Fic: Taking Care of Business (Wesley&Faith, R)
As promised and for the comfort of my irritating mind, a repost of this fic as a single piece:
Title: Taking Care of Business
Author: Brutti ma buoni
Rating: R for horror themes at times
Characters: Wesley, Faith, Illyria. Gen, but Wes/Fred references
Word Count: c4000 in total
A/N: A post Not Fade Away story; it's picked up a few ideas from the comics but is not set in comics canon. Written for winter_of_faith
"Hey Wes."
"Faith. Well, it's been quite a while since I heard from you. How have you been?"
"Not too shabby. You know, it's tough, with all the little Slayer kids getting qualified. I'm kind of a teacher and a mentor and… well, it's all a little much. I had to get outta there. You know?"
"Mmm. Yes, I can imagine it's not quite your style. A break will doubtless do you good. Do you have any plans?" Wesley sounded disengaged.
Faith was about to shake that. "Matter of fact, yeah. I'm in LA."
"Here? Today? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Yeah. Wesley hadn't known that.
"Chill, Wes! Call it an impulse. Or, more like, call it a mission. I don't expect you to be killing any fat cows for me."
"A mission, you say? What's going on?"
"Thought you mighta heard, Wes. We have a situation in the City of Angels. There's some pretty heroic guy who lived here; he died. It's a sad story. Except turns out, he's still walking and talking. With a goddess at his side, and running a branch of Evil Inc."
"Yes. I can see we do rather have a situation. What do you propose to do about it, Faith."
"Thought I'd go see the guy himself. How's eleven thirty work for you, Wesley? Or whoever you are?"
*
Wolfram and Hart had changed a lot since Faith was here. Total change of staff, totally new décor. Out with the greys, in with the sweeping open plan, lots of wood and glass. Pretty nice.
No Lilah waiting for her, easy to scare. Just a man she'd known, when you worked it out, for perhaps four months. Though he'd tried to have her jailed, and she'd tortured him half to death once, so that built intimacy pretty fast.
"Hey Wes." Somehow, she always started their conversations like that.
"Faith. Come in." He offered her water (which, not being stupid, she refused. Do not eat or drink in the house of the enemy. Some Watcher taught her that, someday. Probably this Watcher.)
He looked perfectly normal. Like Wesley last time she saw him, when the gang were fleeing the ruins of Sunnydale and stopped off in LA for supplies. Way better than poker-assed Watcher guy, or, of course, the time she tortured him just for the fun of it. Or the half-forgotten time he'd broken her out of jail and set her against Angelus. Whatever it took. To the death.
Today, he was sharp-suited, but with an open necked shirt taking the edge off. He looked California corporate, which he was. He did not look dead. But her Slayer senses were screaming.
First things: establish the lay of the land. "Where's your blue goddess? I was looking forward to meeting Illyria."
Because she sounds quite the fighter.
"I'm afraid you will be denied that pleasure. Illyria - by the way, she isn't a goddess as such. She's quite definite about that." He was not answering. Suspicious. Or maybe postponing the answer, since he continued on without prompting. "Illyria has left me. She finds my current condition… distasteful."
Faith quirked a brow. "Not big with the undead? Weird, I thought all you magic types hung together."
Wesley looked down at his heavy crystal glass of water. He paused again. Thinking? Faith had a strange feeling he wasn't so much calculating the odds as hating the answer.
"She says that I am no longer her Wesley. That my face and my spirit do not match." A pause. "As you can imagine, I found that a somewhat ironic complaint from someone in Illyria's position."
Understatement. Interesting, that he really seemed to care Illyria had left. More so, that he seemed genuinely grieving for Fred too. But Faith had immediate concerns to worry about. "So she's gone for good?"
Wesley nodded.
Cool. No superstrong goddess/whatevers to get in Faith's way.
"Glad to hear it. Now, Wesley. I have to ask you. What in hell are you?"
He blinked back at her, unspeaking.
"I mean, you're not a vamp. I can smell that. You're still you. So what else. Zombie?"
Wesley sat motionless for a few moments, then extended his hands across the desk and groaned, "BRAAAAAIIINS."
It was so deadpan, took Faith a moment to start laughing. But the laugh took her over, a sudden gust of ridiculous happiness, because this still was Wesley. No messing. She was still giggling weakly as he explained that he didn’t really understand his exact status as a member of the undead community. He'd never been told about the magicks supporting the contract which bound him endlessly to this place. But no, not actually a zombie.
Faith sighed. Technicalities were interesting - at least, Giles thought so, and he'd asked her to ask. But this wasn't really why she'd come.
"Sorry Wes," she interrupted.
She wondered if he had a moment of déjà vu as she pulled out the huge hunting knife that Wolfram and Hart's stooges had ignored when checking her in. (Which was another issue, that probably wasn't the point right now. What was with the lax security?)
"Not a vamp or a zombie, true, but I've never met the undead who survived this."
Wesley didn't even flinch as she jumped across the desk to reach him. Nor as she cut his throat.
"I'm sorry, Wesley. We all are."
Cutting off a head is hard work. Even with a pretty damn good blade. The backbone, in particular, Faith discovered, resisted being severed for quite a while.
