Worlds Apart
by
Brenda
Title: Worlds Apart
Author: Brenda
Fandom: Angel/Buffy fandom
Category: Gen. Action-Adventure
Hurt-Comfort
Rating: 15
WARNINGS: Violence
Season: Angel S2/Buffy
S5
Spoilers: Set post 'Disharmony'.
Summary: When their own Wesley goes missing after a trip to a magical bookshop, Angel, Cordelia and Gunn find that they have a completely different Wesley Wyndam-Pryce on their hands. Meanwhile Wesley finds himself in a parallel world where things happened very differently. Can he get back to his own world or should he attempt to change this one?
Characters: Angel, Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn, Lorne, Giles, Willow.
"He's still not answering his page."
Angel paused in wiping the remains of a very angry and very hungry Ren'thal demon family from the blade of his broadsword and looked up at the sound of Cordelia's tense announcement. Only she could manage an expression that was equal parts annoyed, impatient, tired, worried and pissed. Her face was smudged with dirt and an assortment of dried demon fluids she probably didn't want to know about, giving her a grim, almost manic look. She replaced the phone into its cradle a little more forcefully than was called for, her lips pressed together tightly. "And he didn't check in."
"Man, that is not like Wesley." Charles Gunn eyed the blade of his hubcap axe critically, gave it one last swipe with a cloth, then turned around to face the other two, frowning.
When they'd first gotten a call about a demon on the rampage down by the piers, they had tried paging Wesley, but he had never responded. Cordelia had tried again on the drive over, but he still didn't respond. The next several hours had been spent on the waterfront, where they discovered the rampaging Ren'thal demon was actually a mama Ren'thal who was trying to provide for her brood of young who were nearly ready to be out hunting down their own human food. The 'children' had the claws, teeth and arm-reach to make them nearly as dangerous as the adult, and the team had been badly outnumbered. Again, Cordelia had put in a 911-page to Wesley, which he never answered. After that they were all too busy trying to stay alive to worry about it until they were driving back home.
"No, unlike some people in this organization Wesley actually answers his pages and remembers to check in," Cordelia said, looking pointedly at Angel. "He wouldn't be out of contact this long."
Angel agreed, but he didn't say anything as Cordelia quickly dialed a number by memory; he could hear the unanswered rings as clearly as she could with the receiver pressed tight against her ear. "No answer at his apartment," she said finally and this time gently replaced the receiver in the cradle. When she looked up there was only anxiety left in her expression. "But he was only going to a bookstore," she said, a little desperately.
"A magical bookstore," Gunn reminded her darkly. "One he hadn't been to before. One he just found out about."
"Right," she said grimly, searching through the papers on the desk, "and he's got the number here somewhere. Ah ha!"
If he hadn't been so worried, Angel might have smiled at how much Cordelia's cry of triumph sounded like Wesley's 'Eureka!' He and Gunn exchanged a look across the lobby as she quickly punched in the numbers, silently debating which of them was going to remind her it was two o'clock in the morning. When Gunn continued to stare at him, eyebrows raised, he finally ventured, "Cordelia, it's two in the morning."
"So, maybe they keep strange hours," she replied crossly. "Or at least they have an answering machine and I can leave a message. Or maybe they live over the store and I'll wake someone up. Or..." Her face falling, she once again put the phone down. "None of those options."
Wesley had been so excited when he'd tracked down a rare encyclopedic set of demonology in the original Siroglith, which didn't carry all the errors of the later human language translations so he claimed. A long phone conversation with the store owner convinced him it would be well worth the two-hour drive with the company credit card to see what else he might find there. He'd been making a wish list for days of the resource materials he hoped to find there, and the rest of them had merely nodded gravely as he chattered happily about each entry. It hadn't been that long ago that Wesley had nearly died from a gunshot wound, and the rest of them were pretty indulgent with him still. His recovery had been slow, painful and difficult to witness. When Angel had come back to Angel Investigations, asking to be made a part of the team again, he'd watched as Wesley had struggled from wheelchair to cane to determined non-assistance in his everyday duties as head of Angel Investigations. During those weeks of recovery it had been hard not to order Wesley to stay behind when they went out on dangerous calls, but that wasn't his call to make any more. Wesley made the decisions in the organization now, and Angel usually remembered that. When he didn't he could count on Cordelia loudly clearing her throat and jerking her head toward Wesley as a reminder. In fact, Wesley had only recently been medically cleared to drive, but despite both Gunn and Cordelia offering more than once to drive him to the bookstore, he had insisted on going off on his own. None of them thought it was a particularly good idea for someone who had just been released from medical restrictions to hop on a motorcycle to take a two hour trip, but Wesley had seemed so happy to be able to go out on his own without having to ask someone to take him that they'd all kept their mouths shut. They were all beginning to regret that.
"He's in trouble, isn't he?"
Angel shook himself out of his thoughts. "We'll find him, Cordelia," he said firmly. He didn't bother trying to convince her Wesley wasn't in some kind of trouble, because it was obvious to everyone in the room that he was. There was no way Wesley would have let those pages go unanswered unless something was very wrong. He could have run into something magical that rendered him helpless, or worse; or he could have lost control of his bike and driven it into a ravine. Wesley could be in the hands of demons or lying in a hospital somewhere unconscious. Either way he could be fighting for his life. But they would find him, and they'd go through anyone who tried to get in their way. "Gunn, let's go. We'll start at that bookstore."
He was heading for the door when Gunn called out softly, "Yo, Angel." When he turned back, Gunn had his axe in his hand and an apologetic look on his face. "You said it yourself, man. It's two o'clock in the morning. Two hour drive, and it'll be dawn when we get there."
"He's right, Angel," Cordelia added. "You can't help Wesley if you're Melba toasted."
They were both right, but that didn't make him feel any better about the fact he'd be sitting here, trapped inside the hotel, while Wesley was in some unknown trouble.
"Fine," he said, somewhat sulkily. "Gunn, you go to the bookstore. Check in with what you find out. Cordy and I will stay here. It's possible Wesley might come back here, or he could call in and..."
When he hesitated, Gunn finished, "And need help." The man clapped him lightly on the shoulder as he walked by. "Don't worry. If there's anything to be found out at that bookstore, I'll find it out."
As the door shut behind him, Angel didn't doubt that one bit. Wesley and Gunn had really bonded while he was away. Then when Wesley had been shot trying to help Gunn and his friends, it had only cemented their friendship. Angel was still feeling his way around his own relationships with the three of them now that he was back, trying to make amends for the way he had acted when he had gone 'all Darla-nuts' as Cordelia put it. He wanted to get back that comfortable 'this is my family' feeling they'd had before he'd fired them. He still felt a little pang of jealousy when Gunn and Wesley did the secret handshake of theirs that never failed to put a big beaming smile on Wesley's face, or when the three of them laughed so easily together when recalling some case they handled when he wasn't around. He knew it was his own fault he occasionally felt left out in the cold -- after all, he had left them, not the other way around -- but there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for any of them.
"We'll find him, Angel."
He looked up at the sound of Cordelia's voice. She had that determined 'nobody better mess with me and mine' look on her face, and he nodded in agreement. "Yes, we will." He walked across the lobby to carefully stow his sword in the weapons cabinet. "Why don't you get some sleep."
"I'm not going home," she said quickly.
She looked so exhausted he wouldn't have allowed her to drive home anyhow. "Didn't expect you to," he assured her. "Go on upstairs and get some sleep."
She began moving toward the stairs even as he spoke, with longing in her eyes at the very mention of sleep. "But you call me --"
"If I hear anything. Good-night, Cordy."
Satisfied, she quickly continued upstairs. Soon the hotel was silent, and Angel was left alone with his thoughts.
He ended up in Wesley's office because that office was better than the one Angel used, and Wesley had all the books. He would want a full account of their battle with the Ren'thal. (And it wasn't just your standard slice and dice as they'd discovered much to their dismay. You had to stab them at a certain spot just under one of their arms where Angel supposed their heart was as well as cut their heads off before the damn things would actually die. Of course, Wesley probably would have known that. But if he didn't it was something to add to their database.) So he forced himself to stop looking at the clock and wondering how close Gunn was to the bookstore and immersed himself in writing a report to set Wesley's eyes alight.
He was just finishing up when he heard the door to the hotel open. Due to the nature of their business it wasn’t unusual for them to get customers at all hours, and he got to his feet. He was glad for the interruption. A new case would give him something to think about other than what trouble Wesley could be in. He was just stepping around the desk when a familiar back-lit figure appeared in the doorway, and he froze.
"Wes?" Relief battled briefly with a surge of anger, and the anger won. "Wesley, where the hell have you been? Didn't you get Cordy's pages? Gunn's out there right now driving to that bookstore because --" He stopped suddenly as the man in the doorway took a step inside and leveled a crossbow at him.
"Hello, Angel."
"Wes, what the hell...?" The rest of the words died in his mouth as he got his first good look at the man. It was Wesley all right. Or at least it was Wesley's face and Wesley's body, and that was Wesley's voice, although it seemed a little gravelly and perhaps carried not as much of an accent as he was used to hearing. But there was at least a two-day growth of stubble on his face, and he was wearing a battered suede jacket that Angel had never seen before.
"It's been a long time. I doubt you expected to see me again, did you?" The bolt in the crossbow was aimed directly at his heart. The man smiled, but it was a parody of a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Surprise." His finger tightened to shoot the bolt.
"Wes, wait!" Angel tried to keep his voice calm and reasonable although he was feeling neither of those things. "Listen, I don't know what's going on, but --" He shook his head impatiently. "There is no but. I don't know what's going on. Listen, you left here yesterday to go to a bookstore. We tried to get in touch with you all night, but you never answered your pages. Something obviously happened to you --"
"Yes," Wesley said softly, "something did happen to me. You happened. It's time to repay you for that."
As he pulled the trigger on the bow, Cordelia called out from the lobby, "Angel, is something wrong? I thought I heard voices."
Wesley's head snapped around as Cordelia came into view. "My god," he breathed. "Cordelia?"
"Wesley?" Cordelia looked torn between smacking him and hugging him. "What happened to you? And where have you been? And why didn't you answer your pages?"
That moment of distraction was all Angel needed. He deflected the bolt and was around the desk in an instant, his arm snaking around Wesley's neck, holding him in a choke hold as the crossbow clattered to the floor. A little pressure and he could cut off his air long enough to render him unconscious if he had to. "I don't want to hurt you, Wesley," he warned.
"Oh that's a laugh, you bloody murdering demon --"
Angel abruptly tightened his arm. "On the other hand, maybe you need some time to cool down." When the man finally went limp, Angel easily took his weight in his arms and headed for the stairs.
"Angel!" Cordelia gaped at him, outraged. "What did you just do to him?"
He strode past her and called over his shoulder, "In the cabinet in my office. Handcuffs. Bring them upstairs."
"Angel, what's going on?"
"Handcuffs, Cordelia," he repeated shortly.
"Angel, that is Wesley," Cordelia whispered, looking down at the unconscious man stretched out on Angel's bed, his one arm handcuffed to the bedpost. "But what happened to him?"
Arms folded across his chest, Angel could only shake his head. "I don't know." He shifted on his feet, an undercurrent of hurt in his voice. "He tried to kill me."
"Do you think something happened at that bookstore to change him?"
"Cordelia, I don't know."
Frowning, she sat down on the bed beside Wesley and gently brushed his hair back from his forehead.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking for bumps. Maybe he fell off his motorcycle and hit his head. Maybe he has amnesia. Maybe he thinks he's a rogue demon hunter again." She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. "Or maybe it was magic. Someone -- or something -- did this to him. And they cut his hair and made it all...spiky." She paused. "Actually, it's a good look for him."
"Cordelia."
"I'm just saying." She tilted her head, studying the unconscious man. "Then again, this has got to be at least two, maybe three days, of stubble. Nice look, but again, he didn't look like this when he left here, and he certainly didn't grow it that fast naturally." Suddenly she pulled his sweater up, exposing his abdomen.
"Cordelia!"
She waved Angel to silence. "Relax. I’m just proving a point. Look at this. What do you see?"
Angel stared at Wesley's flat stomach. "Nothing?" he guessed.
"Exactly," she said triumphantly. "No scar where that bullet hole was." She looked up at Angel, her dark eyes solemn. "I changed his bandages enough to know where the stitches were and where his scar is. This Wesley has never been shot in the stomach." After carefully pulling his sweater back down, she gently moved the unconscious man's face with her fingers to show Angel what she could see from her angle. "But there is a scar here." There was a thin, white mark almost three inches long along his scalp. "That's an old scar, and he didn't have that a few hours ago."
