(no subject)

[elgrey]

All parts linked to from Story Notes

Temps Perdu, Part Sixteen

He drank his tea and received hugs from everyone except Giles – they had very sensibly shaken hands – and murmured more reassurances that he did indeed remember them and everything that had taken place before and after his last bout of memory loss. Then he went upstairs alone. Angel looked anxiously at him and Wesley gently shook his head, and made his own way, holding onto the banister, but managing the stairs all by himself. As he climbed them now he remembered Angel carrying him up them when they came back from Askaroth. Remembered Angel coming down them so many times. Fred. Cordelia. Connor.

 

He closed his eyes and remembered Cordelia hugging him in the hospital, her hands on his back, warm and alive and strong and…the last gasp of a woman who knew she had only one day left. And she had chosen to spend several hours of it with him, researching in the old way, turning the pages of books, so that he would remember after she had gone that she had tried to spend a day with him in the way that she thought he would enjoy it most. A day where he was happy thinking she was back for good, not a day clouded with misery at the thought that this was the last time he would ever see her again. Taken the time to apologize to him for something she had never done. He was glad he’d told her that she hadn’t killed Lilah. There was just so much more that he would have liked to say to her, things he had mentally filed away to say later, about how no one blamed her, and they were just so incredibly glad to have her back, how much they’d missed her, how everything had fallen apart without her. But then, of course, if he’d known, this wouldn’t be his last memory of her, this happy memory of them working together and her smiling at him and telling him he had the best mojo in town.

 

“That’s so typical of you, Cordelia,” he murmured. “Always thought you knew what was best for us. And were generally absolutely right.”

 

He avoided the room where she had spent time with Connor. That hadn’t been Cordelia, just the higher power who had visited them as Jasmine, realizing there wasn’t a room that particularly said ‘Cordelia’; the whole hotel did that, his memories did that. That beautiful girl who had so inexplicably liked him in Sunnydale – she had pretty much made that whole humiliating experience bearable single-handed. No one, however much they felt as if they were entirely failing to make the right impression, could feel completely desolate when the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life made a beeline for him every time he walked into the room, and proceeded to act as if no one else existed for her. He closed his eyes again and remembered him walking into that old basement of Angel’s and Cordelia grabbing him and kissing him, and this time the technique he’d just learned working perfectly, but the moment had passed, the time was gone. She no longer needed a life raft out of the shipwreck of her old life, and he had found an identity for himself that wasn’t entirely a lie. Just as well, perhaps. If they’d kissed like that in Sunnydale, she might have come back to England with him; they would never have worked with Angel. She might still be alive. No. Okay, no. He wasn’t going to blame Cordelia’s death on the fact that he’d been a bad kisser. He was willing to beat himself up about all manner of unlikely things but even he drew the line there.

 

He went into an unoccupied room and sat on the bed. It was quiet here and still, and she had probably come in here at some point; walked in here with long dark hair, or short blonde hair, or one of the various styles she had tried out in between. He inhaled and there was nothing of her scent here, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been in here more than once. He remembered all their childish squabbles and grinned at the memory of how incredibly immature they had both been.

 

“Every night it’s Jeopardy, followed by Wheel of Fortune and a cup of hot cocoa.  Look out girls, this one can’t be tamed…”

 

“Angel, make her stop!”

 

“What if – every time you identified the demon in one of your big old books, we gave you ten bucks – or a chicken pot pie….”

 

“What class?  Advanced bosoms…?”

 

“Well, you certainly didn’t help by making him feel guilty about it.  You shamed him into firing us!”

 

Then he remembered her bending over him as the world was greying in and out of focus, that agonizing pain in his guts, so bad he had tried to retreat from it every way he could without success until there only seemed to be death left, but that reassuring smile of such incredible warmth on her face, telling him to hang in there, that it was going to be okay. He’d believed her. He’d always believed her. She and Gunn between them had willed him to stay alive and it had been enough, the look in their eyes, the touch of their hands, all those gentle words of love and encouragement.

 

He remembered her doubled over in pain with the visions, that washed out look on her face afterwards as the pain lingered and lingered; not telling them about the headaches or the neural scans or the imminent death she was facing alone. That was the first time she hadn’t told them she knew she was going to die but didn’t want them bothered by it.

