Cindy by the hand and walked away from them. Before they exited the warehouse, Cindy gave them a wave.
Flames erupted around them, obscuring Cindy's face. Soon, it formed a circular prison of flames so high and thick that it was impossible for them to escape. The heavy smoke reduced Fred and Gunn to coughing wrecks, writhing on the floor. The chanting stopped, and they could see through the flicker of flames, the four robbed figures gliding away.
"Angel!" Fred called out, then coughed violently.
Angel could only hold on to Wesley's bloodied figure protectively. Too little, too late.
The flames were too high, too much for him to run through. He would turn into ashes before he could cross over. And then there was Fred and Gunn, who'd probably burn to death first - and Wesley, who would not even last a second out there.
"We're trapped," he whispered.
"Not really," came a voice.
Soft, yellow light encircled them. Angel watched in wonder as the fire around them disappeared, to be replaced by the white glow. It was familiar, the glow, he'd seen it before.
Suddenly, they were not in the warehouse anymore. They were outside on the street, facing the burning building. Angel stared stupidly at the spectacle until someone came into his view. He heard Gunn exclaim something and Fred gasping. He could only smile.
"Cordelia."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
For the first time, he was at peace. All the grief, pain, confusion, guilt … all gone. He felt as if he was floating in a weightless void, drifting towards an uncertain destination. No worries to be guilty about, no cause to follow or mission to fulfil. Everything was simple again, like it was before … when he was a child of four, before his father sent a warlock to bind him.
They wanted him to see the message.
It was written on the table, out of Mason's ashes. Beside the note were two snap shots.
One was a photo of Angel, the other, Gunn. And they were tied up with their hands above their heads with chains.
He could feel the one called Cindy – but she was well-protected, beneath some kind of shields. What game were they playing?
And he realised that Wolfram & Hart knew him well. And that he will go to Angel even when he knew that it could put him in danger. He was that predictable.
But now, that didn't matter. Not anymore. The Element had retreated, shrinking away from the Elemental of Water that invaded his body.
When he felt the sword pierce his body, he strangely felt relieved. And gladness that it was all over. That the path he had set himself on would be over.
Pain flared suddenly from nowhere, and he found himself fighting valiantly to escape its clutches. Unfortunately, pain was winning.
Then came cold … and heat, and pain so severe that it robbed him of breath.
With a gasp, his eyes shot open. His body was trembling – from cold? But he felt hot … He found himself looking at something. A hand? Voices floated around him, but he found it hard to concentrate.
Where am I? He wanted to ask. Am in hell already?
The dark place shifted suddenly, and Wesley found himself gasping from the pain. The pain made him tremble all over, and he suspected that he was deep in shock already.
I don't want to die. Not when everything is unresolved. Not when evil is at my door.
Then the dark place shifted a little, and he saw eyes staring down at him. He made out a face, and the face was trying to speak to him. Light suddenly flickered around him and his half-opened eyes sagged close. The voice spoke to him again, but the effort to understand was too difficult.
But he had to say something to the face. The light was bothering him – it flickered in and out and he could see it from beneath his eyelids. Close the door so that he could sleep in peace, he thought.
"It's going to be okay," she said, brushing the hair that partially covered his eyes. "Everything's going to be alright."
The voice was familiar and it forced him to open his eyes to look at the face again. She smiled, pleased that he was awake.
"Hi, Wesley. Just hang on, okay?"
Then he smiled because he remembered her name.
"Cordelia," he said, surprised.
Cordelia smiled in return, a nervous worried smile that reminded him of a time when she did the same before – when he was shot.
"I thought you were lost," he whispered.
Tendrils of light surrounded her, enveloping her in an ethereal light that made her look angelic. That's right, she was gone for a while … nobody knew why. Nobody knew where. But now she's back, speaking to him … there was a time, after Connor, where he thought she'd preferred not to have known him at all. Knowing that he was wrong – or that she had changed her mind – eased the hurt in him somewhat.
"The light hurts," he muttered when a sudden flash of light nearly blinded him.
The light around Cordelia faded and she whispered, "Sorry."
Somehow her hand found itself in his, and he squeezed it. "I'm not."
And he closed his eyes, letting darkness take him.
* * *
"We have to get him to the hospital," Cordelia said needlessly as she moved away from Wesley. For a moment, she stared at her bloody hands distractedly and then wiped her hands on her white dress dismissively.
When she found everyone staring at her, she snapped, "Why the hell are you looking at me for? Help him!"
"Gunn," Angel said shortly and moved to Wesley's side. The vampire's face went slack when he saw Wesley pale, bloodied and unmoving. When Gunn moved beside him to help, he shook his head and said, "I'll do it."
As gently as he could, he lifted Wesley into his arms. Wesley's body was limp in his arms; he held him close – what little good it could do.
"I thought I warned you," Cordelia said, her voice low and quiet as she caught up and walked beside him.
Angel didn't know what to say except to walk blindly towards a destination he didn't know.
She shook her head, as if in response to his silence. "I don't blame you. I'm in no position to judge anyone. I'm not exactly spotless myself," she muttered.
"Where were you?" Angel whispered.
"In the Higher Realms. Watching. Just watching. That's all I could freaking do," her voice was heavy with distaste. "Life as a higher being isn't what it's made out to be. So I bailed out. On the condition that I lose all my powers – and my memory of the higher realms, and that's fine by me. See … can't even remember how I got you out of the burning whatever already," she muttered.
"Where are we going?" Gunn asked when he caught up with them.
"There's a van, not far from here. We'll take it," she said, not explaining how she knew.
Gunn fell back, waiting for Fred. When she did not follow, Gunn turned back only to see her staring on the ground, where the bloody sword was.
"Fred."
"I killed him," she whispered.
"Fred," he took her hand and tugged it. "Come on, we have to go."
She shook her head furiously, tears trickling down her cheeks. "I killed him. I killed him!"
He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders, and gave Fred a shake. "He's alive. There's still a chance, but we have to go. Now."
Than seemed to snap her out of her daze. She nodded jerkily and took his hand. And together they ran into the darkness.
* * *
He was trembling. Whether from blood loss or pain, Wesley was trembling hard in his arms. Angel was trying desperately to inject some warmth into Wesley's broken body the best he could - first covering Wesley with his coat, then when that didn't work - Fred's.
"Please hurry," Fred was whispering beside him. She was staring ahead at the back of Gunn's head, but not really looking at it. Her hands were in tight, still-bloodied fists, the knuckles white from strain. Her face had taken on a vacant, emotionless expression which was only interrupted each time Wesley let out an involuntary gasp of pain.
"We're almost there!" Gunn said in what must've been the tenth time. Angel only held Wesley tighter, meeting Cordelia's desperate eyes as she peered from the front seat. She and Gunn had gone through this desperate time once, when Wesley was shot by zombie cops. But this time it was much, much worse. Not only could they not stop his bleeding, the magicked sword, according to Fred, had held the Element of White Water, the antithesis of the Element of Green Fire, which was now causing havoc in the former Watcher's body. It was bursting blood vessels systematically in each organ. Sometimes, Angel could see a vein appear dark on Wesley's pale skin and then suddenly lose its shape. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, barely lucid.
