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Oct. 16th, 2005 05:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elgrey Childish Things, Part Seven
When the next knock on the door sounded through the house, Giles assumed it must be Willow or Buffy coming to collect Wesley. As it wouldn’t be dark for several hours he knew it couldn’t be Angel.
“I think I’ve found it.” Wesley looked up in shock.
“What?” Ignoring the knocking on the door for a moment, Giles hurried over to the table where Wesley was still bent over the books. He had the amulet lying on the page and his finger pointing at an illustration. Looking between the two, Giles could see that they were identical. “Well done, Wesley,” he said warmly, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s it.”
Wesley beamed up at him and Giles was struck by how he lit up when he was praised. As another impatient knock came on the door and he went to answer it, he wished that he had praised Wesley a little more when the man had been in Sunnydale before; perhaps that would have been the key to getting him to unwind a little and be more responsive to the people around him. Of course back then the Watcher’s Council had loomed so large in Wesley’s thinking that –
Giles opened the door to find three men on his doorstep – ones he was in no way pleased to see, and had not been pleased to see on the last occasion he had found them in his home.
“Hello, Rupert,” Collins said heartily.
“Collins,” Wesley breathed softly behind him.
He turned to see the boy looking horrified, although he did try to wrestle his expression into some neutrality at Giles’s warning look.
Giles turned back to his unwelcome visitors. “What do you want?”
“We need some information and as you’re the Council’s representative in the area we naturally came to you. Can we come in?” Not waiting for Giles’s response, Collins pushed past him with a thin veneer of politeness in his cheerful smile, Weatherby made no attempt to pretend he was anything other than barging past, while Smith did have the grace to look apologetic as he also inched past Giles into his house.
Giles turned around wearily, closing the door, then realized that Weatherby was gazing malevolently at Wesley. Thinking quickly, Giles said, “This is my nephew…Nicholas.”
“I can see the family resemblance,” Collins smiled at him again. It was a shark smile and it did absolutely nothing to reassure Giles, especially when the man immediately went over to where the book lay open on the table, the amulet on top of the page.
Wesley darted a look at the amulet and then at Giles who gestured at him to stay calm. He could see that Wesley was trying hard not to panic but his clenched fists revealed that he was wound tight with tension.
Collins reached out and ruffled Wesley’s hair. “Been helping your uncle with his research, have you?”
“Just for fun.” Wesley ducked away from his hand, trying to get back to where Giles was.
Weatherby intercepted him, his fingers closing on his shoulder and tightening. “Looked like you recognized us to me, sonny.”
Wesley darted a look up at him. “Uncle Rupert took me into the Watcher’s Council Headquarters once to look at the books. I must have seen you then.”
“Must have at that,” said Collins equably, but Weatherby made no attempt to let Wesley go.
“What do you want?” Giles demanded.
“Information.” Collins was still reading the open book with close attention as he talked. “We’re hearing that Angelus has gone bad again and needs to be taken out. Do you have any information on that?”
Wesley’s gasp of horror made Weatherby looked down at him with a spiteful expression on his face that made Giles very uneasy. “Know about Angelus, do you?” Weatherby demanded.
“He’s a friend of Buffy’s,” Wesley replied, voice sounding calm although Giles suspected his heart was probably hammering in his chest.
“I'm asking, Rupert,” Collins looked up at Giles again. “Because all our reports say he’s here in Sunnydale. Staying with the Slayer again.”
“So, what if he is?” Giles countered. “He has a soul and he fights on the side of good. And what the Slayer does with her private life is none of the Council’s business. She’s her own woman, remember?”
He gritted his teeth as Collins picked up the amulet and turned to the beginning of the book. Giles tried to remember if the book was one of his or of Wesley’s. He had a horrible feeling it was Wesley’s and the man had written his name neatly inside it. Sure enough, as Collins turned back to the flyleaf there were Wesley’s initials.
Collins looked at Giles in what Giles was pretty sure was mock-surprise. “Wyndam-Pryce came to Sunnydale with Angelus, did he?”
“As I said,” Giles said frostily. “The Slayer’s private life is her own business.”
“It becomes our business when Angelus starts killing again and she’s still harbouring him.”
“What do you mean ‘killing again’?” Giles darted a glance at Wesley but Weatherby still had hold of him, fingers digging spitefully into the boy’s thin shoulder, while looking at him as if he wanted to twist his head off.
“A room full of lawyers from Wolfram & Hart. Apparently Angelus arranged to help out two of his old cronies from his soulless days – Darla and Drusilla – the three of them had a feeding frenzy.”
“That isn’t what happened,” Wesley said at once.
“Our reports say it is,” Collins returned still equably.
“Your reports are wrong,” Wesley insisted.
“You sound very sure about that, for a little boy from England,” Collins smiled at him.
“We’re a family of strong held opinions.” Giles crossed to where Weatherby was. “I suggest you let go of my nephew, right now, Weatherby.”