"Motorcycle accident, two years ago," came a hoarse whisper as wary blue eyes slowly opened.
Angel had heard his heartbeat changing as Wesley neared consciousness but let Cordelia talk, curious about what the man's reaction would be. Cordelia didn't have that advantage, but to her credit she didn't jump when he spoke. Instead she said softly, "You're not our Wesley, are you?"
He looked at her for a long moment. "Your Wesley?" he repeated. Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone too quickly for Angel to identify it. "No," he said finally. "Apparently not." He tried to move and was brought up short by the handcuff on his wrist. He turned his head, gave it a long look, then sank back into the pillow, his face set and grim. "Whatever you're going to do," he said in a harsh, clipped voice, "just bloody do it and get it over with."
Angel exchanged a look with Cordelia. "I'm not going to 'do' anything, Wes," he said calmly, "except try to figure out what's happened. You obviously aren't the Wesley Wyndam-Pryce who left here yesterday to go to a bookstore."
Wesley's eyes narrowed, and he repeated, "Bookstore?"
Angel and Cordelia exchanged another look. "Were you in a bookstore too?" she asked.
The man got that stubborn expression on his face Angel recognized all too well and clamped his mouth shut.
"Look," Angel sighed, "I'm going to release you. We're not your enemies."
As Angel retrieved the key from his pocket and began to unlock the cuff, Cordelia said sternly, "But no staking Angel, got it?"
"He's a vampire," Wesley said in a hard voice.
"Yeah, so? And you were a Watcher, but we don't hold that against you."
Wesley stiffened. "How did you --?" His eyes narrowed suddenly in suspicion. "Why are you with him?"
"I work with him. So does Wesley, so don't get all snooty."
"There is no way you will make me believe a Watcher would work with a vampire," he said sharply. "Watchers kill vampires. And you --" He broke off suddenly as sorrow filled his eyes. "Oh no. Oh, Cordelia," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."
She blinked at him. "What? Why? What are you...?" Then realization hit and she rolled her eyes. "Oh for Pete's sake. Come here." As Angel watched, slack-jawed, she clamped two hands around Wesley's head, pulled him up and pressed it against her chest. Angel could see Wesley's eyes go wide as her soft, generous breasts settled in around him. He was more in danger of being smothered now than he was when Angel had him in a chokehold. "Hear that, buster? That's my heart. Not a vampire."
Abruptly she let him go and he dropped back onto the pillow, eyes still wide. He swallowed hard, licked his lips, and then managed a hoarse, "Not a vampire."
"Good, we've got that settled," Cordelia said briskly, and pointed at Angel with a beautifully-manicured index finger. "And no dusting Angel. Got it?"
His voice still a little odd, he whispered, "Got it."
Cordelia shot Angel a meaningful look. "What are you waiting for?"
Angel unlocked the cuff, but he kept a wary eye on Wesley as he did so. He remembered Wesley when he first showed up in Sunnydale. The man had been pretty ineffective on a practical basis, but he had more knowledge about vampires and demons in his head than any man Angel had ever met. Since then he'd become an effective fighter, and he didn't lack courage. While he was no match for Angel, he was still dangerous. On top of that, this Wesley looked like an older, more hardened version of his friend, and that made him an unknown quantity.
With his arm released, Wesley tried to sit up but couldn't quite get the leverage. Without thinking, Angel reached out to lend his support, freezing when the man flinched from his touch.
"He's not going to bite you," Cordelia reproved.
Wesley simply ignored them both as he got to his feet, his wiry body radiating tension. And something else. Angel remembered that look from when Wesley first showed up on his doorstep, unemployed and broke. This Wesley looked as though he had missed a few too many meals as well.
"We're not your enemies," Angel repeated. "But we have a problem. Our friend is missing, and you're the only lead we have. So let's just agree to work together to get our Wesley back and get you to wherever it is you belong."
The other man turned away, but not before Angel saw the bitter twist to his mouth and heard his murmured, "Where I belong."
Suddenly Cordelia stepped aggressively into Wesley's personal space. "Listen, let me spell it out for you, Mr. Not-Wesley. Our Wesley is missing. He may be in danger -- scratch that, he is in danger. We want him back, safe and in one piece. And you --" She gave him a hard poke in the center of the chest with that perfectly manicured finger --" are going to help us."
Wesley gave a soft snort. "A failed ex-Watcher working for a vampire and an cheerleader."
"Hey," Cordelia said sharply.
But before she could say anything else, Angel spoke up, his voice softly dangerous, "Wesley isn't a failed anything. Now come on downstairs and let's start figuring out what happened and how to fix it." He sighed. "And please don't do anything stupid because I really don't want to hurt you."
Giving Angel a look of both deep suspicion and resentment, Wesley walked stiffly past him. Pausing just long enough to exchange another look, Angel and Cordelia followed.
"Something wrong with your food?"
Wesley had sat down at the table where indicated, but had maintained a determined silence while Angel scrambled eggs and made toast. He and Cordelia each had a plate of eggs in front of them, but Wesley was making no move to eat.
"I don't happen to be hungry."
Since Angel had heard his stomach growling ever since he cracked the first egg into the frying pan, he knew that wasn't true.
"Oh for heaven's sake." Cordelia leaned over, speared a piece of egg from Wesley's plate and put it into her mouth, chewing forcefully. "See. Not poisoned. Not drugged. Now will you eat already. You can't afford to miss too many more meals, Mister I'm-not-hungry."
Wesley slid her a resentful glare, but after an apparent internal struggle, picked up his fork and began eating with enough enthusiasm to tell Angel he hadn't seen food in a while.
"Okay, let's get down to business," Angel said. "You obviously know who we are, and we know who you are. But you're not the Wesley Wyndam-Pryce who works here with us."
Wesley halted his fork in its path to his mouth. "Hardly."
"All right, let's start with that. So how did you get here?"
Wesley chewed in silence for a few moments, then stopped and took a sip of tea. "You mentioned a bookstore. By the name of Malichai's Books and Magickals?"
Angel looked to Cordelia for confirmation, and she nodded her head.
"I stopped in there yesterday on my way into town, just to look around. I'd heard he had some rare volumes, and I thought I might find something useful."
"Okay. And then what?"
Wesley laid his fork down and shook his head, a little frown playing between his eyes. "That's it. I looked around, but I didn't buy anything. The prices were a bit...well, they weren't in my price range. Then I got on my bike and left."
"But that doesn’t make any sense," Cordelia said. "Did you do something while you were in there? Were you looking through some books and maybe said a spell or something?"
Abruptly Wesley straightened his spine, but before he could say what he was obviously thinking, Angel spoke up quietly, "Wesley wouldn't do that. Our Wesley certainly knows better, and I'm assuming you do too."
The other man gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement.
"Okay, but maybe he was in danger and he had to use a spell to escape," Cordelia pressed. "Isn't that possible? And maybe it went kerfluie."
"Is that a technical term?" Wesley murmured, lifting his cup for another drink.
"Fine, then you come up with an explanation."
"I don't have any."
"Then maybe you should stop making fun of mine."
"I should think if I was in some sort of danger and used a kerfluie spell I would remember, wouldn't you?"
Angel could almost believe this was their Wesley sitting here given the familiar bickering between the two of them. Guiding them firmly back on topic he said, "Let's try this from a different angle. When you left the bookstore, why did you come here? And why did you try to kill me?"
Wesley didn't look at Angel, and his voice was flat: "You're a vampire. I hunt demons."
Cordelia threw Angel a triumphant look. "See I told you he was a rogue demon hunter." Then what he'd said registered with her and she gave his arm a slap. "Angel has a soul," she reminded him stoutly.
Wesley stared into the depths of his cup, and for the first time Angel noticed the deep shadows in his eyes. "Not in my world," he said softly.
There was a moment of charged silence broken by Cordelia's gasp. "You mean Angel is evil in your world?"
"Oh yes." Wesley's voice was a bitter whisper. "He's evil. He's no longer Angel, you see. He's Angelus." As the terrible implications of that statement fell in on Angel, Wesley continued in a quiet, even voice. "If I have somehow exchanged places with the Wesley Wyndam-Pryce of this dimension, then he is at this moment in my dimension, perhaps approaching someone he believes is his...friend, but who is actually one of the most brutal, bloodthirsty, murderous animals --"
Angel stood up so fast his chair crashed to the floor; if his heart could beat it would be madly pounding in his chest right now. "Cordy, page Gunn," he ordered. "I want to know where he is and what he found at that bookstore." He, better than anyone, knew what Angelus was capable of, knew the pleasure Angelus would take in destroying someone like Wesley.
Cordelia's silverware clattered onto her plate as she stood and ran for the phone. Wesley sat motionless, his hand wrapped tightly around his cup. "I'm sorry about your friend," he whispered.
"We don't know anything yet," Angel shot back sharply. "For all we know --" The sound of the phone ringing tore him out of the kitchen and he ran to the office in time to see Cordelia snatch it off the desk.
"Angel Investigations. We help -- Gunn! Thank god. Did you find the store? Did you find out anything about Wesley?" Angel waited impatiently as she listened to Gunn, restraining himself from grabbing the receiver from her. "What? Are you sure? Maybe you..." After a moment she held the receiver out to Angel, her eyes wide and scared. "You'd better hear this yourself."
Angel pressed the receiver to his ear. "Gunn, go," he said shortly.
Gunn's voice was tight with tension, "Like I told Cordy, I'm standing here where that bookstore is supposed to be, and it's not here."
"Then you're in the wrong place," he said impatiently. "Check the directions. Check the address. Check --"
"I have checked," Gunn interrupted. "This is the address. It's out in the middle of nowhere at the end of a little dirt road. This is the right road, it stops, and there's nothing here."
Angel could feel his jaw beginning to ache from how tightly he was clenching it. "Hold on," he said abruptly, dropped the phone to the desk, and returned to the kitchen. Wesley was still staring into his cup, his shoulders slumped. "We need you."
Wesley's head snapped up, and he gave a brief nod, then stood and followed Angel. By the time he reached the office, Angel was back on the phone filling Gunn in about the Wesley they had in their office. When he was finished, he handed the phone to Wesley. "Gunn's at the address of the bookstore. He says it's not there. I need you to listen to his description of the area, to make sure he's in the right place."
"Of course."
Angel and Cordelia, who was nervously tearing a piece of paper in her hands and letting the tiny bits float unnoticed to the floor, watched Wesley's face and listened to his side of the conversation. The man's face was the picture of concentration as he listened to Gunn. If there was one bright spot in this, Angel thought, it was that they had a Wesley on their side. If he were ever in some kind of magical trouble, there was no one he'd rather have working to find an answer than Wesley, and it was strangely comforting to have this someone who looked like their friend standing here with that familiar intent expression on his face. With a lifetime behind him of memorizing demon lore and learning languages, their Wesley had a remarkable memory and an acute attention to detail. From the close way he was questioning Gunn about his surroundings, Angel was relieved to see this Wesley apparently shared that trait.
He stiffened when he saw Wesley's mouth compress in a way he had seen all too often in the past. "I see." Wesley turned to Angel and held out the phone. "He's in the right place," he said quietly. "The bookshop has vanished."
Angel stared at him for a moment, then accepted the phone. "Gunn, I want you to stay in the area. Do some nosing around, ask some questions, see if you can come up with anything. We'll tackle it from this end. Keep in touch, and watch your back."
As he replaced the receiver in the cradle, Cordelia demanded, "How can a store vanish into thin air?"
"I suspect it didn't vanish into thin air as much as move to another dimension," Wesley murmured absently.
"Buildings can do that?"
"Apparently this one can."
"You're guessing," she accused.
"I'm theorizing," he retorted.
"How about a little less theorizing and a little more actual doing, Mr. Rogue Demon Hunter?" Cordelia shot back. "We've got a friend missing in another dimension here."
Wesley rubbed his temple, and Angel saw a small grimace of pain. "I assume you have an adequate library here? Somewhere I can research?"
Angel watched him closely as he continued to rub at his temple. He hadn't really noticed before how the man seemed utterly grey with exhaustion, the same way their own Wesley would look after spending too many nights researching things like Shanshu prophecies and getting far too little sleep. Angel felt his protective reflex give a little kick and ruefully acknowledged there wasn't much he could do about it as this man wore his friend's face and spoke in his voice and was in fact Wesley, even if he did belong in another dimension.