"You didn't leave me," came the soft, whispery voice.
Surprised, Angel looked down at Wesley's pale face. Sweat beaded Wesley's forehead despite the chilly night. A dark vein ran from his forehead down to his neck. It looked ready to burst. His blue eyes were dilated to the point that his pupils were invisible.
"No, I didn't," he agreed, holding him close and ignoring the intoxicating smell of Wesley's blood. He could feel it seeping into his shirt, where Wesley's back rested.
Wesley blinked languorously and whispered, "I'm glad."
Angel just kept silent.
"Connor is a good boy, isn't he?" Wesley said after pausing a while to catch his breath.
He nodded, "Yeah," but couldn't stop the catch from forming in his voice - especially after his acute hearing began to register Wesley's too-fast heartbeats and wheezing breaths. He knew the sound, having heard the same noises when he drained his victims dry. Wesley was too near that end.
"Just hang on, okay?" he pleaded. AT least, until he made everything he'd done wrong right again.
Wesley smiled, as if pleased to hear what he was saying. His glazed eyes met Angel's then he said softly, "Is it behind us?"
Angel didn't have to guess what "it" was. All that anguish, bitterness and pain between them. The sting of betrayal on both sides ...
"It's behind us," he answered firmly.
The van jerked to a stop, causing Wesley to weakly cry out in pain.
Angel was about to yell at Gunn when he was beat to it by the man.
"We're here!" Gunn leapt out from his side and quickly flung the van doors open. Angel did not have to be told what to do. He lifted Wesley in his arms and got down, trying to ignore Wesley's moans as the sharp movements jostled the man, only thinking of the Emergency room that lay ahead.
"We've got someone hurt here!" Gunn yelled, rushing in. This startled the sprinkle of patients waiting in the corridor - cuts and bruises
mostly, though a girl held an arm as if it was broken. The shocked nurse sprang to action when she saw Angel carrying Wesley. Drops of blood followed his path and some patients stared morbidly at it.
Quickly, Wesley was placed on a gurney and wheeled to the emergency room.
"Wesley? Wesley?" Cordelia was calling. Angel shook his head, seeing that Wesley didn't really hear them. He was already in deep shock, staring at the lights above them as if hypnotised. Blood was quickly staining the white cloth of the gurney beneath him. So much blood. Why isn't his bleeding stopping?
"He's going to be alright," he said, needing desperately to believe it.
Cordelia only nodded jerkily.
"Sir? Ma'am. This is as far as you go," the nurse said. Cordelia stayed obediently behind, but Angel pushed ahead.
"Hey! Wait!" the nurse called when Angel went ahead with the gurney.
* * *
"What is he doing here?" the doctor demanded when Angel appeared by Wesley's side.
Angel merely gave the doctor a sharp look that demanded no refusal.
Resigned, but still annoyed, the doctor barked: "Please, at least stand aside so we can do our work."
A nurse quickly placed an oxygen mask over Wesley while another nurse read his vitals.
"Blood pressure 60 on 40. Heart beat 160 and climbing."
Slowly, Wesley turned, his half-closed eyes meeting his.
Angel could only watch numbly as the flurry of activity around Wesley increased.
"Doctor, his blood pressure is dropping."
A memory came – from the few fateful days before he lost his baby to Quortoth.
**"Angel, - you're the reason we've all come together. It's your mission which animates us," Wesley had said, looking tired yet confident of his words. "We each contribute, it's true, but you - you're unique." **
The Doctor looked up from his ministrations, his expression grave. A red splotch of blood on his white coat. "He's lost too much blood. Type him. Wait…sir? Sir?"
Angel snapped out of his reverie. "What?"
"Do you know his blood type?"
"I don't know," he answered, his tongue heavy. He had made a point trying not to know what blood type his employees had.
"Type him," the doctor told a nurse quickly.
Then he was back in another hospital room, and he was looking down at Wesley once more. But he was furious, so furious. Wes had an IV in the back of his left hand and a bandage around his throat. His eyes were closed until he came towards him. The look in his eyes – guilty and numb at the same time – was not enough to cull the anger from him. All he could think of was Connor. The only son he would have –
And like a slow nightmare, he heard himself telling Wes that he understood why he did it – take Connor that is.
**"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?"**
"Doctor, his heart rate has gone up to 180-"
**"You son of a bitch, you're gonna pay for what you did! You took my son! You son of a bitch! You bastard!"**
"Flatlining-"
Wesley was still staring at him, but his eyes had glazed over.
**"You think I'd forgive you?! "**
"Ready? Clear!"
Wesley's body jerked.
**"No! Never! You're gonna die! You hear me?"**
"Clear!"
**"You're gonna pay!"**
"Clear!"
* * *
"Time of death?"
"5.20am," the nurse answered, looking at Angel sadly.
He looked peaceful, despite the wide bloody pool beneath him and his deathly pallor. His eyes were slightly opened, his mouth in a thin, unsmiling line – but composed and calm, as if he was satisfied at something. A smudge of blood on his cheek was the only colour on his white skin.
"Umm. Doctor?" the nurse called, giving Angel a sideways glance.
The Doctor saw Angel, who was still staring numbly at Wesley's body.
"Sir?" The doctor said softly, his voice low with sympathy. "I'm sorry. There was … he lost too much blood."
Angel didn't move.
"We couldn't stop his bleeding. The weapon must have hit an …."
The doctor returned his gaze to the still body and sighed. Despite seeing this once too often, he still didn't know how to deal with this. How could you comfort the friends and loved ones of people who died so brutally?
He took hold of a sheet and started covering the body, but just as he was about to cover the man's face, his friend stopped him with a firm grasp to his hand.
Surprised at the iciness of the grip, the doctor jerked his hand away. Composing himself, his mind quickly formulated a reason for the iciness: Shock. The man's in shock, the doctor thought sadly. Naturally. Sighing, the doctor decided to leave Angel alone. With the body.
Angel removed the sheet that partially covered Wesley's face. The finality that it symbolised … hurt.
"I didn't mean what I said."
The blue eyes stared glassily ahead.
"I don't hate you. That night in the alley after you rescued me. I was grateful. And happy at seeing you again. But I was just being a jerk you know?"
Slowly, he closed Wesley's eyes.
Now, he looked as if he was sleeping.
Angel's face scrunched up in grief.
Too late. Always too late.
With a roar, he ran his hand through the wall above Wesley's body.
Angel came awake with a jerk when he felt a sharp sting on his chin.
"Relax," came a voice.
"Buffy?" he croaked, opening his eyes to the glare of the hall lights. Buffy was dabbing a piece of cloth to a cut on his chin, her delicate features pinched into worry.
"He dented you a little," Buffy murmured as she placed the bloodied cloth in the basin on a side table next to the sofa. "How are you doin'?"
Angel rubbed his chin. "Not bad," he muttered.
Buffy gave him a small nod as she dabbed his cut further. "A son, huh?"
He wasn't sure what to say to that. He merely nodded. Buffy merely gave him a humourless smile.
"I leave you for a few years …" she murmured with a small smile.