Weatherby held up his hands. “Just making nice,” but the expression in his eyes was truly malevolent and Giles gently pushed Wesley behind him.
“I’ve told you, I can’t help you. If Buffy is seeing Angel again, that’s her business, not mine.”
Collins held up the amulet in front of the light. “Killed your girlfriend, didn’t he? Angelus?”
Wesley darted Giles a fearful look and Giles gritted his teeth. “Angel isn’t Angelus.”
“It’s Wyndam-Pryce that Weatherby really wants to see.” Collins smiled again, another smile with absolutely no warmth in it. “He has a bone to pick with him.”
Weatherby glared down at Wesley as if he knew exactly who he was; in fact Giles had a horrible feeling that he did although he wasn’t sure how. Making leaps of lateral thinking had never exactly been a strong point of Council goons.
“A really big bone.” Weatherby held up a fist. “The little shit stuck me full of a sedative that could have killed me and then punched me in the face. The next time I see him he’d better pray that vampire he’s working for has a really good dental plan.”
Giles tightened his grip on Wesley’s hand, being reminded of just how much Wesley hated being small and why that could be such a problem, because any moron who happened to have been on the planet for ten years longer than you had was going to be taller than you and stronger than you and could hurt you very easily however much smarter than him you might happen to be.
“As I understand it you were planning to assassinate an eighteen year old girl,” Giles said shortly. “As she’s now in prison through her own choice and may well end up becoming a useful member of society I would have thought you would be grateful to Buffy, Angel and Wesley for ensuring you don’t have a murder on your consciences.”
Collins closed the book at last and turned around to look at Giles properly, the amulet still swinging from his fingers. “Weatherby nearly died from that sedative Wyndam-Pryce injected him with and Smith here got thrown out of a moving helicopter by your Slayer’s favourite vampire – very nasty impact with the ground he had. And I really didn’t appreciate your Slayer’s treatment of me either.”
“I doubt she appreciated you trying to shoot her either,” Giles retorted.
“The Council were right to fire you, Giles,” Weatherby sneered. “You got in too deep. Got emotionally invested.”
“The Council sit on their…behinds over there in England, sending half-trained Watchers into the front line, with no idea of what is going to be awaiting them in the field. And I include myself amongst those who were clueless. Some of us recognize how ill-prepared we really are and do something to correct it. The rest of you just keep following Council orders straight to hell.”
“A lot of people died because of Angel,” Smith put in. “The Council have good reason to regard him as a target.”
“They died because of Angelus.” Giles made himself say it, even though it hurt and he wanted to blame Angel for Jenny’s death as much as the next man – presuming the next man was Xander and not Wesley – he knew in his heart that it was true. “Angel is a different person.”
“He’s Ted Bundy and Jack the Ripper combined and multiplied in evil to the power of a hundred,” Collins said quietly. “Read the file.”
“I’ve read the file. I'm sure Cordelia and Wesley have too. The fact remains that Angel is not Angelus and he works on the side of good.”
Collins tossed a file onto the table. “Those are the police photographs of what the scene looked like in that wine cellar, Giles. A lot of dead lawyers, drained by vampires with a connection to Angelus, one of them his sire, the other sired by him, whom he signally failed to kill.”
“He tried,” Wesley put in quietly.
Collins put his head on one side. “You know, for a little boy you do seem to be awfully well informed.” He held up the amulet and gazed at Giles. “I see you’ve been researching spells for adults being turned into children. That’s fairy tale stuff, isn’t it?”
“Just curious,” Giles shrugged. “Who hasn’t wondered if it was possible to be young again?”
Collins swung the amulet idly. “A Wish Amulet and a focusing orb. Not thinking of leaving us, are you, Giles?”
“Yeah, you should think that one through.” Weatherby loomed over Wesley. “I hear sometimes being a little kid can really suck.”
“There are things we need to know about Angelus.” Smith looked uneasily between Weatherby and Wesley. “His routine. His weaknesses.”
“So you can kill him?” Giles enquired.
Collins was urbanely reassuring. “Just in case we might need that information later. We hear he’s been associating with demons. Hanging out in demon bars. Wolfram & Hart brought in Darla and Drusilla to push him over the edge and by all the accounts we’ve heard they succeeded.”
“Then your accounts are wrong,” Giles insisted.
“We heard he fired his crew and left them swinging in the breeze.” Weatherby abruptly grabbed Wesley’s shoulder and yanked him away from Giles. “Is that right?”
“Let him go,” Giles started forward and Collins moved in between them.
“We’re here to verify a few things. A fact-finding mission. There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.”
“If you don’t get out of my way and tell your colleague to release my nephew immediately, I can assure you that people certainly will be getting hurt.”
Weatherby yanked up Wesley’s shirt. “Heard Wyndam-Pryce got shot in the gut. Well, what have we here…?”
As Giles tried to grab Weatherby he found a pistol pressed against his jaw by Collins who said, “Let’s not do anything hasty, shall we?”
“Are you willing to use that?” Giles said softly. “Because you’d better be if you’re going to point it at me.”
