Chapter Seventeen

Monday, November 11, 2002 – Wesley's apartment, Los Angeles; not long before midnight:

Wesley glanced at the door as Lilah walked quickly out of his apartment, yelling at one of her minions on her cell phone. { Probably that berk, Gavin Park. } From the woman's tone, something must have gone wrong with one of Wolfram & Hart's plans...

Oddly, Wesley found that he had no feelings about that, one way or the other. This worried him, slightly. Apathy wasn't something he could afford, at least not in his current line of work. { That reminds me, I need to get in touch with Diana, Hawkins and Jones to find out what's been happening over the past twenty-four hours. But that can wait until morning, I suppose. I can afford to at least take the rest of the night off, especially after everything that's happened lately... }

Wesley got up, as naked as the day he was born, and walked into his bedroom to put on some fresh clothes. A reluctant smile came to his face; after he and Lilah had walked in through the front door, the randy little wench had started tearing his clothes off, too impatient to wait another moment longer. In fact, Lilah had been in such a hurry they'd never even made it to the bedroom. Amazing how sex could make an animal out of almost anyone, man or woman...

Still, now that Lilah had gone, the emptiness of his life hit Wesley all over again like a ton of bricks. He was suddenly reminded of one of his favorite childhood films, The Wizard Of Oz, and one of the classic scenes of the movie with Dorothy, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man:

"Well, you're perfect now."
"Perfect? Oh, bang on my chest if you think I'm perfect. Go ahead – bang on it!"
"Beautiful! What an echo!"
"It's empty. The tinsmith forgot to give me a heart."
"No heart?"
"No heart."

{ Is that what's happened to me? } Wesley asked himself, in a moment in self-honesty and candor. { Have I become totally heartless, nowadays? It's amazing how remembering your childhood with such sudden clarity can give one such a sense of perspective. Still, it's hardly surprising after everything that happened last year. So I did the right thing, leaving the hotel when I did; it's none of my business anymore what happens to Angel, or any of the rest of them. }

He suddenly got angry at himself. Wesley knew what true hopelessness was – he had seen enough of it in the past – and where there was life, there was still a quantum of hope. So what if he felt empty? To quote his father, you go on and do the job anyway.

He just hoped the day would eventually come when he wouldn't feel this way anymore.

{ Still, that's hardly likely the longer Lilah and I keep... consorting like this, } Wesley thought to himself with another bout of painful self-honesty. { It's been six months since I started sleeping with a woman who doesn't love me – who can't love me, most likely, given who and what she is. Maybe I should }

The phone abruptly exploded into life, and Wesley stared at it in some surprise. He had no idea who would be calling at this time of night. Then he abruptly recalled another one of his father's old sayings: whenever someone calls you between eleven o'clock at night and seven o'clock in the morning, it's either an old friend who's had far too many drinks that evening... or else, it's trouble...

"Hello?" Wesley said curiously, picking up the receiver.

«Wesley Wyndam-Pryce?» a British-accented voice replied.

"Yes. Who is this?" Wesley demanded.

«The name is Nigel Ahuja.» the man's voice said smoothly. «Perhaps you've heard of me?»

Wesley hesitated for a moment, but then abruptly recalled the name in question. "Yes, vaguely. Three or four years ago, you were Quentin Travers' right-hand man within the organization."

«Indeed, and I still am. Ah... it's nice to know that I'm so memorable, old chap.» Nigel's voice sounded rather amused. «And sorry to be ringing so late, your time, but I thought you'd want to know the latest developments concerning your former Slayer. Girl named Faith Lehane. I'm correct in assuming, am I not, that no one's seen fit to inform you of what's happened there?»

"You assume correctly," Wesley replied in a stiff, curt tone. "What's happened, then?"

«Earlier today, Her Majesty's representative from the Watcher's Council passed on a request to the Executive Office of the President of the United States federal government. The request was for the President to enact an Executive Order related to the International Slayer Protocol. I trust I don't have to explain the significance of this to you?»

"What, that Travers wants Faith released from prison in order to kill her, so that he can get his hands on her successor? No, I suppose you don't," Wesley said emotionlessly.

«Your conclusion is incorrect, actually; that's not an option that was ever considered.» Nigel's voice now contained a bit more steel, to Wesley's ear. «The Progressive bloc of the Council has been adamant on that subject since Miss Lehane's self-imposed incarceration, and with Mr. Travers' support and agreement. Especially after that... debacle in Los Angeles, sponsored by the Traditionalist faction.»

