CSI: Hyperion
Gunn still lay in that deceptive appearance of peacefulness. As i stood beside the table, I couldn't help but be reminded of when I'd stood beside Lilah's body, in the basement, and the grisly necessity I'd seen to
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"We already know the answer to that," I said softly, to Wesley's back. He was already walking away. It didn't hurt like I would have thought...after all he wasn't turning away from me.
Just the truth. Only the truth.
I sent an apologetic glance to Lorne, picked up Charles' ax where it sat just next to me, and stood to follow Wesley...if only to help him see. Maybe one day I would work up to all the apologies I had been considering only moments before.
"I know this isn't going to be easy on any of us. But we need to know."
I just stood there, unable to really look at either Wesley or Faith. Instead I just placed myself opposite of Wesley, twisting the handle of the ax in my hands as the words drifted over me. Sometimes into me. But nothing rested very well.
"Brusing and discoloration around the neck indicates that victim was either strangled or had neck broken by assailant. No evidence of cuts or puncture wounds. Not a vampire."
"The placement of the bruises does indicate strangulation," I heard my voice come of its own violation, and felt a small nod is Wesley's direction. I placed the ax gently down next to where I stood. "And that Char....that the victim was facing their killer at the time of the attack." One hand reached forward to slowly play across an eyelid and open it, only to kiss it closed with gentle fingertips. Does everyone feel it....how very wrong this is?
"Broken capilaries confirm death by strangulation," I forced the words out with a hiss, fighting to keep my distance.
I worked to make my eyes skim the surface, all while fighting to see at the same time. To see the bruises, but not the skin it marred. To feel the cold...but not the the absence of the warmth.
"Lack of defensive wounds on the hands, arms, and upper chest indicate that the attack was sudden, leaving the victim suprised and unable to fight back," I let the words rush out, trying to not listen to them myself. Or look at those hands and arms and chest that had once sheltered me.
Loved me...
"Charles would have fought back," the thought broke free before I could contain it. Work to stay in my defensive space. I sucked in a breath and tried to refine the distance.
Thinking back, I remembered the way Charles had looked, wrapped in Wesley's arms as he carried him upstairs. "The neck was also broken, which was vicious and unnessecery. The victim was already dead."
Charles.
"Whoever did this was both strong and fast..."
Science took me that far.
"...and cruel."
My heart took me the rest.
You see? The answer was there all along.
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I nodded, standin' back and lettin' the experts do their thing. Leanin' against the wall, I crossed my arms over my chest and just watched them. They didn't really need me up in the mix.
Details and research? Not my kinda deal.
I'll leave that to the book types. Wes and Fred definitely fit that bill.
"Brusing and discoloration around the neck indicates that victim was either strangled or had neck broken by assailant. No evidence of cuts or puncture wounds. Not a vampire."
"The placement of the bruises does indicate strangulation, And that Char....that the victim was facing their killer at the time of the attack."
"Broken capilaries confirm death by strangulation, Lack of defensive wounds on the hands, arms, and upper chest indicate that the attack was sudden, leaving the victim suprised and unable to fight back"
I pushed off the wall, walkin' over to where they were. Keepin' my arms crossed, I studied Gunn's body. I was tryin' to make sense outta what they was sayin' I guess. Tryin' to see it for myself or whatever.
Lookin' up, I know I was wearin' that look that said I was mad confused, 'cause I could feel it.
"So, we know it wasn't a vamp." Way to go Faith, repeat the obvious. "Now I don't know, or didn't know Gunn too good, but I know he was a damn good fighter. Can't see not defendin' himself or even tryin' to fight back."
I shrugged. I know I wasn't the fuckin' smartest person, but I was just throwin' my thoughts out there. Take 'em or leave 'em.
"Charles would have fought back,"
I nodded, givin' Fred a grin. 'Least somebody agreed. Now I don't feel like such a dumbass.
Whoever did this was both strong and fast......and cruel."
