“Bait? Why would you need me? You’ve got your friends for that!”
The maniacal sound of Lindsey's voice haunts me in the elevator while I attempt to block out any associations I'm currently having with elevators, Lindsey, or kissing. His taunt is savage though, and continues to ring in my ears the whole ride up to the main floor. I am not using my friends. I'm trying to help them. I'm trying to help everyone. Maybe I should be using Lindsey as bait... Hamilton already thinks it's weird that I've had him out of his cell. He'd probably smell a rat, which would be tough considering he is one, but still, more risky than just being bait. But it's Lindsey...why should I care if he sniffs Lindsey out. Because then he sniffs your plan out, dumbass. Right. Exactly. Not because I care what happens to Lindsey. Right. That's it.
There has got to be a better way than offering up Wes for bait. I don't even want to be thinking about this, and I want to be thinking about Lindsey being right, even less. I need to apologize to Wes if nothing else. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even let me in his office at this point. Plus Lindsey on top of patronizing him - I am so in trouble. Better go face the music, or the angry Ex-watcher as the case may be.
I knock tentatively at Wes's door, knowing he's probably not going to like me interrupting after I just sent him away to get work done. But I hear voices and I knock a little louder and open the door. "Hey, Wes." I scan the room. "Oh. Illyria. Uhh, Wes, I need to talk to you for a minute. Alone." I glance at Illyria and back to Wes. Awkward much? "It's... important."
Illyria had left somewhere in the middle of my research annex drinking binge. Muttering something about me not being entertaining enough and she was going to seek it elsewhere. Which was fine by me. I wasn't here to be everyone's bloody entertainment, no matter how it looked.
God, I miss Fred. I miss Cordy and Lilah too. It's... Christ, it's frightening to realize that all the women I loved or cared for are dead. Gone, dead, painfully at that. They were all murdered. Christ, that's depressing. Which Illyria was only to happy to point out to me when she returned from where ever the hell it is hell gods go when they're bored. I shudder to think about that actually.
"This poison will one day soon cease your measly existence," she announced, looking up from her ficus. Bloody thing should just die; perhaps then she'd leave me alone.
Lifting my glass in a mock salute, I give her a wry smile. "I'll just keep drinking then shall I?" I can tell there's is more coming from her, but before she can do anything, there's a knock on the door.
A knock. On my door. Who'd be foolish enough to come to *my* office? Lower themselves to actually knock on *my* door. Ah, Angel. But of course. Who else would it be? My eyes, narrow and I clench my jaw. "Are you done playing?" I ask in a cold tone of voice.
"You are not wanted here, half-breed," Illyria announces, stepping between us. She tilts her head at Angel, boring those blue eyes into him. "He is trying to kill himself. You must make him cease. I, Illyria, command it. I am not yet ready to loose my guide, pitiful as he is."
Sighing, I rub my forehead. "Illyria, don't you have any, I don't know. Can't you go pummel your pet for a bit?" Where the hell is Spike anyway, he's supposed to keep her busy.
"He was boring me and forbid me to touch his clipboard. No one tells the great Illyria what to do." She takes a step to the side, so Angel comes back into my view. Isn't that wonderful.
Dismissing the blue goddess for now, I turn my face toward Angel. "If you're here because of the very important translations. I told you you'd have on your desk by the end of the bloody day."
I ignore Wes's little jab about playing and move into the room. I assume he means Lindsey, but we are not going to go there. Brushing past Illyria I leave the door open, hoping she- no, it will take the hint. That isn't Fred, I keep reminding myself. It stays next to the ficus even after Wes suggests she go play with Spike, and I make a face. "Look, Illyria, I don't care what you command, get out." The last bit comes out as almost a growl, because God-king or not it needs to get it through it's head that I'm in charge around here. And none of us need to see Fred's face...like this. If Illyria thinks that Wes is going to stop drinking with that face staring at him all the time, it is pretty damned mistaken. Illyria seems annoyed, but she looks at Wesley and then leaves.
Trying to kill himself? Wes would never... He's upset obviously, but he's not going to drink himself to death. Wes is smarter than that. And I...don't think I could take another death on my hands right now.
