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Chapter Five – Dead Ex-Watcher Demon Hunter

A clock gonged off in the distance, startling Wesley awake from his dreamless sleep. It had been so nice to rest without visions of death and destruction dancing through his head.

"Hey, you're awake," Doyle said from behind him.

Wesley stretched his kinked up muscles. Having slept in a chair wasn't the most comfortable position to rest, but it had worked for him. Being dead was exhausting.

"How long have you been here?" he asked the Irishman, who was seated at a table directly behind him.

"Not long. Cordelia figured you needed to sleep. I'm not one to argue with her."

The man certainly did know Cordy well. Every time Wesley had sparred with her, it usually ended badly.

"Indeed."

"Probably wondering why I'm here."

"I suppose the thought did cross my mind."

"Take a seat, my friend." Doyle pushed out a chair for Wesley to join him at the table.

"Are you going to explain to me why I'm here?"

"You're a smart one, you are. I see why Angel depended on ya so much. See, the two of us, not much of a team. My only claim to fame was the visions."

"Important piece."

"Yeah. It was at that."

"He misses you."

"He does? I figured he was glad to be rid of me. Really did drive him up the wall sometimes."

"Don't worry, Cordelia filled that role for you nicely."

The two men chuckled at the thought.

"You didn't have any designs on the girl, did you?"

"Not really. She scared the living daylights out of me at first."

"Lot of woman there."

"Yes. I do suppose you're right."

"Sorry. Just had to ask. You're sort of her type, tall, broody kind of guy. So, the reason you're here."

Wesley wished he wasn't there. Could hell be any worse than this? Maybe. He was sure Lilah could show him around.

"No games," Wesley informed the man across from him.

"No. You don't look like a man who likes them. You have some unfinished business to attend to."

Didn't they realize he was finished? No more work from the dead ex-watcher demon hunter.

"And you have a choice to make."

There it was again, he thought. Just like that pseudo-dream he had. In the dream Fred said he needed to make the right choice. What if he refused to choose?

"What if I said no?"

"Not one of the options unfortunately."

So they were going to force him to make a choice.

"Besides, when you see, don't think it'll be that hard."

Wesley sighed in frustration. "What?" he snapped.

"I need to explain."

"Just give me the choices," Wesley growled back.

"There are rules."

"Right. There are always rules."

"But when have you followed them?"

"My patience."

"Is wearing thin. I can tell, you bloody Englishman." Now Doyle was getting annoyed with him.

"Actually, it's gone. Now tell me," Wesley yelled.

"Here's your choices," Doyle gave in, showing Wesley what he meant.

Before Doyle's hands, four people appeared, faces floating in the air like magic.

"Choose," Doyle commanded.

"What do you need for me to do?"

"You're the one being the prick. You figure it out."

"God, I leave you two alone for five minutes and you're already at each other's throats. Wes, he's just trying to help."

Cordy had entered the cottage through the front door, looking as beautiful and young as ever. Her crop top and loose skirt emphasized her curvy figure. He hoped she stayed that way. That's how he wanted to remember her, young and full of life.

"That's a very fetching outfit, I must say."

Doyle glared at Wesley.

"Oh, stuff it, Wes. You're just trying to piss Doyle off."

"And it worked, I see. I'm not lying either."

Doyle's pale face was turning beet red from anger and a touch of embarrassment.

"Why did I ever think a guy with an accent was sexy? I'm surrounded by buffoons."

Wesley snorted, while Doyle just glared more.

"Didn't you tell him?" Cordy asked Doyle.

"No, since all he could say to me was piss off."

"Never did."

"It was implied."

Cordelia pointed her finger at both of them. "Geez louise, you guys. All we're asking of you is to watch."

Nothing was ever that simple in his mind.

"Well, and maybe a little guidance." Cordy spread two fingers an inch apart to make her point.

"Guardian angel then?" Wesley questioned.

"We like to call ourselves guidance counselors. Much less dead sounding and all," Doyle pointed out.

"You sound like a teacher."

"He was one before the vision thingy," Cordelia added.

"You? Teaching impressionable youth?"

"Yeah. I did, for a time. What's it to ya?"

"Whatever, you two. Focus. And Wes, you're sort of right. But we can't prevent anything from happening, just give little suggestions."

"Keep whomever out of trouble?"

As Wesley looked at the four floating pictures, he thought to himself, yeah good luck on that one. All four drew trouble in spades.

"Well, you can't physically interfere or anything. Non-corporeal."

"Whom do I choose?" he asked the two.

"Ha. Don't ask me. I didn't narrow the selection down. Besides, there's already enough on my plate. I wouldn't touch any of these with a ten foot pole." Cordelia was right about that.

"So none of these people have guardian angels?"

"Nope," Cordelia answered.

"Couldn't you at least have picked people I didn't know?"

"Not the way it works, hon. Too steep a learning curve." That figures, he thought.

Which one should he choose? One who would annoy him to death? Oh wait, already dead. One who wouldn't care and do whatever he wanted? One who was just too heartbreaking to look at on a daily basis? The last one was just a wild card, volatile one day, who knew what the next. At least she wouldn't annoy him, maybe would listen, and wouldn't break his heart in two with every look.

"Her," he pointed to the last picture.

"Whoa. Are you sure?" Cordy asked with worry etched on her face.

His dream said to make the right choice. What more could he lose? What more could she lose?

"The others need your help and guidance just as equally," Doyle added.

"I've made my decision."