"Gonna have to agree with the brain here Wes. Question is, who? Could be anybody. Demon, vamp, hell, even human. We know anybody who carried a wicked grudge against Gunn? Somebody who mighta wanted to take him out?"
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The discomfiture was palpable. None of us wanted to be here, to be examining a friend's empty shell as if it were just another poor victim of one of the many evils we'd encountered. But there could still be things that Gunn could tell us, even now.
I concentrated on Fred's words, trying to see what she saw, deduce the same things from them. As I peered down at the bruises along Gunn's neck, an intch began in the back of my head, but of what I had no clue. The idea would simply have to make its way forward of its own volition-- instincts couldn't be forced.
"Lack of defensive wounds on the hands, arms, and upper chest indicate that the attack was sudden, leaving the victim suprised and unable to fight back."
I arched an eyebrow and took a closer look. I'd missed that particular deduction, but Fred was correct. Making a mental note to be more observant of such things, I found myself still feeling the nudge of an idea, something important, pressing at the back of my mind. It was closer now, but not enough.
"So, we know it wasn't a vamp. Now I don't know, or didn't know Gunn too good, but I know he was a damn good fighter. Can't see not defendin' himself or even tryin' to fight back."
"Charles would have fought back."
Nodding in agreement with both Fred and Faith, I was momentarily distracted from my own observations as I noted the painful tenderness with which Fred touched Gunn's face. I felt an ache in my chest that I hadn't known for a very long time, the pain that had begun in that theatre years ago, and had finally died in that moment in my office with Fred. Apparently, part of me still remembered how to be jealous.
Shaking off the needless painful reminiscing, I tried to refocus myself. The nagging thought was nearly at the forefront of my mind, close enough to touch.
"Whoever did this was both strong and fast... and cruel."
"Gonna have to agree with the brain here Wes. Question is, who? Could be anybody. Demon, vamp, hell, even human. We know anybody who carried a wicked grudge against Gunn? Somebody who mighta wanted to take him out?"
I shook my head. "Most of the evil that had the misfortune to cross Gunn's path is long dead. The Senior Partners and their Black Thorn representatives are the most likely suspects with the greatest motives, but that applies to Angel, Spike and myself, as well."
Putting a hand on the table near Gunn's head, I concentrated on that one mysterious thought, the one close enough to touch. I looked down at my hand. Touch.
Gently turning Gunn's head to expose the bruises, I knew I was right.
"It wasn't Illyria."
Reaching out, I grasped Fred's hand, firmly but not tight.
"Illyria's physical dimensions are the same as yours. I'm sorry, but--"
I brought Fred's hand down against Gunn's neck. The spreading bruises, splayed in the distinct pattern of a human hand was too large for Fred's petite hand. Releasing her, I stepped back from the table.
"It wasn't Illyria," I repeated evenly, not entirely sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
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I nodded, and if I didn't share a smile with Faith, at least I managed to share a look. Of understanding, or loss, at this point I didn't really care...at least it was shared at all. As little time Faith had spent with Charles, it made me just a touch less cold to think that she had seen it too. How hard he had fought -- tried.
I didn't care what Illyria said, about any or all of it. But what she did? What she had....that was something else. And there was so much else.
"It wasn't Illyria."
"Why won't you listen," the words drifted out in a painful hiss, and my eyes lifted once more from Charles to meet Wesley's. "I just explained how it couldn't be anyone else." Even I knew how lost my logic sounded. But even though I could hear myself, I couldn't seem to make it stop either. "It's all there...."
Something warm touched my hand, and I looked down.
Wesley.
"Illyria's physical dimensions are the same as yours. I'm sorry, but--"
"What are you doing," I whispered as I watched our arms and palms and fingers drift as one. But I knew, didn't I? At that moment I knew.
My hand answered the question that Wesley's own asked, and my eyes blured at the sight of bruises still visible. And I tried to cover them...I tried again and again. But it never fit.
"It doesn't fit."
Had my voice lost all emotion at all? Why couldn't I move my hand away? Why didn't it all fit? Why was he gone?
Wesley was gone.
I needed to move my hand.