Queasy, she paused to review her progress. About halfway there; more if the spine gave suddenly. He had clearly been dead before she'd started. His neck looked like butcher's meat: bloodless and yet raw, with shocking white cuts across exposed bone.
This was not a good time for puking. So Faith sawed on.
Eventually, she stood up, with his severed head in her bag. Burn it later, probably. That should do it.
She walked out, passing a startled PA on the way.
"Sorry sweetheart. Your boss is taking a long nap."
They'd remember her as the laughing assassin. Wouldn't see the rising gorge, nor the quaking knees. Wouldn't see how badly she wanted to throw her bag, and its contents, into the nearest garbage chute, and run till this day was so far behind it could never catch her up.
But she didn't make it past the PA's desk.
A voice came from behind her. "Amber, could you ask Ms Lehane to pop back for a moment? I don't think we've finished our discussions."
Wesley was sitting behind his desk again. The headless corpse had vanished, though there was plentiful staining on the carpet to show where it had been.
Faith's bag was lighter, suddenly.
"I was trying to tell you, Faith. About the contract. Wolfram and Hart don't see these contracts as breakable. To them, Death is just another little glitch."
She finally threw up.
*
"You're not even scarred. I cut off your head and like twenty seconds later you're alive and no scars." Faith had accepted a glass of water in the end, to rinse the puke out of her mouth. Chances were, Wolfram and Hart wouldn't be wanting to trap her here for six months of the year anyway. And she'd needed something to do while trying to get a grip after that little episode.
Wesley looked Watcherly. Exposition followed. "No. Well, that wasn't my death as such. It was merely an assault on the constructed animation of my formerly living self. Why would it leave a mark?"
Wes's hand, perhaps unconsciously, rested over his midsection. Faith could see the fabric of his shirt dinting in, as though there wasn't enough of Wesley's middle to fill out the shirt right. She really didn't want to know the details of what was under there; if his actual death had left a mark. She'd heard he'd been gutshot with magic - that might never heal, considering his words.
Back to the main subject. "So this contract is what's keeping you undead. You've tried to destroy it?"
"Of course. I have access to our files and records department. But the contract isn't there; or rather there's an apparent version of the contract. I already knew it wouldn't work, but I did try burning it. Futile. Another copy was in its place immediately. I have experience of this, and that's rather what I expected, I'm afraid."
"What's it say? I mean, how tied in are you?"
Wesley sighed. "It's rather a complex document, and frankly I don't trust the lawyers here to help me interpret it correctly. But essentially the contract tied Angel and his colleagues to this firm. This branch, in fact. The odd thing is that it only requires one of us to be present in perpetuity. I suspect Wolfram and Hart were planning to slough off some of the less tractable members of the team and just keep a couple of us handy, if they'd had their way. They don't appear to have enforced the contract in Charles's case. Or Fred's."
Lots of dead people in Wesley's world. Only some of them still walking around. Faith knew that feeling.
"So we could swap you for another one of the gang, maybe?" She was trying to work through the options.
"Mmm. Lorne wouldn't come. He returned to Pylea, you know? Said it wasn't as bad as Earth. I took that rather hard, considering how much he loathes his own dimension. Other than Lorne, there aren't many people left alive."
"There's Angel." Faith felt shitty for mentioning it. Angel didn't deserve to be chained to Evil Inc either. But Wesley's situation was major bad.
"He's offered already. You might have guessed that. But I have seen the operational plans for this place, and I'm pretty sure I am a better option as head of Wolfram and Hart than Angelus would be."
Angelus. Yeah. That would be bad. Wesley actually didn’t seem crazy or evil, and swapping him for someone who was definitely both… No.
"Yeah. See your point. Better than Angelus. But I don't believe in unbreakable contracts, Wes. Girl with a big knife and a lot of determination can find a way pretty much anywhere."
"Look, Faith. I don't mean to be rude. But when it comes to strategy I'd back myself against you any day. I have a strong position here, and good research resources. And I've looked into this a lot. I certainly can't die. Believe me, I've given it my best shot. Amber tells me I'm referencing the depressive parts of Groundhog Day to a disturbing degree. The contract brings me back."
"So we destroy the contract." Faith frowned. "But that doesn't work."
"Quite. So we actually need to destroy the Platonic ideal of the contract."
"Wes… Big words, small Slayer brain here." What the hell, Faith had no clue where he was going.
It gained her a small, prissy-Wes smile. "Sorry. Showing off rather pointlessly. The ur-contract. The original, the ultimate - whatever the actual contract is that has the power. There must be a physical object as the source of the power, else they wouldn't have needed a blood signature. These are lawyers. They play by the rules. Evil rules, true, but rules all the same."
"Cool. So we have a plan."
"Except I have no idea where the Platonic ideal of the contract would be. Or how to access it. I imagine it's rather well protected, don't you?"
"I know this one." Faith preened slightly - look at research gal go! "They told me about the White Room. Said that was the place to get things done."
Wesley looked paler. Presumably not actually paler, due to the lack of blood flow to his face. But he really didn't look like this was a place he wanted to go.