“Look.” Weatherby spun Wesley around by the shoulders. “Scar right where Wyndam Nancy Boy Pryce took a bullet. I told you it was him.”
Collins pressed the gun to Giles’s temple. “Who is that kid really?”
“I told you,” Giles said through gritted teeth. “My nephew, Nicholas. That’s his appendectomy scar.”
Collins cocked the gun and looked down at Wesley. “Is that right? Because I have to tell you, Rupert, old man, I have no problem with using this on a renegade watcher and blaming it on the vampire you’re so keen to protect. You crossed the line a long time ago as far as I'm concerned and if you’re not with the Council you’re against them. So, who is the boy?”
“My nephew,” Giles insisted.
As Collins made to press his finger to the trigger, Wesley said quickly, “I'm Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.” He pulled loose from Weatherby’s grip, straightening his shirt with what dignity he could muster as a child. “Giles doesn’t know anything. I'm the one who works with Angel. I'm the one you need to talk to.”
Smith stared at him in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be…”
“I'm sure you will be if you’re a party to hurting what is effectively an eight year old boy,” Giles told him swiftly.
Collins removed the gun from Giles’s temple. “So, it’s true, Angelus’s pet humans all got turned into children?”
“What business is it of yours?” Giles demanded, pulling away from the man. “Are you really here on official business, Collins, or is this just you and Weatherby wanting to settle a few old scores?”
Collins nodded to Smith. “Hand me that orb.”
“That’s my property and you have no right to touch it,” Giles said through gritted teeth.
Smith fetched the glass ball from the table and handed it to Collins who weighed it in his hand. “Is that right?” He abruptly hurled it against the wall, making Giles and Wesley both duck instinctively. The crystal shattered, glass spraying everywhere and Wesley visibly swayed in shock and horror. “I figure they’ll be a lot easier to question as children. Starting with this one.”
As at a signal from Collins, Smith made to grab Wesley.
“Get away from him!” Giles landed a punch that sent Smith reeling; only to turn back onto a savage blow from Collins, the man snatching up the poker to finish the job.
“Get off him!” Wesley grabbed Collins’s arm and yanked on it with all his strength.
Collins swung his arm and Giles saw with horror that the man either didn’t care that Wesley was so much lighter than an adult now or else had just miscalculated, for the jerk of Collins’ arm sent Wesley smacking hard into the wall, the little boy crumpling semi-conscious.
“You bastard!” As Giles dived at Collins, he became aware that Weatherby was closing in on him a millisecond too late to avoid a morningstar of pain in his head. He hit the ground and had enough experience of being hit very hard by yet another blunt instrument to know he was only still conscious at all by the skin of his teeth, and that one movement would probably send him spiralling into darkness. Blood trickled from a cut on his head into his eye and he blinked to clear it, seeing Smith easing the dazed Wesley up with something that looked like concern.
“He’s alive,” Smith said, “But he’s not looking too well.”
“Good.” Weatherby grabbed Wesley by the shoulder roughly and shook him. “Wake up, Wyndam-Pryce, you little bastard, and start talking.”
“He’s just a kid,” Smith protested.
“No, he isn’t,” Collins stepped over Giles. “He’s a renegade Watcher who now works for a vampire, who has betrayed his calling, and who played us for fools the last time we met up.”
Wesley gazed up at them and Giles thought he could see the man he was visible in the boy he had become in the stubborn set of his jaw. “I'm not telling you anything.”
“We’ll see about that.” Weatherby grabbed him by the hair and yanked him towards the door.
Giles desperately tried to get to his feet and Collins, hearing him move, turned around and came back to where he was lying. “Thanks for your help, Rupert. It’s much appreciated.”
Then a boot hit his jaw and white light exploded in his head.
***
“Why don’t you sit in the front, Weatherby?” Smith suggested, looking around anxiously as he did so. He presumed, living on a Hellmouth as they did, that the residents of Sunnydale must be used to strange occurrences, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t intervene if they saw three grown men manhandling a dazed little boy. He was hoping to separate Weatherby from Wesley as he didn’t trust to the man’s ability to keep his spite and bad temper in check.
“Why don’t you shut up and get in the car?” Weatherby countered, yanking open the back door and practically throwing Wesley onto the back seat.
Smith saw the boy skid across the leather and hit the far door. The speed with which he grabbed the door handle and twisted it suggested that for all the bruise on his cheekbone and cut on his forehead he still had his wits about him.
From the pavement, Collins slammed the door closed as Wesley tried to get it open. “I don’t think so, son. Not until you’ve answered our questions. Weatherby…?”
“I’ve got him.” Weatherby slid into the other side of the car and grabbed Wesley by the collar, yanking him back close enough to twist his arm spitefully. “Sit down and shut up or I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
Smith heard the boy stifle a cry of pain and winced. “He’s just a kid, Weatherby,” he protested. “Knock it off with the strong arm tactics.”