"Buffy," he murmured. But he didn't know what to say. She just shrugged.
"People change," she simply said.
He met her eyes and saw something in there. Something which explained the scent of Spike on her. It was something he didn't even want to think about with Wesley running amok back then. Now that that was over, he still didn't want to know. Really.
"Wesley?" he asked, turning away from her ministrations. That was it, case closed.
Buffy straightened up at his tone. A look of hurt passed her features, but it was gone quickly. "Gone."
"I have to find him," Angel got up, but was sidetracked by a wave of dizziness. It didn't stop him long. He walked unsteadily towards the door.
"Wait … Angel!" when that didn't stop him, Buffy ran to him and grabbed his hand. Surprised … and strangely touched, he found himself squeezing her hand. He met her blue eyes and saw the pleading look in them. It, however, did not prepare him for her words.
"I think … I think there's something going on here," she said.
Angel stared at her as if she just announced that she was the Virgin Mary. "Yeah, I would think so," he said levelly.
"No," she shook her head, her eyes serious. "It got me thinking … the things Wesley could do … he could've killed us any time, Angel, but he didn't. I mean, he helped me fend off the Luloth demons and he said some things-"
Angel could see the logic of her words, but that didn't mean he liked where it was going. "He tried to kill a child!" he snapped.
Buffy blinked, then placed her hands up in the air as if in agreement. "I know. But he got me thinking. He was right. Evil doesn't wear a convenient face."
"You think the girl is evil?" Angel said in disbelief.
"No, I mean …" she sighed. "I don't think we're seeing the whole picture here. And unless we do, we're going to lose the battle," she said gravely. "I've gone through enough apocalypses to know."
Angel frowned at that. It annoyed him, her claim of expertise – as if his years waging and going through apocalypses didn't count. "So have I. More than you can imagine. And you know what I learnt?"
Buffy opened her mouth to say something, but Angel went on before she could say anything.
"Wasting time is deadly. And I'm wasting enough already."
A flicker of hurt flashed on her face again. Angel winced at that and wanted to apologise, but everything is just a mess. There was just too damn much on his mind now. Cordelia. Connor. Wesley. Now this missing girl. He turned to leave.
"You know, you're full of shit."
Angel stopped in his tracks, but did not turn around.
"That's right," Buffy said, walking a few steps towards him. "Going on this holy crusade being angry at the man who wronged you. Being so righteous and all."
This time, he turned, growing fury etched on his face.
"You can be angry with me. That's fine. You can be angry with Wesley. That's fine too. But being righteous and unforgiving? That's pure BS. Because, what gives you the right?"
Angel clenched his fists, looking away.
"Jenny Calendar. Torturing my friends. Turning Drusilla-"
"Stop."
"-taking the only person Giles loved. Killing countless people. Unleashing hell on Earth-"
"I said, shut up." His voice did not rise, but it had an edge to it. As if it she didn't stop soon, he would do something. That realisation made him freeze in horror. What had he become?
"You let anger control you? You let unforgiveness take root? Then I don't know if you're Angel or Angelus."
"Don't be-"
"What? I'm no saint. I still haven't forgiven that shop assistant in LA for giving me a size 6 instead of a 3, but hey, I'm trying. You? You're determined not to."
"You don't understand-"
"I don't need to. The only way you can get over this – is to look at Wesley. Really look at him. Not through some hate-filled eyes."
Angel clenched his jaw as if he wanted to stop himself from saying something. Then he whirled around, barged through the door, thinking that perhaps if he walked fast enough, he could escape her words.
Buffy was tempted to stop him, but she had a big feeling that this was not her battle anymore. She wondered whether she had the right to say those things just now, but she felt such bitterness and anger coming from Angel that she knew she had to say something to shake him from this self-imposed emotional myopia. She probably didn't have the right. It could drive anyone bitter: being buried in the sea for the summer, losing his son and - she knew he'd rather die (well, shrivel to dust) than admit this – losing a best friend.
"Good luck," she whispered at the retreating back.
* * *
He didn't arrive at Hyperion fast enough, because when he burst through its gilded doors, he saw Fred and Gunn's worried faces. They directed their gaze to Willow's slumped figure on one of the sofas. She gave him a bleary gaze and didn't appear to have any strength to even give him a trademark sheepish smile.
"It was Wolfram & Hart," Fred murmured, as if that explained everything.
"The bitch on heels had some demon folks suck Willow's energy. She nearly died," Gunn almost growled the words out. "But somehow she managed to teleport here. I think she would've died otherwise."
"Wes?"
"No sign. But, er, good news. The professor said he needs to see us. I think he found a weapon," Fred gave him a shaky smile.
Angel walked to the weapon's closet, got a sword – what good will it do against an Elemental, honestly – and tossed an axe to Gunn.
"Fred?"
"I'll stay," she said immediately, understanding what needed to be done.
"At least until she's recovered."
Fred nodded.
Gunn quickly stepped to her and gave her a kiss. "We'll be back for supper."
Fred gave him a tight smile in return. "I'll make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."
With that, her boys left to fight the bad guy.
She returned her attention to Willow.
At least, she thinks she believed she knew who the bad guy was.
* * * *
Gunn and Angel froze, staring at what was once Percy Mason. The professor's face was one of shock, his empty eye-sockets staring at his killer. At the killer that bore a familiar face, and who incinerated him without a second thought.
"Damn. I wish I could teleport too," Gunn said weakly.
The shop was left mostly unscathed. Somehow Wesley only burnt Mason, leaving his body a mountain of human-shaped ash.
Tentatively, Angel reached towards the book that Mason's ashy hand rested on. Reluctantly, he pulled the book from the corpse's grasp, knowing what would happen.
With a quiet sigh, Mason became a cloud of dust. Gunn, who had the inconvenient habit of breathing, began to gag and cough violently.
"Sorry," Angel muttered, looking at the page.
The cloud of dust settled, Angel muttered: "And she still gives Wesley the benefit of doubt."
"Who?" Gunn asked hoarsely.
"Never mind," Angel was too busy studying the texts before him to know.
"Is there a weapon in there somewhere?"
Angel nodded, opening to the page Mason bookmarked before ... "The sword of Arjosa. Great. We have to find it."
He tossed the silver foil which served as the bookmark away.
"Where is it? Can't be that hard."
"It's in a hell dimension that has a name I can't even pronounce."
"Great. Things are looking up already." Frustrated, Gunn kicked a stack of books which went sprawling to the floor, kicking up another cloud of ash. Gunn coughed some more.
Suddenly, Angel looked up. "What's that?"
"Professor got into my lungs," Gunn complained.
"No, it's something-"
He didn't get to finish what he wanted to say.
* * *
"The Bokan symbol. Aurelian nighthawk. Portal … time … time…"
"Got anything?" Buffy slid next to him on the neighbouring chair, handing him a cup of coffee. She took a sneak look at Wesley's journals and came up blank – it was a bunch of squiggles and pictures. If Giles had a hard time trying to read Wesley's ramblings, she wouldn't even try.
"He seems obsessed with time. And dimensions. Thank you, Buffy," he took a sip of the coffee.