"In Wesley's office," he said. "He's got quite a collection."
"Fine, then let's get..." Wesley turned to leave, but his voice faded as he stumbled. Angel immediately caught his arm, and this time he didn't let go even though Wesley once again froze under his hand.
Cordelia gave an impatient snort. "Are you Wesleys all alike?" she demanded. "Don't you eat? Don't you sleep?"
"I assure you I am perfectly fine," Wesley said stiffly, firmly pulling his arm from Angel's grasp. "I've simply been on the road for some time. If you will show me to the library, I'll get started on that research. We don’t have time to waste."
"No, we don't," Angel agreed. "But we do have time for you to at least get an hour or two of rest before we start." When Wesley opened his mouth to object, Angel continued, "We don’t need you passing out in the middle of all this. Now come on." This time Angel touched him lightly on the arm. "Why don't you go upstairs and get some rest; then we'll fill you in about this dimension, and then you can tell us what Wesley is up against in yours."
"It's possible he's not there at all." When Angel gave him a hard stare, he sighed softly. "I think there are three possibilities, perhaps four: One, we somehow exchanged dimensions, and he is indeed in my world. Two, he's in a completely different dimension that has nothing to do with me. Three, his disappearance has nothing to do with the bookstore."
When he stopped, Cordelia pressed, "And four?"
Wesley gave a small shrug, then turned away and headed for the kitchen. "None of the above."
There was silence after Angel and Cordelia finished giving Wesley a short and dirty recap of what happened in Sunnydale and how they came to be Angel Investigations. He had steadfastly refused to leave the table to get some sleep, and Angel noticed how Cordelia kept nudging the plate of toast closer to him and refilling his tea without being asked. "Well," Wesley said finally. "That's different."
"How?" asked Angel immediately. "We need to know what Wesley's up against -- and what we'll be up against when we go for him."
Wesley fell once again into silence, as if trying to gather his thoughts, then began quietly, "Things were remarkably similar, up until the point Faith arrived at Sunnydale. My -- our Faith could be difficult, but she didn't take the road yours did. I was assigned as her Watcher, we worked alongside Buffy and Giles in Sunnydale until after the Mayor's attempted Ascension. Then we were assigned to Cleveland, which was having as many demon and vampire problems as Sunnydale. I heard from Giles occasionally, enough to learn that Angel was working by himself in Los Angeles, doing what he could to help people there."
"What about me?" Cordelia demanded. "Where was I? Did I go to L.A. too?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. Giles never mentioned you."
For a moment Cordelia looked deflated, but only for a moment. "Hey, maybe I'm a star. Maybe I went to L.A. and got into the movies and I'm a big star." At Angel and Wesley's looks, she huffed, "Well, it's possible."
After taking a drink of tea Wesley continued: "Then one night Angel showed up in Cleveland. Faith was out on patrol, I was in the little office the Council had set up for us to use." He shook his head, eyes dark with memories as his voice dropped to a whisper, "I had no way of knowing."
"It was Angelus," Angel said flatly.
Wesley nodded. "Yes. We decided to go out and find Faith. I knew the district she'd be patrolling, and we thought it would be a nice surprise for her seeing Angel again." His voice cracked, and he lapsed into silence for a moment. "Faith was in a park, checking out recent vampire activity. When we got close, Angelus beat me unconscious and hid my body in some bushes. He didn't want to kill me, of course. That would have spoilt the fun he had in mind for me. Apparently someone found me because I woke up in the hospital with a concussion, a broken arm, and several ribs in disrepair. Even with a concussion it didn't take me long to figure out what had happened, and I walked out of the hospital that day against medical advice and took a bus for Chicago."
Cordelia frowned. "I don't --"
"Angelus turned her," Angel broke in grimly. "Isn't that what happened?"
Wesley nodded. "Yes, she would have had her guard down because she thought he was Angel. By the time she realized her mistake it would have been too late. And after she was turned the first person she would have come for is me. Angelus would have made sure of that. That's why he left me alive, for the entertainment value. But I was in no condition to take her on, so I picked a city at random and went there to lie low and recover." He rubbed his temple again, and Angel didn't know if it was a headache or the pain from the memories. "I'm sure Angelus thought he and Faith would be the same type of bloodthirsty team he and Darla were. But he hadn't figured on Faith's streak of independence. Apparently she broke away and went on her own, leaving a trail of bodies in her wake."
He looked up to find both Angel and Cordelia staring at him in such sympathy that it must have been too much for him, because he abruptly got to his feet and turned, walking a few steps away from the table. "It took me four months, but I finally tracked her down in New Orleans and was able to give her peace at last."
"Oh my god." Cordelia's voice was a horrified whisper.
"I'm sorry, Wesley." Angel understood now why Wesley had shown up with intent to kill, and he wondered how hard it must be for the man to trust him now.
"I drove from New Orleans to Los Angeles and came here to confront Angelus."
"But how did Angel lose his soul?" Cordelia was looking at Wesley with stark sympathy in her eyes.
Wesley shook is head. "We're not sure exactly. Giles and I both tried to discover what happened. They heard some rumors about a law firm in Los Angeles. They're very powerful and evil, and apparently Angel crossed them a few times --"
"Wolfram and Hart," said Angel flatly.
Cordelia snorted. "Well, that figures." Then she waved a hand imperiously at Wesley. "You didn't finish your waffles." When surprisingly he came back and sat down, picking up his fork again, she said thoughtfully, "So let me get this straight. You and I and Gunn never worked with Angel?"
"I've never heard of Gunn."
"Angel's working on his own and he's turned into Angelus."
"That pretty much covers it."
"But -- Wesley won't have anyone to help him," Cordelia said in a small voice. "He won't have me or Gunn." She turned her worried gaze on Angel. "Angel, he'll be all alone."
"He won't be alone for long," Angel promised grimly. "We're going to find a way to bring him back home. Wesley, I need you to hit the books, see what you can come up with. Cordelia, call Gunn. I want him to stake out that piece of ground. If that bookshop shows up again, we need to know about it immediately." He stood up and turned away, heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" Cordelia asked, already moving toward the phone.
"I'm going to do a little research of my own."
***
Wesley switched off his motorcycle and pulled off his helmet with a weary sigh. He would never admit as much to Angel, Cordelia or Gunn, but taking a long bike trip the day he'd been medically cleared to drive probably wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done. In fact, it probably ranked up there with some of the more stupid things he'd done. He didn't bother to stifle a groan as he slowly dismounted, then pressed a hand to his gut where it was aching like mad. It never helped of course because the soreness was deep and stubborn, but he found himself doing it as a reflex response. He retrieved his carefully wrapped purchases from the bike's saddlebags, and the sight of them brought a smile to his lips despite his weariness. The trip had been worth it to obtain these rare volumes, aches, pains and all. Limping and listing slightly to one side, he made his way into his apartment building.
He simply didn't have the energy to go on to the hotel, but the fact that Cordelia hadn't paged him once told him nothing serious could have come up in his absence. He'd check in after he changed out of his jeans into something a lot looser and more comfortable and had a bracing cup of hot tea by his elbow. Stopping in front of his apartment door, he shifted his books to under his arm and fumbled with the key. It didn't seem to want to fit in the lock, and he blinked owlishly at it, thinking he'd used the wrong key by mistake. Frowning, he tried to fit it in again but with no more success than the first time. "What on earth...?" he muttered in irritation, trying a third time.
He jumped as the door suddenly opened from the inside, but only so far as the safety chain would allow. "Who's out there?" a gruff male voice demanded.
Wesley had to swallow his initial retort of 'It's me'. "What's going on?" he demanded in return. "Who are you? And what are you doing in my flat?"
"Your what?"
"My apartment. This is my apartment."
"Your apartment?" All Wesley could see was a deeply suspicious brown eye through the opening. "I've lived here for almost five years, pal. Now you get the hell away or I'm calling the cops."
"But --" Wesley gaped stupidly at the number on the door, wondering if he'd somehow stumbled into the wrong building due to his exhaustion. But this was his building and this was his apartment. And his key didn't fit. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, backing away. His mind was reeling as he turned and nearly stumbled out of the building. Standing by the building, he stared at the neighborhood, recognizing the surroundings as where he'd made his home here in Los Angeles. He leaned against the side of the building, pinching the bridge of his nose as the mild discomfort that had been nagging in the back of his eyes for the last hour finally blossomed.
Okay, he was tired, he was hurting, maybe in truth he was so exhausted that he wasn't thinking straight. Whatever, it was obvious he wasn't in any condition to reason this out on his own at the moment. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He needed a good, hard slap of reality, and he knew where to get it.
He felt a sense of real relief as he walked up to the door of Cordelia's apartment. His attempts to phone her had been unsuccessful as he had gotten a busy signal every time. But if she was on the phone then at least she was home. He'd had the same response when he'd tried calling the hotel, which seemed unusual, but he was just too tired to try to work it out. Perhaps they had a case and Angel was checking out leads over the phone. Stranger things had happened.
As he rapped on the apartment door he realized he was actually looking forward to the sharp words and dramatic arm waving he would be treated to once Cordelia saw the shape he was in. With any luck she'd throw in a cup of hot tea and her couch to sleep on. He straightened abruptly when the door suddenly opened, but blinked in surprise at the middle-aged man standing in the doorway. "Can I help you?"
"Cordelia," he ventured uncertainly. "I'm here to see Cordelia."
The stranger frowned. "Who? There's no Cordelia here. You've got the wrong address, mister."
Wesley rubbed his temple. "No, this is the right address. This is where Cordelia lives."
Before the man could reply, a female voice from somewhere behind him asked querulously, "Who is it, Dennis? What does he want?"
"Just someone with a wrong address, Mom," he called over his shoulder. "He's leaving now." Turning back to Wesley he said firmly, "You have to go now. My mother isn't well, and you're upsetting her."
"Dennis," Wesley whispered in horrified realization. "Phantom Dennis?"
"You really need to go," Dennis repeated, and closed the door in Wesley's face.
Wesley walked back to his bike in a daze, his head throbbing, his gut sending pain signals to every nerve in his body. He sat on the seat of the motorcycle for a long time, trying to make sense of the jumbled thoughts tumbling through his mind. Nothing made any sense. How could everything be the same and yet so different? What had happened to him? Was he under some kind of spell? With a hand that wasn't quite steady, he keyed the ignition and eased his bike back out into the street, steeling his body for more discomfort. He was terrified of what he might find there, but he knew he had to go to the hotel. Surely Angel, Cordelia and Gunn were there. They had to be.
Wesley cautiously pushed open the door to the hotel and walked slowly inside. His flicked his gaze around the lobby, taking in every detail. His eyes sought out the old filing cabinets behind the counter with the drawers that continued to stick, and he relaxed a bit when he saw them. Recognizable books, many of which he had bought himself, nestled snugly on shelves, and what he could see of the offices looked comfortingly familiar. "Oh thank goodness," he murmured, sagging a bit in relief. At least whatever was wrong hadn't touched the hotel, and please god, not Angel, Cordelia and Gunn. He needed to find them, and somehow they would all figure out what was going on. He walked deeper into the lobby, taking in the silence around him; perhaps Angel was in his room, or --
"Well, lookee, lookee what I found."
Wesley's head snapped up, and he saw Angel standing on the upper floor balcony. "Angel! Thank goodness you're here. Something very strange is going on."
"I'd say." There was an odd, sardonic note to Angel's voice as he walked jauntily down the stairs, his gaze on Wesley. "Last time I saw you, Wes, you weren't looking so good." He grinned widely. "But it's good to see you up and about again. Makes things that much more fun, don't you think?"
"Sorry?"
"Although I am surprised to see you here. Bet you didn't just walk up on Faith like this, did you? You probably took your shot from a nice, safe distance. Oh yeah, I heard about Faith. That wasn't very nice, dusting her like that before she really had a chance to get into the whole undead thing. She showed real promise."
"Faith?" Wesley echoed faintly.
Having reached the bottom of the stairs, Angel cocked his head and studied Wesley, still smiling. "So it looks like it's just you and me, Wes. But you always knew it was going to end up this way, didn't you? You. Me. Hey, it was meant to be. But I tell you what, I'll give you a choice." Suddenly his face morphed and his golden eyes glittered. "The easy way, or the hard way. Oh please, Wes, choose the hard way."
As Angel started forward, Wesley snapped his arm up, a gun gripped tightly in his hand. "Don't."