 

He closed his eyes and remembered her coming to him the day after her birthday; the birthday where they’d almost lost her to that coma; the birthday, where, although they hadn’t known it then, Jasmine had first got her hooks into Cordelia through the heartless betrayal of Skip. He was so glad he’d put a bullet in that bastard’s brain.

 

“Wes…?”

 

 Looking up in surprise from his books as Cordelia walked into his office. “I thought you were supposed to be resting today?”

 

“Hey, a coma’s as good as rest, right?” A dismissive wave of her hand. “And all demony now, remember? So, no more messing with the girl from Sunnydale.”

 

“Like any of us had the courage to mess with you before.” He’d smiled at her but her eyes had still looked anxious. “Is something wrong?”

 

“No, I just...” Coming over to where he was sitting in the office and surprising him by stroking his hair back from his eyes. “I just needed to check you were okay.”

 

He was blank for a moment until he remembered what she’d told them about her visit to that alternate reality. He held up his left arm to show her it was still intact and attached. “I’m fine.”

 

“Well, you look better than he did, anyway. At least you look like you’ve slept a few days this month, and maybe eaten in the past week at least.”

 

He held up the plate on which a half-eaten piece of her birthday cake was sitting. “In the past hour actually.”

 

She put her head on one side. “Have you ever thought about getting contacts or maybe laser treatment?”

 

“My Great Aunt Stephanie has promised to leave me enough money in her will to pay for laser surgery, and she is ninety-seven so, who knows? Why are you asking?”

 

“The other you – he was kind of hot in an about-to-have-a-nervous-breakdown kind of way.” She shook her head. “But fighting demons with one arm…? I so don’t want that to ever happen to you.” She sat next to him on the chair and rested her head on his shoulder; not at all the usual way Cordelia treated him.

 

He touched her hair tentatively. “It didn’t, Cordelia, remember? If it was going to happen it would have happened by now.”

 

She looked up at him. “Okay. Keep reminding me of that for the next few days, will you? Because seeing Angel all crazy with the visions and you with one arm and on your last nerve and… Hey, not to mention you shacked up with Gunn. How bizarro world is that?”

 

He gaped at her. “What? ‘Shacked up with…’? You never said anything about…”

 

“Well, I didn’t want to embarrass you both unnecessarily. I was going to wait until it would be much funnier and embarrass you then.”

 

That was the Cordy he knew and loved. He grinned at her. “You’re an evil demonic creature. I’m sure it’s in the job description that we’re supposed to slay creatures like you.”

 

“Hah. Just because you’ve got two arms in this reality, doesn’t mean you can take me, bucko.” She straightened his hair carefully. “Just… keep both the arms, Wes, and don’t let Gunn move in with you, because he obviously can’t cook or keep the place tidy. Of course, the sex may have been amazing…”

 

As he grimaced she beamed at him. “So, what will you give me not to tell Gunn about that part of the proceedings?”

 

He opened his eyes and the memory faded, but he found he was still smiling, despite the tears in his eyes. “I miss you, Cordy…” he breathed. “But then, you always knew I would, didn’t you? I think you must have got my share of self-esteem as well as your own. Probably why you were so good for me. You do know how good you were for me, right? What am I saying? Of course you did. Do.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Are you still up there? Are you watching over us? Did you help us back from that place? Were you there when Fred died? It must be very frustrating for you if you are, not able to help us out when we screw up yet again. He said her soul was destroyed, Cordelia. But I don’t see how it can be, not destroyed. I believed it then but I don’t think I believe it now. I think it was consumed. I think it’s in Illyria. I think that’s what made me need her, made me want to help her. I think there’s some of Fred’s humanity left inside her. I have to believe we can all be together again one day, be where you are, I mean.”

 

He rose to his feet and walked around the room, touching the surfaces lightly. Her things were around somewhere, her boxes, her books, probably even her fluffy slippers, but he wasn’t ready to look at those yet. He would do it another time. Perhaps get Illyria to help him, help her to understand a little more about what human grief was, how the complicated miracle that was another life could not be mourned in an hour or a day, how you carried the dead ones with you always, how they became a part of you because they were one of the things that shaped you.