"Ah wait. I think I got something. It's in ancient Torellian-"
Buffy gave him a blank look.
"Another extinct demon language."
"Right. Aren't they always," she nodded, as if it meant something. She was 'escorting' Giles back to LA, and she reckoned that because he was so excited and anxious and everything, he could get himself into a serious accident if she didn't drive him. But in the end, after much arguing, he agreed that she could come along – in another car – and return to Sunnydale halfway.
"You're needed in Sunnydale, Buffy. And I don't want to distract you."
Distract her? Can't he see help when it's yelling at his face?
"What does it say?" she asked after a while, poking her slimy hamburger.
"Bokan of the …" Giles frowned in concentration. "…bayonet?"
Buffy frowned too. That was a mighty inventive name.
"No. Bay'ne. As in bai-nai."
"Weird. So who is he?"
"Um. It is sexless. The guardian of time. A powerful deity. It doesn't make sense … apparently Wesley tried to break through time and failed. The Bay'ne was too powerful for him." Again, another frown. "He fought the Bay'ne?" he sounded flabbergasted.
"And … that's a bad thing?"
"No. I mean … he survived. He shouldn't have. It shows me how powerful he is. If he had defeated the Bay'ne, I have no idea what would happen to the fabric of time."
Giles read some more and ran a finger down the indecipherable – at least to her – text and shook his head. "Why would he want to break through time? What could he possibly want to do?"
"Why do people want to time travel? Change things, of course."
Giles frowned. "He did mention Quor-toth in his ramblings."
Buffy could see that Giles was putting two and two together in his head. As far as she was concerned, the jigsaw puzzles is still scattered in her head.
After a little more reading, flipping through the pages at random, Giles came up, his expression grave. "This isn't right at all. There are just too many pieces … I can't make head or tails out of anything. Willow said he killed three people – totally unrelated to each other. Why did he kill them? And what has time travel and Quor-toth got to do with any of this?" he slammed the journal shut and frowned heavily, a hand on his forehead as if easing an ache there.
"Giles. What if he doesn't have a reason? What if these are the actions of a madman?"
Giles shook his head. "It doesn't seem so. At least my hunch says otherwise."
"Yeah," she looked down at her uneaten hamburger. "My hunch says so too. But the facts …"
"…says otherwise," he continued for her, staring at his coffee. "I have to go Buffy. I think I'm wasting too much time already. Don't bother to follow. Remember what I told you."
With that, he left, bursting through the doors and scaring a few customers.
Buffy merely sighed and took an adventurous bite off her hamburger.
"Does everyone hate wasting time these days?" she muttered.
* * *
Giles arrived a little while after Angel did, looking extremely worried and flustered. He zoomed straight to Willow who was sleeping on the couch.
"She seems okay," Fred told Giles. "Just tired."
"I'll take her up to a … do you have an extra room?"
"All hundred of them."
She led Giles to one of the extra rooms and watched as he placed her on the bed.
"She can't perform magic. Not like this. It's too dangerous for her."
"Not to mention that she won't stay awake to do it," Fred said, only to be met with an inscrutable look from Giles. "Sorry," she said lamely.
"Where's everyone?"
"Angel and Charles went off to see the Professor. Lorne and Connor … actually, I'm not really sure what they're doing."
"Ah, I remember. I asked them to check on some things for me."
"Connor and research? Doesn't seem like a good combination."
"I asked them to search through Wesley's house for more clues. They're not back yet?"
"Not yet. No. I hope something didn't happen to them."
Giles didn't know what to say to make her feel better. Right now, he was too confused to form a straight thought.
Just then, they heard something unusual.
"Is that … a bell ringing?" Giles asked, puzzled.
Fred listened, puzzled herself, until she placed what made it.
"Oh, it's a bell that Charles bought at this street market – he thought it looked cute so he hung it near the reception area – thought it'd be cute if we had clients and they rang it. Unfortunately, we didn't really have clients so-"
The bell was more insistent this time. Giles gave her another deadpan look.
"Right, so I get the bell."
Giles followed her down the stairs and nearly bowled into her when she suddenly stopped halfway.
"Oh great," she moaned.
Giles wondered what was the big deal. After all, the clients looked smartly-dressed, particularly the woman in front – quite attractive at that.
"Lilah," Fred said, her voice dripping venom.
"Well, hello to you too, Fred," the woman returned derisively.
* * *
"I'll offer you a deal. After all, we're all after the same goal. Rescue Cindy."
Fred considered this for a while, then straightened up as if steeling herself. They were seated at the lobby. Lilah has comfortably perched herself on one of the sofas, her goons staying protectively by her side.
"He has her?" Fred asked.
Lilah's cheeks became flushed, the only hint that she was embarrassed. "Yeah. Broke through our magical shields like paper mache and grabbed the girl."
"What makes you think that she's alive?" Giles interrupted.
Lilah looked at Giles curiously then smiled. "Of course, Rupert Giles. How's the Slayer?"
His gaze narrowed at her knowledge, but he pressed on: "What makes you think that she's alive?"
"We kept a sort of tracking device on her. Life indicators on full. For some reason, he's keeping her alive. Like how he's keeping Angel and that Gunn person alive."
Fred's eyes widened. "He has-"
"Yeah. Torched Percy Mason and grabbed the two. Why? You ask me, I don't know how crazy people think."
Fred wrung her hands together, imagining Gunn as a pillar of-
*Stop it Fred! Be rational, take charge!*
"What's the deal?"
"Fred," Giles warned.
"What's the deal?" Fred repeated, with more force this time.
"Alright. Here it is. We can't hurt the Elemental, only you can."
"What?" Fred didn't buy that.
Lilah rolled her eyes. "Are you guys this thick? It's amazing how long you've survived doing what you do. He doesn't burn you to a crisp, didn't you notice? He has a thing for all of you." She gave her a sly smile. "Though I think he has a thing for you most."
Fred realised what she meant, but she didn't have the time to deal with the implications that Wes was in love with her all this while.
"So, you're the only person who could get close to Wesley," Lilah said with finality.
"And do what?" Fred was afraid to know.
A satisfied smile broke through the lawyer's flawless features. The cat has gotten the canary. She clapped her hands once and the goon behind her stepped up and presented Fred with a scabbard.
Giles recognised it at once. "The Sword of Arjosa. How? It was supposed to be lost!"
Lilah shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, just a little something one of my colleagues got while on a business trip in a hell dimension a while back."
Fred took it tentatively. "This will … kill…"
"That's right, honey bun. This belonged to the Elemental of White Water, Anosa. Gotta love the name. She threw this to another dimension and froze herself to death. Elementals are so dramatic, don't you think?"
When she saw only blank faces, Lilah sighed. "Yup. This will do it. Nothing is more deadly to a green fire elemental than the white water elemental. Their Achilles Heel."
"Why are you doing this?" Giles said, his voice heavy with scepticism.
"Because I want Cindy. And you can get Cindy for me."
"Why is she so important?" Giles prodded.
"That's for us to know, and for you to never find out," Lilah's voice became hard.
"Why would you let us rescue her? It's not as if we're going to hand her to you on a silver platter," Fred said, her voice equally hard.