The sight of the gun seemed to amuse Angel no end. "Oh come on, Wes. You know you can't kill me with that. At the most those bullets are just going to irritate the hell out of me, and that's probably not the smartest thing for you to do." He paused, making a show of thinking something over. "But then, you never were that smart when it came right down to it. It's true you had the book learning, but anyone can open a book and find the things you know. The fact is, you never were that useful, were you? Certainly weren't very useful to Faith. Look where she ended up. How many Watchers have to kill their own Slayers, do you think?" He took another step toward Wesley. "You think a few bullets are going to slow me down enough for you to make it to that door?" he asked softly. "Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do you?"
"No, these bullets wouldn't slow you down for long," Wesley agreed, adjusting his aim slightly and praying Angel didn't see the tremble in his arm. "Unless I place them just so. Shooting your eyes out won't kill you, but I do think it will slow you down quite long enough, don't you?"
Surprise flickered across Angel's face before he abruptly morphed back to his human face. "Why, Wes, ol' buddy. That's just diabolical." He raised his eyebrows, drawling, "That is, if I thought you really had the balls for it."
Wesley had never been more serious in his life. He knew now without a doubt that this wasn't his world, even if he didn't understand what happened and how he got here. And he knew this was Angelus, not Angel. The only chance he really had was to incapacitate the vampire somehow so he could escape, and he was prepared to do whatever it took. "As long as we're quoting bad Clint Eastwood movies, I suppose you have to ask yourself just how lucky you feel," he said coolly. "You know I'm an excellent marksman," he added, "and I'm not about to stand here and let you tear my throat out."
Angel seemed to consider that for a moment, then said in a sing-song tone, "You know, this is just gonna piss me off, Wes."
"I suppose I'll have to chance that." Keeping his gaze on Angel, he slipped his left hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a large vial, thumbing off the cork.
"Oh, let me guess. Holy water, right?"
"Never leave home without it." With his gun in one hand and the uncorked vial of water in the other, Wesley slowly backed out of the lobby and up the stairs to the door. He was grateful he knew the layout of the hotel so well he didn't have to look to see where he was going because he didn't dare take his eyes off Angel. Angel -- no, Angelus -- seemed more amused than anything else as he watched him back through the door.
"We'll meet again, Wes," he called out cheerfully. "And I've decided the next time we meet, I'm going to make it last a long time. Going to take my time. And I'm going to enjoy every minute of it." As Wesley all but stumbled out the door and kicked it shut he could hear Angelus' raised voice, "The smell of fear is a real turn-on for me, Wes. And I gotta say, you're turnin' me on."
Wesley was shaking so hard he had trouble getting the key into the bike's ignition. Swearing under his breath, he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure Angel wasn't somehow behind him, finally jammed the key home and started the motor, roaring away from the hotel. It was several blocks before he stopped looking over his shoulder, and several more before his heartbeat slowed down to anything approaching normal. It wasn't until then that he realized he had no place to go.
He didn't dare just pull over and stop. He had no idea how else 'this' Los Angeles might differ from his own, and it was dark enough to be dangerous. It wasn't until he came across an open late-night diner than he felt safe enough to stop and go inside. He ordered a cup of coffee, wished for a bottle of aspirin, and slumped in his booth. There was still enough of a tremble in his muscles to convince him what he had seen at the hotel was real and not some hallucination. He remembered when he first came to Los Angeles and began working for Angel how even Angel-with-a-soul could be a little frightening at times. But Angelus... Wesley shivered. He'd only 'met' Angelus once before, during the Rebecca Lowell case, and then only briefly. It had been enough. He'd read everything ever written on Angelus, had studied his file to the point where he could quote entire passages, his known number of victims, where he had been in any given year. But nothing had prepared him for his first encounter with Angelus, and there was nothing that was going to help him now. Angelus was simply... terrifying.
He closed his eyes, willing away the thumping in his head and the aching in his gut, and forced himself to think. He needed a plan. But he knew he wouldn't be able to come up with any type of plan in his condition. The first thing he needed was a safe place to stay, a place to rest and recover. In this not-Los Angeles, he needed to find some sanctuary. His eyes flew open, and he threw down some bills on the table and quickly left the diner.
Wesley stepped inside the doorway of the club and stopped, his eyes traveling around the interior. So far it looked like Caritas. On the stage at the front of the club was a Rumul demon belting out a frighteningly energetic version of Copa Cabana. It sounded like Caritas as well, and he supposed that was a good sign.
"Well, well, a new visitor to Caritas."
Wesley's head snapped around at the familiar voice, and he sagged in relief. "Lorne," he breathed.
The demon looked interested, but not wary. "Have we met before?"
"In a manner of speaking."
Lorne let his gaze travel over Wesley in a frankly approving appraisal. "I think I would have remembered, crumpet."
Wesley gritted his teeth. "My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I need help. Guidance. I need answers."
Lorne smiled easily. "Sounds like you need to sing, my little British warbler." He took a step back and once again raked his gaze over Wesley as if assessing him. "What's your pleasure? Hmm. Maybe a little Sting? Or David Bowie?"
"Oh good lord." The very thought... Wesley lowered his voice, not caring how desperate he sounded. "I don’t actually want to go up...there." He waved a hand at the stage. "Please."
"Ah, a private reading." Lorne looked like he was considering it. "Well, I don't usually, but the accent is just too adorable for words, and besides, the distress waves are just rolling off you." He patted Wesley gently on the shoulder. "Come into my parlor said the Regwal mucus-sucker to the Mirit dinlapper." At Wesley's blank look, he said, "I guess you have to be Pylean to get that one. Come along."
Wesley followed Lorne into a back room and waited nervously as he closed the door and then turned around, motioning for him to begin. His mind went suddenly blank, and he stared at the demon, unable to think of a single song.
"Anything will do," Lorne prompted him in a kind voice. "And I don't think it will take much."
Wesley hesitantly launched into the first song that popped his mind, sang one verse, and then stopped with an embarrassed shrug. The only time he'd ever sung at Caritas was with Cordelia and Gunn, and he'd thankfully been too drunk to remember most of it later.
Lorne was watching him with a solemn expression, and after a long moment, he said, "Very nice rendition of Greensleeves. Wait here," and left the room. Wesley had no choice but to do as he said, and paced nervously until Lorne returned with a drink in each hand. "Here," he said, handing him a glass of what looked like whiskey. "You'd better sit down.”
Wesley dropped down into one of the chairs in the room and watched as Lorne sat in one opposite. "You're a stranger in a strange land, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. You don't belong here."
"I know." Even so, it was strangely comforting to hear it confirmed. "But I don't know how I got here or how to get back to where I belong."
The demon took a drink from his glass and looked intrigued. "Really? Well, first things first. You look about ready to drop, crumpet. I'm thinking a very large meal and a good night's sleep. You're safe here at Caritas, and you've got a place here as long as you need it. I guess I'm just a sucker for a mystery and a pretty face. I'm going to go arrange for some food, and then while you're eating you can tell ol' Lorne exactly what happened to bring you here, and we'll see what we can see from that."
Lorne had enough food for two starving adults brought to the room and wouldn't hear another word from him until he had started eating. In between bites of food that was probably delicious but to which Wesley was paying scant attention, he told Lorne everything that happened from the time he went to the bookstore until he showed up at Caritas. Then he gave Lorne a thumbnail sketch of life in his world with Angel, Cordelia and Gunn. When he finished he felt drained.
"Don't stop now."
"That's all there is to tell."
"I mean, don't stop eating. Come on, little buckaroo, there are veggies to be eaten. You've barely touched those beans, and look at those carrots. And the mashed potatoes and gravy. And for dessert --"
"Please." Wesley held up a hand and produced an apologetic smile. "I think I've eaten all I can for now." And he was becoming homesick just thinking of the meals Angel had cooked for him and how Cordelia kept piling food on his plate over his half-hearted protests. In truth, he'd been warmed by the fact that these people cared for him enough to worry about his eating habits. "Do you know Angel?" he asked suddenly.
"Know him? No." Lorne shook his head. "Know of him? Hey, everyone's heard of the vampire with a soul."
"Then he did have a soul in this reality," Wesley said urgently.
"Oh sure. And from what I heard he was out there fighting the good fight and doing a lot of good for a lot of people. He never came to Caritas, but the trade brought in stories, and I listened. Then, oh it must have been a few months ago, I began hearing other stories. How he'd gone off the rails, turned bad again and, well, was the biggest, baddest vampire in town."
"Something happened to him," Wesley whispered, pressing his fingertips against his aching temples. "Something happened to take away his soul. Angel was good, he was like the Angel I knew, but something happened to him." He looked up suddenly as he realized, "He knew me. Or rather, he knew a Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, so there must be one in this dimension. I've got to find him." Abruptly he got to his feet, then grabbed the edge of the table as he swayed.
"Whoa, whoa there, Lone Ranger." Lorne was by his side in an instant, pushing him easily back onto his chair. "You're not going anywhere until you've had at least twelve hours of sleep and aren't in danger of falling on that devilishly handsome face."
"But I must find him," Wesley insisted. "The other me. And I need to find Cordelia and Gunn. For some reason they're not with Angel, but they should be. I've got to find out what happened."
Sitting back on his chair, Lorne leaned toward him, his voice kind, "Wesley, just because you worked with this Cordelia and Gunn in your own world, doesn’t mean that's the way it's supposed to be here."
"No, you don't understand." Wesley was so tired he wasn't sure he would make any sense, but he had to try to make Lorne understand. "Angel shouldn't be alone. He was alone for so long after he got a soul. But Cordelia, Gunn and I...we're his contact with humanity. He needs us to remind him what it's like. And he needs us to encourage him, and be his conscience on occasion, and he needs us so he isn't alone anymore." He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "I've got to help him. I can't leave him like that."
"The guy wants to eat Wesley-shaped scones for breakfast," Lorne pointed out flatly.
"That's Angelus, not Angel."
"Well, Angelus is the one that's home right now."
Wesley repeated firmly, "But he has a soul. Somehow Angel has reverted to Angelus, but Angel has a soul, and I have to help him get it back. I can't leave him like this. But I need --"
"Cordelia Chase and Charles Gunn," Lorne sighed. "I know the lyrics by heart, muffin." Getting to his feet, he wrapped a hand around Wesley's arm and helped him up. "If you're not going to eat any more, then you're going to sleep. While you're sleeping I'll put out some feelers and see what I can find out about Angel and your two missing pals from this dimension, and then we'll figure out how to get you back home."
Home. By now, Angel, Cordelia and Gunn must know something was wrong. He just hoped they were having better luck than he was.
***
It was very odd. Even though this wasn't his office, at least not technically, it felt like his. The desk was in perfect order; well, the drawers were, everything arranged as it should be, very methodically. The top of the desk was a jumble of books and notebooks and pages and pages of research notes. But then, that was exactly how his own desk top looked -- when he'd had one -- in his world. Where others might see chaos, he saw a comforting familiarity. The collection of books was admirable, although not as expansive as his had been with the Council's money behind it. Still, this Wesley had done a fine job of amassing a good, solid library on what was probably a limited budget, and had arranged them precisely as he would have.
Perhaps he shouldn't have rummaged in the drawers; there had been no real reason to do so except to satisfy his own curiosity. It helped to discover the man shared many of his own talents. The dozens of different demon texts and notes proved that Wesley was a linguist as accomplished as he was himself; the journal he'd managed to peek into, despite Cordelia's sharp eyes, told him the man was intelligent, well-read, methodical and observant of even the tiniest details. Hopefully the crossbow propped in the corner of the office meant the man was as good a shot as he was. That Wesley was going to need every bit of skill he possessed if he stumbled upon Angelus unawares. He just hoped he was observant enough to recognize Angelus in time, and not when the fangs sank into his throat.
"Did you find anything yet?"
He looked up from the book he had open on the desk to find Cordelia standing in the doorway again, her sharp dark eyes pinning him to his chair, willing him to come up with the answer to get her Wesley back where he belonged. He wondered if they were lovers. He remembered his time in Sunnydale and the Cordelia Chase in his world. They had flirted back and forth during his stay there, and it had been both harmless and dangerous. Dangerous because she was a beautiful, if spoiled and headstrong, young woman and he'd been tempted; but harmless because she was a student, and both his upbringing and position meant he would never cross that line.