I step in over the random piles of books strewn about Wes's office and notice he's still in his socks. Kind of cute, if it weren't so distressing. I wave my hand in dismissal, "Not here about the translations, Wes. I-" I fidget a little and decide to sit in one of his guest chairs.
“Wes, look, I’m-“ Sorry, I made you feel like crap. Sorry, I ruined your life. Sorry, I let the love of your life die. Sorry, I want Lindsey. Sorry, for what I’m going to say. Sorry, for everything. You deserve better. “Sorry. I was-” I was trying to help. I was doing it for your own good. I was saving Connor, I know you wouldn’t blame me for that. I was- I can’t protect you anymore. “trying to, I don’t know what I was trying to do. Hamilton’s been nosing around too many places that he shouldn’t and I didn’t want him nosing around...where he shouldn’t,” I finish lamely, not willing to say that I don’t like the idea of the bastard within the same dimension as Wes much less the same office.
“Honestly, I have no idea what translation you’re working on, just thought that would be a good excuse to get him away from you.” I confide. That and I still know what buttons to push no matter what memories he’s got in there. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that.” I look him in the eye, trying to make sure we’re clear. To see that I haven’t fucked things up again.
I didn’t even look up when he started to order Illyria around. Always the boss, always the alpha male. Everyone must take his orders. And fool that I am, I take them as he dishes them out. I just stand there and take it all in, lock it up inside and throw away the key. Because it was Angel. Because I’d do almost anything for him. Would let him do almost anything to me. He’d hurt me many times before, and there would be more. Why was I just going to sit there and take it? It angered me, but there was must something that stopped me from stopping him.
“You do not get to order me around halfbreed,” Illyria sneered. “You are less then the dust that crawls into long forgotten places.”
I winced at that dust analog, managing to bite down on a sigh. Shifting a little uncomfortable in my seat, I managed not to look up and over at Angel. Part of me wanted her to go so he and I could talk. Part of me didn’t want her to go, because I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. What was there left to be said?
I felt Illyria’s eyes on me and with a sigh I looked up. “Leave,” I said dismissively, knowing I’d pay for that remark later. She did bristle and look at him with those flaming blue eyes. Fred….her mouth pressed into a thin line as she jerked her chin up.
“The great Illyria does not do what she is told. I do not follow the orders of a mere human. I shall only leave because *I* chose to leave.” She sniffed giving us both a look designed to make even the toughest warriors shrink. Wouldn’t be surprised if at one time they really had.
She strode out of the room and I turned to my books. Trying to ignore Angel was right there. Trying to ignore his words. Each of the feeling as though a small knife was stuck I my heart. He never really was terribly good at this whole communicating thing was he? There were times I thought the stammer was terribly cute. Actually, it still was, if only the circumstances were different.
“That’s wonderful,” I said, not looking up from my work. I had no idea what I was working on, just pretending to do so. “Of course you would never hurt me willingly, would you Angel? You would never humiliate me in front of people who are supposed to be our enemy, would you Angel?” My voice had grown softer with each word while anger was bubbling up inside me.
Damn him. Damn me and the need to make sure he was alright. Who cared about me? Angel was the champion, Angel was important. Not me. Angel wanted Lindsey. Not me. Once bitten, twice shy I guess.
Lifting my head I looked at him with eyes I knew who were dead. I’d seen them in the mirror. I hadn’t been surprised, or shocked. I hadn’t the energy left for that. “It’s quite alright. Was there anything else?” Just go, leave me alone. Leave me, it’s not as though you’ve not done that before. Several times.
He totally ignores me. If he hadn’t been doing practically the same thing to Illyria I might not have thought twice about it. Where is Wes? Doesn’t sound like he’s heard a word I’ve said. I push up out of the chair and start to pace around the room, but find that I can’t pace effectively with all of the books everywhere.
“No, Wes, it’s not alright. It’s not wonderful.” I need you to be safe. I need you to be the one thing that doesn’t turn to ash when I look at it. I don’t want there to be this chasm between us anymore, and I really don’t want to have to ask this of you. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t think of anything better. Would you have listened if I had asked you to leave? Doubt it.”