"I have tended to avoid the White Room. And I would point out that the Senior Partners are hardly likely to want to deal with you, either."
"Why are you avoiding it?"
Wesley paused for a very long time. But Faith knew he'd heard the question.
"I… I don't care for their choice of liaison representative."
"Wes. I don't care about your dainty feelings. I'm going to the White Room. You're going to get me there."
"Or?" Wesley looked pretty snarky for a moment. "You can scarcely threaten me with death."
She shrugged. "True. But I can promise you death. You don't want to be trapped here, do you Wesley?"
It was what she had been telling herself ever since she landed this assignment. Contract Slayer, but in a good cause.
He didn't disagree.
*
Faith understood Wesley's feelings about the White Room from the moment that she heard the laughter in the air.
The woman danced out of the blank white; short skirt, long hair, white lab coat open and flapping wide - almost as wide as her bashful, joyous smile.
She ran up to Wesley, flung herself into his arms. "Wesley! God, I missed you! You never came back! It's kinda dull up here all on my lonesome, you know. Not a single Bunsen burner in the White Room. Can you believe that?"
He shrugged the woman off, avoiding Faith's eyes. But the woman wasn't playing avoidance - she scuttled over to Faith and wrapped her in a hug in turn. A very mortal, physical hug.
"Faith! How've you been? I was so worried about you after Sunnydale."
"Hey Fred." What else could Faith say? But you're dead. Your soul burned up. And I happen to know there's some minor deity using your body right now, somewhere not here. So what the hell ARE you?.
No wonder Wesley avoided the place.
He didn't look at "Fred" as he explained their request, to see the original of his contract.
She gave a happy simper. "No, silly, you know that's not how it works."
Faith was already getting irritated with not-Fred. The original had been way more interesting. So she pulled the big knife trick again; the one that worked so well earlier. Not-Fred stepped aside faster than Faith could see. She didn't look too worried about her possible fate, either. Maybe a big knife plus determination weren't as foolproof as she'd hoped.
"Now, Faith, you're just being silly. I'm gonna leave you to it." Fred wandered off into the white distance, pausing only to turn round and say brightly, "Guess what? The answer is among you."
*
"Okay, is that a clue? Why would the Senior Partners give us a clue? Why couldn't it be a more helpful clue?" Faith was feeling fuzzy and baffled as the White Room faded out and they popped back into place in Wesley's office.
Wesley put his head in his hands. "Not a clue." It came out muffled by his fingers, but resoundingly pissed all the same. "That's an old line the Senior Partners fed us before. She's playing with us."
"Huh. Funny jokes." Except Faith wasn't the dumb new kid anymore. "Was it true last time?"
"Yes." Still muffled. Wesley sounded exhausted as well as annoyed.
"So it could be true again. There could be an answer in our grasp. We might find it out. We have to try!"
Wesley slipped his hands down from his eyes. He still looked pretty pissed. "Who died and made you head cheerleader? No, wait, I know this one. It appears to have been me."
Pissed was a lot, lot better than the expression Faith had seen on Wesley when "Fred" wound herself around him. That had been a view of a man in hell. Faith wished she could forget it.
*
Faith left the offices, head spinning, and headed back to her motel. Running over the options didn't get her anywhere at first; just the same parade of rejected theories. Can't kill him - destroy the contract - can't destroy it - let him die - Angelus - the answer is among you. Dammit. There were so few of Angel Inc left. Just the vampire, the dead man and…
The goddess.
*
She called him that night.
"Wesley. Can we be overheard?"
"Probably. Does it matter?"
"No. I was just asking to make this seem more spooky. Dumbass."
"Faith, at this point no part of my life is private. I can't leave the offices. My movements and contacts are monitored constantly. Just ask, whatever it is. We'll deal with the consequences."
"Okay. We'll try it anyway. Can you get Illyria to come back?"
"Probably. If well worded enough. Why?"
"I think you should take her to the White Room."
It was a crazy hunch. But… what was White-Room-Fred? Where had she been constructed, out of what?
Faith guessed Wolfram and Hart were using the image of Fred to keep Wes at arm's length, and also unbalance him a little. Which was good psychology, sure, and had stopped Wesley from thinking about her or the White Room too much. But if they were constructing Fred's image out of what they could scrabble together, considering her soul and body were gone… then maybe they were using parts of Illyria.
In which case, W&H had built in a major weakness for their own security.
Faith was dizzy with her own cunning. Outhinking Wesley! Maybe she should join the Watchers.
*
Illyria came. Quickly. As though she hadn't wanted to be away after all.
Faith was startled by her. No matter how much someone explained that it was Fred's body, but blue and inhabited by someone else - reality was damn strange. The insectoid movements. The total fixation on Wesley. The power radiating from her.
But Faith's hunch turned out to be a fantastic one. White-Room-Fred tried to fight Illyria, but a physicist against an Old One? Never gonna be a contest. After a couple of punches, a whole lot of staring, and some kind of mind-meld thing that Faith would never have imagined was possible, Illyria turned to the blank white to one side of them and set forth a stream of syllables.
The white turned black - a black hole in the nothingness.