"Nothing yet." Instead of the impatient answer he expected to come out of his mouth, he found his voice gentle and reassuring. "But you must know magic rarely gives up its secrets easily." He'd given her the task of researching on the internet, providing her with a list of words and phrases to search for, but it was more to keep her occupied and out of his hair than out of any real hope she'd turn up anything there.
Cordelia made a noise that sounded like an inelegant snort. "No, really? That must be why Wesley walks around here like a zombie when he's in research mode and forgets to eat and sleep."
Wesley smiled faintly, recognizing his own faults and remembering how Faith used to scold him in her inimitable way about the dark circles under his eyes. "Research can be...seductive," he replied, then shrugged at his description. "What I mean --"
"No, I knew what you meant." For the first time Wesley saw a smile on Cordelia's face along with the warmth of memories in her eyes. "There were times I thought Wesley was dating his dusty old books."
Wesley cleared his throat, looked down at the book in front of him, and then cleared his throat again.
"A little dust in your throat?" Cordelia asked innocently.
"Question," he admitted. "But it's really none of my business."
"Go ahead and ask. And don't worry, I'll tell you if it's not."
He didn't doubt that in the least. Cautiously, he began, "You and Wesley. Are you...?"
Cordelia frowned. "Are we what?" Then her eyes widened. "Are we what? Are you nuts? You think Wesley and I...you think we're..." She seemed at a loss for words but managed to nail him with a glare that was downright frightening. "Wash out your mind, Mr. Watcher-guy. Wesley's family."
Wesley held out his hands. "I meant no disrespect. You seemed so upset."
She looked outraged. "Of course I'm upset. Haven't you been listening? He's family." She closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed her forehead as if gathering her thoughts. When she spoke again, it was without anger. "Listen, I know where you come from you never worked with Angel or with me or Gunn, but in this world, we're a team, we're family."
She used that word as if it meant something, Wesley mused, and he found himself wondering if the Wesley of this world had had a Roger Wyndam-Pryce in his life to teach him just how meaningless that word was.
Cordelia tilted her chin defiantly, "I suppose you look at us and see a vampire with a soul who broods too much, an actress who can't get an acting job, a kid who was running a street gang of vampire hunters since he was twelve and never finished high school, and a skinny, dorky guy who showed up in L.A. with no job, no money, and was such a good rogue demon hunter that he was hunting the wrong demon. A bunch of losers, right? But let me tell you something: Angel is good, and he helps the helpless every single day. And Gunn is loyal and strong and brave, and even though he saw way too much bad stuff and death when he was still a kid, he's one of the nicest people I've ever known. I may not be able to get an acting job, but I'm Vision Girl." She said that with pride. "I'm hooked into the Powers That Be, and they send me the visions we use to help the helpless. And that dorky guy who showed up on our doorstep? He's running this place now. He took over when Angel went all nutso over Darla, and we work for him. He's saved our asses plenty of times with his books and spells. I'm proud of who I am, and I'm proud of who we are. We make a difference."
It was an impassioned speech, and Wesley was impressed by her sincerity and by the spark of fire in her eyes. She reminded him somewhat of his Faith. Everyone assumed they'd been lovers, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Oh, there was an electricity between them, but it wasn't sexual. He'd always thought of it as two lost and lonely souls finding one another and reaching out to connect. They had been a natural fit from the start, not so much in spite of, but because of their differences. Faith wanted to be a good Slayer but she was undisciplined; she needed guidance and structure. Guidance and structure was what he excelled at, and under his tutelage she blossomed. Not that she didn't have her rebellions and he didn't have his moments of coming down on her too hard, but they understood each other too well to let any of that get in the way of the job they were doing. Cordelia's defense of Wesley was achingly reminiscent of Faith's wildly protective streak where he was concerned. She fussed over him when he didn't get enough sleep, scolded him if she thought he wasn't eating enough or taking proper care of himself, and dragged him out to clubs and movies when she thought he wasn't relaxing enough. They continually fought over his right to occasionally accompany her on her patrols. He said he needed to observe her in action in order to know how she was doing on the job; she said if she was coming back alive, that should be proof enough how she was doing. He always won the arguments, but eventually he stopped going because she was paying more attention to protecting him than she was to the job at hand, and he was afraid to risk dividing her attention like that. Faith had been all he had, and he had been all she had. Perhaps Faith had taught him there could be meaning to the word 'family', but her death reinforced that the pain of loss was too great to risk that kind of closeness again.
When he came out of his thoughts he saw Cordelia still in the doorway, her face screwed up in an expression of comical confusion. "What was the question again?"
"It doesn’t matter," he answered, ducking his head to hide his little smile. "You've answered it."
She gave him a sharp look, but only asked, "Do you need some more tea? Wesley always drank a lot of tea when he was being Mr. Research."
He was fairly certain she never served her Wesley tea. Not unless that Wesley enjoyed lukewarm water with bits of tea leaves floating on top. No, he suspected he was being waited on because she didn't want him leaving the books and thus delaying the research that might find the answer to righting her world again. There was a lovely bone china tea set in the office, and earlier he'd toyed with the idea of asking her to just let him prepare his tea himself. But he'd discarded the idea. This tea set belonged to her Wesley, and he knew without asking it wasn't his to make use of. It would sit there patiently waiting for the return of the 'right' Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. The Wyndam-Pryce who put that look of pinched anxiety on Cordelia's face no matter how cheerful she tried to sound.
"Perhaps...coffee?" he suggested, hoping as an American she was better with that.
"Sure." She turned and headed for the kitchen. "Instant's good, right?"
"Well, look here. If it isn't the vampire who hangs his informants upside down over sewer water and leaves them there." Merl gave Angel a look as haughty as he could manage given the limitations of his facial expressions. "I don't think you and I have anything to discuss. If you need information, I suggest you send Wesley. Now that boy knows how to be polite, and he doesn't expect me to work for fr--." The air whooshed out of Merl's lungs as he was grabbed by the throat and slammed against the wall.
"Wesley's not here," Angel growled softly. "Wesley's missing, and I need information. And if you're not in a helping mood, then I might as well rip your head off and hang it on the wall so everyone else can see what a bad idea it is to piss me off right now."
"Okay! Okay! Sheesh, someone got up on the wrong side of the crypt, didn't they?" Angel abruptly let go and Merl dropped like a rock to the floor. "Ow," the demon complained as he climbed to his feet. "Was that necessary?"
"No, but it was fun." Before Merl could speak, Angel put a hand around his throat again, but this time only as a warning. "I need information on a place called Malichai's Books and Magickals. Wesley's disappeared, and that's the last place he was, or at least the last place we think he was."
"All right. You don't have to resort to violence, you know," Merl whined. "I like Wesley. He treats me with respect, like I am somebody. If he's in trouble, I want to help."
Slowly, Angel released his fingers and took a step back so he wasn't looming so obviously over the little snitch. "We don't have time to waste, Merl. Wesley could be in real danger."
The smaller demon looked up at him. "I'm not the one wasting time."
Angel gritted his teeth and managed to resist the urge to twist Merl's head off. "Get in touch as soon as you know anything," he snapped, and abruptly turn on his heel and strode down the sewer, trying hard not to feel guilty about manhandling Merl like that when Wesley had proven time and again they could get the same results with politeness and a little money. He could just imagine the reproachful looks he'd be getting from Wesley right now. He wished he were getting them.
Reaching an intersection in the sewer lines, Angel made a decision and a right turn. They needed more lines in the water than just a snitch demon.
Cordelia flexed her shoulder muscles and rotated her head, trying to ease the kink in her neck and at the same time look casual as she peeked into Wesley's office. She hadn't been in the top ten percent of her class for nothing; she knew Watcher-boy in there had assigned her internet duty to keep her out of his hair. But so far he'd come up with precious little on his own. She was convinced their Wesley would have produced something tangible by now. This Wesley might look a little -- was she actually going to use the word 'hot' in relation to Wesley? -- more fashion-evolved, she decided, but apparently their Wesley had him beat in the brains department. Still, when they got their Wesley back (in one piece and with no fang marks in his neck, please) she was going to take him shopping and make him buy a brown suede jacket, and maybe take him for a haircut too. There was always room for improvement.
Watcher-boy was rubbing his temples again and wincing, and she felt a sudden pang of guilt. She'd been pouring caffeine into him but never once offered him so much as an aspirin when she, better than anyone, understood killer headaches. Of course, what he probably really needed was a good night's sleep if those dark circles under his eyes were any indication, and that led her to another emotional conflict. Her instincts were telling her to nag the person who looked like her friend into getting some rest, just like she had done dozens of times before; but if this Wesley took several hours out to get some sleep, that meant their Wesley was in that Angelus-inhabited world even longer. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Pushing herself away from her desk, she went into the bathroom to retrieve her strongest headache-slaying pills. Once they got Wesley back he was going to be banned from going to bookstores by himself, she decided. From now on he could just do his book shopping over the internet like normal people.
Wesley had his head down and was writing something on a pad of paper, muttering to himself, when she stopped in the doorway of the office and asked, "Would you like some --?"
"No more coffee," he said quickly, head snapping up.
Why on earth would he sound so desperate over the coffee? She held up the bottle and rattled it. "I was going to say, something for the headache?"
"Oh." He blinked, then looked so grateful her guilt spiked. She should have done this ages ago. Walking into the office, she sat down the glass of water she brought and tipped two pills out into his hand. "I use these for my post-vision headaches. They're pretty good."
He quickly swallowed the pills, then looked up at her. "The visions give you headaches?"
"Absolute killers," she said matter-of-factly. "I recognize the look," she told him. "Listen, maybe you should get some rest."
He shook his head, setting one book aside and pulling another from the pile beside him. "No time."
While part of her wanted to pester him until he agreed to get some obviously much needed rest, the selfish part of her was glad he didn't want to stop his research. But the deciding factor was the thought of their Wesley, maybe hurt or in trouble, in that other world. Would there be someone there to be kind to him? To look out for him and help him? And was there someone there who was hoping the same thing about this Wesley? Somehow she thought not. When he was talking about Faith there was something scarily dead in his eyes, and there was a vibe about him that just screamed 'I'm alone'. So maybe what he needed was someone to care enough to bully him into doing what was best for him. Cordelia was an expert in that, thanks to all the practice on her Wesley.
"Make time," she said sternly. When he looked up in surprise, she reminded him, "Like Angel said, you won't be able to do us any good if you pass out in the middle of all this. We need you, Wesley, but we need that big brain of yours fully charged."
He looked sorely tempted by the offer, but nodded to the book in front of him. "In a bit. I just want to check a few more references. I may be on to something."
"Okay, but --"
The slamming of the front door brought Cordelia around. "Angel!" She hurried out to greet him, then saw the Host trailing in behind him. "Lorne?"
"Anything?" Angel asked, nodding toward the office.
She shook her head. "He thinks he might be onto something, but no. You?"
"Got feelers out. And I brought Lorne."
"You want Wesley to sing for him?" 'We are the Champions' began to play in the back of her mind.
Lorne stepped around Angel. "Maybe I'll be able to pick something up. You never know." His red eyes glittered with interest and he rubbed his hands together. "Now, let's have a look at that rogue demon hunter you told me about."
"I'll get him," Cordelia volunteered and went over to the office. "Wesley, we need you out here."
He got up immediately. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"
"Nothing's wrong. You just need to pick out a song to sing," she called breezily over her shoulder as she went back into the lobby.
He came out warily, and Cordelia noticed he had his hand near his side where he could quickly get to any weapon stashed there. "What's this about?" he asked Angel, looking at Lorne.
"Wesley, Lorne. Lorne, Wesley," Angel introduced without fanfare. "Lorne is an Anagogic demon. He reads peoples'...auras when they sing."
Lorne brushed past Angel and gave Wesley a frankly appreciative look. "Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok Clan at your service, crumpet. You can call me Lorne." Aside to Cordelia he whispered, "Nice look."
"When we get him back I'm going to take Wesley shopping," she whispered back.
"Good plan. Don't forget the haircut."
"Not planning to."
"And you might want to hide his razor for a few days too."
"Do you two mind?" Angel interrupted, giving them a glare. "Can we get on with this."
"On with what?" Wesley's voice was heavy with suspicion.
Cordelia explained, "You need to sing for Lorne."
He gave her a level look. "And why would I do that?" he asked precisely.
"Lorne can only read auras when someone sings," Angel repeated.
Wesley transferred his steady gaze to the vampire. "And why would I want my aura read?"
Angel met his gaze with one of his own. "Because it's a tool. And we use whatever tools we have."