Even I can hear the anger pummeling through his voice. This isn't going the way I planned. But what does around here? I stand in front of his desk and lean over it, resting on my hands in a practiced move of intimidation. Only intimidation isn’t what I’m going for. I want him to understand.
"No, Wes, I wouldn't.” I want him to believe that. He shouldn’t even be asking me that. “As for Lindsey, if you've got something to say, I think now's the time to say it." I can hear the vibrations in his voice get tighter; he's got every right to be mad. I doubt there's much I could say to placate him, but... "Lindsey’s a pawn. He's not worth enough to be the enemy, but I think I can get him to help us." I look away a little. "I need him to believe I'm interested in him being alive, otherwise he's useless." I know that’s not convincing, but it’s all I can think of that isn’t a lie.
His eyes are empty when he finally looks at me. I wish that wasn’t my fault, but it is. "Yeah, there's something else. I need you, Wes." I wanted to leave it at that, but I knew he'd never take that offer from me. I got myself tossed out of his garden a long time ago and I wasn't about to be invited back in because of a few little words. "I need you to do something important for me." I’m going to hell. Again.
It's like I'm hearing an echo of my father. No Wesley, it's not alright. No, Wesley you can't do that. No Wesley, I'm not proud of you. Yes Wesley, you are a complete failure and I'd rather forget about you. Of course my father hardly ever called me Wesley, let alone Wes. I guess Angel gets point for that.
"Really," I say dryly. It's not even a question. I wonder who he's trying to convince here about Lindsey. Me? Or himself? I think the idea is to convince me. But in the end it's himself he's trying to tell a lie. Another lie. Lie upon lies between us. So many I can barely see straight.
Sitting up a bit, I glance down at his hands on my desk, leaning over it a bit. Angel Intimidation Pose number three. Raising my eyebrow, I give him a hard look at that. I can clearly hear Cordelia in my head going 'mixed signals much'? "Well," I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. "If you think playing chess will be effective, then by all means. Though, I really have to wonder about your methods."
Chaining your pawn, your so called enemy to yourself? What is this going to tell him? Other then the fact that Angel may have a small chain fetish. But I'm too tired to argue with him about it. I'm too tired of everything. Always running and moving on. Forgetting about the ones who cannot keep up. The ones left behind to serve as the sacrificial lamb.
"Something important." Giving him blank look, I stare down at the translation I'm supposed to be working on. "This? Wasn't important?" He certainly made a big scene about it. Shaking my head, I get up and walk around him. I pick up one of the safe books, caressing it's cover. These really are lovely books. They'll never lie to me. Unlike some.
He's sorry and in the old days I'd have come running back to him like a moth to a flame. Only to get burned over and over again. I'm not so eager anymore. I'm not about to bend over backward for him just so he notices me. I'm not about to grovel in the dust just to hear a few words of praise from him.
"What is it, Angel," I sigh, giving him a tired look.
Right. Of course I'm no longer that person. Of course I don't crave Angel's approval, his praise, his attention. Sometimes I wonder if that's just about the only thing to keep me going. Angel and his fight for redemption. Angel and the good fight. Sometimes I wonder it that's all that stands between me and...finally giving up. I wondered what happened to the very safe and comfortable black and white world I used to live in.
I might as well get it over with. He wants me out of here, I can tell, but leaving him alone sounds like an even worse plan, I think, eyeing the bottle of alcohol on his desk. I hope he's up to this. If Hamilton even looks at him wrong- My fists are curling so I plow on ahead.
"It's Hamilton. I need to get him out of my way. And I need you to do it. He seems to have an... interest in you." I glance down at Wes's stocking feet and wonder what it is about that has Hamilton so interested. I may not have seen it at first, but Wes turns heads. I'm just worried about what it is that's turning Hamilton's head.
"I need you to find a way to distract him. He's getting too nosy, and I'm worried about what's getting back to the Senior Partners." I squirm a little waiting for the inevitable blow out. "There's no physical way for me to take him out of commision without attracting attention, so I need someone to make sure he's not paying as much attention to things as he should. What do you think, Wes?" I can't tell what he's thinking on this. Not at all. His posture is closed and his face is blank. Those books can probably read him better than I can. "I'm not looking for a watch dog, I could get Spike for that. I need someone to hold his attention."