"Enter."
Faith was not scared. Of course not. "Wes?"
"Mmm?" He looked as unmoved as he'd been the whole time she'd been in LA.
"We're sure Illyria's not evil, right? Or controlled by the Senior Partners?"
He didn't get to respond; the Old One snapped out an answer instead. "My definitions of good and evil are not as yours. But your suggestion that the minions of the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart could control me is as offensive as it is hilarious."
No one was laughing. Illyria least of all.
Wesley drew what was probably an unnecessary breath. "Well. She seems fairly clear about that."
So they stepped into the dark part of the nothingness. It felt… nothingy. But confining. Like it would be a really bad idea to do more than put out a hand, grab at the legal paper that materialised and then get the hell out. Which was exactly what Faith was doing.
Wesley, though tried to reach beyond, into the unseen space that might just hold more contracts. Or other lost items.
Didn't go well: his arm caught fire.
It was at this point that Faith really, really got that Wesley was dead. Her arm had been on fire? She'd have been leaping like a frying flying fish. Wesley just stood, vaguely looking at his burning flesh.
"Wes, doesn’t that hurt?"
"Hmmm? Oh, yes, but it hardly matters, does it? The burns won't last."
As they came through the portal, Faith's brain was coming to some very scary conclusions. Like, Wesley really was dead. Better off dead. He knew it. He wouldn't try and stop her killing him. But she wasn't sure she could do it. Not again.
*
"So this is the contract. Your Plutonic idea."
A spasm of irritation passed over Wesley's face. Faith kind of knew she'd messed up that reference, but he didn't bother to correct her. He was staring at the piece of paper in her hand.
"Yes. That's it."
"And if I destroy it, what happens?"
"Angel is free. So is whatever remains of Fred in their service. Lorne too, though they seem to have let him go. Charles won't be resurrected. We're all free."
"Kind of a big gap in that report, Wes. What happens to you?"
Illyria spoke for the first time. "He will become dead."
"For sure?" Faith couldn't believe they were talking like this. Somehow, killing Wesley outright had seemed like a grim duty. Organising his death with paperwork… it didn't sit well.
"I am dead already. I have been for months. All that keeps me functioning is the contract. There's no doubt at all what the consequence will be, I'm afraid. Do you have the guts?"
"I see what you're doing, Wes. Trying to dare me into it. But I'm not gonna fall for that."
"And yet you cut my head off yesterday." He almost smiled at the memory. "You've never been terribly good at consistency, Faith. I believe I lectured you about that when first we met."
"Yeah. And I didn't like it any more then. So stop, okay?" Faith paused. "You really want this?"
Wesley looked a little miffed at the question. "Do I want to have died? No. Not even slightly. But I'm dead already. That should be my reality. The alternative is… uncomfortable."
Illyria had been utterly still since her last speech. Now, she snapped into motion again, more threatening than Faith had ever seen her, right in her face. "You will free him. Or I will."
Contemplating a good fight made Faith feel briefly better. But Illyria had tears in her unnaturally blue eyes, and Wesley was simply looking at her, expecting her to do the right thing.
He even nudged her onwards to his death. "Do you have a lighter?"
"Yes. You're gonna lecture me on smoking again, too?"
"Hardly. As I recall, you rarely smoked for anything other than effect. And often, the lighter wasn't used for cigarettes."
A moment's memory of the night she tortured him flickered into the stale air of the office.
"Did I apologise for that already?"
He shrugged. "Not explicitly. I took it as read. But I would consider your debt paid if you used that lighter to free me."
Which was pretty much unanswerable. "Okay. You want to make a big last speech? Any messages for the fans at home?" Faith hoped he couldn’t see her shaking, but he probably could. Wesley had never been unobservant.
"No. I think I've said it all. Please, Faith." His voice was trembling too. He was still looking at the contract, almost hungrily.
Faith got out her Zippo. She loved this lighter. As she sparked it, she wondered if she'd use it again without remembering this day. There really didn't seem much to say. She touched the flame to the contract. Wesley gasped. As it burned, he collapsed. Like a puppet with the strings cut, went the saying. Which sounded poetic. But puppets aren't living. And more importantly, they aren't dead. Faith had spent this whole damn mission wanting to hurl. As the conference room filled with the stench of human decay, she nearly lost it again.
Wesley hadn't been wrong. He looked about three months dead to Faith. Discoloured skin sloughing. Maggo- Scavenge- Things working all over his corpse, so that parts of him looked almost mobile.
Beside him, Illyria had sat herself down; no sign of revulsion. Her hand was on his. She looked up at Faith, merging Fredness with her usual imperious godly stare.
"This is my Wesley again." A long, considered pause. "You did well. Thank you."
Faith had kind of expected to say goodbye to Wesley. Close his eyes, maybe even kiss his dead body; some emotional farewell thing, for sure. But she couldn't go near the rotting remains that had been her Watcher.
Illyria was there instead.
Faith left Wolfram and Hart with that image burned into her sight: Illyria, caressing the rotting corpse with love and grief.
Had she done a good thing?
God, she hoped so.
Hey Wes. Hope you're doing better now.