"It is supposed to fit. It only makes sense if it fits."
And I still couldn't move my hand. Please....just please let it move.
"It wasn't Illyria."
Move your hand Fred!
Finally. Finally I pulled away, my hand ripping away from the shadow that didn't belong to. And air...there was air again.
"No," I conceded. "It wasn't."
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I tilted my head to the side, confused at what he was talkin’ about. I got the whole Senior Partners thing. Heard the big guy mention them before. But the Black Thorn? What the hell was that?
I was about to ask when Wes spoke up.
"It wasn't Illyria. Illyria's physical dimensions are the same as yours. I'm sorry, but--It wasn't Illyria "
"It doesn't fit."
Wes put Fred’s hand on Gunn’s neck, measurin’ up the sizes of the marks left there. Still ain’t too clear on that whole Illyria deal but, I figured they knew what they was doin’, so I just kept my mouth shut and watched.
Not really sure what else I coulda done at this point. There wasn’t nothin’ to kill or beat up, so me just stayin’ quiet was the best thing.
"It is supposed to fit. It only makes sense if it fits."
I kinda felt like I was intruding on them. Like I was invading a private moment. This shit had to be pretty heavy for Fred. I need to get with Wes and get the skinny on the whole Illyria sitch. Might help me understand more.
Fred looked like she was about to cry and finally she jerked her hand off Gunn’s neck like it was burnin’ her hand or somethin’.
I frowned, still just watchin’.
"No, It wasn't."
My brow creased as I looked at Wes and then back at Fred. I guess part of me kinda felt bad for her. This shit was fuckin’ with me and hell, it wasn’t wearin’ my face or nothin’. Maybe I just kinda felt all protective of her or somethin’. Ain’t really sure why.
“So it wasn’t Illyria. Question is, who was it and how do we make with the findin’ out? ‘Cause when we do, let me just say, I’m gonna deal some wicked damage.”
I smirked with a shrug, tryin’ to lighten things up by bein' a smart ass. 'Least I knew that was somethin' I was good at.
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It made perfect sense, and any impartial observer would have been able to see the truth of it long before Fred's sharp-edged words bit into me. But then, I wasn't anything approaching impartial when it came to Fred, or when it came to Illyria, for that matter. Far too close to both sides of the argment, which perhaps somehow left me in the middle.
I had known it was something of a melodramatic gesture, but the evidence and what it indicated had to be made as plain and irrefutable as possible.
"What are you doing?"
Fred's hand was warm and dry under my own, and I did wish for a more appropriate context in which to be holding it, but that was something that would have to wait-- for a very long time, for all I knew.
Stepping back from Fred, where her hand was still against Gunn's neck, I watched as she struggled with the facts that her rational mind was fighting against her instinct and emotions to accept.
"It doesn't fit. It is supposed to fit. It only makes sense if it fits."
Oh, Fred, I thought-- death making sense is a luxury we are allowed so very rarely in lives like ours. No, for us, death is brutal and random and sensless. Whether we deal it or are dealt it, so little of it feels right.
With what seemed to be great physical effort, Fred backed away from the table.
"No. It wasn't."
I took a step closer to Fred, wondering if I was even remotely capable of comforting her at this unthinkable moment, and if I was, if she would accept it. Hesitating, I turned at the sound of Faith's voice.
"So it wasn’t Illyria. Question is, who was it and how do we make with the findin’ out? ‘Cause when we do, let me just say, I’m gonna deal some wicked damage."
Leave it to Faith to bring us back to brass tacks. There wasn't a great deal of latitude in the situation for any of us to be indulging in our own emotional problems. Action was indeed needed.
"Something entered the Hyperion without our knowledge. In all the confusion at the time, I don't doubt the possibility of it for a moment. If anyone had seen the attacker, I think they'd have stepped forward by now. Perhaps there's some sort of spell that can give us information about who and what has come through our doors..."
I knew it was more than a reach, but I was running quickly low on ideas.
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But then came the awareness. I felt their eyes, felt watched. And while that feeling - the knowledge that so much was focused on me - had always been one I disliked? Now I absolutely despised it.