“No, he looks like a kid, he’s still Wyndam Sodding Pryce in there and I’m going to make him pay for what Wyndam Sodding Pryce did to me.”
Collins started the car and pulled out with great precision and economy, nothing in his driving likely to attract the attention of the police. “Not while we’re in public sight, you’re not, Weatherby,” he said calmly. He glanced in his rear view mirror. “Don’t do anything stupid, Wesley, like trying to attract attention to yourself or call for help. There’s no reason for this to get ugly as long as you cooperate.”
“You just bludgeoned Rupert Giles into unconsciousness,” Wesley said tersely. “I think it’s already got ugly.”
“Shut up.” Weatherby smacked him around the back of the head.
“I know your father,” Collins continued evenly. “And I'm quite sure you know all about little boys needing to be seen and not heard and not answering back and generally being polite and respectful to their elders if they don’t want to suffer the consequences.”
Smith saw Wesley grit his teeth. He was obviously having to fight very hard not to cry, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw that suggested however scared or hurt he was he still wasn’t going to make life easy for them. Smith felt his unease grow. However this went, he didn’t think it was going to end well.
The house had been abandoned some time before. Going by the bloodstains they had found on the parquet, Smith suspected the inhabitants had probably been eaten by something. Proof, he supposed, that the Slayer wasn’t really doing her job here in Sunnydale, or that living on a Hellmouth just caused too many problems for one girl to solve alone.
It had once been a rather grand place but it was musty with neglect now. They had set up in it as soon as they arrived in Sunnydale and knew that it was far enough into the good end of town – where the houses stood in their own grounds and were less inclined to be overlooked by neighbours – for them to be able to carry out their business unobserved.
Right now, Smith wasn’t sure how good a thing that was. Knowing intellectually that this was Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, ally of vampires, and betrayer of his calling, didn’t stop him looking like a thin, pale, little boy whom his colleague was now bullying spitefully. He saw the boy wince, tears in his eyes, as Weatherby twisted his arm again, as he dragged him into the house.
“Stop doing that,” Smith told Weatherby. “I don’t care who he used to be. You can’t torture a little boy.” He turned to Collins. “There are lines we don’t cross.”
Collins shrugged. “Agreed. No one is going to be torturing any children.”
Weatherby looked up in disappointment. “Why not?”
“We’re meant to be the good guys, remember?” Smith pointed out.
Collins led the way into the neglected sitting room. They had got rid of most of the cobwebs but the furniture still smelt as if mice had been nesting it. Collins pointed to a chair. “Sit down, Wesley.” He crossed to where he had the video camera set up, aimed it at Wesley and switched it on.
Weatherby reluctantly released Wesley’s arm and shoved him in the direction of the chair. “You try anything and I'm going to break your arms,” he told him.
“We just want to ask you a few questions, Wesley,” Collins continued calmly. “I hope you’re going to be sensible and help us?”
Wesley looked up at them. He had a cut on his forehead from his nasty collision with the wall and a bruise on his cheekbone from where Weatherby had hit him, his shirt was no longer tucked into his trousers and Collins could see Weatherby’s spiteful fingers had already begun to leave bruises on his wrists. His expression, however, was defiant.
“Oh yes. Why wouldn’t I want to help three gun-toting maniacs who’ve already proven themselves to be liars and would-be murderers?”
Weatherby smacked him across the face before Smith could grab him. He turned on Collins angrily, “Make him stop or I will.”
“Weatherby, that’s enough. Wesley, I suggest you remember your manners before I have to lose my temper with you.”
When Wesley lifted his head there was blood running from his mouth and Smith looked up at the ceiling. “For God’s sake, Weatherby!” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Wesley.
“Thank you,” the little boy said quietly, pressing the handkerchief to his mouth.
“I owe him!” Weatherby protested.
“You owe the man he was. Wait until he’s an adult again before you do that.”
“I don’t think that will be an option,” said Collins comfortably. “Wesley isn’t going to be an adult again. Well, not for a good few years yet. I destroyed the focusing orb that was necessary for the reversal of the spell. So, bearing that in mind, Wesley, I think you’d better think very hard about your future.”
“And your present,” Weatherby told him nastily.
Collins continued evenly: “We know a lot about you. Thanks to your father.”
Wesley looked up in shock and Smith saw that the jibe had gone home. Had they been dealing with the adult Wyndam-Pryce he might even have felt some satisfaction but this was too much like bullying for him to take any pleasure from it.
Wesley licked the blood from his mouth then said quietly, “If you want information about me my father is the last person you should be asking. He doesn’t know anything about me and never has.”
“I disagree,” Collins returned. “You see, after you turned renegade, betrayed your calling and set up as the errand boy for a vampire, we had to report your traitorous conduct to the Council. Your father was deeply grieved, of course, but he did his duty and agreed that as you were now an enemy of everything the Council stood for he would be happy to furnish the Council with information about you that might be useful, the same way he would have done with any other enemy of those who oppose the forces of darkness.”