"Oh, that's where you're wrong. We'll be there waiting to snatch her from you, just you wait." she winked.
Fred gripped the sword in her hands, trembling with indecision. Then she looked up, determined.
"Where are they?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Lilah gave her a sweet smile.
"Fred-"
"Giles," Fred said as gently and firmly as she could. "I have to. You have to stay here."
Giles opened his mouth to protest.
"If anything happens to me, at least you'll be around to do something," she whispered.
"Wow," Lilah said after a moment of silence, smirking. "What a hero."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
He was tied up. Angel fought against his chains, puzzled that they wouldn't break. Usually they do – if he used enough strength. Must be made by some kind of magical alloy.
He couldn't see Gunn. He must be tied up somewhere else.
"Hello Angel."
He snapped up, and his eyes narrowed in anger when Wesley stepped into view. He looked so deceptively normal – dressed as he was in a crisp black jacket and white shirt and pants. His blue eyes were clear, his hair neatly combed – no one would've suspected that his screws were loose. Perhaps, until he said:
"Look at you. All tied up."
"As if you didn't have anything to do with it," he growled.
Wesley shook his head. "No I didn't."
"So what, you've come to rescue me?" he sneered.
"How perceptive," Wesley said sardonically.
"I don't believe you. You killed Mason, and now … hell, now I have no idea what your twisted mind wants with me. Or Gunn."
Wesley didn't answer him, merely stared at him stoically.
"You're involved in something much bigger than you know," Wesley said after a while. "And they played you like a puppet on a string. Can't you see that?"
"Let Gunn go," Angel said, ignoring Wesley's rants.
Something flickered in Wesley's eyes – hurt?
"No. I guess you can't *see* that. You're seeing something else, aren't you, Angel?" A pause, then, "They have him tied in another room. Upstairs. I wonder why."
"Who's 'they'?"
"I didn't do this to you," Wesley said again, an edge to his voice.
"And I'm supposed to trust you?" he shot back.
"If you have trusted me, this wouldn't have happened."
Angel narrowed his eyes again. "At what point was I supposed to trust you?"
Wesley walked up to him slowly, his eyes unreadable. "We were friends."
"And that's supposed to be enough?"
"I thought it was."
"Yeah, I thought so too. Until you stole my son."
Pain flashed across the man's features. "I think about that everyday. Until my heart bled. Until I didn't what to do. Until I realised that there was only one thing to do. Be what I am."
Angel struggled from his restraints, but to no avail. "Oh yeah, and what is that? A child-killing monster."
Wesley's glowing green eyes seem to sparkle. He gave Angel a madness-tinged smile.
"An elemental. A Fire elemental. What I've always been. My father thought he could take it away from me, shut it out of me with a spell. But the Elemental had a mission to complete, and it will burn itself out of me one day anyway. So I decided to help it."
Angel glared at him. "To do what? Destroy the world?"
Wesley frowned. "You really think that?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Angel growled out his words. "You killed innocent people. That family in-"
"I did not kill them." Wesley muttered. "Neither did I call Professor Mason. I may be insane, but I have a goal. And killing innocent people isn't in the agenda."
Angel didn't buy it. "You killed a cop, a young woman and a man – no connection to each other. Just random people-"
"Not as random as you think, Angel," Wesley sounded annoyed. "Obviously, your research skills are as simplistic as ever. And I don't have to justify myself to anyone."
"Listen to you. Going on about how *innocent* you are. You think I buy this hero act? You think it'll erase what you've done?!" Angel was trembling with fury, wishing he could kill the man he once called friend. However, the moment the thought left his mind, he realised how hypocritical it sounded. Those words he had just uttered could've burst out from Giles, Buffy and other countless people he had tortured and mutilated.
"No. It wouldn't," Wesley murmured.
Wesley looked embarrassed … or guilty, he couldn't tell. But the sight of it held no pleasure for him, only disgust – for himself. He felt it then – a softening, a pang of guilt at causing Wesley to feel pain.
Has it come this far? That I would rejoice when a friend is in pain?
*You let unforgiveness take root? You let Anger control you? Then I don't know if you're Angel or Angelus.*
He tried to shake Buffy's words away, but found himself thinking about it. Yes… she was right. He had no right to behave this way. It stung to admit it, but she was right. And when his eyes met Wesley's, he only saw the love of Connor stolen from him. By an act …
… of desperation by a friend who wanted to save the one person he loved more than Buffy.
Wesley suddenly shrugged, pacing from left to right. His eyes began to lose focus, and his hands became restless. It told Angel that the madness that plagued him was back again.
"But I'm powerful. You know how much? I could level whole cities. Destroy evil with a thought. Rip through dimensions …" he trailed off, suddenly biting his nails.
*Look at him. Not through hate-filled eyes. But really look at him* Buffy's voice urged.
And it hit him like a four-tonne truck. And he felt horror … horror that all this destruction waged by Wesley … was really for him.
"You …" his voice failed for a while, but he managed to gain some measure of control. "You … you wanted to get to Quor-toth."
Wesley smiled, a smile of a lunatic. He was still nibbling his fingers as if it could help him focus somehow.
"It was the only way. I thought … well, what did I think? I can't really remember, but I thought I could somehow do that? You know, rip through time and dimensions to heroicly rescue Connor from the pit of hell. Then …" he shrugged, and his eyes went sideways as if distracted by something. "… then I couldn't." His voice was bitter. "The Powers that Be wouldn't let me. The Elemental wouldn't let me. You see, I had other important things to do." His hands fluttered before him, and Angel saw that madness had finally taken complete hold of his friend.
His friend.
*Angel. You're full of shit.* Buffy muttered.
It was true then. He had caused this. His unforgiveness, his anger, had driven Wes to do this – again, in another misguided attempt to help. He had truly driven his friend mad.
Like Drusilla.
*I don't know if you're Angel or Angelus.*
And it was then that he remembered Cordelia's words. If you don't forgive him … something bad will happen. Isn't that what she had said?
Was it too late?
"Wes," he began.
"So Connor grew up in Quor-toth, and it was all for nothing," Wes continued, ignoring Angel. Bitterness tinged his words. "I was so angry at first. That I failed again. That I-I become this *thing* for nothing! I could feel myself slipping away, like some kind of sand on … on …" Wes' thoughts wandered, his eyes glazing over.
"Wes. Listen to me."
Glowing green eyes shifted to him.
What the hell could he say to him? What words could he say to make him feel better? To undone all the stupid things he'd said?
"You have to stop this. Only you can."
Wes looked surprised. Then it became astonishment. Then he laughed, a high-pitched laugh of the mad.
"The vampire with a soul thinks it could stop us!"
"If anyone can stop this. You can."
Wes blinked, then said, "Why are you being so nice to me?"
It was such a child-like question that Angel didn't know how to answer at first.
"I realised some things," he said, knowing how lame it sounded.
Wesley's eyes searched furtively across the room as if it could give him an answer to Angel's behaviour. Then his eyes met his again.
"I can't let them escape."
"Who?"