"You mean, when that wet works team started shooting at Faith and Miss Summers in public? And failed to kill them? Yes, I suppose I can't argue with your description of that situation," Wesley smirked for a moment, abruptly wondering whether this was why Lilah had started yelling into her phone a few moments ago. He hadn't forgotten how she and her colleagues had arranged to have the rogue Slayer put away for twenty-five to life for betraying Wolfram & Hart, after hiring Faith to kill Angel.

"Still, assuming for the sake of argument that all this is on the level – why tell me?" Wesley then asked Ahuja, focusing back on the current conversation.

«Because even though according to Rupert Giles, the girl has been rehabilitated and is ready to resume her duties as a Slayer... she did gleefully torture you, all those years ago.» Nigel's voice was now a bit softer. «Thus, I thought you should know what was happening with her, just in case you somehow run into that particular Chosen One again.»

"I appreciate the thought; however, it's most unlikely that'll happen. I have no intention of ever returning to Sunnydale, assuming that's where Faith will head for upon her release – and her relationship with Angel is no longer an issue, either. I no longer work with that vampire, after all," Wesley said into the mouthpiece.

«Oh? Curious. And interesting. May I ask why?»

"No, you may not," Wes said instantly, his tone making it clear that that was not a subject that was open to discussion.

«As you wish. Well, then, one last question before I go – are you perchance aware of how the entity known as the First Evil is currently trying to exterminate all the Potential Slayers in this world?»

Instantly, this got Wesley's complete and undivided attention. "What did you just say?"


Tuesday, November 12, 2002 – Northern California Women's Facility in Stockton, California; morning:

"Open up for 430019!"

Faith had a brief moment of déjà vu, flashing back to hearing the guard's voice two days ago when Xander had shown up here to visit her. Then she shook her head, focusing back on the present as the cell doors slid open and the guard gestured for her to exit. "Edie. What's going on?"

"Get moving, Convict. Warden wants to see you, pronto."

Nodding, Faith walked out of her cell and began the long trek to the jail boss's office. She mostly ignored the shouts from her fellow inmates, who suspected she was going to be given a month in solitary for that 'incident' with Deb; which explained why they were either yelling encouragement or abuse at her. Rhodes was obviously not in the mood for talking, however; the guard's face was a mask of calm indifference, but after the past few years, Faith could tell whenever one of the screws around here was wired and anticipating trouble of some sort.

Finally, they arrived at the Warden's office and Rhodes knocked twice on the door. Upon hearing the muffled "Come in!", Edie turned the doorknob, opened the door and entered the room. Without waiting to be asked, Faith entered the office as well as Edie quickly shut the door behind her.

"Siddown, Convict," the Warden growled at her. Faith did so, wondering what was going on. She knew better than to speak up and ask, though. What with the bad mood the jail boss was in, it was pretty obvious she didn't need to; the man was going to tell her the situation in a very loud and booming voice, soon enough.

"What the fuck is going on with you, Lehane?" the Warden demanded suspiciously, right on cue. "Why are so many people suddenly interested in your ass? First off, someone tries to kill you two days ago. Then I get a phone call from the State Governor's office this morning – from Davis himself, mind you! – before a fax arrives. A fax confirming that later today, you're gonna be issued a freaking Presidential pardon! So I repeat – what the fuck is going on with you? How the hell did you pull off something like this?"

"Wasn't me, boss," Faith shook her head, trying to process what she'd just heard. "I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it. And I don't know for sure what's going on, but... I think I can guess who's behind it all."

"Well?!" the Warden yelled, once Faith failed to elaborate any further.

"I, uh, I figure it's probably this bunch of guys in England who want me dead," Faith said vaguely. "They can't get to me in here, so best guess is they decided to use their influence in order to have a clear shot at me, once I'm out."

"Influence? Are you seriously telling me these people can influence the goddamn President of the United States?!" the Warden yelled even louder this time.

"I dunno. Maybe. Wouldn't surprise me if they've got someone there on the inside, anyway," Faith shrugged.

The Warden looked at her, before calming down. "Let's get something straight, Convict. I don't like you, because you're a murderer. Hell, according to your file, you've killed more than once. But ever since you showed up here, you haven't caused me any intentional grief. Shit, up until lately you've practically been a model prisoner. So talk to me – who are these people that want you six feet under? If they're violating the law, maybe I can arrange protection for you – "

"No, boss, you can't," Faith interrupted, hoping like hell she wasn't making a huge mistake by doing this. "Way I figure it, these guys know too many people in both high and low places. You try to make waves, my money says you'll find out just how far their reach is. Any dirt under the carpet, for example, they'll somehow make it go public and ruin your life. And if that isn't an option, they'll use more... direct methods. You said you've read my file – did you read that part when someone shot at me from a helicopter in L.A., before I gave myself up? You wanna risk something like that happening to you, or your family?"