Wesley seemed to consider that for a moment, then looked back at Lorne. "I...don't sing," he admitted with an embarrassed shrug.
The demon waved that aside. "Neither does Angel. Just do what he does and give me a chorus of 'Mandy'."
"Mandy?" Wesley looked as if he'd just tasted something bad. "I'm afraid I don't know the words."
Angel and Lorne both threw song suggestions at a bewildered Wesley until Cordelia stepped in and put a stop to it by snapping, "Oh for heaven's sake, just sing a chorus of God Save The Queen." Silence fell as they all stared at her and she demanded, "Well, you know the words, right?"
Wesley straightened. "Of course I do."
She jerked her head toward Lorne. "Well?"
Pressing his lips together for a moment in disapproval, Wesley finally blew out a breath and launched into a soft but credible God Save the Queen. As he finished all eyes turned to Lorne, who looked a little shaken.
Angel pressed, "What's wrong?"
Lorne seemed to pull himself out of it. "I saw a lot of Wesley, our Wesley, but I don't know how else to explain it other than there are other...layers." Cordelia saw the stark sympathy in his eyes as he patted Wesley gently on the shoulder. "No, you're not from around here, are you?"
"That we knew," Cordelia pointed out impatiently. "Did you see anything else? Anything that might help, for instance? Like his future? Like how he gets back home? If we knew that, we should know how to get our Wesley back, right?"
"Whoa, whoa, slow down, sweetcheeks. It's not as easy as all that."
Cordelia folded her arms and began tapping her foot. "Lorne, are you or are you not supposed to read peoples' destinies?"
Lorne slid a sideways look at Wesley who was watching him with a little frown. "Apparently his destiny isn't in this dimension. I'm afraid I didn't get any roadmaps back to his own world."
"So all we got out of this was me embarrassing myself by singing God Save the Queen?"
"This is the first time I've done a cross-dimension reading," Lorne said apologetically. "Apparently it doesn't work the way it usually does, and I’m not getting anything past your normal aura readings. Listen, when you get back to your own dimension, you check to see if there isn't a me over there, and you go sing God Save the Queen for him. I'll bet he can read your destiny."
Wesley didn't look convinced. "Yes, well, I'll keep that in mind." He turned to Angel and said stiffly, "Unless you have any other...suggestions, I'm going to return to my research."
"Sure, go ahead." Angel watched him leave and then sighed. "It was worth a shot."
"I wouldn’t push him too hard, Angelcakes," Lorne warned, his tone serious. "You're looking at someone on the verge of meltdown."
"Meltdown?"
"That boy is carrying a world of hurt and anger around inside him, and you don't need an Anagogic demon to tell you he's past exhausted."
Angel turned his head to look at the office where Wesley had settled back behind the desk again. "He had some pretty bad stuff happen to him in his world."
Lorne nodded, his face sympathetic. "Yeah. I don't know the details, but I saw the results. 'Pretty bad' seems to be an understatement. You've got yourself a splintered Wesley held together by, well, normally, I'd say held together by spit and bubble gum, but in this case I think he's held together by sheer stubborn determination. If you don't give him a chance to recharge his batteries, and his defenses crumble..."
"Point taken," Angel said, and turned away to stride into the office, and Cordelia saw the same conflict on his face that she felt in her own heart.
***
"Well, you're looking a lot more bright eyed and bushy tailed than you were yesterday, muffin."
Wesley winced as Lorne walked up to the table where he'd been drinking tea and working on getting his thoughts in order. Lornes everywhere apparently had a pastry fixation, he decided. "Yes, I'm feeling much better," he replied. "And I can't thank you enough for your kindness."
Lorne waved that aside as he sank down into the chair opposite. "Please. It's not every day I get a visitor from another dimension." He leaned across the table. "And besides, who could say no to those eyes? Or that face? I'm not made of stone, you know."
Embarrassed, Wesley dropped his gaze to the table and quickly took a drink of tea. He'd known many people who were quite impervious to his eyes and his face.
"What've you got there?"
"Oh." Glad for the change in subject, Wesley straightened the papers in front of him. "I'm working on a plan."
"A plan for getting home? Good idea. What did you come up with?"
"Well, no actually, not a plan for going home, although I have to work on that too, of course."
Lorne gave him a long look. "Shouldn't that be pretty much number one on the list?"
Wesley couldn't deny that one would think so. "Normally, yes. But there's the issue with Angel."
"The issue that he wants to have you for lunch? I'd say that would definitely push the 'going home plan' to number one."
"I can't leave him like this without at least trying to get his soul back." He met Lorne's puzzled eyes and tried to explain, "You don't know Angel."
"No," Lorne agreed, his voice slow and careful as if he was trying to explain something to someone very stupid, "and he doesn't know you. Except as someone he wants to torture very slowly and then eat."
Wesley corrected firmly, "That's Angelus, not Angel."
The demon sighed. "We're doing that circular thing again, sparky, where you see a friend you want to help, and I see a big ol' blood-suckin' vampire who wants to kill you slowly. I don't think we're going to be able to agree on this."
"Doubtful, but that's okay. I know what I have to do, Lorne. If you don't want to help me, I'll understand."
Lorne got to his feet and walked over to the bar, and Wesley watched as he methodically fixed himself a drink. He needed Lorne's help desperately, but he couldn't blame the demon if he didn't want to be a part of this.
When he came back over and sat down, Wesley repeated, "I will understand, Lorne."
The demon gave him a look that wasn't entirely friendly. "Yes, you would," he said sourly. He took a long drink from his glass, then set it down and sighed. "You really should register those eyes as lethal weapons. I will do whatever I can to help you, Wesley, and I will hope that at the end of this little adventure you end up back home with your friends and not as a trophy on Angelus' wall, all right?"
Wesley gave him a genuine smile. "Very much all right, Lorne. I'm grateful to have a friend in this world."
"And I'm glad I was here to be that friend." Lorne raised his glass in a mock toast, then nodded at the paper. "So where do we stand with the plans?"
"At the top of the list are Gunn and Cordelia. I don't suppose you've had any luck?"
"I've got friends in the business trying to track down Cordelia, but do you know how many would-be actresses there are in this town? And how many talent agencies? And that's supposing this Cordelia came to this town to be an actress and didn't end up married with two point five kids in Duluth."
He was counting on this Cordelia being enough like his Cordelia that she didn't end up in Duluth, but he had to admit there was a possibility she wasn't in Los Angeles at all. "Anything on Gunn?"
"Having a bit more luck there. There seems to be a gang of street kids up near Fourth who are doing a lot of damage to vampires in the area."
"That's Charles," Wesley said with a fond smile. "Thank you, Lorne, I can take it from here." As he started to rise, Lorne put a hand on his arm and he sat back down.
"You know I wish you all the luck in the world with this...quest you're on with Angel. But if he's lost his soul and gone bad, how are you planning to fix that?"
Wesley smoothed the paper he'd written his notes on before replying. "There is a way to restore a soul," he said carefully. "It will involve contacting some people I hope are in a place called Sunnydale. I need to find Charles and Cordelia first and try to convince them to join me. Angel is going to need a support system when his soul is restored." When Lorne frowned in puzzlement, he continued softly, "Angel will remember everything Angelus did. He will have to live with every death Angelus caused. He did that for decades when he first got a soul, but having people in his life, people to keep him focused and on track, will help."
Wesley could see the question in Lorne's eyes: What if Gunn and Cordelia don't want to leave whatever lives they have and work with a vampire? He didn't have an answer to that, and he was grateful when the demon didn't ask.
Wesley parked his bike in an open space and dismounted, looking carefully around. It was late afternoon and the sun was low in the sky. He'd been out on the streets for hours, asking if anyone knew where he could find Charles Gunn. He knew the people he asked knew Gunn, and he knew the word would get back to him like wildfire that a white English guy was asking about him. By now, Charles knew and was probably having him watched. One of the reasons he made himself so visible during the sunniest part of the day was so they would know he wasn't a vampire. They would also know he wasn't a policeman. Which left them with a puzzle and a lot of suspicion. But Gunn -- at least the Gunn he knew -- would never let a challenge go unanswered. Sooner or later, he'd show up and confront Wesley.
He walked along the sidewalk, taking in the pawn shop with bars in the window, the boarded up movie theater across the street with the broken out windows, the adult bookstore with its yellowed posters on display, the mom and pop quick-shop on the corner. As he turned around to walk back to his bike he found himself face to face with Charles Gunn who took his time eyeing him up and down.
"My people tell me some skinny, pansy-assed, white English guy has been asking all over the neighborhood for me."
This would be the point where if he were someone like Angel he would try to make himself look less threatening. However, being who he was he didn't think that was an issue. Besides, the testosterone was practically rolling off Gunn in waves. "I would be that white English guy," Wesley said, slowly holding out his hand. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." Gunn pointedly ignored his hand, and Wesley lowered it.
"What do you want?" Gunn demanded aggressively.
Wesley answered politely, "I'd like an hour or so of your time."
Gunn looked amused. "Now why would I want to give you an hour of my valuable time?"
"I have a business proposition for you."
"You have a business proposition for me." Gunn's teeth shone in the dimming light, but Wesley had seen friendlier smiles on demons intent on ripping his head from his shoulders. "You know, I can't think of a single reason I should give you even five more seconds. But I will give you some advice, English. Get off the streets before dark. There are things out here you don't want to know about."
Wesley waited until he was a few steps away before saying casually, "Vampires."
Gunn snapped around, his body tensing. "What?"
"You're talking about vampires," Wesley said calmly.
The other man walked back to him and crowded his personal space, making good use of the two inches he had on Wesley. "What do you know about vampires?" he growled.
"Quite a bit actually," he said honestly. "I'm somewhat of an expert."
"A vampire expert."
"Actually, I'm a vampire hunter. Like you. Well, perhaps 'vampire' hunter isn't quite broad enough. I'm really more of a demon hunter."
"You. Are a demon hunter." Gunn snorted. "Yeah, right."
Less than two years ago that was a joke worth laughing at. But there had been a lot of demons under the bridge since then. "Quite an experienced one, actually. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You're good at what you do, Mr. Gunn, and we could use a man with your skills."
"We?"
"Our organization." It was all bullshit, of course, but he needed to give some plausible reason to be looking for Charles, and it had to be something that would pique his interest.
Gunn folded his arms and gave him a dismissive look. "You don't look like any demon hunter to me."
"Looks can be deceiving," he answered mildly. "Of course, there's a way to find out for certain."
Gunn's eyes narrowed. "Supposing I even cared, how?"
Wesley smiled broadly. "You're a vampire hunter, I’m a vampire hunter. I've heard there is vampire activity in a park nearby. I propose we go there together and engage in the hunt." Wesley had assumed the accent and manner of the mindlessly arrogant public school boys he had known so well growing up. 'Pompous ass' didn't begin to describe him. "It will give you the opportunity to evaluate my skills as a demon hunter." He cocked his head, adding, "And it will give me an opportunity to evaluate your skills as well." He knew his own Gunn would never be able to resist a challenge like that, and he was hoping this Gunn wouldn’t either.
After a moment Charles shrugged a little too casually. "I was going over there anyhow. You want to tag along and get your skinny white ass killed, that's no skin off my nose."
Wesley smiled and rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Splendid. I'll follow you over, shall I?"
"Splendid," Charles replied, mimicking his accent perfectly, the wanker.
As Wesley walked to his bike, he was aware of Charles changing his direction and walking over to join him. "That your bike?" he asked.
Swinging his leg over the motorcycle, he nodded. "Yes," he said and didn't miss the look of appreciation in Gunn's eyes. But Gunn just gave his head a brief shake and turned away. He disappeared around the corner and a few moments later Wesley saw him driving his truck from wherever he'd hidden it.
Wesley would never know why Gunn's innocent question 'is that your bike' stuck in his mind. But it was there as he looked down to key the ignition, and for the first time Wesley noticed the odometer. The bike had a good twenty-three thousand miles more on it than it did when he drove to the bookstore. And that's when he cursed himself as an idiot. How hadn't he noticed it before? Yes, he'd been tired and distracted and disoriented by everything that had happened, but he was supposed to be a detective. How could he miss something that simple? This wasn't his bike, and now he knew without a doubt where the Wesley of this world was. Dear god, he was back in his own world.
"Hey, Princess Charles! You comin' or not?"