"The Aman-yar. That's why I'm here. Sorry. That's why we're here. They will reach their zenith tomorrow. And … and they will use the Mother to fulfil their desires. Can't let that happen," he whispered, looking at his restless hands.
"Wes-"
"You're calling me Wes. That's nice. For a while I thought you forgot my name. So you see… I was a fool. A pawn of prophecy once more. I thought I could use the Elemental. But I'm letting it use me instead." He shrugged. "I guess an old dog cannot learn new tricks."
"Wesley, let me help you."
"Angel," he whispered, his voice suddenly whispery and fearful. It made Angel's heart clench at the sound of it. And he wanted to make Wes feel better – something he didn't think he'd desire again. But before he could say anything, Wesley looked at Angel with pleading eyes. They were tears in them, Angel realised.
"I think something bad is going to happen to me. And I can't stop it," he whispered, his voice so fearful, so soft that his vampire hearing could barely pick it up. Wesley then bent forward and whispered in his ear. "If that happens. You have to stop them. Promise me." Wes reached behind him and touched his chains.
Then with a swiftness that made Angel gasp out loud, the chains that had trapped him disappeared in a flash of heat. He felt his wrists for burns, but there were none.
"You can stop this," Angel said again, desperately. "You can make the Elemental go away."
Wes's green eyes glowed. He shook his head angrily. "You *cannot* stop me. You will only die trying!" he growled, his voice rising.
Angel grabbed Wes by the shoulders, shaking him. "You can!"
"And I say to you…" the ex-watcher's voice deepened into an unnatural growl. "You cannot stop us." The green in Wesley's eyes shone brighter, and with a start, Angel realised that it was not Wesley talking. It was the Elemental.
"Let him go," he hissed, his hands tightening his grip on Wesley's shoulders.
The Elemental did not answer. It stared at him balefully, the green in Wesley's eyes growing brighter and brighter.
Steam rose from Angel's hands as they began to burn. He tried to hold on to Wesely and met his eyes, only to see a flicker of fear in the glowing depths which quickly disappeared. Crying out in pain, Angel let go.
And then he heard someone screaming and Wesley lurched forward as if he was pushed from behind. He doubled over in surprise, and when he looked up, the glowing green presence was gone from Wesley's eyes. He looked relieved.
"I'm me again," Wesley said in surprise, a small trembling smile on his face.
Angel smiled and reached out for him. "I knew you could-"
The relief on Wesley's face turned into a grimace of pain. He slowly sank down, and would have fallen if Angel had not grabbed him.
"Wesley?"
That was when he smelled it. Blood. He looked down. Horrified, he realised that a sharp point of a sword protruded from Wesley's side.
Wesley's pained expression seems to say, "I told you so". Then he gave the vampire a shadow of a wry grin before it collapsed in pain.
He looked up and saw who did it, and he couldn't understand it at first.
It was Fred, standing there confused but determined. Horror was on her face, but she looked justified, as if she realised she had to do it for the right reasons.
Only this wasn't the right reason.
*Something bad is going to happen to me. And I can't stop it,* Wesley had whispered.
Wesley became limp in his grasp and Angel realised that he had lost consciousness. His body slumped forward, and Angel caught it, desperately searching for a pulse. It was there – thready but weak. Smoke rose from his wound and Angel heard a hissing sound. Like the sound of acid burning … flesh.
Horrified, he glanced down and saw rivulets of blood spreading upwards – not downwards like it should. He ripped Wesley's shirt open and gasped when he saw tendrils of blood snaking quickly towards his heart. The blood leaked from beneath his skin, staining his chest. Something in the sword was entering his veins – and with horror he realised that it had to be the Element of Water, there to work its deadly magic on Wesley.
"Pull it out," he told Fred, his eyes still on the carnage.
Fred looked at him in confusion and was about to protest but Angel yelled, "Damn it, pull it out!"
"I'll do it," Gunn said from somewhere. "I don't know why you're-"
"Shut up. It was all a scam," he didn't want to elaborate because Wesley was waking up, making small whimpering sounds of pain. Damn it. It was the wrong time to do so. If Wesley wasn't in such a bad shape already, he would've tried to knock him out.
Gunn did not give any warning when he pulled the sword out. It caught Wesley by surprise, and he cried out in pain, clutching Angel's coat with bloodied fingers. He stared at Angel, his blue eyes wide with hurt and surprise, then they rolled back in his head and he went limp again.
"Wes? Wes?" he called, knowing he would not get an answer. A gush of blood was dripping on Angel's pants, where Wesley's back rested. He felt for his pulse again, and was relieved to find it there – even if it was weaker than before. He glanced down and saw that the bloody trail had slowed down its deadly track to Wesley's heart. But more ruptured veins were appearing on his skin.
"What the hell is going on?" Gunn asked, his voice low because he realised that something bad had just happened – even though this was what they were working towards all this while.
To kill Wes.
"I'll tell you why. In fact, I really want to," came a smooth, saccharine-sweet voice.
Lilah Morgan stepped into view and made sure they saw the retinue behind her. Four robed demons and a squad of Wolfram & Hart goons, there to ensure that nothing untoward would happen to Lady M.
"Look at all of you. It's amazing. Little chess pieces all lined up for the play. And congratulations Angel. Oh wait, Fred," she shifted her gaze to Fred, whose confusion was starting to give way to horror.
"That's right. It's Fred isn't it? Who pulled the killing blow? And the Bishop takes the King!" she laughed, clapping her hands.
"You know," she said when met with stony silence, "I didn't think it would work at first. I mean, psychological manipulation isn't my forte. I don't excel in it, but my client does. So she set up the plan; and because you're so damn predictable-" Lilah sounded disappointed, "-and so damn petty, you fell for it, hook, line and sinker." Her gaze shifted to Wesley and something flickered in her eyes. Regret? Can't be.
She returned her gaze to all of them. "All it took was your anger and resentment towards Wesley, some burnt corpses – thanks to the Four Musketeers behind me – and a little girl. Frankly, I'm disappointed." And she sounded like it. There was no gloating behind her voice at all. As if she expected more and was let down.
"We know we couldn't kill the Elemental. One look and he'd fry us to a crisp. But his friends?"
Fred looked away, tears running down her cheeks. She was beginning to tremble.
"His friends …that's another story. He'd do anything for them. He won't lay a finger on them. He'd even drive himself mad for them. Wes is such a …"
Angel dared her with a look to say what she wanted to say.
"…loyalist," she smiled, her smile surprisingly gentle. "It's something we at Wolfram & Hart appreciate, so I'm not putting him down here," she said seriously. "But hey, it's nothing personal. Business is business."
"Who is your client?" Angel said, his voice taut.
"Ah. The mastermind. It's up to her if she wants to show herself to you."
"I do."
The voice. Wesley was right. Damn you Angel. He was right all along.
Cindy came towards them, gently guided by a Wolfram & Hart suit. She was dressed in a fine, pink silk frock, with white lace ribbons tying her blonde hair in place. The picture of innocence.
"I am glad you were who you were," Cindy said giving him an angelic smile. "Or else, I wouldn't have accomplished what I have. And the Aman-yar thanks you for your cooperation." She gave him a curtsy, her blue eyes glinting with the evil he saw too late.