I could look, but they couldn't. They must not. There was, or at least it felt like right now, so little left to look at anyways.
Somehow I had become the one who got left behind. And that...that wasn't how my story was supposed to read. I did that once. It wasn't supposed to happen again.
Statistics suggest that...
“So it wasn’t Illyria. Question is, who was it and how do we make with the findin’ out? ‘Cause when we do, let me just say, I’m gonna deal some wicked damage.”
"Only if you let me help," I finally spoke, my voice carrying to Faith. Our eyes met over Charles' body.
"Something entered the Hyperion without our knowledge. In all the confusion at the time, I don't doubt the possibility of it for a moment. If anyone had seen the attacker, I think they'd have stepped forward by now. Perhaps there's some sort of spell that can give us information about who and what has come through our doors..."
"Fine," I conceded quietly. "So we research...its what we still do right? That can't possibly have changed."
Even I heard how hard I sounded, and I felt my shoulders drop a little.
"Can we cover him up now?"
Please?
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"Or we can get it the old fashioned way." I said, smirkin' at Wes and poundin' my fist into my other hand. "Who's first in line?"
Wondered if he picked up on what I was hintin' at? That whole tryin' to get info out of that junkie when I busted outta jail to help and all. He was all with the pushin' me to get me back in the game. Won't admit it to him, but I was scared. I mean, if I had let myself just go back to what I was, I might never come back.
Couldn't let that happen again.
"Only if you let me help,"
I raised my eyebrow, tiltin' my head as I looked over top of Gunn's body at Fred. Skinny as a fuckin' rail with a big brain. Ain't sure how much she was 'bout to help in the ass kickin' department. But hey, she wants to help, I can dig that.
"Sure why not." I grinned at her. "You might be tiny, but I'm bettin' you pack a big punch. Unless Wes would rather you use that big brain of yours to help with the book stuff. 'Cause if that's the case, I can totally hold my own."
I winked at her, lettin' her know I was just givin' her a hard time.
"Fine, So we research...its what we still do right? That can't possibly have changed."
I frowned. Totally wasn't meanin' to hurt nobody's feelings, especially not Fred's. We'd had a small bondin' session or whatever last time around. And from what I was told, she kinda took care of me during that whole Orpheus induced mind walk with Angel.
"Fred..I, uh..."
"Can we cover him up now?"
Reachin' over, I grabbed the sheet and pulled it up over Gunn's head, coverin' him up. Figured it was the least I could do.
I stepped back, tuckin' my hands in my back pockets and lookin' at both of 'em.
"Okay, so now what?"
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The glint in Faith's eye took my distracted mind an extra heartbeat to recognize-- it had been the look she'd had the night we'd gone hunting Angelus. There had been something very easy and enticingly simple about moving along the chain of information, intimidating or beating what we needed as we went. In a way that I hadn't experienced in more than a year, there had been a clear, distinct feeling of purpose and accomplishment with each movement.
Of course, there had been detours-- there had been that moment when after I'd pushed and jabbed and tried to call the darkness out of Faith, I feared that I'd gone too far. It had turned out that I'd done just enough. We'd won the day, but not before I'd nearly cost Faith her life.
But the shotgun, the motorcycle, and the dive bars seemed to call.
"Only if you let me help."
Fred's voice snapped me out of the reverie, brought me back to the man I was now. Not that I was all that sure how far I'd gone since then. My first instinct, of course, was to categorically forbid Fred from coming on such a mission, but I remembered the conversation we'd had after she'd gotten shot.
"Sure why not. You might be tiny, but I'm bettin' you pack a big punch. Unless Wes would rather you use that big brain of yours to help with the book stuff. 'Cause if that's the case, I can totally hold my own."
Thankfully, the choice that Faith had dropped on my shoulders didn't need to be addressed.
"Fine, So we research... its what we still do right? That can't possibly have changed."