Faith could feel Rhodes stiffen not far away, but kept her eyes firmly on the jail boss sitting at the desk in front of her. The Warden stared at her, and then said way too calmly, "That a threat, Convict?"

"No, Warden. I'm just trying to warn ya that you don't have a clue who and what you're really dealing with, here. And you don't have to take my word for it; heck, go ahead and start asking people questions, if you want. Odds are that someone way above your pay grade will tell ya to just shut up and do as you're told; and if you don't, that's when the threats will start," Faith told him candidly.

"You seem awfully sure 'bout that, Convict," Rhodes finally spoke up, as the Warden (and Faith herself) looked in the guard's direction. "And you seem pretty damn calm regarding the fact that someone's just painted a huge target on your back, too."

"That target's been there for years, Edie. Besides, I can take care of myself," Faith shrugged. "Whoever or whatever these guys send after me after I get kicked out of here, I'll deal."

"You gonna go to that common law husband of yours for help? What's his name, your visitor on Sunday – that Alexander Harris guy?" Rhodes asked, glancing at the Warden.

"Husband? What? Who are you two talking about?" the jail boss demanded suspiciously.

"Just someone I knew back in high school, boss. And naw, wasn't planning on any such thing," Faith shook her head in response to Edie's question. "Wouldn't want to fuck up Xander's life, and like I said before – we're all estranged and shit, now."


A few hours later – Turner and Peterson Construction, Sunnydale branch office, Sunnydale; mid-morning:

Knock-knock.

"Come in!"

Xander hesitated, but then complied with the order and entered his immediate superior's office. The Junior VP in charge of Projects and Planning stared at him for a moment before saying, "Siddown, Harris. We need to talk."

"Yes, sir. About what?"

The man didn't say anything for a moment, which only ratcheted up the tension as far as Xander was concerned. Things had been somewhat tense at home this morning, with Cordelia wondering what the hell she was going to do with herself all day while he was at work, and expecting him to provide an answer. His suggestion that she hang out with Willow hadn't gone down very well, for some reason. Whether that was because of Cordelia's feelings concerning the whole 'you cheated on me with that red-haired hussy!' thing, or because Willow would be too busy with college classes and researching the amnesia problem, Xander had no idea...

"I got a phone call from Head Office yesterday," the Junior VP said, distracting Xander from his mental musings. "That Mary Worthington woman, Mr. Peterson's private secretary. So I have just one question for you, Harris." The man got up from behind his desk, and approached him closely. "Did you call her after I called you, yesterday afternoon?"

{ Oh, crap. Mary, what have you done? And what should I say? Should I lie? Should I tell him the truth? } Ultimately, Xander decided to go with his instincts and said, "Yes sir, I did." He almost cringed, waiting for his boss to explode in fury and indignation about the request for a transfer to Los Angeles...

But much to his amazement, the Junior VP did no such thing. Instead he smiled, the man actually smiled and clapped him on the back. Hard. { What the heck? } he asked himself in sheer disbelief, as his boss started chuckling.

"I have to hand it to you, Harris – you've not only got brains, you surely got the balls to go with 'em," the Junior VP chortled, as he ambled back to his chair. "Just about anyone else, they'd have called their contact in the company and either trash-talked me or applied for a transfer, after what happened between us yesterday. But not you. No, you're smarter than that, aren't you? Yup, you sure are – and you're definitely gonna be going places with that kind of moxie, I swear. You know how to play the game, you surely do!"

"Uh... thank you, sir," Xander replied weakly, still not sure what the hell was going on here.

Luckily, his boss didn't appear to notice. The man said laughingly, "You've probably been planning this for a while, haven't you? And your timing doesn't suck at all, I have to admit. Hell, I don't know how you managed to convince that Worthington woman to recommend me to Mr. Peterson for that new position in the Glendale office – but then, I don't need to. I've just gotten my dream job in the big city, and that's all I care about! And you'll be pleased to know that you've just been promoted to my old spot, here at this branch of the company. I'll be making the big announcement in a few minutes at the staff meeting, but I thought you should know beforehand, obviously."

"Uh... yes, sir. Um, thank you for that," Xander managed to say, his mind still attempting to make sense of all this.