"You're the only one I trust to handle this." That has to hold some weight. I just hope he trusts me.
Putting the book down on the desk, I stare at the hands still on them. Such familiar hands. They picked me up several times to drag me out of danger, from an exploding building. They comforted a Slayer, while I stood bleeding in the rain. They got Cordelia new clothes while I was hurting too. They pushed a pillow over my face while I was only trying to help.
Why do I always come last?
Sighing, I put the book down softly and turn to look at him blankly. Hamilton? He wants me to distract Hamilton? Can’t he give the bloody wanker some assignment and use that? I’m sure he has more power to do so being the CEO of this blasted firm. “You never had any problems with taking out your anger physically in the past,” I point out softly, my voice cracking a bit when there’s a flash of white cutting of my air supply.
Shaking those thoughts away, I blink at his last words. “Am I?” I wonder, a small ache settling in my chest, jumping at the small praise. Only to die down when the realization hits. “As opposed whom? Spike? Illyria? Lorne? Gunn who’s in hell? Why not use your new pawn? Since you’re only using him.” Again, my voice grows softer with each words as I continue to stare at him.
What does he want? What does he want me to do? Didn’t I have important translations to do? Was it ever going to be enough to make it up to him? To make him notice me? I doubt it, we’re long past that. And it shouldn’t bother me anymore. It didn’t bother me one bit….when I still had Fred. God, I miss Fred.
“And you want me to do what to distract him , Angel. Invite him over for tea and discus the latest weather reports while we have the last of my jaffa cakes?” Shaking my head, I give him a confused look as I move over to sit down on the sofa. I don't know why he thinks I could distract someone like Hamilton.
I watch him staring at my hands and wonder yet again what Wes could possibly be thinking. Always wondered really. That brain never stops. Gets him into trouble though. Thinking too much may not be a problem for me, but Wes can't not think. I can't help but wonder if that and not the whole memory thing was the reason he never let me forgive him. Even before, I told him we were good, but he wouldn't let himself believe it. Maybe I don't really believe it either, but I want to. I want to so badly...
His comment on my anger managment takes me by surprise, and I lift my hands off the desk and sneak them into my pockets, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth next. What other sting he's going to toss out. I don't know how to reassure him, or make him see that whatever's past is past. It'll sound like I don't care. And I do. I'm not even sure what exactly he means, but there's got to be something I can say. "I'm not angry anymore. I never meant-" I cut myself off, knowing whatever I was going to say would be a lie. At the time, I probably did, or didn't care that I was hurting him. Or was totally oblivious to the fact. I look at him and see that man I used to know, a hollow shell, waiting for something. Waiting for me to get the hell away from him.
My eyes track him over to the sofa, and I want to join him, but I'm pretty sure that's crossing some line we've built. "Wes, I trust you. They're not you. I want you to do it. You're not just some employee, you're my right hand. I want to know that no one else is in his path because you're the one handling him. I don't give him orders, he's their plaything." There are other things I need to do besides watch Hamilton and make sure he's playing nice. I walk close to the sofa and sit next to him, elbows on my knees, kind of trying to not be in his space, but still be able to hear his heartbeat and know he's still with me. Still on my watch.
"I know you have a lot to do, but whatever it is, this is more important for the time being. I don't want anything else to distract you. Field his questions, ask him some. I don't know. Get to know the guy, do a little research, figure out what makes him tick. Distraction doesn't mean you have to be his world, just make sure he's got his mind on you and not me. Take it as a compliment, Wes, the guy finds you intriguing." I look back to see if any of this is registering. He still looks confused and I tentatively put a hand on his knee. "Please, Wes. I know you can come up with something. I'm counting on you."
I'm sure everything I said he's going to twist and turn in his head so it comes out like I don't care about him, but I don't know how else to tell him that if there was another way, I would rot in hell a thousand times over if it meant keeping him away from Hamilton.
I gave him a sharp look when he tried to lie to me. Lie. To me. Again. Just like he had altered m my memories, taking way who I really was, had become. Leaving me left to wonder if Fred would’ve really loved me. The real me, not the person Angel had created. You can’t be saved by a lie, Angel. How many times have I tried to tell you that? Did he listen? No, when it came to the really important things, he never listened and did what he thought best. And the rest of us is left to deal with the consequences.