"I will stop you," he hissed.
"I'm sure you will," Cindy said in agreement. "But can you stop me when you turn to ashes?"
They heard the four demons chanting. Almost immediately, steam began to rise from the floor. Fred gasped looking around desperately. Gunn reached out and held her close.
"I'm sorry it'll have to end this way," Lilah said. "We were good ... sparring partners."
"Lilah?" Cindy asked, tugging on her skirt.
The lawyer bent down and gave the girl an indulgent smile.
"I think I want a Baskin Robbins sundae. It's getting hot," she said petulantly.
"Sure. Bye guys," Lilah gave them a smile, took Cindy by the hand and walked away from them. Before they exited the warehouse, Cindy gave them a wave.
Flames erupted around them, obscuring Cindy's face. Soon, it formed a circular prison of flames so high and thick that it was impossible for them to escape. The heavy smoke reduced Fred and Gunn to coughing wrecks, writhing on the floor. The chanting stopped, and they could see through the flicker of flames, the four robbed figures gliding away.
"Angel!" Fred called out, then coughed violently.
Angel could only hold on to Wesley's bloodied figure protectively. Too little, too late.
The flames were too high, too much for him to run through. He would turn into ashes before he could cross over. And then there was Fred and Gunn, who'd probably burn to death first - and Wesley, who would not even last a second out there.
"We're trapped," he whispered.
"Not really," came a voice.
Soft, yellow light encircled them. Angel watched in wonder as the fire around them disappeared, to be replaced by the white glow. It was familiar, the glow, he'd seen it before.
Suddenly, they were not in the warehouse anymore. They were outside on the street, facing the burning building. Angel stared stupidly at the spectacle until someone came into his view. He heard Gunn exclaim something and Fred gasping. He could only smile.
"Cordelia."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
For the first time, he was at peace. All the grief, pain, confusion, guilt … all gone. He felt as if he was floating in a weightless void, drifting towards an uncertain destination. No worries to be guilty about, no cause to follow or mission to fulfil. Everything was simple again, like it was before … when he was a child of four, before his father sent a warlock to bind him.
They wanted him to see the message.
It was written on the table, out of Mason's ashes. Beside the note were two snap shots.
One was a photo of Angel, the other, Gunn. And they were tied up with their hands above their heads with chains.
He could feel the one called Cindy – but she was well-protected, beneath some kind of shields. What game were they playing?
And he realised that Wolfram & Hart knew him well. And that he will go to Angel even when he knew that it could put him in danger. He was that predictable.
But now, that didn't matter. Not anymore. The Element had retreated, shrinking away from the Elemental of Water that invaded his body.
When he felt the sword pierce his body, he strangely felt relieved. And gladness that it was all over. That the path he had set himself on would be over.
Pain flared suddenly from nowhere, and he found himself fighting valiantly to escape its clutches. Unfortunately, pain was winning.
Then came cold … and heat, and pain so severe that it robbed him of breath.
With a gasp, his eyes shot open. His body was trembling – from cold? But he felt hot … He found himself looking at something. A hand? Voices floated around him, but he found it hard to concentrate.
Where am I? He wanted to ask. Am in hell already?
The dark place shifted suddenly, and Wesley found himself gasping from the pain. The pain made him tremble all over, and he suspected that he was deep in shock already.
I don't want to die. Not when everything is unresolved. Not when evil is at my door.
Then the dark place shifted a little, and he saw eyes staring down at him. He made out a face, and the face was trying to speak to him. Light suddenly flickered around him and his half-opened eyes sagged close. The voice spoke to him again, but the effort to understand was too difficult.
But he had to say something to the face. The light was bothering him – it flickered in and out and he could see it from beneath his eyelids. Close the door so that he could sleep in peace, he thought.
"It's going to be okay," she said, brushing the hair that partially covered his eyes. "Everything's going to be alright."
The voice was familiar and it forced him to open his eyes to look at the face again. She smiled, pleased that he was awake.
"Hi, Wesley. Just hang on, okay?"
Then he smiled because he remembered her name.
"Cordelia," he said, surprised.
Cordelia smiled in return, a nervous worried smile that reminded him of a time when she did the same before – when he was shot.
"I thought you were lost," he whispered.
Tendrils of light surrounded her, enveloping her in an ethereal light that made her look angelic. That's right, she was gone for a while … nobody knew why. Nobody knew where. But now she's back, speaking to him … there was a time, after Connor, where he thought she'd preferred not to have known him at all. Knowing that he was wrong – or that she had changed her mind – eased the hurt in him somewhat.
"The light hurts," he muttered when a sudden flash of light nearly blinded him.
The light around Cordelia faded and she whispered, "Sorry."
Somehow her hand found itself in his, and he squeezed it. "I'm not."
And he closed his eyes, letting darkness take him.
* * *
"We have to get him to the hospital," Cordelia said needlessly as she moved away from Wesley. For a moment, she stared at her bloody hands distractedly and then wiped her hands on her white dress dismissively.
When she found everyone staring at her, she snapped, "Why the hell are you looking at me for? Help him!"
"Gunn," Angel said shortly and moved to Wesley's side. The vampire's face went slack when he saw Wesley pale, bloodied and unmoving. When Gunn moved beside him to help, he shook his head and said, "I'll do it."
As gently as he could, he lifted Wesley into his arms. Wesley's body was limp in his arms; he held him close – what little good it could do.
"I thought I warned you," Cordelia said, her voice low and quiet as she caught up and walked beside him.
Angel didn't know what to say except to walk blindly towards a destination he didn't know.
She shook her head, as if in response to his silence. "I don't blame you. I'm in no position to judge anyone. I'm not exactly spotless myself," she muttered.
"Where were you?" Angel whispered.
"In the Higher Realms. Watching. Just watching. That's all I could freaking do," her voice was heavy with distaste. "Life as a higher being isn't what it's made out to be. So I bailed out. On the condition that I lose all my powers – and my memory of the higher realms, and that's fine by me. See … can't even remember how I got you out of the burning whatever already," she muttered.
"Where are we going?" Gunn asked when he caught up with them.
"There's a van, not far from here. We'll take it," she said, not explaining how she knew.
Gunn fell back, waiting for Fred. When she did not follow, Gunn turned back only to see her staring on the ground, where the bloody sword was.
"Fred."
"I killed him," she whispered.
"Fred," he took her hand and tugged it. "Come on, we have to go."
She shook her head furiously, tears trickling down her cheeks. "I killed him. I killed him!"
He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders, and gave Fred a shake. "He's alive. There's still a chance, but we have to go. Now."
Than seemed to snap her out of her daze. She nodded jerkily and took his hand. And together they ran into the darkness.
* * *
He was trembling. Whether from blood loss or pain, Wesley was trembling hard in his arms. Angel was trying desperately to inject some warmth into Wesley's broken body the best he could - first covering Wesley with his coat, then when that didn't work - Fred's.
"Please hurry," Fred was whispering beside him. She was staring ahead at the back of Gunn's head, but not really looking at it. Her hands were in tight, still-bloodied fists, the knuckles white from strain. Her face had taken on a vacant, emotionless expression which was only interrupted each time Wesley let out an involuntary gasp of pain.