 

“Losing you, I think it’s stopped me being afraid to die. Losing Fred, it just made it too unbearable to live for a while. But I don’t feel like that now. I believe I’m going to see you again some day. You came back from the dead to say goodbye to us and it didn’t feel like a last farewell to me. It felt like au revoir. So, one day we’ll all be dead, and we’ll meet up again, yes? Do I have to make sure Angel shanshus to meet us all there? Or is all the good he’s done enough to buy him his ticket to that higher plane? Just make sure there’s a teapot, okay? Just for me.”

 

He had never cried without feeling unbearable misery before. This was different. This was just something he had to do because of Cordelia, like packing her things away, and trying to inhale her scent in her old clothes, and smiling at those old photographs. She’d kept one of them both at the Prom. He remembered that one. She had looked so unbelievably beautiful. He would find the old photographs another day, definitely, and smile at that one, and probably cry a little more, but they would be good tears, because he’d known her, Cordelia Chase, and she had made his life so much better.

 

Those were the images he always summoned to mind when he thought of feminine beauty: Cordelia in her prom dress and Fred heading off for the ballet. He had never seen anything lovelier. He doubted that he ever would.

 

“Quite something when you think about it, Cordy.” He wiped his eyes and smiled up at the ceiling – a pointless thing to do but it felt appropriate. “The two most beautiful women in the world, bar none, and I got to kiss both of you. Okay, on one of those occasions I got to kiss you very badly, but I like to think the second time made up for it. And I’m sorry I forgot you for a while, but it really wasn’t entirely my fault, and there is no danger of that ever happening again.”

 

“Wes…?”

 

He turned to find Angel in the doorway looking at him anxiously. He sighed. “That whole being alone to remember and grieve thing – not a concept Mr Brood For A Century can grasp?”

 

Angel grimaced. “Lot of windows up here. I’m not sure yet how good you are at passing them.”

 

“I was talking to Cordelia.” Wesley knew it sounded crazy and didn’t much care. “A slightly one-sided conversation, I admit, but my half at least made a lot of sense.”

 

“I do that too.” Angel sat down on the bed. “I asked her what I should do about you. Asked her if she minded me not wanting you to remember her.”

 

“You needed to ask her about that?” Wesley demanded. “Of course she’d mind. Cordy did not spend all those years trying to lick us into shape only to have us forget her. You’re lucky she didn’t throw a book at you like Phantom Dennis used to do to me.”

 

Angel frowned. “Phantom Dennis. Do you think he’s…you know… gone into the light to be with Cordy?”

 

Wesley shrugged. “I don’t know. He may have done. They could be having an afterlife wedding for all I know. I just wish Fred could have been a bridesmaid.”

 

Angel looked at him compassionately. “How bad is it? The remembering?”

 

“On a scale of okay to you waking up with a soul? I don’t know. It hurts. But I think it’s meant to.” He absolutely wasn’t ready to deal with Lilah yet. It was too painful. He missed her and felt guilty for missing her in the same breath, in exactly the way he’d used to want her and feel guilty for wanting her in the same hardening of over-heated flesh; she was always going to be a wound that snagged and tore on remorse, and that sick feeling of failure because he hadn’t saved her.

 

But he could think of the other woman he had failed to save. He closed his eyes and thought of Fred with her hair all tangled, wearing a sack, holding up a blood-stained hand to lure Angel away from two men she’d never even seen before. So beautiful, so fragile, and so brave. Thought of her kissing him. Thought of her smiling. Thought of her dying. He gritted his teeth and opened his eyes. “Angel, I hope nothing like this ever happens again but given the strangeness of our lives, who knows…? So, just for future reference – however bad it gets, whatever I do, whomever I lose, I don’t want to forget anything. Not Cordy, not Fred, not you, not Gunn, not Lorne, not Connor, not Lilah. I don’t ever want to forget any of you ever again. Is that clear?”

 

Angel blinked at him in shock. “Yes.”

 

“I know you were just trying to protect me, but please don’t. Not from the people that I love. Not from the first people to ever love me. I want to remember every single minute of every single day I ever got to spend with every one of you. Understood?”

 

Angel gazed at him and then smiled, that smile one almost never saw on his face, lit up and happy, briefly looking like the boy he must once have been. “Understood.”

 

Wesley headed along the corridor, with Angel following him. Apparently there was no chance of him being able to do this by himself, Angel needed to trail a few paces behind to make sure he didn’t explode the way Illyria had almost done; her radiant essence something too devastating to be contained by the fragile human shell she had hi-jacked for her own use. Was that how Angel thought of his grief – as some thermonuclear instability with the power to level cities? He didn’t think his grief came in electric blue; a darker shade of melancholy, definitely.

