(no subject)
Title: Actually, it's Prague.
Fandom: Angel
Note: Post-series, SPOILERS for the finale.
Wesley opened his eyes.
It occurred to him, as he did so, to wonder *how* he did so. Surely he was dead?
"I have a few questions," he said.
"It's not heaven," Angel said. "Actually, it's Prague."
Wesley blinked, but his eyes refused to clear. "But I'm dead," he said, becoming more unsure of that statement by the second.
"Were dead."
"Oh... my."
"We did some mojo. I needed you back." Angel touched something dark to his eyes; a damp cloth, it felt like.
"I was dead. Now I'm no longer dead. I'm sorry if I seem slow, but it's rather confusing," Wesley said.
"Got it in one. You'll be fine."
"All right, then." Wesley rested for a moment. "I'm not a vampire, am I?"
"No. Human again."
"Hm." He certainly *felt* human. "How long was I dead?"
"Well." Angel coughed. "Do you want some tea?"
"Yes, I'm dying for a cup, but first tell me how long I was dead."
"One hundred and ninety-three years," Angel said.
"Oh." Wesley paused to calculate the year. "My."
"It's neat. You should *see* the cars. And the clothes!"
"And you brought me back out of a presumably restful death because..."
"Was it a restful death?" Angel sounded anxious. "I thought--I don't know. You weren't in hell, were you? Or heaven?"
"I don't recall." He remembered dying, a cold and painless process, and he remembered waking again. "How strange."
"Well, that's good. Because I need you here, not in the great Beyond."
Wesley rested and considered things. He laced his fingers together on his belly.
"Oh hey! Look at that, moving already," Angel said.
"You used Smythe's Invocation, did you? Returning body and soul to bone?"
"That's my guy," Angel said, sounding greatly relieved. "All the gray matter back in that big old head."
"Mm, yes. I should be able to see now." Wesley reached up weakly and batted Angel's hands away from his face.
Angel removed the cloth and Wesley saw him for the first time in nearly two hundred years. "You look terrible," Wesley said.
"Tangling with Wolfram and Hart? Not actually as easy as you might think." Angel smiled. An eyepatch covered one eye, so Wesley guessed it was burned out by whatever had left his face such a mess.
"It's good to see you again," Wesley said. He reached up a hand and Angel pulled him up and sat beside him.
"So," Angel said, "you're probably wondering why I called you here."
"Rather."
"The Slayer. The new Slayer, I mean--not Buffy. She died a while ago. For the third and final time." Angel's forehead creased from the inadequacy of the language.
"Yes, I understand," Wesley said.
"We need some lost spells. Watcher spells. A lot of stuff was lost when the Watcher building went up in smoke back in the day," Angel said, and Wesley nodded in remembrance. "Well--we need them. And the only pre-catastrophe Watchers I would trust as far as I can spit are you and Rupert Giles, and what with one thing and another I'd rather choose you."
Wesley sat for a moment.
"That's okay, right?" Angel said, sounding quite worried.
Wesley turned and kissed him on the lips.
"Uh," Angel said.
"Quite all right," Wesley said. He smiled.
"Uh."
"I never did that. I regretted it, as I was dying."
"Uh?"
"One of many regrets." Wesley frowned and shook off the mood. "I would like to meet the new Slayer."
"Okay," Angel said. He hopped down from the table and Wesley followed, stumbling slightly on his new feet. There was a sheet wrapped around him, he registered finally, and he secured it like a toga. It would do for the time being.
Angel stopped him at the door. "It's the future. Things might seem a little--weird. I mean, I know, I've been there."
"I understand." Wesley steeled himself for the strange new world and Angel opened the door.
"--you were never there, you never met her, you're a big lying frelling lying guy and I'm through listening to you!" shouted a young man.
At Spike.
"Fuck you and fuck your mother!" shouted Spike in return.
"Boys! Don't make me show you my snickersnee," said a young woman with a sword in her lap. Another young woman sat beside her, blushing furiously.
Angel watched Wesley anxiously.
Wesley walked to the window silently. The others in the room noticed him when he moved and shut their mouths to watch him. "Looking good for a dead man, Percy," Spike said.
"Thank you," Wesley said. He looked out at the cobbled street lined with angular cars. "I'm sorry--what was the date again?"
"2197," Angel said.
Wesley picked up a small clock--analog with a wooden case--and set it back down. "Well--get me some proper clothes and we can get to work."
"Schway!" said the young woman with the sword, presumably the Slayer. "I'm Emma."
"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Delighted to meet you." He shook her proffered hand.
"Hey! Tell Nan here that I bloody well was there when Buffy Summers destroyed Sunnydale." Spike leaned over the back of a chair. He looked exactly the same as he did when Wesley last saw him, down to his white-blond hair. "You remember! The amulet and the package and the telephones and the dying."
"I, er--" His eye was caught by Angel making throat-cutting gestures on the other side of the room. "I'm sorry, I don't have any *specific* recollection of that event..."
Spike made a frustrated growl in the back of his throat and Angel chuckled and the children laughed uproariously and Wesley smiled, slightly, to himself, and sat down to tea.