The words were bitter, angry... and disappointed, as well. Fred hadn't seen what had happened to us after we'd lost her, and her reactions to the way things had turned out, well, I couldn't grudge her any of them. In just a few short months, things seemed so different about us all.
"The mission has never changed. It is still what we do."
Once again, I couldn't exactly swear that I one hundred percent believed that statement, but I believed enough of it to say it. And saying it did somehow help convince myself just a little bit more. Hopefully, it would help Fred, as well.
"Fred..I, uh..."
"Can we cover him up now?"
Faith obliged, and a great deal of tension seemed to evaporate from the room. We no longer had to look down on our friend's body, and that changed so much.
"Okay, so now what?"
"We need to find out what, if anything, that Spike and Cordelia have learned from Harmony. Wolfram & Hart is the obvious first on the list of suspects, but we've no clear motive, other than reducing our numbers by one. Faith, I think the idea of finding out if there's any new information on the street level regarding our newly re-organized adversaries is a solid one. Fred, I'd appreciate if you stayed here and determined if there's any way to know who's been in this hotel over the last twenty-four hours."
I opened the door, ushering Faith out. I stopped Fred before she exited.
"Fred," I said quitely, "if you, ah... if you don't want me to stay here, with you, please tell me now."
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Charles, my mind answered quickly. Charles had been the first in our line, before it had even been drawn. Only now it was inked onto walls, and dark enough to bleed through the layers of pain and paint...not to be covered up.
"Fred..I, uh..."
I shook my head, silently begging Faith to stop. I know that she wanted to help, but nothing that she said in this moment was going to change anything, least of all me. Tomorrow? Tomorrow...we could see.
The sheet fluttered over Charles, and I allowed my eyes to close for just a moment. Help wasn't even close to the right word, but the time taken did something.
"The mission has never changed. It is still what we do."
I opened my eyes again, keeping my gaze up and level and everything below me just out of my field of vision. It didn't do much but stop the shaking.
"And I'm glad of that," I whispered.
"We need to find out what, if anything, that Spike and Cordelia have learned from Harmony....Faith, I think the idea of finding out if there's any new information on the street level regarding our newly re-organized adversaries is a solid one. Fred, I'd appreciate if you stayed here and determined if there's any way to know who's been in this hotel over the last twenty-four hours."
It wasn't what I wanted to do, it really didn't even come close. The vision of Faith hitting fist into palm still danced inside, and somehow that felt more right. But that wasn't my strength, and I knew it. I could most certainly get by, but this was one of those situations where I knew that wouldn't be enough. Physically, when it came to fighting....no. It was better that stayed here. If I truely wanted to help Charles, it was how I would be most effective.
I nodded my assent and we filed out of the room. Until Wesley stopped me.
"Fred, if you, ah... if you don't want me to stay here, with you, please tell me now."
I had a sudden vision of what tonight would be like, when I was finally brave enough to go to bed. The hurt and rage were going to follow me right up those stairs, and then I was going to cry...silently.
I had never been silent.
Not in Pylea, not in those first months in my room, and not with my friends. For five years I had been alone, except for the sound of my voice. A scream or a shout, a long talk that went too long, it was mostly sound that kept me going. Quiet was what I was supposed to be in Pylea, and I suppose most of the time quiet is what kept you alive. But it hurt so, all of that bottled up. And that's why the minute I was free enough, or far enough back inside my cave I would let it all out. The sound...it's what reminded me I was still me. Even when I couldn't remember my name.
And now I saw the quiet, the silent coming, and there was nothing I could see to do to stop it. I would reach my room, hold a pillow, and maybe even bite down so hard on the corner that the fabric of the case threatened to make me sick. I would cry until it and me were damp through and through but it still wouldn't help...because it still wasn't the stuff that was inside.
I didn't want it inside. Just like I didn't want to cry. And I didn't want the silence.
I...I wanted to be her.
So I said what she would.
"No," I put a hand on his arm. "I want you to stay Wesley. Please."
And I meant it...I did. Mostly.
I knew that I would be silent tonight. Just like I knew I would be alone. And I could face that as my then, but not as my now.
Not as my now.
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