Cordelia looked at him with a little hurt in her eyes. "You sure? She . . . ."

"I know what she did, Cordy. I'll be fine."

"The man knows his mind."

"Yeah right. This is Wes we're talking about here."

"Cordelia," he groaned at her.

"I'm not interfering. Just wouldn't be my choice."

"You'd choose the boy," Doyle said, sneering.

"Hey. Xander, same age as me. Not exactly a boy now. But he would annoy the hell out of me. So no."

"I'm not rehashing this. Just tell me what to do." And Cordelia thought that Xander was annoying.

"Here," Doyle said, throwing a big book at him.

"Don't tell me."

"Yup. Instruction manual. Tells you what you can and can't do."

Wesley groaned, putting his head between his hands. "Now why am I agreeing to do this?"

"We help the hopeless," Doyle answered.

"Helpless," Cordelia corrected.

The four that were pictured were neither helpless nor hopeless in his mind.

"Same thing," Doyle finished. Cordelia growled at him.

So instead of Cordelia's ex, the second vampire with a soul, an old one who inhabited his lost love's body, he chose the one person most like himself.

"Oh, boy, do you have your work cut out for you, buster." Cordelia threw up her hands in exasperation.

"What she means is, it'll be hard, but in the end, it's worth it," Doyle told him.

"Did either one of you have one?"

Doyle pointed to Cordelia.

"You're dead, Cordelia," Wesley chuckled.

"Yeah, so definitely read the damn book," Cordelia said, glaring at Doyle.

"Why?" Faith yelled into the phone.

"Because they are working for one of the most evil enterprises known to mankind."

"Were, Giles. Were."

If Faith could have reached through the phone right now and project herself three thousand miles, she would have strangled the watcher.

"So a girl died because of it."

"What?" Giles said, surprised.

"Yeah. They're all dead. Couldn't you guys feel it? No, wait. The only person you're worried about is Queen Buffy. Well, you can tell her this for me. He's broken this time. I'll be lucky if he hasn't staked himself already."

"Faith, calm down," Giles implored through the phone.

"Too late."

"What happened?"

"Notice a down swing in evil lately? Have Angel to thank for that. Evil Incorporated just got their clocks cleaned. But you know what? Angel's team is no more."

"But Faith."

Faith was on a roll. She hadn't had time to cry, to grieve, or to even breathe for goodness sake. Too busy trying to hold it together over the past week had taken a toll on her patience.

"I quit. I'm tired of choosing sides. One more thing?"

"Faith, you're not thinking rationally."

"When have I ever. Tell Mr. Wyndam-Pryce Senior that if I ever see his sorry ass, he's going down."

"I don't under. . . ."

Faith didn't let the watcher finish. She was done with them all.

"That'll tell 'em," Spike said from the doorway of the office. "Percy's father was the biggest prick around."

"You met him?"

"Yeah. Almost ate him back in '68. Thinkin' I'm regrettin' that decision."

Faith sat down on the couch, legs shaking too much from the confrontation with Giles. How much did Spike know? Hell, he'd only worked with Wes for a year and the ex-watcher was not big on the sharing.

"What do you know?"

"Someone, I'm guessing daddy-o himself, sent an identical cyborg to try and take control of Angel."

"Last year?"

"Yeah. Percy ended up shootin' the damn thing, over and over again. Man had issues. Thought the cyborg was his real father."

Faith had heard rumors that Wes's father was a piece of work. And she also remembered the scars she had seen before she had added her own to the man's body.

"So, what'll we do now?"

"Beats me. I never was good at leadin'."

"Me neither. Maybe we should figure out what to do with Wes's stuff, seein' as he had all that stuff, you know."

"Yeah. No body yet. Checked again."

"Maybe I'll check it out." Faith had wanted to see where Wes had lived his last moments.

"Take Illyria with you then."

"I'm not going near that thing," Faith added.

Spike sat down next to Faith on the couch. "Faith, she grieves too. More than you know."

"She's not human."

"Neither am I. And I'm sittin' here today because of her. She cared for the man, though I'm not sure why, since he was pretty psycho there at the end."

"She drove him crazy," Faith asked, voice catching a little at the end.

"No one drives us crazy. Did it to himself. He couldn't separate Fred from Illyria. Couldn't come to terms with it. In the end, it just ate him up inside."

Faith understood. Standing on the edge of insanity, being pulled back was not an easy option. Angel had done that for her. He obviously hadn't bothered with Wes.

"Angel didn't notice this?"

"Nah. Big poof was too busy taking down the big bads."

"Casualties of war." Spike shook his head in agreement. "What are you gonna do?"

"Find some boxes. I'm sure the ponce had more books than we'll know what to do with."

"No, I mean after. Are you sticking around?"

"Got nowhere to go."

"Yeah. Me either."

TBC

Next: Faith and Spike go to Wes's. And Spike tries to figure out Illyria.

Thanks to tp96, WhiteRabbit10, shahid, Jill-Renay Simon, Imzadi, and Insane Sketchbook for their comments and praises. You guys are great. You gave me lots to think about and things to include too!! That's why I love reviewers at this site.

Insane Sketchbook: Yeah, I have issues with these characters too, especially Kennedy. I don't know how much I'm going to bring in the Scoobies. I might bring in Robin though. And no, I'm not forgetting my other fic. Just updated that one. I have to finish it too. I don't like leaving things hanging.

Shahid: Your comments were very helpful. I'm going to include some Spike moments, which I hadn't planned on before.