***
This entry was originally posted at http://bruttimabuoni.dreamwidth.org/157878.html. You can comment here or there as you please!
Title: Taking Care of Business
Author: Brutti ma buoni
Rating: R for horror themes at times
Characters: Wesley, Faith, Illyria. Gen, but Wes/Fred references
Word Count: c4000 in total
A/N: A post Not Fade Away story; it's picked up a few ideas from the comics but is not set in comics canon. Written for winter_of_faith
"Hey Wes."
"Faith. Well, it's been quite a while since I heard from you. How have you been?"
"Not too shabby. You know, it's tough, with all the little Slayer kids getting qualified. I'm kind of a teacher and a mentor and… well, it's all a little much. I had to get outta there. You know?"
"Mmm. Yes, I can imagine it's not quite your style. A break will doubtless do you good. Do you have any plans?" Wesley sounded disengaged.
Faith was about to shake that. "Matter of fact, yeah. I'm in LA."
"Here? Today? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Yeah. Wesley hadn't known that.
"Chill, Wes! Call it an impulse. Or, more like, call it a mission. I don't expect you to be killing any fat cows for me."
"A mission, you say? What's going on?"
"Thought you mighta heard, Wes. We have a situation in the City of Angels. There's some pretty heroic guy who lived here; he died. It's a sad story. Except turns out, he's still walking and talking. With a goddess at his side, and running a branch of Evil Inc."
"Yes. I can see we do rather have a situation. What do you propose to do about it, Faith."
"Thought I'd go see the guy himself. How's eleven thirty work for you, Wesley? Or whoever you are?"
*
Wolfram and Hart had changed a lot since Faith was here. Total change of staff, totally new décor. Out with the greys, in with the sweeping open plan, lots of wood and glass. Pretty nice.
No Lilah waiting for her, easy to scare. Just a man she'd known, when you worked it out, for perhaps four months. Though he'd tried to have her jailed, and she'd tortured him half to death once, so that built intimacy pretty fast.
"Hey Wes." Somehow, she always started their conversations like that.
"Faith. Come in." He offered her water (which, not being stupid, she refused. Do not eat or drink in the house of the enemy. Some Watcher taught her that, someday. Probably this Watcher.)
He looked perfectly normal. Like Wesley last time she saw him, when the gang were fleeing the ruins of Sunnydale and stopped off in LA for supplies. Way better than poker-assed Watcher guy, or, of course, the time she tortured him just for the fun of it. Or the half-forgotten time he'd broken her out of jail and set her against Angelus. Whatever it took. To the death.
Today, he was sharp-suited, but with an open necked shirt taking the edge off. He looked California corporate, which he was. He did not look dead. But her Slayer senses were screaming.
First things: establish the lay of the land. "Where's your blue goddess? I was looking forward to meeting Illyria."
Because she sounds quite the fighter.
"I'm afraid you will be denied that pleasure. Illyria - by the way, she isn't a goddess as such. She's quite definite about that." He was not answering. Suspicious. Or maybe postponing the answer, since he continued on without prompting. "Illyria has left me. She finds my current condition… distasteful."
Faith quirked a brow. "Not big with the undead? Weird, I thought all you magic types hung together."
Wesley looked down at his heavy crystal glass of water. He paused again. Thinking? Faith had a strange feeling he wasn't so much calculating the odds as hating the answer.
"She says that I am no longer her Wesley. That my face and my spirit do not match." A pause. "As you can imagine, I found that a somewhat ironic complaint from someone in Illyria's position."
Understatement. Interesting, that he really seemed to care Illyria had left. More so, that he seemed genuinely grieving for Fred too. But Faith had immediate concerns to worry about. "So she's gone for good?"
Wesley nodded.
Cool. No superstrong goddess/whatevers to get in Faith's way.
"Glad to hear it. Now, Wesley. I have to ask you. What in hell are you?"
He blinked back at her, unspeaking.
"I mean, you're not a vamp. I can smell that. You're still you. So what else. Zombie?"
Wesley sat motionless for a few moments, then extended his hands across the desk and groaned, "BRAAAAAIIINS."
It was so deadpan, took Faith a moment to start laughing. But the laugh took her over, a sudden gust of ridiculous happiness, because this still was Wesley. No messing. She was still giggling weakly as he explained that he didn’t really understand his exact status as a member of the undead community. He'd never been told about the magicks supporting the contract which bound him endlessly to this place. But no, not actually a zombie.
Faith sighed. Technicalities were interesting - at least, Giles thought so, and he'd asked her to ask. But this wasn't really why she'd come.
"Sorry Wes," she interrupted.
She wondered if he had a moment of déjà vu as she pulled out the huge hunting knife that Wolfram and Hart's stooges had ignored when checking her in. (Which was another issue, that probably wasn't the point right now. What was with the lax security?)
"Not a vamp or a zombie, true, but I've never met the undead who survived this."
Wesley didn't even flinch as she jumped across the desk to reach him. Nor as she cut his throat.
"I'm sorry, Wesley. We all are."
Cutting off a head is hard work. Even with a pretty damn good blade. The backbone, in particular, Faith discovered, resisted being severed for quite a while.