Looking up, he realized Gunn was idling his truck and waiting for him to follow. "Wanker," he muttered, but waved his hand. "Lead on!" he called, and pulled out to follow as Charles drove away. But his mind wasn't on driving. He didn't notice the neighborhood passing by as the thoughts flew through his mind, thick and fast. The Other Wesley was back in his world with his Angel, Cordelia and Gunn. Dear god, had he gone to the hotel to kill Angel, thinking he was Angelus? This Angelus clearly expected Wesley to show up and try to kill him. His Angel was a vampire with over two hundred and fifty years of survival experience, but he wouldn't be expecting death at the hands of a friend. That could make the difference.
Wesley had to forcibly shake those thoughts from his mind as Charles slowed his truck and made the turn into the park. He'd just have to trust in the Angel, Cordelia and Gunn of his world, and put his plan into motion as quickly as possible. At the moment, he had to focus his thoughts on fighting vampires. He had come a long way in his fighting skills since his days in Sunnydale, but he was also used to either Angel or Gunn, or both of them, being at his back. He wouldn't have that with this Gunn; he'd be essentially on his own as this Charles had no reason to care if he lived or died. He did care if this Charles lived or died, though. He'd egged him on until he had no choice but to accept the challenge, but now Gunn didn't have his gang to back him up. It was just the two of them, and he intended the two of them to walk out of this park alive when it was all over.
Gunn stopped his truck and turned off the motor, and Wesley pulled his bike in beside him and switched it off. As he opened the saddlebags to get to his weapons he mused on the fact that the other Wesley had packed the same weapons he did and in exactly the same way. He armed himself with a crossbow, several stakes, and an almost exact replica of the specially made Gothic short-handled battle axe he himself favored. Light enough to use with one hand, but lethal. He turned around to find Gunn already striding into the park, a familiar hubcap axe in his hands.
He hurried to catch up. "I thought we might formulate a plan of attack."
Gunn hefted his axe. "This is my plan of attack."
"Yes, but if we're to work together, having a plan we both agree on --"
Gunn stopped and wheeled around, holding the blade of his axe close enough to Wesley's chin that it was prudent for him to raise it a bit. "We're not 'working together', Princess. I'm here to kill vamps. You want to kill vamps too, that's your look-out. Just stay out of my way."
Wesley sighed as Gunn stalked away, Machismo Man itching for a fight. He recognized in this Gunn the same recklessness and courage, the same tendency to be headstrong and impatient, ready to charge into a fight with no thought to a plan or strategy that was such a part of the Gunn in his world. It was a trait he shared with Angel, whose plans usually amounted to busting down door and punching faces. He liked to think he had had some influence on them; at least most times now they were willing to delay crashing through doors long enough for him to propose a plan. He saw the same potential in this Charles that he'd seen in the Charles of his own world, and he couldn't help thinking that this world would be a lot better off with Angel restored, the rightful Wesley returned, and this Gunn and Cordelia joining forces with them. Besides which, if someone did not take this Charles in hand, did not offer him some structure and a larger purpose besides killing vampires, he was going to end up throwing himself headlong into unwise fights until this world lost him.
Gunn was already hidden by the shadows by the time Wesley got his gear prepared and followed. There was no attempt at stealth; Gunn was striding purposefully in the growing darkness, daring anything to jump out of the night and attack him. Wesley followed more cautiously, watching and listening for any sign of movement. With Gunn playing the Lone Ranger, they were going to be in a world of trouble if they ran into even a small nest of vampires. Gunn was obviously used to taking charge and doing his own thing; Wesley had gotten out of that short-lived habit a long time ago.
There was the sound of leaves rustling ahead, and Wesley realized he'd lost sight of Gunn again behind some trees. As he increased his pace he heard Gunn yell, "Come and get it, you fuckers!"
"Oh lord." Wesley broke into a run, dashing through a small copse of trees into a clearing. Gunn was taking on two vampires, and he looked like he was holding his own well enough for Wesley to turn his attention elsewhere and neatly take out a third approaching vampire with his crossbow. As he turned to move to lend a hand to Gunn, something slammed into him from behind and his crossbow dropped to the ground as he felt arms wrap around him with vampire strength. As he struggled to reach one of the stakes in his pocket, he wondered briefly if these vampires were youngsters without much experience as this one seemed to be trying to shake him into submission rather than simply break his neck or tear out his throat. With his hand tightly gripping a stake, he threw his head back sharply. It hurt, but not as much as it hurt the vampire behind him, and the arms abruptly loosened enough for him to twist around and plunge the stake home. He waved the resulting dust away from his face and looked around anxiously for Gunn.
Gunn was still fighting hard, his axe swinging furiously, and the two vampires Wesley had seen had been replaced by two others. These seemed to be older, more experienced, because Wesley could immediately see their strategy. They were playing with Gunn, forcing him to use up valuable energy as they lunged forward, then backed out of reach, wearing him down. Oh perfect. The vampires were the ones with a plan of action. As he watched in horror, a third vampire joined the deadly dance, forming a circle around him.
Wesley looked around wildly for his crossbow, then froze as a gravely voice behind him said, "Looking for this, human?" He turned slowly, then swallowed hard. Mother of god. The vampire was a giant. Or at the very least had been a professional football player on steroids before his unlife. As Wesley watched, the vampire grinned, a gap where his front teeth would have been, and casually crushed the crossbow into kindling, dropping it in pieces to the ground. Wesley mentally ran through his options: he had stakes, but he'd never get close enough to use one; he had his axe, but again, the arm reach on the vampire would make that useless; and he had his gun, but bullets would be no more than annoying gnats to this goliath. "Just stand still and don't make me run after you, and I'll make it quick."
Wesley smiled tightly. "I could say the same to you." In an instant his gun was in his hand and he did exactly what he'd threatened to do to Angelus. The vampire let out a guttural cry as both hands flew to his eyes, and Wesley launched himself upwards with a stake in his hands. A moment later he found himself on the ground, coughing as the dust settled over him. That had been unpleasant. Then he rolled over, sprang to his feet, and ran over to Gunn with his axe at the ready.
Gunn was about at the end of his reserves, sweating and exhausted from the constant baiting from the tireless vampires. With a bloodcurdling yell Wesley threw himself at the nearest, slamming into him and knocking him away from the others to narrow the odds for Gunn. This one wasn't stupid or inexperienced however, and Wesley took a vicious backhand that sent him flying. He slammed into a tree, groaning as his still tender midsection took a painful hit. He was slow to get to his feet, and the vampire gleefully took advantage of the weakness he'd shown, and drove a fist into his stomach. Wesley went to his knees, bending over with his arms clutching his stomach as he gasped for breath. Heavy hands grabbed his upper arms. "They're just not making humans like they used to," the vampire gloated as he hauled Wesley to his feet.
As soon as he had his feet under him, Wesley immediately straightened and drove the point of his concealed stake into the vampire's chest. "Apparently they're not making vampires like they used to either," he told the astonished vampire an instant before it disintegrated into dust.
He was badly favoring his side by the time he limped back to where Gunn was desperately fighting the two remaining vampires. Pissed off, hurting, and in no mood for games, he strode up behind the nearest vampire, who was intent on backing away from Gunn's deadly axe, and swung his own axe, beheading the demon in one clean stroke. As the remaining vampire was distracted for a moment by the still swirling dust of his companion, Gunn swung his own axe, and silence settled in around them.
As Wesley pressed a hand against his aching side, Gunn broke into a wide grin. "Now that's what I call vampire hunting."
"And that's what I call nearly getting yourself needlessly killed," Wesley snarled. "If we'd had a plan before you charged in here inviting every vampire within a five block radius to dinner, we could have handled this with a lot less peril to ourselves."
Gunn got that stubborn look on his face Wesley knew so well. "Hunting vampires is dangerous."
"Of course it's dangerous, you bloody fool. But that doesn’t mean you can't take safeguards. Entering into a situation like without a plan of action and a strategy is simply inviting death, or worse." Letting those words sink in, he turned away, only to be brought up short by Gunn's hand on his arm.
"Are you sayin' I'm --?" Gunn broke off as Wesley winced. "Hey, are you hurt?"
"It's an old injury," Wesley answered shortly, thinking how ironic it was that the old injury was one he'd gotten while saving his Gunn's life.
"Yeah, well by the expression on your face I'd say it's feeling pretty fresh." When Wesley didn't answer, Gunn dropped his hand and his attitude. "Look, English, you're a helluva fighter. I was kind of busy myself, but I know you dropped at least three vamps --"
"Four," Wesley corrected in the sake of accuracy.
"--and one of them could have been a fullback for the Rams. And you saved my life back there. I owe you, okay?"
Wesley gave him a considering look. "An hour of your time?"
Gunn grinned again, making his face look even more boyish. "Hell, two hours if that's what you want. Like I say, I owe you."
Relieved they'd gotten this far, Wesley nodded. "Thank you. I know a place where we can talk, and dinner is my treat."
"Free food," Gunn said cheerfully. "Better and better." He fell into step beside Wesley as they walked back to their vehicles.
"I should explain, the place we're going to is a bit...odd."
"Gay place?" Gunn asked matter-of-factly. "'Cause I'm okay with that."
"I beg your -- no, it is not a 'gay place.' What on earth made you think...never mind. I'll explain when we get there. You may find it a bit strange, but it is safe."
Twirling his axe expertly in his hand, Gunn replied, "I'm not worried."
When they reached their vehicles, Wesley stowed his axe in the saddlebag, but when he prepared to mount the bike, Gunn once again caught his arm, lightly this time. "Man, I watched you limp all the way back here, and you can't even stand up straight. There's no way you can ride that bike."
"It really is an old injury," Wesley told him. "I'm afraid it just woke up a bit."
"It's going to wake up a whole lot more if you ride that bike. Look, I've got ramps in my truck. We can wheel your bike onto the back and you can ride with me to wherever it is we're going, okay?"
At that moment this Gunn was so like the Charles in his own dimension that Wesley felt a real pang of homesickness. "That's a splendid idea," he said. "Thank you."
The two hours Gunn had agreed to give him had turned into most of the night. There had been a bit of an incident when they arrived at Caritas and Gunn had gotten his first look at Lorne. Charles' personal motto seemed to be if it didn't look human, it died. Wesley managed to convince him Lorne was a benign demon, and that the rest of the clientele inside the club were bound under a non-violence spell. Of course, there had been another incident when Lorne insisted on enforcing the 'no weapons' rule and Charles had to give up his axe. And if Lorne didn't stop calling Gunn confectionary names Wesley was afraid there was going to be yet another incident.
Still, Gunn had heard him out as he'd promised. Of course he didn't believe the part about other dimensions or that there was such a thing as a vampire that shouldn’t be killed. That's when Wesley brought out the photograph he carried in his wallet. He wasn't superstitious but he did admit to himself that he thought of it as a good luck talisman. It was a photo of Angel, Cordelia, Gunn and himself, taken not that long ago in a booth at a fair one night. Wesley had to give it to Cordelia; she had come up with new and different ways to torture Angel since he'd come back to the agency, and she seemed to take great delight in coming up with ideas that Angel, in his guilt, just couldn't refuse. She thought a night at a fair was just what they all needed and blithely made plans as Angel tried to come up with an excuse she would accept. Cordelia, of course, would accept no excuses from anyone, so they had a 'company outing' at a fair. Wesley hadn't been too thrilled with the idea either, but it turned out to be a lot of fun. He'd won Cordelia the biggest stuffed animal at the sharpshooting booth (even though the rifle was obviously sighted so the unwary shooter would miss), had been bullied by Cordelia and Gunn into riding the rollercoaster (an experience he didn't plan to repeat anytime soon), and ate far too much cottonfloss – which Cordelia insisted on calling 'cotton candy' despite his best efforts to educate her. But he'd also laughed more that evening than he could remember doing in a very long time. They'd concluded the evening having silly pictures taken in a booth. They each claimed one set for themselves, and in Wesley's everyone looked happy and relaxed.
Charles looked up from where he had been studying the photograph and handed it back to Wesley, who carefully tucked it back into his wallet. "So." Charles took a long drink of his beer. "Alternate dimension."
"You believe in vampires and demons," Wesley pointed out. "Can other dimensions be that hard to accept?"
"Not after seeing that picture," Gunn admitted. "You, me -- or the other me -- that chick, and a vampire. You all work together hunting demons."
"That's right."
"And what's keeping that vampire from ripping out your throat?"
"I told you, he has a soul. He doesn't drink human blood any longer. He helps people."
"But the Angel in this universe...?"