Wesley swallowed. He looked even paler than before but his voice was even: “I hear a lot from the Council about how they oppose the ‘forces of darkness’ but I don’t see them out there every night risking their lives. I see Buffy in Sunnydale and I see Angel in LA. Where was the Watcher’s Council when the Mayor was ascending? Oh that’s right, sitting safely on their asses back in London while a group of American High School children fought the good fight on their behalf.”
This time Smith managed to grab Weatherby before he hit the boy again. “Stop it,” he said fiercely.
Weatherby looked at him in surprise. “What’s got into you?”
“I saw Buffy there,” Wesley continued relentlessly. “Risking her neck as always. I saw Giles there. I saw Willow and Xander and Cordelia and Oz and Angel. Didn’t see any of you.”
“Do you really think the only battles out there are the ones you happen to witness?” Collins demanded.
“No.” Wesley looked up at him unblinkingly. “But I know how little action I saw when being trained as a Watcher and how much actual good I’ve had a chance to do since working with Buffy and with Angel.”
“Buffy wouldn’t give you the time of day!” Weatherby told him angrily.
Wesley shrugged, a curiously grown up gesture for that narrow little child’s body. “She still saved my life. That’s what she does. Every day. Saves people. So does Angel. What do you three do?”
Weatherby turned to Collins. “You’ve got to let me smack him a few times.”
“No need.” Collins unbuckled his belt deliberately. “There are ways children can be punished that don’t violate any moral codes.”
“You haven’t even asked him anything,” Smith protested. “At least give him a chance to cooperate.”
“Just to make things clear, Wesley.” Collins pulled his belt loose from its keepers. “We will be contacting your father. We will be taking you back to England with us. We will be handing you over to him. Perhaps this time he’ll make a better job of bringing you up as someone who shows loyalty to your own kind.”
Wesley shuddered and dropped his gaze. Smith saw the way all the defiance drained out of him in that moment and he was just a pale scared little boy faced with what seemed to be close to his worst fear.
Collins continued relentlessly: “Having had the pleasure of your father’s company and knowing his views on childcare, I imagine that you will be getting some serious discipline on your return to his care. And going by the way you’ve turned out, not a moment too soon.”
Still with his head bowed, Wesley snatched another panicky breath. Smith hoped the kid didn’t have a history of asthma attacks or he thought he was going to spring a full blown one any minute.
“Or,” Collins added, “you can be tell me about Angelus. Did he kill those lawyers?”
“No.” Wesley snatched another breath. “Darla and Drusilla killed them.”
“But he helped.”
“No.”
“He was involved.”
Wesley looked up and although he was still ghostly pale and looked as if he might be about to be sick any moment his expression was unflinching. “Do you consider yourself involved?”
“What does that mean?”
“At the time those lawyers were being eaten, what were you doing to save them?”
Collins narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t know about it. Our reports say that Angel did. Our reports say that Angel locked those people in with them.”
Wesley faced him, still breathing quickly, but defiance written in his body language. “Do your reports say that I was there?”
“No.”
“So, why are you asking me?”
“Did he fire you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Last time Wolfram & Hart came after him, Cordelia and I were the ones who ended up in the hospital. He felt that separating himself from the rest of us was the best way to keep us safe.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” Weatherby sneered. “That he did it for your own good?”
Wesley faced him unblinkingly. “No, it’s what I'm telling you. Did you get it the first time or would you like me to repeat it?”
“Don’t!” Smith held onto Weatherby’s arm. “I mean it. I don’t care who he used to be, he’s just a little boy now and I'm not letting you hit him in front of me.”
“Get out then,” Weatherby suggested.
“I'm not leaving you alone with him either.” Smith looked at Collins. “Either of you.”
“I knew you’d go soft,” Weatherby sneered. “You were always useless.”
“Where was Angel when you were getting shot, Wesley?” Collins enquired conversationally.
“Trying to find out who was controlling the zombie policemen,” Wesley answered without a pause. “Where were you? Oh, that’s right. Sitting on your backsides in London. As usual.”
“You can’t do good by allying yourself with evil,” Collins retorted.
Wesley looked at Smith. “Words to live by.” He turned back to Collins. “Angel isn’t evil. The demon that possessed his body after he was murdered was evil. That isn’t who he is. That was never who he is. He just got left to carry the can for that demon’s crimes. Think about it. Do you really think Wolfram & Hart are good people? Now think about how much effort they’ve put into trying to derail Angel from his destiny. Doesn’t that suggest to you that Angel’s destiny must be to do a lot of good?”
“He’s a vampire,” Weatherby snarled. “He should be dust and you should have been the guy who dusted him by now. Any Watcher worth his salt would have done.”
“Well, I wasn’t worth my salt, was I?” Wesley returned evenly. “That’s why the Council fired me.”
“It’s not too late, Wesley,” Collins said. “You can retrain. Your father would give you another chance. So would the Council. You’ve made mistakes, it’s true, but, unlike most people, you’ve been given a chance to live your life over again. This time you could be a Watcher your father could be proud of.”