“Don’t lie to me Angel,” I muttered. “I think we’ve done quite enough of that don’t you think? I you trust me as much as you claim to do, then don’t lie to me. I think I deserve that much at least.” He trusted me. Right. “I don’t want you endangering *my* people anymore, Wes.” His people. That’s how much he trusted me.
Oh, how he must’ve laughed every time I slipped up, or made a remark the would otherwise have given him the capability to point at me and go ‘See? I knew I couldn’t trust you, certainly not with *my* people.’ As for being his right hand man, perhaps that was only part of the charade. I don’t think I’ll ever know. He’s most certainly not going to tell me.
My heartbeat went up again when he sits down next to me and puts his hand on my knee. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting out a small sigh as I allowed myself to feel his cool hand through the fabric of my trousers. Only for a moment did I let it comfort me. How many times have I ached for a touch just like this in all those years? The ones I’ve gotten I could count on one hand. But his words however don’t make any sense.
Opening my eyes, I look up at the ceiling for a moment, still keenly aware of his hand on my knee. I roll the words around in my mind. Looking at them from every angle, turning them over, to the side, left, right , trying to see the trap, trying to see the sense. But it’s not showing from either side. Turning to face him, I look at him confused for some time.
“I am supposed to take the fact that Marcus Hamilton, a fellow I’ve not even seen before today yet finds me…intriguing as a compliment? Angel how does that make sense to you? Perhaps you can elaborate that to me because I’ve a feeling you and I are not seeing the same bloody picture.” Which used to be so different. I wonder when exactly that happened. Before or after he fired us.
The maniacal sound of Lindsey's voice haunts me in the elevator while I attempt to block out any associations I'm currently having with elevators, Lindsey, or kissing. His taunt is savage though, and continues to ring in my ears the whole ride up to the main floor. I am not using my friends. I'm trying to help them. I'm trying to help everyone. Maybe I should be using Lindsey as bait... Hamilton already thinks it's weird that I've had him out of his cell. He'd probably smell a rat, which would be tough considering he is one, but still, more risky than just being bait. But it's Lindsey...why should I care if he sniffs Lindsey out. Because then he sniffs your plan out, dumbass. Right. Exactly. Not because I care what happens to Lindsey. Right. That's it.
There has got to be a better way than offering up Wes for bait. I don't even want to be thinking about this, and I want to be thinking about Lindsey being right, even less. I need to apologize to Wes if nothing else. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even let me in his office at this point. Plus Lindsey on top of patronizing him - I am so in trouble. Better go face the music, or the angry Ex-watcher as the case may be.
I knock tentatively at Wes's door, knowing he's probably not going to like me interrupting after I just sent him away to get work done. But I hear voices and I knock a little louder and open the door. "Hey, Wes." I scan the room. "Oh. Illyria. Uhh, Wes, I need to talk to you for a minute. Alone." I glance at Illyria and back to Wes. Awkward much? "It's... important."
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God, I miss Fred. I miss Cordy and Lilah too. It's... Christ, it's frightening to realize that all the women I loved or cared for are dead. Gone, dead, painfully at that. They were all murdered. Christ, that's depressing. Which Illyria was only to happy to point out to me when she returned from where ever the hell it is hell gods go when they're bored. I shudder to think about that actually.
"This poison will one day soon cease your measly existence," she announced, looking up from her ficus. Bloody thing should just die; perhaps then she'd leave me alone.
Lifting my glass in a mock salute, I give her a wry smile. "I'll just keep drinking then shall I?" I can tell there's is more coming from her, but before she can do anything, there's a knock on the door.
A knock. On my door. Who'd be foolish enough to come to *my* office? Lower themselves to actually knock on *my* door. Ah, Angel. But of course. Who else would it be? My eyes, narrow and I clench my jaw. "Are you done playing?" I ask in a cold tone of voice.
"You are not wanted here, half-breed," Illyria announces, stepping between us. She tilts her head at Angel, boring those blue eyes into him. "He is trying to kill himself. You must make him cease. I, Illyria, command it. I am not yet ready to loose my guide, pitiful as he is."