Queasy, she paused to review her progress. About halfway there; more if the spine gave suddenly. He had clearly been dead before she'd started. His neck looked like butcher's meat: bloodless and yet raw, with shocking white cuts across exposed bone.
This was not a good time for puking. So Faith sawed on.
Eventually, she stood up, with his severed head in her bag. Burn it later, probably. That should do it.
She walked out, passing a startled PA on the way.
"Sorry sweetheart. Your boss is taking a long nap."
They'd remember her as the laughing assassin. Wouldn't see the rising gorge, nor the quaking knees. Wouldn't see how badly she wanted to throw her bag, and its contents, into the nearest garbage chute, and run till this day was so far behind it could never catch her up.
But she didn't make it past the PA's desk.
A voice came from behind her. "Amber, could you ask Ms Lehane to pop back for a moment? I don't think we've finished our discussions."
Wesley was sitting behind his desk again. The headless corpse had vanished, though there was plentiful staining on the carpet to show where it had been.
Faith's bag was lighter, suddenly.
"I was trying to tell you, Faith. About the contract. Wolfram and Hart don't see these contracts as breakable. To them, Death is just another little glitch."
She finally threw up.
*
"You're not even scarred. I cut off your head and like twenty seconds later you're alive and no scars." Faith had accepted a glass of water in the end, to rinse the puke out of her mouth. Chances were, Wolfram and Hart wouldn't be wanting to trap her here for six months of the year anyway. And she'd needed something to do while trying to get a grip after that little episode.
Wesley looked Watcherly. Exposition followed. "No. Well, that wasn't my death as such. It was merely an assault on the constructed animation of my formerly living self. Why would it leave a mark?"
Wes's hand, perhaps unconsciously, rested over his midsection. Faith could see the fabric of his shirt dinting in, as though there wasn't enough of Wesley's middle to fill out the shirt right. She really didn't want to know the details of what was under there; if his actual death had left a mark. She'd heard he'd been gutshot with magic - that might never heal, considering his words.
Back to the main subject. "So this contract is what's keeping you undead. You've tried to destroy it?"
"Of course. I have access to our files and records department. But the contract isn't there; or rather there's an apparent version of the contract. I already knew it wouldn't work, but I did try burning it. Futile. Another copy was in its place immediately. I have experience of this, and that's rather what I expected, I'm afraid."
"What's it say? I mean, how tied in are you?"
Wesley sighed. "It's rather a complex document, and frankly I don't trust the lawyers here to help me interpret it correctly. But essentially the contract tied Angel and his colleagues to this firm. This branch, in fact. The odd thing is that it only requires one of us to be present in perpetuity. I suspect Wolfram and Hart were planning to slough off some of the less tractable members of the team and just keep a couple of us handy, if they'd had their way. They don't appear to have enforced the contract in Charles's case. Or Fred's."
Lots of dead people in Wesley's world. Only some of them still walking around. Faith knew that feeling.
"So we could swap you for another one of the gang, maybe?" She was trying to work through the options.
"Mmm. Lorne wouldn't come. He returned to Pylea, you know? Said it wasn't as bad as Earth. I took that rather hard, considering how much he loathes his own dimension. Other than Lorne, there aren't many people left alive."
"There's Angel." Faith felt shitty for mentioning it. Angel didn't deserve to be chained to Evil Inc either. But Wesley's situation was major bad.
"He's offered already. You might have guessed that. But I have seen the operational plans for this place, and I'm pretty sure I am a better option as head of Wolfram and Hart than Angelus would be."
Angelus. Yeah. That would be bad. Wesley actually didn’t seem crazy or evil, and swapping him for someone who was definitely both… No.
"Yeah. See your point. Better than Angelus. But I don't believe in unbreakable contracts, Wes. Girl with a big knife and a lot of determination can find a way pretty much anywhere."
"Look, Faith. I don't mean to be rude. But when it comes to strategy I'd back myself against you any day. I have a strong position here, and good research resources. And I've looked into this a lot. I certainly can't die. Believe me, I've given it my best shot. Amber tells me I'm referencing the depressive parts of Groundhog Day to a disturbing degree. The contract brings me back."
"So we destroy the contract." Faith frowned. "But that doesn't work."
"Quite. So we actually need to destroy the Platonic ideal of the contract."
"Wes… Big words, small Slayer brain here." What the hell, Faith had no clue where he was going.
It gained her a small, prissy-Wes smile. "Sorry. Showing off rather pointlessly. The ur-contract. The original, the ultimate - whatever the actual contract is that has the power. There must be a physical object as the source of the power, else they wouldn't have needed a blood signature. These are lawyers. They play by the rules. Evil rules, true, but rules all the same."
"Cool. So we have a plan."
"Except I have no idea where the Platonic ideal of the contract would be. Or how to access it. I imagine it's rather well protected, don't you?"
"I know this one." Faith preened slightly - look at research gal go! "They told me about the White Room. Said that was the place to get things done."
Wesley looked paler. Presumably not actually paler, due to the lack of blood flow to his face. But he really didn't look like this was a place he wanted to go.
