Author's note: Songs are pretty inspirational for fics – Chris' first letter was written listening to Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata'. The song Chris hums is The Carpenter's 'Close To You' (That song is creepy in the right setting. Seriously, when I hear it, I think – blood-drenched room and girl dancing while holding a machete or extremely big knife.) I think it'll have more of an effect – if you can – if you think of the song while reading that scene.
Chapter 6: For The Sake Of You
"Chris, what happened?"
Chris entered the house bleeding from his nose; scrapes and bruises covering his arms and face. Wesley followed him up the stairs and into his room. "It's that wanker, Craig. He ambushed me; he and his friends beat me up." Chris told him. Wesley moved out of the way as Chris walked passed him to get a towel.
When Chris just stood silently there wiping the blood off, Wesley said "Well, you're awfully calm about it."
Chris stopped and looked straight at his brother. His voice low, he said, "Right now, I'd like nothing better than to see that bastard dead."
Wesley saw the look in his eyes and knew that this was no brash statement. "Chris…" Wesley started.
Chris dropped the towel on his desk and said "Come on, I'm thirsty. Let's get something to drink." And walked away before Wesley could finish what he was about to say.
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Wesley was behind the reception area battling with Cordelia's filing system when someone entered the lobby. The person cleared her throat twice before Wesley realised he was not alone. He turned around to see a policewoman.
"Wesley Wyndam-Price?" she asked.
Wesley put down the folders in his hand on Cordelia's desk and walked towards her. "Yes?"
"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to ask you a few questions. It won't be long." She said politely.
Wesley still looked at her with confusion but complied. "Um, we can use the office. This way, please."
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Angel came up from the basement after a routine patrol with Gunn. As soon as he entered the lobby, Wesley got out of the office and confronted him.
"You brought the police into this?"
Angel looked taken aback and replied "Yeah. I figured since it's not like we're tracking a demon, there's no harm in getting their help."
Wesley looked like he was trying to control his anger. "Angel, I told you not to."
Angel frowned. "What's the problem, Wes? It's not like we have to hide him or anything, right?"
That made Wesley stop and blink, his scowl instantly leaving his face and his posture relaxing. "You're right; it's not." He said after a while, sounding as if he just realised this himself. Looking dazed, he rubbed his face and turned to walk away. "I'm sorry – you did the right thing." He said absently. Angel and Gunn watched as Wesley retreated up the stairs back to his room, unable to make sense of what just happened.
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The Hyperion was quiet as all its occupants were in their rooms, sleeping away the idle night. Unexpectedly, the chilling air of the outside swooned into the empty lobby as the doors were quietly opened. No one knew of the trespasser's presence in their home, and he was pleased with their ignorance. Silently stepping over the threshold, he looked around before eyeing up the stairs to his right.
He walked towards it and stopped in front of the first steps. It was at this moment he started to hum a song - the innocent tune eerie as it echoed through the darkness. Before moving further, he took out a small dagger from his jacket pocket. He held his right hand out and slowly slashed deeply across the palm. He watched as the blood built up, pooling in his hand until it overflowed, stray droplets dripping on the floor and running down his arm. He placed his bloodied hand on the wall, staining it red, and finally walked up the stairs, a smeared trail of blood following in his wake.
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The day was bright and shining, mocking the group of people drawn together in their grief. It was a gathering of the family of the departed, as well as close associates. The mother's cries were heard by all, shedding her pride momentarily to mourn of her only son's death.
Young Wesley watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground, the tightness in his chest only succeeding to be more constricting. As the priest delivered his words of faith, Wesley finally turned his attention to the person across from him, their eyes instantly connecting; and in that moment realization and understanding dawned. A tiny shrug of the shoulder, a flicker in the eye.
Both brothers knew that Craig's death won't be the last.
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It all happened as if in slow motion.