Sighing, I rub my forehead. "Illyria, don't you have any, I don't know. Can't you go pummel your pet for a bit?" Where the hell is Spike anyway, he's supposed to keep her busy.
"He was boring me and forbid me to touch his clipboard. No one tells the great Illyria what to do." She takes a step to the side, so Angel comes back into my view. Isn't that wonderful.
Dismissing the blue goddess for now, I turn my face toward Angel. "If you're here because of the very important translations. I told you you'd have on your desk by the end of the bloody day."
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Trying to kill himself? Wes would never... He's upset obviously, but he's not going to drink himself to death. Wes is smarter than that. And I...don't think I could take another death on my hands right now.
I step in over the random piles of books strewn about Wes's office and notice he's still in his socks. Kind of cute, if it weren't so distressing. I wave my hand in dismissal, "Not here about the translations, Wes. I-" I fidget a little and decide to sit in one of his guest chairs.
“Wes, look, I’m-“ Sorry, I made you feel like crap. Sorry, I ruined your life. Sorry, I let the love of your life die. Sorry, I want Lindsey. Sorry, for what I’m going to say. Sorry, for everything. You deserve better. “Sorry. I was-” I was trying to help. I was doing it for your own good. I was saving Connor, I know you wouldn’t blame me for that. I was- I can’t protect you anymore. “trying to, I don’t know what I was trying to do. Hamilton’s been nosing around too many places that he shouldn’t and I didn’t want him nosing around...where he shouldn’t,” I finish lamely, not willing to say that I don’t like the idea of the bastard within the same dimension as Wes much less the same office.
“Honestly, I have no idea what translation you’re working on, just thought that would be a good excuse to get him away from you.” I confide. That and I still know what buttons to push no matter what memories he’s got in there. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that.” I look him in the eye, trying to make sure we’re clear. To see that I haven’t fucked things up again.
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“You do not get to order me around halfbreed,” Illyria sneered. “You are less then the dust that crawls into long forgotten places.”
I winced at that dust analog, managing to bite down on a sigh. Shifting a little uncomfortable in my seat, I managed not to look up and over at Angel. Part of me wanted her to go so he and I could talk. Part of me didn’t want her to go, because I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. What was there left to be said?
I felt Illyria’s eyes on me and with a sigh I looked up. “Leave,” I said dismissively, knowing I’d pay for that remark later. She did bristle and look at him with those flaming blue eyes. Fred….her mouth pressed into a thin line as she jerked her chin up.
“The great Illyria does not do what she is told. I do not follow the orders of a mere human. I shall only leave because *I* chose to leave.” She sniffed giving us both a look designed to make even the toughest warriors shrink. Wouldn’t be surprised if at one time they really had.
She strode out of the room and I turned to my books. Trying to ignore Angel was right there. Trying to ignore his words. Each of the feeling as though a small knife was stuck I my heart. He never really was terribly good at this whole communicating thing was he? There were times I thought the stammer was terribly cute. Actually, it still was, if only the circumstances were different.
“That’s wonderful,” I said, not looking up from my work. I had no idea what I was working on, just pretending to do so. “Of course you would never hurt me willingly, would you Angel? You would never humiliate me in front of people who are supposed to be our enemy, would you Angel?” My voice had grown softer with each word while anger was bubbling up inside me.
Damn him. Damn me and the need to make sure he was alright. Who cared about me? Angel was the champion, Angel was important. Not me. Angel wanted Lindsey. Not me. Once bitten, twice shy I guess.
Lifting my head I looked at him with eyes I knew who were dead. I’d seen them in the mirror. I hadn’t been surprised, or shocked. I hadn’t the energy left for that. “It’s quite alright. Was there anything else?” Just go, leave me alone. Leave me, it’s not as though you’ve not done that before. Several times.
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“No, Wes, it’s not alright. It’s not wonderful.” I need you to be safe. I need you to be the one thing that doesn’t turn to ash when I look at it. I don’t want there to be this chasm between us anymore, and I really don’t want to have to ask this of you. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t think of anything better. Would you have listened if I had asked you to leave? Doubt it.”