"I have tended to avoid the White Room. And I would point out that the Senior Partners are hardly likely to want to deal with you, either."
"Why are you avoiding it?"
Wesley paused for a very long time. But Faith knew he'd heard the question.
"I… I don't care for their choice of liaison representative."
"Wes. I don't care about your dainty feelings. I'm going to the White Room. You're going to get me there."
"Or?" Wesley looked pretty snarky for a moment. "You can scarcely threaten me with death."
She shrugged. "True. But I can promise you death. You don't want to be trapped here, do you Wesley?"
It was what she had been telling herself ever since she landed this assignment. Contract Slayer, but in a good cause.
He didn't disagree.
*
Faith understood Wesley's feelings about the White Room from the moment that she heard the laughter in the air.
The woman danced out of the blank white; short skirt, long hair, white lab coat open and flapping wide - almost as wide as her bashful, joyous smile.
She ran up to Wesley, flung herself into his arms. "Wesley! God, I missed you! You never came back! It's kinda dull up here all on my lonesome, you know. Not a single Bunsen burner in the White Room. Can you believe that?"
He shrugged the woman off, avoiding Faith's eyes. But the woman wasn't playing avoidance - she scuttled over to Faith and wrapped her in a hug in turn. A very mortal, physical hug.
"Faith! How've you been? I was so worried about you after Sunnydale."
"Hey Fred." What else could Faith say? But you're dead. Your soul burned up. And I happen to know there's some minor deity using your body right now, somewhere not here. So what the hell ARE you?.
No wonder Wesley avoided the place.
He didn't look at "Fred" as he explained their request, to see the original of his contract.
She gave a happy simper. "No, silly, you know that's not how it works."
Faith was already getting irritated with not-Fred. The original had been way more interesting. So she pulled the big knife trick again; the one that worked so well earlier. Not-Fred stepped aside faster than Faith could see. She didn't look too worried about her possible fate, either. Maybe a big knife plus determination weren't as foolproof as she'd hoped.
"Now, Faith, you're just being silly. I'm gonna leave you to it." Fred wandered off into the white distance, pausing only to turn round and say brightly, "Guess what? The answer is among you."
*
"Okay, is that a clue? Why would the Senior Partners give us a clue? Why couldn't it be a more helpful clue?" Faith was feeling fuzzy and baffled as the White Room faded out and they popped back into place in Wesley's office.
Wesley put his head in his hands. "Not a clue." It came out muffled by his fingers, but resoundingly pissed all the same. "That's an old line the Senior Partners fed us before. She's playing with us."
"Huh. Funny jokes." Except Faith wasn't the dumb new kid anymore. "Was it true last time?"
"Yes." Still muffled. Wesley sounded exhausted as well as annoyed.
"So it could be true again. There could be an answer in our grasp. We might find it out. We have to try!"
Wesley slipped his hands down from his eyes. He still looked pretty pissed. "Who died and made you head cheerleader? No, wait, I know this one. It appears to have been me."
Pissed was a lot, lot better than the expression Faith had seen on Wesley when "Fred" wound herself around him. That had been a view of a man in hell. Faith wished she could forget it.
*
Faith left the offices, head spinning, and headed back to her motel. Running over the options didn't get her anywhere at first; just the same parade of rejected theories. Can't kill him - destroy the contract - can't destroy it - let him die - Angelus - the answer is among you. Dammit. There were so few of Angel Inc left. Just the vampire, the dead man and…
The goddess.
*
She called him that night.
"Wesley. Can we be overheard?"
"Probably. Does it matter?"
"No. I was just asking to make this seem more spooky. Dumbass."
"Faith, at this point no part of my life is private. I can't leave the offices. My movements and contacts are monitored constantly. Just ask, whatever it is. We'll deal with the consequences."
"Okay. We'll try it anyway. Can you get Illyria to come back?"
"Probably. If well worded enough. Why?"
"I think you should take her to the White Room."
It was a crazy hunch. But… what was White-Room-Fred? Where had she been constructed, out of what?
Faith guessed Wolfram and Hart were using the image of Fred to keep Wes at arm's length, and also unbalance him a little. Which was good psychology, sure, and had stopped Wesley from thinking about her or the White Room too much. But if they were constructing Fred's image out of what they could scrabble together, considering her soul and body were gone… then maybe they were using parts of Illyria.
In which case, W&H had built in a major weakness for their own security.
Faith was dizzy with her own cunning. Outhinking Wesley! Maybe she should join the Watchers.
*
Illyria came. Quickly. As though she hadn't wanted to be away after all.
Faith was startled by her. No matter how much someone explained that it was Fred's body, but blue and inhabited by someone else - reality was damn strange. The insectoid movements. The total fixation on Wesley. The power radiating from her.
But Faith's hunch turned out to be a fantastic one. White-Room-Fred tried to fight Illyria, but a physicist against an Old One? Never gonna be a contest. After a couple of punches, a whole lot of staring, and some kind of mind-meld thing that Faith would never have imagined was possible, Illyria turned to the blank white to one side of them and set forth a stream of syllables.
The white turned black - a black hole in the nothingness.