 

Fred’s room. He took a deep breath and then pushed open the door.

 

“You don’t need to do this now,” Angel said quickly. “You don’t have to do this at all.”

 

“Yes, I do.” Angel still didn’t get it and Wesley gazed into his eyes, hoping he could show him what he apparently wasn’t managing to explain to him. “I want to.”

 

He remembered painting this room, supervised by Fred’s parents, and he and Gunn both grinning like schoolchildren because there were parents around, the nice kind that scolded you lovingly and let you eat sugary things, and for a few glorious days you could abdicate responsibility for being a grown up. It had been more than a decade since Gunn had been mothered by anyone. Longer than that for Wesley. His father hadn’t felt his mother had the right to get too involved in her only child’s upbringing. Wesley was going to be a Watcher and therefore his training was the responsibility of his father; his mother’s kind-hearted interventions invariably dismissed as ‘interference’. Trish and Roger still didn’t know about Illyria, of course. He’d tried to call them after Fred’s death, he really had, but there were some messages you couldn’t leave on an answerphone and it had been such agony to psych himself up to it once that when he’d hit the anticlimax of that whirring machine, he’d given up and backed away. Then on their visit Illyria had made it impossible for him to deliver the news that their only daughter was dead. Another kind lie. It must have hurt her, Illyria, his grief. If she really was infected by Fred’s humanity then his grief must be like a salt burn on an open wound to her. He wondered if she could comprehend guilt, or if she was incapable of identifying it as guilt but felt it anyway.

 

He touched the walls, not sure if it was a good thing or not that he couldn’t see all those pictures and equations Fred had made. He felt an irrational desire to try to find them again but that would only be the probing of a wound he really needed to give some time to heal.

 

“‘Handsome man saved me from the monsters’.”

 

Wesley turned around to find Angel looking as stricken as he felt as he gazed around at the room.

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Angel.” Wesley straightened up. “What happened to Fred, what happened to Cordelia. None of it was your fault.”

 

“It happened because of me. All of it.” Angel turned a slow circle.

 

“Free will,” Wesley countered. “Cordelia chose to ascend. Fred chose to go to Wolfram & Hart. We all did.”

 

“I’m not sure that you did. I’m not sure how much was your decision and how much was the mind wipe the Senior Partners performed on you.”

 

Wesley thought back to the standing in that room with all those records, thinking wearily that if they just walked away from this they would always wonder if they could have done more good by staying. “I think we would have all made that decision come what may. It offered the chance to make a difference and we were so tired of taking one step forward and four steps back in the fight against evil.”

 

“Lorne said that I pulled us all off our paths when I slept with Darla.”

 

Wesley shrugged. “If you hadn’t done that, Connor wouldn’t exist, and I think we both know he’s going to do great good one day.”

 

Angel came forward with an odd look on his face. “You really do believe that, don’t you?”

 

“Of course.” Wesley glanced at him in mild surprise. “Don’t you?”

 

Angel shrugged. “He did terrible harm before, Wes. Kind of what you’d expect from my son, really, isn’t it? But I always felt there was good in him. Knew there was good in him.”

 

“There is. And perhaps remembering what he did in the past may be the spur he needs to stay on his path this time.”

 

Angel reached out to touch the wall, in the place where there had been that picture of him and Fred on the horse. “I was supposed to be the hero in Fred’s story. The one who brought her home and kept her safe. Instead I took her into another hell. It just came with a nice shiny laboratory and necro-tempered glass.”

 

Wesley looked at the walls which he remembered being green, now painted the pale pinkish shade Fred’s mother had chosen, remembered how it looked; those repeated phrases and the mathematical equations. ‘If you could square your thoughts could you cube your problems?’, ‘Listen, listen, listen…’ He remembered Fred shaking her head in that bus station: “I got lost. I got lost, and they did terrible things to me, but, but it was just a storybook. It was just a story with monsters, not real... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I got so lost.” Her mother wrapping her into that embrace that Wesley had never known, telling her it didn’t matter what they’d done, they were going to make it all right.

 

“I’m sorry too, Fred.” Wesley leant his head against the wall in the place where there had been an equation he’d never understood. “I’m sorry you got so lost.”