TITLE:  Things Past

AUTHOR:  Eloise

RATING: PG13

DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise not to hurt them. Much.

NOTES: Chap 1 of 8 (possibly 9!) Here we go again – set 'Sleep Tight' AU. The idea behind this story has been in my mind for a couple of years, but the plot hit me like a ton of bricks after I finished the Christmas fic. The story is set in the same universe as 'The Very Best Time of the Year', but you don't need to read it to follow this story. The prologue (in the present tense) is set in the future, and is deliberately obtuse. All will be explained…

Title quote from Confucius – 'Analects'. Chapter Title and Quote from Helen Hunt Jackson – 'At Last' 

'Things that are done, it is needless to speak about… Things that are past, it is needless to blame.'

Prologue – In the Angels' Keeping

'All lost things are in the angels' keeping,

No past is dead for us, but only sleeping.'

(After)

It is late afternoon, the warm haze of early summer hanging over the garden. Above, a sky as blue as the ocean, soft billowing clouds float there, the passage of time marked only by their gentle shift, and the almost imperceptible movement of the sun to the west.

Below, the garden is peaceful, as was intended, the more delicate shrubs and flowers protected by the shade of cypress trees. The soft lazy sunshine trickles through the dappling leaves like liquid light, marking the grass, lengthening shadows on stone.

He stands, fists shoved deep into his jeans pockets, head bent, as if in prayer. Dark hair flops over his eyes, his fringe in need of a trim. He is small for his seventeen years, a thin delicate form that belies an inner strength. He slips his hands out of his pockets, smoothes them down the worn denim nervously. The bulky leather strap of his watch seems too large for his thin wrist.

He closes his eyes briefly, long lashes flickering against cheekbones so high as to seem almost feminine. But his frame is all boy, all elbows and knees; awkward angles and sharp corners. His shoulder blades are visible under the soft blue cotton of his shirt, the sleeves rolled casually to expose his forearms.

He shifts, drops to his knees carefully, leaning forward to brush his fingertips over the smooth stone. Tracing the letters there, as if they were Braille, as if he were blind, and needed to touch to comprehend. He closes his eyes again, and his shoulders droop a little, but his eyes remain dry.

Behind him, the older man stands, watching. The setting sun sparks the silver strands in his dark hair, lights fine lines at his eyes, the curve at the edge of his mouth, where time has cut a groove into his cheek. It casts his shadow across the boy's back. He moves forward, kneeling next to him; places his hand tenderly on the boy's shoulder.

The boy lifts his fingers from the stone, again smoothes his palm along the fabric of his jeans, pausing to pick at a non-existent thread. The older man waits, familiar with this ritual, his hand gentle upon the slender shoulder. Neither demanding attention, nor denying it. If the boy needs him, he is there.

'It's okay, Connor. Take all the time you need.'

*~*~*~*

Chapter 1:  Lost Things

She signed the bottom of the document with her favourite fountain pen, then blotted it carefully. The laptop lay unopened on her desk; she much preferred a handwritten account of her work. It would be typed up later by one of the minions, in triplicate, no doubt, but she always felt a certain smug twinge of satisfaction, seeing such perfectly crafted script on her paperwork.

She had been so busy getting ready for the wedding; she had let the paperwork slide a little. She cast a rather resigned glance at the hideous teal blue bridesmaid dress which hung on the back of her office door. Trust Anyanka to make sure she would not be outshone on her big day. She fluffed her fingers through her tangled curls, then adjusted her locket slightly.

She shuffled the pages together, slipped them into a leather binder. That last wish had been - well, interesting, to say the least. Seeing William again, for one thing. And that poor little key, she had been so lost, so very lonely, and not one of them had noticed.

She could feel the justified anger boil up again, and the dark blue stone within the pendant shimmered a little. She took a breath, made a mental note to herself not to get so emotionally invested in her clients.

Unavoidable, of course, considering the line of business she was in. Anyanka had made that snide little comment about daddy issues, and she wasn't far very from the truth. Her own experiences as a human child had certainly influenced her work as a Justice demon. Just as Anyanka's experience with men had affected hers.

D'Hoffryn was an incredibly subtle manipulator, really. Quiet reminders of the wrongs that had been done to you, whispered memories of hurts inflicted. Sly little insinuations, repeated softly, until you could not longer resist. Yes, her boss was very clever. Very clever and very dangerous.

She lifted the folder and went to the door, trying to avoid looking directly at the dress. The corridor was empty; not many staff around so late at night. Still, she might as well take the opportunity to take a peek at some of more obscure prophecies. Paperwork was the perfect excuse for prying into Files and Records.

She decided against teleportation and headed down the stairs. She could do with the exercise if she was going to fit into that nightmarish frock tomorrow. One too many lattes recently had taken their toll, there had been considerable strain on the zipper the last time she had tried on the monstrosity.