Smith saw the words go home, saw the wince, but Wesley held up his chin defiantly. “Oh yes, because the way things are now I'm no longer able to have the honour of calling people like you my colleagues. I have to settle for a man who’s been fighting vampires from the age when the worst problem most Watchers have to deal with is memorizing their Latin prep, a woman who has given up every other aspect of her life to be a conduit for the extremely painful visions of the Powers That Be just in the hope of helping some of the people out there who are suffering, and a vampire who has done more good for humanity in the past few years that any member of the Watcher’s Council has done in a lifetime. What a tragedy for me.”
“You will be going back to England, Wesley,” Collins returned calmly. “And that kind of an attitude isn’t going to do you any good. I’d hate to have to tell your father about how badly you’ve been behaving.” He shook out the belt and it snapped threateningly.
“No,” Smith said quietly.
“Shut it,” Weatherby told him.
Smith ignored him to look at Collins. “No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I'm not going to let you hit him with that.”
Wesley looked up at Smith in surprise while Collins only shrugged. “Who says I was intending to?”
“Oh, come on,” Weatherby protested. “He deserves a belting and more.”
“I tend to agree with you.” Collins caught Wesley by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. “But he won’t be getting it from me. I'm not an unreasonable man and I'm happy to give Wesley some space and quiet to think about his attitude and how he might like to improve it.” He spun Wesley around and pulled his arms behind his back, lashing his wrists together with the belt, and pulling it tight enough to make the little boy wince.
“Just wait until Daddy finds out what a bad little boy you’ve turned into,” Weatherby sneered. “You’re not going to see daylight until your voice breaks.”
Grabbing Wesley by the shoulder again, Collins pulled him towards the hallway.
“What are you doing?” Smith pressed.
“I'm going to give Wesley some time to think about his behaviour and see if he wouldn’t like to be a lot more cooperative to people who are only trying to help him.”
“Help me to betray my friends?” Wesley stumbled as the man shoved him rapidly across the parquet floor of the hallway and only Collins’ iron grip on his shirt held him up. “That’s never going to happen.”
“We’ll see.” Collins smiled as he reached the cupboard under the stairs, pulling open the door with a flourish. The place was revealed to be dank, dark and cobwebby. Something skittering away from the light as the door opened that sounded very rat-like.
Smith saw Wesley visibly blanche. “I won’t tell you anything,” he said in a small voice but he was already trembling.
Collins’ smile grew wider. “Oh, I think you will. After a few hours. Or days if necessary. Your father really was very helpful.” Then he shoved Wesley hard into the dark space and slammed the door on him. “Just call out when you’re ready to come out.” He bolted the door and turned around, dusting his hands. “A couple of hours and I think we’ll see a result.”
“You should have belted him,” Weatherby complained darkly.
“Trust me,” Collins patted Weatherby on the shoulder as he passed him. “This is better.”
Smith looked back at the bolted door and thought about that skinny little boy huddled in the dark, probably trying to tell himself that those gleams in the shadows weren’t the eyes of rats after all. At least this way no one was hitting him, he just wished he could have shaken off the feeling that if it came to being locked up in the dark or suffering the worst beating in the world, Wesley would have chosen the beating every time...
***
When the next knock on the door sounded through the house, Giles assumed it must be Willow or Buffy coming to collect Wesley. As it wouldn’t be dark for several hours he knew it couldn’t be Angel.
“I think I’ve found it.” Wesley looked up in shock.
“What?” Ignoring the knocking on the door for a moment, Giles hurried over to the table where Wesley was still bent over the books. He had the amulet lying on the page and his finger pointing at an illustration. Looking between the two, Giles could see that they were identical. “Well done, Wesley,” he said warmly, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s it.”
Wesley beamed up at him and Giles was struck by how he lit up when he was praised. As another impatient knock came on the door and he went to answer it, he wished that he had praised Wesley a little more when the man had been in Sunnydale before; perhaps that would have been the key to getting him to unwind a little and be more responsive to the people around him. Of course back then the Watcher’s Council had loomed so large in Wesley’s thinking that –
Giles opened the door to find three men on his doorstep – ones he was in no way pleased to see, and had not been pleased to see on the last occasion he had found them in his home.
“Hello, Rupert,” Collins said heartily.
“Collins,” Wesley breathed softly behind him.
He turned to see the boy looking horrified, although he did try to wrestle his expression into some neutrality at Giles’s warning look.
Giles turned back to his unwelcome visitors. “What do you want?”
“We need some information and as you’re the Council’s representative in the area we naturally came to you. Can we come in?” Not waiting for Giles’s response, Collins pushed past him with a thin veneer of politeness in his cheerful smile, Weatherby made no attempt to pretend he was anything other than barging past, while Smith did have the grace to look apologetic as he also inched past Giles into his house.
Giles turned around wearily, closing the door, then realized that Weatherby was gazing malevolently at Wesley. Thinking quickly, Giles said, “This is my nephew…Nicholas.”