Even I can hear the anger pummeling through his voice. This isn't going the way I planned. But what does around here? I stand in front of his desk and lean over it, resting on my hands in a practiced move of intimidation. Only intimidation isn’t what I’m going for. I want him to understand.
"No, Wes, I wouldn't.” I want him to believe that. He shouldn’t even be asking me that. “As for Lindsey, if you've got something to say, I think now's the time to say it." I can hear the vibrations in his voice get tighter; he's got every right to be mad. I doubt there's much I could say to placate him, but... "Lindsey’s a pawn. He's not worth enough to be the enemy, but I think I can get him to help us." I look away a little. "I need him to believe I'm interested in him being alive, otherwise he's useless." I know that’s not convincing, but it’s all I can think of that isn’t a lie.
His eyes are empty when he finally looks at me. I wish that wasn’t my fault, but it is. "Yeah, there's something else. I need you, Wes." I wanted to leave it at that, but I knew he'd never take that offer from me. I got myself tossed out of his garden a long time ago and I wasn't about to be invited back in because of a few little words. "I need you to do something important for me." I’m going to hell. Again.
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"Really," I say dryly. It's not even a question. I wonder who he's trying to convince here about Lindsey. Me? Or himself? I think the idea is to convince me. But in the end it's himself he's trying to tell a lie. Another lie. Lie upon lies between us. So many I can barely see straight.
Sitting up a bit, I glance down at his hands on my desk, leaning over it a bit. Angel Intimidation Pose number three. Raising my eyebrow, I give him a hard look at that. I can clearly hear Cordelia in my head going 'mixed signals much'? "Well," I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. "If you think playing chess will be effective, then by all means. Though, I really have to wonder about your methods."
Chaining your pawn, your so called enemy to yourself? What is this going to tell him? Other then the fact that Angel may have a small chain fetish. But I'm too tired to argue with him about it. I'm too tired of everything. Always running and moving on. Forgetting about the ones who cannot keep up. The ones left behind to serve as the sacrificial lamb.
"Something important." Giving him blank look, I stare down at the translation I'm supposed to be working on. "This? Wasn't important?" He certainly made a big scene about it. Shaking my head, I get up and walk around him. I pick up one of the safe books, caressing it's cover. These really are lovely books. They'll never lie to me. Unlike some.
He's sorry and in the old days I'd have come running back to him like a moth to a flame. Only to get burned over and over again. I'm not so eager anymore. I'm not about to bend over backward for him just so he notices me. I'm not about to grovel in the dust just to hear a few words of praise from him.
"What is it, Angel," I sigh, giving him a tired look.
Right. Of course I'm no longer that person. Of course I don't crave Angel's approval, his praise, his attention. Sometimes I wonder if that's just about the only thing to keep me going. Angel and his fight for redemption. Angel and the good fight. Sometimes I wonder it that's all that stands between me and...finally giving up. I wondered what happened to the very safe and comfortable black and white world I used to live in.
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"It's Hamilton. I need to get him out of my way. And I need you to do it. He seems to have an... interest in you." I glance down at Wes's stocking feet and wonder what it is about that has Hamilton so interested. I may not have seen it at first, but Wes turns heads. I'm just worried about what it is that's turning Hamilton's head.
"I need you to find a way to distract him. He's getting too nosy, and I'm worried about what's getting back to the Senior Partners." I squirm a little waiting for the inevitable blow out. "There's no physical way for me to take him out of commision without attracting attention, so I need someone to make sure he's not paying as much attention to things as he should. What do you think, Wes?" I can't tell what he's thinking on this. Not at all. His posture is closed and his face is blank. Those books can probably read him better than I can. "I'm not looking for a watch dog, I could get Spike for that. I need someone to hold his attention."
"You're the only one I trust to handle this." That has to hold some weight. I just hope he trusts me.
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Why do I always come last?
Sighing, I put the book down softly and turn to look at him blankly. Hamilton? He wants me to distract Hamilton? Can’t he give the bloody wanker some assignment and use that? I’m sure he has more power to do so being the CEO of this blasted firm. “You never had any problems with taking out your anger physically in the past,” I point out softly, my voice cracking a bit when there’s a flash of white cutting of my air supply.