She was slightly out of breath when she reached the basement, and leaned for a moment against the door of the filing room. To her shock, it gave way unexpectedly, and she stumbled backwards, bumping into something, and falling rather inelegantly in a tangle of limbs and files, not all of them her own.

'Would you mind getting your foot out of my ear, thank you so very much.' The distinctly tetchy voice appeared to come out of thin air, although when she looked at her foot, it was hovering about six inches above the ground, resting on decidedly solid thin air. She removed it, and began to gather up the sheets of paper now strewn around the floor of the filing room.

'It would appear that your attempt at stealth has failed miserably,' she observed, waiting for the figure to emerge from its enchanted invisibility.

There was a muttered curse, and gradually a dark head, slightly pointed ears and an elfin face materialized in the semi-gloom. He slipped off what looked like a rainproof parka and laid it to one side. An elf. One of Nick's guys, she assumed, although what he was doing down here was beyond her. All their paperwork was done at Christmas, and would have been filed a couple of months ago.

The elf scowled at her, and began to collect his own papers. He wasn't filing them, she realized now. He was taking them.

'You're not supposed to remove those from Files and Records, you know,' she said, feeling somewhat pompous. She looked more carefully at the documents he was scooping up and shoving into a file rather hurriedly.

'Hey, these are prophecies!'

He gave her a cold hard look, which didn't completely disguise his obvious fear.

'And you are who? The prophecy police?' His tone lacked the acidic bite that the words demanded. He seemed distracted, kept looking into the corridor beyond her shoulder. Something clicked in her memory.

'Oh, my God. You're him. I heard about you at the office Christmas party! You're the elf that granted the wish. Um, Noam… wasn't it? Or Gordon?'

He eyed her with barely concealed contempt. 'Norman. And yes, I am the elf that granted the wish. For all the good it did the kid,' he muttered under his breath.

'Kid?' She remembered D'Hoffryn waxing lyrical about payback and just desserts, but she had never actually heard the specifics of the wish.

He sighed deeply, and stood up wearily.  'He was on my list. My nice list. And his dad was giving him a really hard time.'

Her heart suddenly seemed to be beating very loudly.

'He wished for a happy Christmas. Seemed simple enough, at the time. How was I to know there were at least two major prophecies involved in the whole fiasco?'

She wasn't really listening to him. 'You helped a lost child. That's my job…'

His gaze, which had been fixed over her shoulder, slid back to her face, angry realization dawning.

'You bloody vengeance demons. Never there when you're really needed.'

'Justice Demon,' she corrected half-heartedly.

'Vengeance, justice… it doesn't change the fact that this was a kid in pain.' He was now incredibly angry. He jabbed his index finger towards her face as he spoke, to emphasize his point.

'See, if you'd been doing your job properly, none of this would have happened. I wouldn't be in the mess that I'm in, and he wouldn't be about to make the biggest mistake of his life.' He shook his head in despairing wonderment. 'Wesley, you idiot, did you not read the card?'

She was now completely bewildered. 'You tried to warn him about the prophecies?'

The elf nodded, hugging the folders to his chest.

'And your boss, does he know?'

He nodded again, and she shook her head at his guileless nature. 'The Powers will have erased your warning the minute Nick found out about it. That's the thing about prophecies. They tend to come true, no matter what we do to stop them. Sometimes because of what we do to stop them.'

He looked so desperate then, so utterly heartbroken.

'If they find you with these, you know you're finished, don't you?' Her tone was gentle.

'I'll be made mortal.' Resignation in his voice.

There was a sound in the corridor behind her; Norman's eyes widened in shock, and he pushed past her, clutching the file tightly.

'I have to go.'

He headed down the corridor, leaving his enchanted raincoat lying on the floor beside her. She heard Nick shout for Norman to stop, then the sound of feet pounding by the door. She slipped behind the door, pulled the invisibility coat over her head and waited. There were sounds of a scuffle, and after a few moments it was clear that Norman had been apprehended.

'Come on, Norman, it's okay.' Nick sounded calm, concerned. 'There's no point in this. You can't change it.'

Norman did not answer.

'We'll sort this out back in my office. I did warn you about meddling in this. I'm afraid the Powers aren't happy at all.'

She listened as the footsteps retreated towards the stairs. Then breathed a quiet sigh. She wondered what could have been so awful in that prophecy as to make the elf risk his immortality. Then realized that she wasn't likely to find out, as the prophecies were now in the Nick's possession, and not likely to be returned to Files and Records any time in the near future.

She pulled out a drawer in the Justice cabinet and flicked through the files, looking for the 'Wish Removed' section. She opened the leather binder to make sure her report was complete.

And there it was. Mixed up with her own papers when they had collided in the doorway, the prophecy which had so disturbed Norman. And now she understood why. The words were chilling in their simplicity.

'The Father will kill the Son'