Title: Swirling Sand

Author: DollarBill

Email: Goldy05403@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: Wesley, Angel and the rest of the gang belong to Mutant Enemies and Co. Apparently, the WB also has power over them… power to CANCEL them (the BASTARDS!). Oh, yeah, and www.savingangel.org

Spoilers: MAJOR spoilage for 'Origin' as well as most of the recent season.

Synopsis: In light of recent events, Wes has probably got some pretty heavy thoughts. A one-shot fic at trying to figure it out. Told from Wes' POV.

Dedication: To Drew Goddard for another fabulous episode. I can't believe that they cancelled this show. *SOB*

Author's Notes: I know that a lot of people are really angry at Wesley for his actions in 'Origin' but me being a WesWhore! and all that, I really, really just liked it. He's so… sexy when he's conflicted, you know? Plus! It seems it only took Fred's death to get him to quit shaving again! Woot!

Anti-dedication: The WB. I know… I'm beating an old horse. But… I really, really *hate* them.

Sometimes I believe that the world actually exists in the darkness. That daylight is only an illusion, a period of 'waiting time' before the suns sets and the world shifts. The night is when things occur, when great, epic battles happen, when people die horrible ways, and when decisions executed in the poorest of ways come back to haunt you for eternity.

It is day now, the sun streams in, reflecting through the glass and creating rainbow patterns on the white carpet. It is fascinating the way the colours blend together, an intricate design of beauty and perfection. The light covers up many wounds.

I feel like the darkness. This daylight, these patterns of light are only an illusion. Some memories go beyond light or dark—they reach down to the core. The truth is a bitter pill, one that becomes more difficult to swallow and easier to leave aside.

I told Illyria I needed the fake memories. 'To endure it,' I said. But it becomes more difficult to pick between the memories that are fake and the memories that are real. They are jumbled in my head—a mass of feeling, pain, suffering, and sometimes of hope and warmth. Which are true, which are fake, and which were done to keep me sane?

Running off with Conner, the cold pain of a knife on my throat, and the soft, but paralyzing feel of a pillow… choking, choking, choking. Or is the one's where I never really strayed, but continued on with my friends, my friendship with Angel one of the strongest elements of my life?

And the things that never changed. The ones that are the same in both realities, the ones I can never confuse. Kissing Fred for the first time, making love to Lilah, finding Lilah's corpse…

When Angel comes in, I flinch. I don't turn, don't speak, but wait for him to make the first move. This man, what is he to me? A friend, an ally, a boss, a co-worker? Or is he an enemy, someone who hates me, someone who will never trust me, and someone that played with my mind?

"Wesley," he says quietly, coming to stand next to me. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough," I answer, refusing to turn to look at him.

He sighs. "Look, I know that I can't understand what you're going through. But… I'm sorry. For the way things turned out. I can't… I won't apologize for what I did, but I'm sorry for the pain it's causing you."

I swallow, looking at the rainbow pattern on the carpet. A champion some would call him, others an evil creature of the night. My view of him was always different. I always saw him as simply a human being like the rest of us. A human worth great admiration, but a human nontheless, and a human that is subject to all our faults and follies.

But is that my *real* perception or the perception that he created within me?

It's too much. My head pounds from the lack of sleep, the remants of grief, and far too many glasses of scotch.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too. That I didn't… that I didn't trust you."

Twice now. And counting. A little while ago, before I went against him and shattered the box of light containing my memories—it would have been my first betrayal. Now I'm at two.

But then, he betrayed me, did he not? He played with my mind, twisting what I knew to be right into a safer, happier, but fake existence.

"And I'm sorry for only thinking of Fred." That costs me, he knows it. "I know that you would never have done anything to jeopardize her."

Angel sighs and rests a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, Wes. I just want you to know that. Things between us… are complicated."

I snort. Complicated. What an easy word to describe our situation.

He smiles slightly and relaxes. "You made bad choices, Wes. Two really bad choices."

I stiffen and walk away, moving closer to the window. I glance at the sun, though it hurts my eyes. "So did you."

He follows me. "I did. Signing the deal with Wolfram & Hart… I did it for Connor. Only for Connor. It was a bad choice. But… I would do it again. In a heartbeat, even with what I know now."

Now I turn to face him, finally understanding what he is saying. He is giving me a way out. He is giving me acceptance. For that… I can admire him. Just as I believe I always did, even as a pillow threatened my final breath.

"Sometimes the bad choices we make are based upon right choices for other people," I say. "I think… given the information I knew about Connor, I would do it again."

Angel nods and accepts that. "Wesley, you *can* trust me."

"You can't ever trust me," I parry back.

"I do trust you. Even when I was the only one who remembered what happened, I trusted you."

I used to trust easily, willingly, and almost everybody. For it I lost one slayer to the dark, I lost the Fred to Gunn, I gave my best friend's son to the enemy, my throat slit, almost smothered by a pillow, and then played by one of Wolfram & Harts finest lawyers. Trust has gotten me nowhere.

I trusted Fred.

But she's dead, and the demon wearing her face and using her voice looks to me for guidance. And until she was taken away from me, I did trust Angel, and Gunn, and Lorne, and even Spike to some degree.

But having your painful, death-filled memories back really gives a lot of perspective on the whole trust thing.

He watches me carefully, waiting for an answer but knowing he's treading deep water. "There's an apocalypse coming up, one that's literally rising from underneath us. Gunn is trapped in some suburb-hell dimension, and you've got an ancient, powerful demon to control that's wearing your lover's face. I need someone in this with me. Someone that I know will be behind me 100%."

"Angel, I'm not quite sure why you haven't noticed, but my aid hasn't been much in the way of particularly helpful over the last little while." A vision of Fred, as she lay in my arms, her eyes wide, filled with pain and confusion. Her question echoing through my mind over and over, Wesley, why can't I stay?

I shake my head, clearing the vision. But it won't go far. It always comes back. In my nightmares.

Angel turns sadly and head towards the door. "I guess I'm going to have to go and give the inspirational speech to Spike. Who would have *thought*?"

He pauses at the door, his hand on the knob. He knows he already has me. Without turning, I shield my eyes from the sun.

"Fine. I trust you."

He lets out a bark that passes for some form of laughter. "Wes, for the record, when you admit your trust for someone, don't say it like you have a hot poker stuck up your ass." However, well enough satisfied with the response, Angel leaves.

Memories. They're like sifts of sand on the beach, easily caught in a wave and swirled around until they are no longer made of the same shredded pebbles, but resemble what was there before. Mine are even more confusing, filled with two series of events, two versions, both of which, to me, have occurred.

Which are true? Which led me to today? Which made me the man I am?

But despite everything I know, everyting that I have done, all the darkness and pain that I have endured and been a part of, my trust for Angel needs to go one. Because I owe it to him, and he owes it to me.

Because darkness was never overcome by one man.

END