End.
Fandom: Angel
Note: Post-series, SPOILERS for the finale.
Wesley opened his eyes.
It occurred to him, as he did so, to wonder *how* he did so. Surely he was dead?
"I have a few questions," he said.
"It's not heaven," Angel said. "Actually, it's Prague."
Wesley blinked, but his eyes refused to clear. "But I'm dead," he said, becoming more unsure of that statement by the second.
"Were dead."
"Oh... my."
"We did some mojo. I needed you back." Angel touched something dark to his eyes; a damp cloth, it felt like.
"I was dead. Now I'm no longer dead. I'm sorry if I seem slow, but it's rather confusing," Wesley said.
"Got it in one. You'll be fine."
"All right, then." Wesley rested for a moment. "I'm not a vampire, am I?"
"No. Human again."
"Hm." He certainly *felt* human. "How long was I dead?"
"Well." Angel coughed. "Do you want some tea?"
"Yes, I'm dying for a cup, but first tell me how long I was dead."
"One hundred and ninety-three years," Angel said.
"Oh." Wesley paused to calculate the year. "My."
"It's neat. You should *see* the cars. And the clothes!"
"And you brought me back out of a presumably restful death because..."
"Was it a restful death?" Angel sounded anxious. "I thought--I don't know. You weren't in hell, were you? Or heaven?"
"I don't recall." He remembered dying, a cold and painless process, and he remembered waking again. "How strange."
"Well, that's good. Because I need you here, not in the great Beyond."
Wesley rested and considered things. He laced his fingers together on his belly.
"Oh hey! Look at that, moving already," Angel said.
"You used Smythe's Invocation, did you? Returning body and soul to bone?"
"That's my guy," Angel said, sounding greatly relieved. "All the gray matter back in that big old head."
"Mm, yes. I should be able to see now." Wesley reached up weakly and batted Angel's hands away from his face.
Angel removed the cloth and Wesley saw him for the first time in nearly two hundred years. "You look terrible," Wesley said.
"Tangling with Wolfram and Hart? Not actually as easy as you might think." Angel smiled. An eyepatch covered one eye, so Wesley guessed it was burned out by whatever had left his face such a mess.
"It's good to see you again," Wesley said. He reached up a hand and Angel pulled him up and sat beside him.
"So," Angel said, "you're probably wondering why I called you here."
"Rather."
"The Slayer. The new Slayer, I mean--not Buffy. She died a while ago. For the third and final time." Angel's forehead creased from the inadequacy of the language.
"Yes, I understand," Wesley said.
"We need some lost spells. Watcher spells. A lot of stuff was lost when the Watcher building went up in smoke back in the day," Angel said, and Wesley nodded in remembrance. "Well--we need them. And the only pre-catastrophe Watchers I would trust as far as I can spit are you and Rupert Giles, and what with one thing and another I'd rather choose you."
Wesley sat for a moment.
"That's okay, right?" Angel said, sounding quite worried.
Wesley turned and kissed him on the lips.
"Uh," Angel said.
"Quite all right," Wesley said. He smiled.
"Uh."
"I never did that. I regretted it, as I was dying."
"Uh?"
"One of many regrets." Wesley frowned and shook off the mood. "I would like to meet the new Slayer."
"Okay," Angel said. He hopped down from the table and Wesley followed, stumbling slightly on his new feet. There was a sheet wrapped around him, he registered finally, and he secured it like a toga. It would do for the time being.
Angel stopped him at the door. "It's the future. Things might seem a little--weird. I mean, I know, I've been there."
"I understand." Wesley steeled himself for the strange new world and Angel opened the door.
"--you were never there, you never met her, you're a big lying frelling lying guy and I'm through listening to you!" shouted a young man.
At Spike.
"Fuck you and fuck your mother!" shouted Spike in return.
"Boys! Don't make me show you my snickersnee," said a young woman with a sword in her lap. Another young woman sat beside her, blushing furiously.
Angel watched Wesley anxiously.
Wesley walked to the window silently. The others in the room noticed him when he moved and shut their mouths to watch him. "Looking good for a dead man, Percy," Spike said.
"Thank you," Wesley said. He looked out at the cobbled street lined with angular cars. "I'm sorry--what was the date again?"
"2197," Angel said.
Wesley picked up a small clock--analog with a wooden case--and set it back down. "Well--get me some proper clothes and we can get to work."
"Schway!" said the young woman with the sword, presumably the Slayer. "I'm Emma."
"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Delighted to meet you." He shook her proffered hand.
"Hey! Tell Nan here that I bloody well was there when Buffy Summers destroyed Sunnydale." Spike leaned over the back of a chair. He looked exactly the same as he did when Wesley last saw him, down to his white-blond hair. "You remember! The amulet and the package and the telephones and the dying."
"I, er--" His eye was caught by Angel making throat-cutting gestures on the other side of the room. "I'm sorry, I don't have any *specific* recollection of that event..."
Spike made a frustrated growl in the back of his throat and Angel chuckled and the children laughed uproariously and Wesley smiled, slightly, to himself, and sat down to tea.
End.