Chapter 3
In his lonely apartment, Wesley was polishing his swords. Quite an impressive collection of weaponry he'd amassed, he thought, for quite a different man than he'd used to be. Strong, confident, and heavily armed -- so very different from the doddering Wesley of old. But still alone.
Always alone.
Back to his childhood, locked in the closet under the stairs. Alone. In the dark.
Setting the sword aside, he headed over to the kitchen. He pulled out a bottle of scotch, pouring two generous fingers into a glass and heading back over to the couch.
The letter had come yesterday, postmarked London, his mother's familiar handwriting on the page. "Your father's very sick...dying...a few weeks to live..." Her missive had ended with entreaties for her son to come home, to be with his father in his moment of need.
A letter. He found out his father was dying in a letter. Guess that's what happens when you never answer the phone when they call, he thought. He'd grown sick of his father's weekly recitations of Wesley's 'failures' and his mother's tearful explanations for his father's boorish behavior. So he'd ignored them.
Caller ID was a wonderful thing.
He downed the scotch in one gulp, reveling in the fiery sensation of the liquid burning its way down his throat. He embraced the scorching. These days, the pain was all that let him know he was alive.
He wasn't going back to England. Why should he disrupt his life, pathetic though it was, for a man that had tormented and despised him his whole life? A man who had done everything in his power to make his only son feel small, inferior, helpless?
He was an adult now, no longer helpless. Despite his dismissal by the Watcher's Council he had proven himself an intelligent, capable warrior for the forces of good. Until...
Until he'd proven his stupidity. His gullibility. Until he'd let himself be manipulated by a time-shifting demon. Sahjhan's plan had been perfect. Wesley had betrayed his friends, stolen Angel's son, injured Lorne...all for what? A false prophecy, never real.
Angel may have forgiven him, may have wanted things to go back to the way they were, but nothing would ever be the same again. Angel's wants didn't matter.
Wesley still couldn't forgive himself for being so susceptible to the demon's machinations, still couldn't forgive Angel for his reaction. Even knowing why Wes had kidnapped Connor, Angel had still tried to murder his former friend.
He stared at the letter again, unhappy memories threatening to overwhelm him.
Maybe he should get another drink.
The ringing of the phone broke him from his reverie. Cell phone, not his home number. He glanced at the caller ID on his cell phone. Not Angel Investigations, not his parents. Business, perhaps, though he doubted that since the caller wasn't even local. "Hello." He picked up the phone on the second ring.
"Wesley? It's Buffy."
"Buffy?" Wesley asked, startled. He hadn't heard from the Slayer since her last trip to L.A. That was nearly two years ago. He knew she usually called Giles if she needed any Watcher-type knowledge. What could she possibly want with him? "What can I do for you?"
"I need information, Wesley, on magical poisons. Something specialized. Something powerful enough to kill an elf."
"An elf?" he asked in disbelief. She couldn't have really meant that. Very few elves still existed in this world. She couldn't really have said... "Did you say an elf?"
"Yes. Pointy ears, shiny hair, the works. An elf. He's in my living room dying, and we don't know why. He acted like he's got a bad case of the flu, only now he's unconscious."
Her description certainly sounded like an elf, but with one key problem. "Elves are immortal. They can't catch human diseases."
"I know. Which is why we think he's been hit by some kind of mystical poison. It's bad, Wes. The last time I saw something this bad was when..."
"When Angel was poisoned," the Watcher finished. That night had been one of his biggest regrets. He hadn't been able to help Buffy then, constrained by his duties to the Council, still far too determined to prove himself to them and to his parents to rebel for the sake of a young girl's love. If only he had... "I'm sorry I didn't help you then."
"Water under the bridge Wes. What matters now is Legolas."
"Legolas? The Legolas?" One of the most well-known elves in all of history was still alive? And he was lying unconscious on Buffy's couch?
"Yeah. Giles told me he was famous. I know all about the Fellowship, the One Ring, yadda, yadda, yadda. What I don't know is how to cure him."
Wesley could hear the concern in Buffy's voice. Whoever - whatever - this person was, he meant a lot to the Slayer.
He couldn't help her before when she needed him. This time was different. "I don't know of any poison that powerful, off the top of my head, but I've got books on the subject. I'll look into it. Failing that, I'll ask the Watcher's Council."
"I don't exactly have a lot of faith in the Council, Wes."
He knew she was still thinking of the night she'd asked him to help Angel, but this was different in two vital ways. One -- elves, unlike vampires, were creatures of good to be protected. Two - he wasn't one to take orders from the Council anymore. "There's no stipulation against helping elves, Buffy. And even if there were... well, let's say if the Council knows anything, I'll find out what it is."
"What if...?"
"I'll find out." Whatever it took, whoever he had to threaten. Whatever was going on in Sunnydale was serious business, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.
"Thanks, Wesley."
"I'll be in touch."
He hung up, lost his contemplation of Buffy's words. He had several volumes on poisons, magical and otherwise.
Legolas. The Legolas. In Sunnydale. What could that possibly mean? As a rule, the elves who hadn't crossed he sea to Valinor did not pay attention to ordinary events of the mortal world. Which mean that something extraordinary was going to happen, with Buffy and her friends in the thick of it. He must find out more. Both to save the elf and determine what was going to happen to the world.
His letter from home forgotten, Wesley got down to work.