Before he reached the first floor, Cordelia came into view at the top of the stairs. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw him but before she could do anything, Chris had taken out a gun and soundlessly shot her once. twice. three times. As she was slumping, Chris caught her in his arms, and smiled. He started to dance. He twirled with the dead corpse in his arms, moving to the melodious music in his mind; his right hand entwined with hers and the other holding her up by the waist. He hummed the instrumental solo into her hair like a private waltz for two lovers. As it came to a closure, he brought them to a standstill, kissing her forehead tenderly where the bullet pierced her and then dropping her carelessly to the floor.
He licked the blood off his lips and tasted it in his mouth. His white shirt was smeared where it touched the wound on Cordelia's stomach. He put his hand on the wall and continued with the angry pattern, his humming unwavering like a theme to the massacre.
He managed a few steps before Gunn came out of his room, unaware.
Chris unsheathed his dagger and took two strides before he stabbed Gunn cleanly in the gut. Gunn hitched his breath but already he was spitting out blood. Chris had a triumphant look on his face as he further deepened the weapon and twisted it sharply. He reached up for the nape of Gunn's neck and pulled him down, rubbing their bottom lips together as a fleeting kiss before finally taking out the dagger. Gunn fell slowly to his knees, leaning on the wall for support as the seconds ticked away to his last breath.
Chris returned his blade, stepping over Gunn's body as he advanced down the hall. He walked as if in a trance, his body swaying to the serene song and his steps a slow andante. With his hands down by his sides, the still open wound dripping blood onto the carpet, he came closer and closer until he stopped in front of the room.
As he opened the door, he sang the last words of the song. "Just. like. me…" He walked nonchalantly into the room towards the bedroom area. "They long – to be…" He came closer a few steps until he was standing next to the bed. There, Wesley lay peacefully in his slumber, his features soft and quaint, oblivious of the intruder that had invaded his quarters. No longer following the tune, Chris whispered the next words haltingly.
"Close…" Chris lightly laid his bloodied fingertips on Wesley's face and trailed them down his cheeks. "To…" cupping Wesley's left cheek, he softly ran his thumb across his lips, staining it red, and leaned in close until their faces were only inches apart; eye to eye, and lips to lips.
"You."
Wesley woke up to an empty room; covered in sweat, his breathing hard and erratic.
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Unable to sleep, Wesley decided that he had to get out. Leaving a note on the reception desk, he made his way out onto the streets and towards the nearest pub. He knew he shouldn't be out alone but staying in his room in that enclosed space was suffocating him. The night air refreshed his troubled mind and he was glad for the distraction. Before long, he had arrived at the pub without trouble and ordered a Guinness before taking a seat at one of the more solitary booths. After a while, his eyes began to blur so he got up and made his way to the toilet.
The lights flickered furiously overhead, threatening to die out at any moment. He went to the sink and turned the knob, splashing the gushing water onto his face. Wiping it off before it could trail down his neck he looked up in the mirror. The last few days had left him pale and tired, not getting enough sleep, or if any, one that was filled with lurid dreams. Feeling only slightly better, Wesley returned to his booth.
As he sat down, he took a long swallow of his drink, almost finishing the glass before he put it down again. He rubbed his temple, feeling a familiar headache brewing, when he suddenly felt a presence beside him.
"Mind if I sit down?" said Chris.
Wesley tensed immediately. His breath quickened slightly as he felt the body slide in next to him. Chris was here! His thoughts were swirling frantically in his head, desperately trying to latch onto any one before they suddenly stopped; silent.
Wesley looked up and turned to face his brother. In an expanse of a few seconds that seemed like forever, nobody did anything; no movements, no words. To an outsider, they would look impassive, but their eyes were searching. Everything faded out – the noise, the people – and it was only them. Then, gradually, a faint look of relief crossed Wesley's face.
"Chris…" Wesley said, his voice gentle. Slowly, he leaned forward to embrace his brother and carefully laid his head on Chris' shoulder, looking much as a scene of simple tenderness. Wesley sighed and, closing his eyes, whispered softly:
"I missed you."