"You're welcome. Now, we'll need to discuss details later on today, of course – I'm gonna have to bring you up to speed on all of the Construction and Contracting division's projects and operations before I go, and you're going to have to pick someone to take over your job as Assistant Junior VP. Got any ideas on who?" the newly promoted T&P executive asked, almost absently.

"Uh, there's two or three guys I can think of right off the top of my head, sir. I'm gonna need a chance to talk with them, conduct interviews either today or tomorrow before I make my final choice," Xander semi-babbled on autopilot, still trying to cope with everything that had just happened.

"OK, whatever. I'll leave that in your hands; just give me the name before I head for L.A., so I can file the paperwork before I start my new job there," Xander's boss told him, before starting to examine a number of papers on his desk. "Anyway, that'll be all for now. And don't forget to make an appointment with my secretary to see me after lunch; we'll have a lot to do during this afternoon, like I said."

"Yes, sir, will do," Xander replied, feeling more than slightly freaked as his boss chortled again and waved at him to get out. Feeling dazed, he quickly exited the office and headed for the main lunch room and cafeteria, to grab some much-needed liquid refreshment.

"Harris? You OK?" Tony asked, as the foreman spotted him gulping down the contents of the water cooler like he was dying of thirst.

"I honestly don't know," Xander replied vaguely, even as Tony continued to stare at him in concern. "Although I get the feeling my life's just gotten a lot more complicated... "


Many hours later – Xander's apartment, Sunnydale; late afternoon:

Cordelia sat on the living room couch, bored. She switched off the idiot box and glanced at her recently repaired watch, wondering when Xander was coming home from work. The thought instantly annoyed her; because for one thing, her life should NOT revolve around the Doofus – even though right now, however much Cordy hated to admit it, it sorta did – and for another, it was 2002 nowadays (even if it still felt like '98 to her, but whatever), and the whole 1950s female mindset thing was so not her!

With nothing else to do, she'd spent most of her time today at the Sunnydale Public Library, trying to catch up on everything that had happened in the world since junior year. It had been so weird how the librarian there had initially assumed she was as computer-savvy as Willow had been in the old days; but with that wrinkly old spinster's help, Cordy figured she'd managed to access enough news articles to at least get some idea regarding most of the major events during the last four and a half years.

Like the Bill Clinton/Monica Lewinsky sex scandal, just a few months after her memories of 1998 ended.

The war in Kosovo during 1999.

The attack on the USS Cole during Y2K.

The terrorist attacks of 9/11, during 2001.

Even that terrorist bombing in Bali last month, which was still a major talking point in certain circles with regard to President Bush (and the fact that that guy had actually gotten himself elected? Still totally wigsome, to her mind) and his so-called War on Terror.

Suddenly, the front door opened, and Xander came in. In a flash, Cordelia was up off the couch and walking towards him. She could see the thousand yard expression on his face and said worriedly, "What is it? Xander, what's wrong?"

"Uh, nothing I guess," the lamer said absently in reply, which instantly caused her to roll her eyes in annoyance.

"Seriously? I can tell how it's not 'nothing', Dumbass. You have 'something' face," Cordelia told him frankly, causing him to stare at her in surprise. "Now, spill! What happened today? Did Willow manage to figure out how to fix my little memory problem? Oh, wait, no – she didn't tell you that it's not fixable, did she?!"

"What? Oh, no! No, honey, it's nothing like that," Xander said, and instantly, Cordelia's pulse quickened slightly at his unconscious use of the endearment. She made a snap decision to forgive him for hurting her feelings with the whole 'Anya' thing last night as Harris added, "It's just, something unusual happened at work today... "

"Like what? Oh, don't tell me you got fired for taking the day off yesterday, and refusing to come in when your boss called you up to do it?" Cordy asked in sudden horror.

"No... I got a promotion. 'Cause that guy's just been transferred to L.A., and I'm taking over his job," Xander said slowly, still looking like he couldn't quite believe it.

She blinked. "Oh-kay... " Cordelia shook her head. "You just threw me on the hairpin curve. Wanna run that by me again?"

"I'm serious," Harris replied. "I mean, hey, I get where you're coming from! I thought for sure there had to be some sorta mistake, but apparently it's all on the up and up. I'm now the Junior VP in charge of Projects and Planning, with a new corner office and a pay rise of roughly ten grand a year, on top of what I'm already making... "

She instantly squealed in happiness. "Oh my God! You're actually serious? But hey, that's great news! Incredible news! So why aren't you all with the celebrating, already?"

"Because I was expecting to transfer to Los Angeles – and to swallow a demotion and pay cut for it – not to be offered my boss's job here in Sunnydale on a silver platter," Xander explained carefully. "Good Godfrey Cambridge, Cor, think about it. This sort of thing doesn't just happen! Well, not to me, anyway. It's almost as if... "

"As if what?"