In his lonely apartment, Wesley was polishing his swords. Quite an impressive collection of weaponry he'd amassed, he thought, for quite a different man than he'd used to be. Strong, confident, and heavily armed -- so very different from the doddering Wesley of old. But still alone.
Always alone.
Back to his childhood, locked in the closet under the stairs. Alone. In the dark.
Setting the sword aside, he headed over to the kitchen. He pulled out a bottle of scotch, pouring two generous fingers into a glass and heading back over to the couch.
The letter had come yesterday, postmarked London, his mother's familiar handwriting on the page. "Your father's very sick...dying...a few weeks to live..." Her missive had ended with entreaties for her son to come home, to be with his father in his moment of need.
A letter. He found out his father was dying in a letter. Guess that's what happens when you never answer the phone when they call, he thought. He'd grown sick of his father's weekly recitations of Wesley's 'failures' and his mother's tearful explanations for his father's boorish behavior. So he'd ignored them.
Caller ID was a wonderful thing.
He downed the scotch in one gulp, reveling in the fiery sensation of the liquid burning its way down his throat. He embraced the scorching. These days, the pain was all that let him know he was alive.
He wasn't going back to England. Why should he disrupt his life, pathetic though it was, for a man that had tormented and despised him his whole life? A man who had done everything in his power to make his only son feel small, inferior, helpless?
He was an adult now, no longer helpless. Despite his dismissal by the Watcher's Council he had proven himself an intelligent, capable warrior for the forces of good. Until...
Until he'd proven his stupidity. His gullibility. Until he'd let himself be manipulated by a time-shifting demon. Sahjhan's plan had been perfect. Wesley had betrayed his friends, stolen Angel's son, injured Lorne...all for what? A false prophecy, never real.
Angel may have forgiven him, may have wanted things to go back to the way they were, but nothing would ever be the same again. Angel's wants didn't matter.
Wesley still couldn't forgive himself for being so susceptible to the demon's machinations, still couldn't forgive Angel for his reaction. Even knowing why Wes had kidnapped Connor, Angel had still tried to murder his former friend.
He stared at the letter again, unhappy memories threatening to overwhelm him.
Maybe he should get another drink.
The ringing of the phone broke him from his reverie. Cell phone, not his home number. He glanced at the caller ID on his cell phone. Not Angel Investigations, not his parents. Business, perhaps, though he doubted that since the caller wasn't even local. "Hello." He picked up the phone on the second ring.
"Wesley? It's Buffy."
"Buffy?" Wesley asked, startled. He hadn't heard from the Slayer since her last trip to L.A. That was nearly two years ago. He knew she usually called Giles if she needed any Watcher-type knowledge. What could she possibly want with him? "What can I do for you?"
"I need information, Wesley, on magical poisons. Something specialized. Something powerful enough to kill an elf."
"An elf?" he asked in disbelief. She couldn't have really meant that. Very few elves still existed in this world. She couldn't really have said... "Did you say an elf?"
"Yes. Pointy ears, shiny hair, the works. An elf. He's in my living room dying, and we don't know why. He acted like he's got a bad case of the flu, only now he's unconscious."
Her description certainly sounded like an elf, but with one key problem. "Elves are immortal. They can't catch human diseases."
"I know. Which is why we think he's been hit by some kind of mystical poison. It's bad, Wes. The last time I saw something this bad was when..."
"When Angel was poisoned," the Watcher finished. That night had been one of his biggest regrets. He hadn't been able to help Buffy then, constrained by his duties to the Council, still far too determined to prove himself to them and to his parents to rebel for the sake of a young girl's love. If only he had... "I'm sorry I didn't help you then."
"Water under the bridge Wes. What matters now is Legolas."
"Legolas? The Legolas?" One of the most well-known elves in all of history was still alive? And he was lying unconscious on Buffy's couch?
"Yeah. Giles told me he was famous. I know all about the Fellowship, the One Ring, yadda, yadda, yadda. What I don't know is how to cure him."
Wesley could hear the concern in Buffy's voice. Whoever - whatever - this person was, he meant a lot to the Slayer.
He couldn't help her before when she needed him. This time was different. "I don't know of any poison that powerful, off the top of my head, but I've got books on the subject. I'll look into it. Failing that, I'll ask the Watcher's Council."
"I don't exactly have a lot of faith in the Council, Wes."
He knew she was still thinking of the night she'd asked him to help Angel, but this was different in two vital ways. One -- elves, unlike vampires, were creatures of good to be protected. Two - he wasn't one to take orders from the Council anymore. "There's no stipulation against helping elves, Buffy. And even if there were... well, let's say if the Council knows anything, I'll find out what it is."
"What if...?"
"I'll find out." Whatever it took, whoever he had to threaten. Whatever was going on in Sunnydale was serious business, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.
"Thanks, Wesley."
"I'll be in touch."
He hung up, lost his contemplation of Buffy's words. He had several volumes on poisons, magical and otherwise.
Legolas. The Legolas. In Sunnydale. What could that possibly mean? As a rule, the elves who hadn't crossed he sea to Valinor did not pay attention to ordinary events of the mortal world. Which mean that something extraordinary was going to happen, with Buffy and her friends in the thick of it. He must find out more. Both to save the elf and determine what was going to happen to the world.
His letter from home forgotten, Wesley got down to work.