"Enter."
Faith was not scared. Of course not. "Wes?"
"Mmm?" He looked as unmoved as he'd been the whole time she'd been in LA.
"We're sure Illyria's not evil, right? Or controlled by the Senior Partners?"
He didn't get to respond; the Old One snapped out an answer instead. "My definitions of good and evil are not as yours. But your suggestion that the minions of the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart could control me is as offensive as it is hilarious."
No one was laughing. Illyria least of all.
Wesley drew what was probably an unnecessary breath. "Well. She seems fairly clear about that."
So they stepped into the dark part of the nothingness. It felt… nothingy. But confining. Like it would be a really bad idea to do more than put out a hand, grab at the legal paper that materialised and then get the hell out. Which was exactly what Faith was doing.
Wesley, though tried to reach beyond, into the unseen space that might just hold more contracts. Or other lost items.
Didn't go well: his arm caught fire.
It was at this point that Faith really, really got that Wesley was dead. Her arm had been on fire? She'd have been leaping like a frying flying fish. Wesley just stood, vaguely looking at his burning flesh.
"Wes, doesn’t that hurt?"
"Hmmm? Oh, yes, but it hardly matters, does it? The burns won't last."
As they came through the portal, Faith's brain was coming to some very scary conclusions. Like, Wesley really was dead. Better off dead. He knew it. He wouldn't try and stop her killing him. But she wasn't sure she could do it. Not again.
*
"So this is the contract. Your Plutonic idea."
A spasm of irritation passed over Wesley's face. Faith kind of knew she'd messed up that reference, but he didn't bother to correct her. He was staring at the piece of paper in her hand.
"Yes. That's it."
"And if I destroy it, what happens?"
"Angel is free. So is whatever remains of Fred in their service. Lorne too, though they seem to have let him go. Charles won't be resurrected. We're all free."
"Kind of a big gap in that report, Wes. What happens to you?"
Illyria spoke for the first time. "He will become dead."
"For sure?" Faith couldn't believe they were talking like this. Somehow, killing Wesley outright had seemed like a grim duty. Organising his death with paperwork… it didn't sit well.
"I am dead already. I have been for months. All that keeps me functioning is the contract. There's no doubt at all what the consequence will be, I'm afraid. Do you have the guts?"
"I see what you're doing, Wes. Trying to dare me into it. But I'm not gonna fall for that."
"And yet you cut my head off yesterday." He almost smiled at the memory. "You've never been terribly good at consistency, Faith. I believe I lectured you about that when first we met."
"Yeah. And I didn't like it any more then. So stop, okay?" Faith paused. "You really want this?"
Wesley looked a little miffed at the question. "Do I want to have died? No. Not even slightly. But I'm dead already. That should be my reality. The alternative is… uncomfortable."
Illyria had been utterly still since her last speech. Now, she snapped into motion again, more threatening than Faith had ever seen her, right in her face. "You will free him. Or I will."
Contemplating a good fight made Faith feel briefly better. But Illyria had tears in her unnaturally blue eyes, and Wesley was simply looking at her, expecting her to do the right thing.
He even nudged her onwards to his death. "Do you have a lighter?"
"Yes. You're gonna lecture me on smoking again, too?"
"Hardly. As I recall, you rarely smoked for anything other than effect. And often, the lighter wasn't used for cigarettes."
A moment's memory of the night she tortured him flickered into the stale air of the office.
"Did I apologise for that already?"
He shrugged. "Not explicitly. I took it as read. But I would consider your debt paid if you used that lighter to free me."
Which was pretty much unanswerable. "Okay. You want to make a big last speech? Any messages for the fans at home?" Faith hoped he couldn’t see her shaking, but he probably could. Wesley had never been unobservant.
"No. I think I've said it all. Please, Faith." His voice was trembling too. He was still looking at the contract, almost hungrily.
Faith got out her Zippo. She loved this lighter. As she sparked it, she wondered if she'd use it again without remembering this day. There really didn't seem much to say. She touched the flame to the contract. Wesley gasped. As it burned, he collapsed. Like a puppet with the strings cut, went the saying. Which sounded poetic. But puppets aren't living. And more importantly, they aren't dead. Faith had spent this whole damn mission wanting to hurl. As the conference room filled with the stench of human decay, she nearly lost it again.
Wesley hadn't been wrong. He looked about three months dead to Faith. Discoloured skin sloughing. Maggo- Scavenge- Things working all over his corpse, so that parts of him looked almost mobile.
Beside him, Illyria had sat herself down; no sign of revulsion. Her hand was on his. She looked up at Faith, merging Fredness with her usual imperious godly stare.
"This is my Wesley again." A long, considered pause. "You did well. Thank you."
Faith had kind of expected to say goodbye to Wesley. Close his eyes, maybe even kiss his dead body; some emotional farewell thing, for sure. But she couldn't go near the rotting remains that had been her Watcher.
Illyria was there instead.
Faith left Wolfram and Hart with that image burned into her sight: Illyria, caressing the rotting corpse with love and grief.
Had she done a good thing?
God, she hoped so.
Hey Wes. Hope you're doing better now.
***
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