Wesley sighed, the responsibility weighing on his shoulders. "The Angel in this universe was good. Something happened to turn him back into the monster he was." He looked up, pinning Gunn with a determined gaze. "But we can help him. We can restore his soul and bring him back again."
"There you go using that 'we' word again."
Wesley grimaced. "I'm sorry. I'm just so used to working with Charles..."
"Nah, it's okay." Gunn paused. "Must be hard, being here, seeing people you know but don't know you."
"It is rather. Very difficult actually. There's just so much to do..."
"And time enough to do it tomorrow." Both men looked up as Lorne came over. The club had long since closed, and they were the only patrons left. Lorne had discreetly stayed out their way while Wesley was telling his story to Gunn, but now he waggled an admonishing finger at Wesley. "I saw how you were walking when you came in here, my little crumbled crumpet. And those bags under your eyes?" He tsked. "Not a good look for you."
Wesley took his glasses off and blinked rapidly to ease his tired eyes. "But I've got to contact Sunnydale, and I've got to find Cordelia --"
"None of which you can do at two o'clock in the morning," Lorne pointed out patiently.
"He's right, man. You should get some sleep. You're looking a little rough around the edges."
Wesley pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "You don't understand. Neither one of you understand. I don't belong here. I need to get home, and I need to help Angel, and I need to find Cordelia and --"
"And you need to get some rest," Lorne said firmly. Wesley heard him sigh and then sink into the chair next to his. "Listen, Wesley, you're right. Neither one of us can understand how you feel -- well, being an empath demon I actually do -- but the fact is, you can't just keep going and going and going without taking some time to recharge your batteries. If you're not thinking straight, you could make a mistake."
Wesley dropped his hands to the table. "You're right, of course," he admitted quietly. "I can't afford to make mistakes."
The demon patted him gently on the shoulder. "And now for the good news. I think we've found Cordelia Chase."
"Really?" Wesley abruptly sat up straighter. "Where?"
Lorne handed over a piece of paper. "I don’t have a home address for you, but we found the talent agency she registered with. She gave the phone number of a photography agency where she's working as her contact number." He hesitated a moment. "I have to tell you, pumpkin, if she's working at this place...well, I hope she's just working at this place. The guy who runs it does the sort of photos that don't exactly show up in the portfolio of a wanna-be actress, if you get my drift."
"Oh." Wesley frowned a little as he took the paper with the address and carefully put it in his wallet. He hadn't really thought about the Cordelia of this place being any different from his Cordelia, and his Cordelia would never... "I'm sure it's all fine," he said carefully, "and thank you, Lorne. I couldn't have found her without your help."
"Pays to have contacts in the business." Lorne got to his feet. "And now I'm turning off the lights and going to bed, and so are you."
When Lorne left them, Gunn got to his feet, and Wesley followed. "Charles, about what I said..."
"About trying to help this vampire and forming the Help the Helpless agency like you did?" Gunn's face was unreadable. "I'll think about it." Wesley's utter disappointment must have shown on his face because Gunn sighed and his tone softened, "I really will think about it, English. I'll be in touch." He gave Wesley a nod and then turned around and left.
Wesley watched him leave the club, and then turned and went to the room Lorne had given him to use, his steps dragging with exhaustion and disappointment. Of course, anything was possible. So it was possible Gunn would put aside his lifelong hatred of vampires, come back because Wesley had done such a good job of convincing him, and agree to help restore Angel and join him in his fight; but, realistically, what were the odds?
Wesley walked up the narrow steps to the second floor where the photography agency was located and wrinkled his nose at the sour smell of the place. The business was located in a rather unsavory part of town, and the woman he'd passed coming out of the building as he was going in quite frankly looked like she'd be comfortable standing on the corner of Hollywood Boulevard late at night.
Darryl Shelby's office was located at the end of the hallway, and the words 'Shelby Photography' were printed in fading gold letters on the glass of the door. Wesley let himself in cautiously and looked around. The reception area, which consisted of an old metal desk with a large rolodex and telephone on top and a sagging sofa against one wall, was deserted. A ladies white sweater was draped over the back of the desk chair. Wesley was about to call out when he heard Cordelia's unmistakable voice from somewhere in the back.
"Darryl, I told you. I don't want this kind of picture."
"And I told you," a male voice retorted, "this was part of the deal. You needed a job, I gave you a job even though you suck as a secretary. You agreed you'd do some pictures for me."
"I didn't know you meant these kinds of pictures." Cordelia's voice was angry and strident. "And just for the record, Darryl, as a photographer, you suck. I'm outta here."
"Oh no you don't." Wesley heard a cry of surprise from Cordelia. "You owe me some pictures, and you're paying up. Then you get the hell out. You're fired."'
"You can't fire me, you dumbass. I quit. And get your hands off me."
There was a thud as if something hit a wall.
"You're not going anywhere. Now get your clothes off and get down on that blanket before I --"
"Unhand her."
Shelby whirled around at the sound of Wesley's voice, Cordelia's wrist still in his grasp. Her eyes went wide with shock. "Wesley?"
"'Unhand her?'" Shelby was a large man with a half dozen gold chains around his neck, a shirt entirely too tight for his body, and hair pulled back into a ponytail. He let his eyes travel over the length of Wesley's body and snorted. "Who the hell are you, Dudley Do-right? Get the hell outta here, pal. This isn't your business."
"I'm making it my business. Let her go. Now."
Cordelia was tugging her wrist, trying without effect to get out of Shelby's painful grip. Wesley saw her bend down to sink her teeth into his arm when the photographer suddenly pulled her after him like a rag doll as he reached for the baseball bat leaning in the corner of the office.
Bringing the bat around, Shelby growled, "And I'm going to make it my business to --" The threat died in his throat as he found himself facing the business end of a 9mm handgun.
"Oh, please," Wesley said softly, "do try."
Cordelia was flashing the kind of smile that could light up a building. "That'll teach you to mess with a Watcher." And with that, Cordelia twisted around and brought her knee up with a force that made Wesley's eyes water just watching. As Shelby dropped to his knees, moaning, she walked away triumphantly, aiming her smile at Wesley. "Wesley!" As she threw her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug, he returned the embrace with one arm, keeping an eye on the incapacitated Shelby just in case.
"Better get your things, Cordelia."
"Pfft. That won't take long. Let me grab my purse and my sweater."
As they left the room, Shelby managed to croak, "You'll never work in this town again!"
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Please. That threat might not be so pathetic if I'd actually worked in this town." As she plucked her belongings from the desk, Wesley gave one more look behind them to make sure Shelby wasn't going to try anything, then ushered her out of the office.
He took Cordelia straight back to Caritas, grateful that riding on his motorcycle made conversation all but impossible. He didn't want to try to explain his situation while they were winding their way through traffic. The Club wasn't open to patrons yet, and when they got there he sat her down at a table and went off to have a word with Lorne. Within minutes hot food was being delivered to them, and while Wesley contented himself with tea, he watched as Cordelia dug into her food with all the enthusiasm of a person who hadn't had a proper meal in far too long. Wesley remembered the feeling of his own empty stomach when he first met Angel and Cordelia in Los Angeles and how Angel had prepared that breakfast for him. After that both he and Cordelia had always made sure he had plenty to eat. He couldn't bear the thought of this Cordelia not having enough money to buy herself a decent meal.
"So, Wesley." Cordelia stopped eating long enough to flash him a smile as she spread butter on another roll. "What are you doing in Los Angeles? Weren't you in Des Moines or something with Faith?"
"I believe it was Cleveland," he answered carefully.
Cordelia waved the roll. "Okay, I knew it was one of those Ohio-Iowa places. How do people keep those states straight? I mean, Ohio, Iowa. Who named those states anyhow? Can we say boring? And how about Utah? Yoo-taah. What's that about? Why can't all our states have pretty names like Hawaii? And don't even get me started on Massachusetts. Only people born there know how to spell that."
As she continued to point out the boring or esthetically challenged state names, Wesley felt a sharp pang of homesickness for his own Cordelia. She could be irritating and annoying and a bully at times, but she was brave and smart and sweet as well as fiercely protective of those she called family.
"So?" Wesley blinked out of his thoughts as Cordelia speared a piece of asparagus. "What are you doing in Los Angeles and how did you show up at that hellhole where I was working?"
"Ah. That's a rather complicated story."
A generous scoop of mashed potatoes made its way to her plate. "Then you'd better get started."
Cordelia ate steadily as Wesley told his story. He watched her carefully throughout, but her only reaction was to occasionally reach for more food. When he finally finished his explanation, she daintily patted her lips with a napkin and sat back in her chair. "So, you're not from around here."
"Different world altogether." He cleared his throat. "You don't seem...shocked."
She tilted her head and reminded him, "Alumni of Sunnydale High. And I've lived in L.A. for the last two years. Between the two, there's not much left to shock me." She shrugged. "Besides, Buffy sent Angel to a hell dimension, so I know they exist. It's not really that much of a surprise to find out other dimensions exist as well." She took a sip of water and frowned thoughtfully. "So, Angel's here in L.A., and he's evil again. The last time he was evil he killed a very nice lady in Sunnydale."
"I suspect he has killed a lot of people in Los Angeles since he became Angelus as well."
"And the me in your world, she came to L.A. to be a star and ended up as an office manager?"
Wesley doubted she meant that as unkind considering the position she was in herself, but he still felt he needed to defend his Cordelia. "She has done some commercials. She just hasn't gotten that big break yet. And she's much more than an office manager really." He hadn't told this Cordelia about the visions. They obviously weren't a part of this world, at least not yet, and they seemed very special and unique to his Cordelia. "She's excellent with our clients and has very good business sense. She's always coming up with new ideas on how we can expand and advertise our business. Frankly, I don't know what we'd do without her."
"Hmm," Cordelia answered noncommittally, moving the salt shaker around in a small circle. "I doubt it was the future she dreamed of when she graduated from Sunnydale High though."
"No, that's true enough," he said carefully. "But then that's true of many of us. Our lives often take turns we don't expect."
She looked up at him, a rueful smile on her face. "I guess you thought you'd be a Watcher."
"Yes," he allowed, "and in a way I am. Just not for a Slayer."
"A Watcher for a vampire? Is there such a thing?"
He gave her a little grin. "I doubt there's a job description as such, but I do think I'm better at it than being a Rogue Demon Hunter."
"How many rogue demons did you kill?" When Wesley winced and opened his mouth to explain, she rolled her eyes. "And yes, Wesley, I'm pulling your leg." Then her voice turned serious and she gave him a long look. "Now, why don't you tell me why you came looking for me?"
Wesley gave her the same basic pitch he'd given Gunn, with the exception he didn't have to explain to her who Angel was. She'd known Angel in Sunnydale, and she liked him, she said. In fact, she could have liked him a whole lot more except Buffy got there first, and after that Angel didn't know any other female in the world existed. He did stress the good Angel did, how they all worked together in his world, and how he was going to find a way to resoul Angel, and when he did, Angel was going to need a lot of support afterwards. She heard him out in silence, eating from the small plate of cheese and fruit Lorne had placed at her elbow. (To her credit she hadn't batted an eye when he'd introduced her to Lorne. She'd merely flashed that million dollar smile when he called her 'sweet-face'.)
When he finished, there was silence. When she finally spoke she said, "You're a good man, Wesley. Or a stupid one, I'm not sure. You should be finding ways back to your own world, but you're spending your time running around in this one trying to find help for Angel, a vampire who wants to kill you, by the way."
"There's no one else to help him," he said softly. "I can't leave him this way."
"Even if it gets you killed?"
"I have to try."
She shook her head as she gathered up her purse and sweater. "Thanks for the lunch, Wesley. And thanks for the Shelby thing too, I mean that. And I hope you don't get yourself killed while you're in this world."
She stood up and he followed. "Won't you even consider--?"
"Working for a vampire? Becoming an office manager for a demon-killing agency? Sure, I'll think about it, but I don't think it's my thing." She slipped on her sweater and then laid a hand on his arm. "I really do hope you get home safely, Wesley." And then she turned and walked away.
Wesley sank down into his chair and dropped his head into his hands, pressing his fingers against his temples. He'd failed. He'd failed with Gunn, and he'd failed with Cordelia. With his luck, he'd fail with Angel as well.
"Things not going well, sweetpea?"
Wesley rubbed his face and then looked up as Lorne sat down in the chair Cordelia had just vacated, drink in hand. "Not really, no."
"You had