"As if something's determined to keep me here in Sunnydale," Xander shook his head, looking troubled. "And that worries me, sweetheart, more than just a bit."

"Oh, will you quit it with being so negative?" Cordelia said sternly, before grabbing him by the lapels. "You listen to me, Dummy! You are not cursed never to know a moment's happiness or success, OK? However it happened, this is a good thing! I mean, hey, are you telling me you're not capable of doing this new job you've been given?"

"Well, no – I can do it, definitely, I mean that's not the issue – "

"Did you do anything wrong in acquiring the promotion, however it happened? Like conspiracy, bribery, whatever?" she demanded, cutting him off.

"No, 'course not!" Xander replied with a slight glare. "Cordy, I never asked Mary to do something like this!"

"Then what's your problem?" Cordelia abruptly let go, and gave her former boyfriend a stern look. "Stop overthinking things, ya big goof! Now, like I said, we need to start celebrating your good fortune today – and I can't think of anything better than you and me having dinner at my favorite French restaurant, later tonight. So take off those smelly clothes and go take a shower while I make the reservations, OK? Then put on your best suit and wait here, while I put on that blue dress you bought me – along with those cute little Ferragamo pumps. Now, go on, move that hopeless ass of yours!" She shoved the bemused-looking Xander towards his room, continually pushing until the guy was safely behind his bedroom door.

Cordelia quickly rang the number of her favorite restaurant, which was named Didier's; and much to her relief, she discovered that it was still in business. She made the eight o'clock reservations for two, and upon hearing Xander taking a shower, she retreated to her own (tiny!) bedroom in order to plan how best to knock the bozo's socks off later on tonight.

{ Lessee, in order – hair, clothes, makeup, shoes... } Yes, it shouldn't take more than half an hour, at least if she hurried.

Wasn't smart to make your guy wait too long for you to get ready for a night on the town, after all, until you were safely back together with him again.


Later that night – outside the Sunnydale city limits, State Highway 33; evening:

Jonathan and Andrew were heading for the Hellmouth in their car, having been on the road for nearly forty-eight hours. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given their geek nature, their El Camino was heavily adorned in a super-stereotypical Mexican style: the car had a fringe around the top of the windshield, and lots of decorations. Jonathan was driving, with Andrew beside him riding shotgun.

Andrew sighed. "You keep circling around. Just, just drive straight in."

Jonathan glared at him. "Will you shut up? We gotta keep it low pro."

Andrew shook his head. "Admit it. You're just scared."

Levinson snorted and replied, "Yeah, of course I'm scared. And I have every right to be. 'Cause last time we were here, thirty-three point three bar percent of us were flayed alive. Remember? And you and me almost got fried by a black-eyed badass, who makes the Wicked Witch of the West look like the Good Witch of the North by comparison!"

Wells shook his head. "Calm down, li'l feller. No one's getting flayed alive this time. We got a plan, remember? We're gonna fix all that."

Jonathan didn't look convinced. "Tell you the truth, I almost wish I'd stayed in Mexico."

Andrew immediately shook his head again. "Ah, I never really liked it there. Everybody spoke Mexicoan."

Levinson scoffed, "You could've learned it. You learned the entire Klingon dictionary in two and a half weeks!"

Andrew replied defensively, "That had much clearer transitive and intransitive rules, OK? Besides, I can't keep having those nightmares."

"Me, neither. Desde abajo te debora," Jonathan muttered, partly to himself.

Andrew briefly looked out the window. "It eats you starting with your bottom."

"Gonna have to make things right," Levinson told his companion.

Andrew replied, getting all misty-eyed, "I know. We're like outlaws, with hearts of gold!"

Jonathan subsequently made a decision, and they soon drove past the "Welcome to Sunnydale" street sign; with neither nerd having any idea what the evening held in store for them, later on at the high school...

TBC…


A/N: Bet most of you had forgotten about Duo of Dorkness, huh? And major thanks to Ian (a.k.a. Alkeni) for consultation about the British Watcher (of Indian heritage) named Nigel, what his surname should be; if you haven't read his Iron Coin Chronicles Season 2 story yet, you definitely should! Along with all the other fanfics in that story series, as well as his other stuff. Anyway, thanks as always to everyone who's read and reviewed the story so far, please keep sending us your feedback and critique! Should we kill off Jonathan? Should Xander get lucky? Should Wesley make some major life changes? Inquiring minds want to know!