"We're almost there!" Gunn said in what must've been the tenth time. Angel only held Wesley tighter, meeting Cordelia's desperate eyes as she peered from the front seat. She and Gunn had gone through this desperate time once, when Wesley was shot by zombie cops. But this time it was much, much worse. Not only could they not stop his bleeding, the magicked sword, according to Fred, had held the Element of White Water, the antithesis of the Element of Green Fire, which was now causing havoc in the former Watcher's body. It was bursting blood vessels systematically in each organ. Sometimes, Angel could see a vein appear dark on Wesley's pale skin and then suddenly lose its shape. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, barely lucid.
"You didn't leave me," came the soft, whispery voice.
Surprised, Angel looked down at Wesley's pale face. Sweat beaded Wesley's forehead despite the chilly night. A dark vein ran from his forehead down to his neck. It looked ready to burst. His blue eyes were dilated to the point that his pupils were invisible.
"No, I didn't," he agreed, holding him close and ignoring the intoxicating smell of Wesley's blood. He could feel it seeping into his shirt, where Wesley's back rested.
Wesley blinked languorously and whispered, "I'm glad."
Angel just kept silent.
"Connor is a good boy, isn't he?" Wesley said after pausing a while to catch his breath.
He nodded, "Yeah," but couldn't stop the catch from forming in his voice - especially after his acute hearing began to register Wesley's too-fast heartbeats and wheezing breaths. He knew the sound, having heard the same noises when he drained his victims dry. Wesley was too near that end.
"Just hang on, okay?" he pleaded. AT least, until he made everything he'd done wrong right again.
Wesley smiled, as if pleased to hear what he was saying. His glazed eyes met Angel's then he said softly, "Is it behind us?"
Angel didn't have to guess what "it" was. All that anguish, bitterness and pain between them. The sting of betrayal on both sides ...
"It's behind us," he answered firmly.
The van jerked to a stop, causing Wesley to weakly cry out in pain.
Angel was about to yell at Gunn when he was beat to it by the man.
"We're here!" Gunn leapt out from his side and quickly flung the van doors open. Angel did not have to be told what to do. He lifted Wesley in his arms and got down, trying to ignore Wesley's moans as the sharp movements jostled the man, only thinking of the Emergency room that lay ahead.
"We've got someone hurt here!" Gunn yelled, rushing in. This startled the sprinkle of patients waiting in the corridor - cuts and bruises
mostly, though a girl held an arm as if it was broken. The shocked nurse sprang to action when she saw Angel carrying Wesley. Drops of blood followed his path and some patients stared morbidly at it.
Quickly, Wesley was placed on a gurney and wheeled to the emergency room.
"Wesley? Wesley?" Cordelia was calling. Angel shook his head, seeing that Wesley didn't really hear them. He was already in deep shock, staring at the lights above them as if hypnotised. Blood was quickly staining the white cloth of the gurney beneath him. So much blood. Why isn't his bleeding stopping?
"He's going to be alright," he said, needing desperately to believe it.
Cordelia only nodded jerkily.
"Sir? Ma'am. This is as far as you go," the nurse said. Cordelia stayed obediently behind, but Angel pushed ahead.
"Hey! Wait!" the nurse called when Angel went ahead with the gurney.
* * *
"What is he doing here?" the doctor demanded when Angel appeared by Wesley's side.
Angel merely gave the doctor a sharp look that demanded no refusal.
Resigned, but still annoyed, the doctor barked: "Please, at least stand aside so we can do our work."
A nurse quickly placed an oxygen mask over Wesley while another nurse read his vitals.
"Blood pressure 60 on 40. Heart beat 160 and climbing."
Slowly, Wesley turned, his half-closed eyes meeting his.
Angel could only watch numbly as the flurry of activity around Wesley increased.
"Doctor, his blood pressure is dropping."
A memory came – from the few fateful days before he lost his baby to Quortoth.
**"Angel, - you're the reason we've all come together. It's your mission which animates us," Wesley had said, looking tired yet confident of his words. "We each contribute, it's true, but you - you're unique." **
The Doctor looked up from his ministrations, his expression grave. A red splotch of blood on his white coat. "He's lost too much blood. Type him. Wait…sir? Sir?"
Angel snapped out of his reverie. "What?"
"Do you know his blood type?"
"I don't know," he answered, his tongue heavy. He had made a point trying not to know what blood type his employees had.
"Type him," the doctor told a nurse quickly.
Then he was back in another hospital room, and he was looking down at Wesley once more. But he was furious, so furious. Wes had an IV in the back of his left hand and a bandage around his throat. His eyes were closed until he came towards him. The look in his eyes – guilty and numb at the same time – was not enough to cull the anger from him. All he could think of was Connor. The only son he would have –
And like a slow nightmare, he heard himself telling Wes that he understood why he did it – take Connor that is.
**"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?"**
"Doctor, his heart rate has gone up to 180-"
**"You son of a bitch, you're gonna pay for what you did! You took my son! You son of a bitch! You bastard!"**
"Flatlining-"
Wesley was still staring at him, but his eyes had glazed over.
**"You think I'd forgive you?! "**
"Ready? Clear!"
Wesley's body jerked.
**"No! Never! You're gonna die! You hear me?"**
"Clear!"
**"You're gonna pay!"**
"Clear!"
* * *
"Time of death?"
"5.20am," the nurse answered, looking at Angel sadly.
He looked peaceful, despite the wide bloody pool beneath him and his deathly pallor. His eyes were slightly opened, his mouth in a thin, unsmiling line – but composed and calm, as if he was satisfied at something. A smudge of blood on his cheek was the only colour on his white skin.
"Umm. Doctor?" the nurse called, giving Angel a sideways glance.
The Doctor saw Angel, who was still staring numbly at Wesley's body.
"Sir?" The doctor said softly, his voice low with sympathy. "I'm sorry. There was … he lost too much blood."
Angel didn't move.
"We couldn't stop his bleeding. The weapon must have hit an …."
The doctor returned his gaze to the still body and sighed. Despite seeing this once too often, he still didn't know how to deal with this. How could you comfort the friends and loved ones of people who died so brutally?
He took hold of a sheet and started covering the body, but just as he was about to cover the man's face, his friend stopped him with a firm grasp to his hand.
Surprised at the iciness of the grip, the doctor jerked his hand away. Composing himself, his mind quickly formulated a reason for the iciness: Shock. The man's in shock, the doctor thought sadly. Naturally. Sighing, the doctor decided to leave Angel alone. With the body.
Angel removed the sheet that partially covered Wesley's face. The finality that it symbolised … hurt.
"I didn't mean what I said."
The blue eyes stared glassily ahead.
"I don't hate you. That night in the alley after you rescued me. I was grateful. And happy at seeing you again. But I was just being a jerk you know?"
Slowly, he closed Wesley's eyes.
Now, he looked as if he was sleeping.
Angel's face scrunched up in grief.
Too late. Always too late.
With a roar, he ran his hand through the wall above Wesley's body.