Shaking those thoughts away, I blink at his last words. “Am I?” I wonder, a small ache settling in my chest, jumping at the small praise. Only to die down when the realization hits. “As opposed whom? Spike? Illyria? Lorne? Gunn who’s in hell? Why not use your new pawn? Since you’re only using him.” Again, my voice grows softer with each words as I continue to stare at him.
What does he want? What does he want me to do? Didn’t I have important translations to do? Was it ever going to be enough to make it up to him? To make him notice me? I doubt it, we’re long past that. And it shouldn’t bother me anymore. It didn’t bother me one bit….when I still had Fred. God, I miss Fred.
“And you want me to do what to distract him , Angel. Invite him over for tea and discus the latest weather reports while we have the last of my jaffa cakes?” Shaking my head, I give him a confused look as I move over to sit down on the sofa. I don't know why he thinks I could distract someone like Hamilton.
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His comment on my anger managment takes me by surprise, and I lift my hands off the desk and sneak them into my pockets, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth next. What other sting he's going to toss out. I don't know how to reassure him, or make him see that whatever's past is past. It'll sound like I don't care. And I do. I'm not even sure what exactly he means, but there's got to be something I can say. "I'm not angry anymore. I never meant-" I cut myself off, knowing whatever I was going to say would be a lie. At the time, I probably did, or didn't care that I was hurting him. Or was totally oblivious to the fact. I look at him and see that man I used to know, a hollow shell, waiting for something. Waiting for me to get the hell away from him.
My eyes track him over to the sofa, and I want to join him, but I'm pretty sure that's crossing some line we've built. "Wes, I trust you. They're not you. I want you to do it. You're not just some employee, you're my right hand. I want to know that no one else is in his path because you're the one handling him. I don't give him orders, he's their plaything." There are other things I need to do besides watch Hamilton and make sure he's playing nice. I walk close to the sofa and sit next to him, elbows on my knees, kind of trying to not be in his space, but still be able to hear his heartbeat and know he's still with me. Still on my watch.
"I know you have a lot to do, but whatever it is, this is more important for the time being. I don't want anything else to distract you. Field his questions, ask him some. I don't know. Get to know the guy, do a little research, figure out what makes him tick. Distraction doesn't mean you have to be his world, just make sure he's got his mind on you and not me. Take it as a compliment, Wes, the guy finds you intriguing." I look back to see if any of this is registering. He still looks confused and I tentatively put a hand on his knee. "Please, Wes. I know you can come up with something. I'm counting on you."
I'm sure everything I said he's going to twist and turn in his head so it comes out like I don't care about him, but I don't know how else to tell him that if there was another way, I would rot in hell a thousand times over if it meant keeping him away from Hamilton.
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“Don’t lie to me Angel,” I muttered. “I think we’ve done quite enough of that don’t you think? I you trust me as much as you claim to do, then don’t lie to me. I think I deserve that much at least.” He trusted me. Right. “I don’t want you endangering *my* people anymore, Wes.” His people. That’s how much he trusted me.
Oh, how he must’ve laughed every time I slipped up, or made a remark the would otherwise have given him the capability to point at me and go ‘See? I knew I couldn’t trust you, certainly not with *my* people.’ As for being his right hand man, perhaps that was only part of the charade. I don’t think I’ll ever know. He’s most certainly not going to tell me.
My heartbeat went up again when he sits down next to me and puts his hand on my knee. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting out a small sigh as I allowed myself to feel his cool hand through the fabric of my trousers. Only for a moment did I let it comfort me. How many times have I ached for a touch just like this in all those years? The ones I’ve gotten I could count on one hand. But his words however don’t make any sense.
Opening my eyes, I look up at the ceiling for a moment, still keenly aware of his hand on my knee. I roll the words around in my mind. Looking at them from every angle, turning them over, to the side, left, right , trying to see the trap, trying to see the sense. But it’s not showing from either side. Turning to face him, I look at him confused for some time.
“I am supposed to take the fact that Marcus Hamilton, a fellow I’ve not even seen before today yet finds me…intriguing as a compliment? Angel how does that make sense to you? Perhaps you can elaborate that to me because I’ve a feeling you and I are not seeing the same bloody picture.” Which used to be so different. I wonder when exactly that happened. Before or after he fired us.
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