“I can see the family resemblance,” Collins smiled at him again. It was a shark smile and it did absolutely nothing to reassure Giles, especially when the man immediately went over to where the book lay open on the table, the amulet on top of the page.
Wesley darted a look at the amulet and then at Giles who gestured at him to stay calm. He could see that Wesley was trying hard not to panic but his clenched fists revealed that he was wound tight with tension.
Collins reached out and ruffled Wesley’s hair. “Been helping your uncle with his research, have you?”
“Just for fun.” Wesley ducked away from his hand, trying to get back to where Giles was.
Weatherby intercepted him, his fingers closing on his shoulder and tightening. “Looked like you recognized us to me, sonny.”
Wesley darted a look up at him. “Uncle Rupert took me into the Watcher’s Council Headquarters once to look at the books. I must have seen you then.”
“Must have at that,” said Collins equably, but Weatherby made no attempt to let Wesley go.
“What do you want?” Giles demanded.
“Information.” Collins was still reading the open book with close attention as he talked. “We’re hearing that Angelus has gone bad again and needs to be taken out. Do you have any information on that?”
Wesley’s gasp of horror made Weatherby looked down at him with a spiteful expression on his face that made Giles very uneasy. “Know about Angelus, do you?” Weatherby demanded.
“He’s a friend of Buffy’s,” Wesley replied, voice sounding calm although Giles suspected his heart was probably hammering in his chest.
“I'm asking, Rupert,” Collins looked up at Giles again. “Because all our reports say he’s here in Sunnydale. Staying with the Slayer again.”
“So, what if he is?” Giles countered. “He has a soul and he fights on the side of good. And what the Slayer does with her private life is none of the Council’s business. She’s her own woman, remember?”
He gritted his teeth as Collins picked up the amulet and turned to the beginning of the book. Giles tried to remember if the book was one of his or of Wesley’s. He had a horrible feeling it was Wesley’s and the man had written his name neatly inside it. Sure enough, as Collins turned back to the flyleaf there were Wesley’s initials.
Collins looked at Giles in what Giles was pretty sure was mock-surprise. “Wyndam-Pryce came to Sunnydale with Angelus, did he?”
“As I said,” Giles said frostily. “The Slayer’s private life is her own business.”
“It becomes our business when Angelus starts killing again and she’s still harbouring him.”
“What do you mean ‘killing again’?” Giles darted a glance at Wesley but Weatherby still had hold of him, fingers digging spitefully into the boy’s thin shoulder, while looking at him as if he wanted to twist his head off.
“A room full of lawyers from Wolfram & Hart. Apparently Angelus arranged to help out two of his old cronies from his soulless days – Darla and Drusilla – the three of them had a feeding frenzy.”
“That isn’t what happened,” Wesley said at once.
“Our reports say it is,” Collins returned still equably.
“Your reports are wrong,” Wesley insisted.
“You sound very sure about that, for a little boy from England,” Collins smiled at him.
“We’re a family of strong held opinions.” Giles crossed to where Weatherby was. “I suggest you let go of my nephew, right now, Weatherby.”
Weatherby held up his hands. “Just making nice,” but the expression in his eyes was truly malevolent and Giles gently pushed Wesley behind him.
“I’ve told you, I can’t help you. If Buffy is seeing Angel again, that’s her business, not mine.”
Collins held up the amulet in front of the light. “Killed your girlfriend, didn’t he? Angelus?”
Wesley darted Giles a fearful look and Giles gritted his teeth. “Angel isn’t Angelus.”
“It’s Wyndam-Pryce that Weatherby really wants to see.” Collins smiled again, another smile with absolutely no warmth in it. “He has a bone to pick with him.”
Weatherby glared down at Wesley as if he knew exactly who he was; in fact Giles had a horrible feeling that he did although he wasn’t sure how. Making leaps of lateral thinking had never exactly been a strong point of Council goons.
“A really big bone.” Weatherby held up a fist. “The little shit stuck me full of a sedative that could have killed me and then punched me in the face. The next time I see him he’d better pray that vampire he’s working for has a really good dental plan.”
Giles tightened his grip on Wesley’s hand, being reminded of just how much Wesley hated being small and why that could be such a problem, because any moron who happened to have been on the planet for ten years longer than you had was going to be taller than you and stronger than you and could hurt you very easily however much smarter than him you might happen to be.
“As I understand it you were planning to assassinate an eighteen year old girl,” Giles said shortly. “As she’s now in prison through her own choice and may well end up becoming a useful member of society I would have thought you would be grateful to Buffy, Angel and Wesley for ensuring you don’t have a murder on your consciences.”
Collins closed the book at last and turned around to look at Giles properly, the amulet still swinging from his fingers. “Weatherby nearly died from that sedative Wyndam-Pryce injected him with and Smith here got thrown out of a moving helicopter by your Slayer’s favourite vampire – very nasty impact with the ground he had. And I really didn’t appreciate your Slayer’s treatment of me either.”
“I doubt she appreciated you trying to shoot her either,” Giles retorted.
“The Council were right to fire you, Giles,” Weatherby sneered. “You got in too deep. Got emotionally invested.”
“The Council sit on their…behinds over there in England, sending half-trained Watchers into the front line, with no idea of what is going to be awaiting them in the field. And I include myself amongst those who were clueless. Some of us recognize how ill-prepared we really are and do something to correct it. The rest of you just keep following Council orders straight to hell.”
“A lot of people died because of Angel,” Smith put in. “The Council have good reason to regard him as a target.”
“They died because of Angelus.” Giles made himself say it, even though it hurt and he wanted to blame Angel for Jenny’s death as much as the next man – presuming the next man was Xander and not Wesley – he knew in his heart that it was true. “Angel is a different person.”
“He’s Ted Bundy and Jack the Ripper combined and multiplied in evil to the power of a hundred,” Collins said quietly. “Read the file.”
“I’ve read the file. I'm sure Cordelia and Wesley have too. The fact remains that Angel is not Angelus and he works on the side of good.”
Collins tossed a file onto the table. “Those are the police photographs of what the scene looked like in that wine cellar, Giles. A lot of dead lawyers, drained by vampires with a connection to Angelus, one of them his sire, the other sired by him, whom he signally failed to kill.”
“He tried,” Wesley put in quietly.
Collins put his head on one side. “You know, for a little boy you do seem to be awfully well informed.” He held up the amulet and gazed at Giles. “I see you’ve been researching spells for adults being turned into children. That’s fairy tale stuff, isn’t it?”
“Just curious,” Giles shrugged. “Who hasn’t wondered if it was possible to be young again?”
Collins swung the amulet idly. “A Wish Amulet and a focusing orb. Not thinking of leaving us, are you, Giles?”
“Yeah, you should think that one through.” Weatherby loomed over Wesley. “I hear sometimes being a little kid can really suck.”
“There are things we need to know about Angelus.” Smith looked uneasily between Weatherby and Wesley. “His routine. His weaknesses.”
“So you can kill him?” Giles enquired.
Collins was urbanely reassuring. “Just in case we might need that information later. We hear he’s been associating with demons. Hanging out in demon bars. Wolfram & Hart brought in Darla and Drusilla to push him over the edge and by all the accounts we’ve heard they succeeded.”
“Then your accounts are wrong,” Giles insisted.
“We heard he fired his crew and left them swinging in the breeze.” Weatherby abruptly grabbed Wesley’s shoulder and yanked him away from Giles. “Is that right?”
“Let him go,” Giles started forward and Collins moved in between them.
“We’re here to verify a few things. A fact-finding mission. There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.”
“If you don’t get out of my way and tell your colleague to release my nephew immediately, I can assure you that people certainly will be getting hurt.”
Weatherby yanked up Wesley’s shirt. “Heard Wyndam-Pryce got shot in the gut. Well, what have we here…?”
As Giles tried to grab Weatherby he found a pistol pressed against his jaw by Collins who said, “Let’s not do anything hasty, shall we?”
“Are you willing to use that?” Giles said softly. “Because you’d better be if you’re going to point it at me.”
“Look.” Weatherby spun Wesley around by the shoulders. “Scar right where Wyndam Nancy Boy Pryce took a bullet. I told you it was him.”
Collins pressed the gun to Giles’s temple. “Who is that kid really?”
“I told you,” Giles said through gritted teeth. “My nephew, Nicholas. That’s his appendectomy scar.”
Collins cocked the gun and looked down at Wesley. “Is that right? Because I have to tell you, Rupert, old man, I have no problem with using this on a renegade watcher and blaming it on the vampire you’re so keen to protect. You crossed the line a long time ago as far as I'm concerned and if you’re not with the Council you’re against them. So, who is the boy?”
“My nephew,” Giles insisted.
As Collins made to press his finger to the trigger, Wesley said quickly, “I'm Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.” He pulled loose from Weatherby’s grip, straightening his shirt with what dignity he could muster as a child. “Giles doesn’t know anything. I'm the one who works with Angel. I'm the one you need to talk to.”
Smith stared at him in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be…”
“I'm sure you will be if you’re a party to hurting what is effectively an eight year old boy,” Giles told him swiftly.
Collins removed the gun from Giles’s temple. “So, it’s true, Angelus’s pet humans all got turned into children?”
“What business is it of yours?” Giles demanded, pulling away from the man. “Are you really here on official business, Collins, or is this just you and Weatherby wanting to settle a few old scores?”
Collins nodded to Smith. “Hand me that orb.”
“That’s my property and you have no right to touch it,” Giles said through gritted teeth.
Smith fetched the glass ball from the table and handed it to Collins who weighed it in his hand. “Is that right?” He abruptly hurled it against the wall, making Giles and Wesley both duck instinctively. The crystal shattered, glass spraying everywhere and Wesley visibly swayed in shock and horror. “I figure they’ll be a lot easier to question as children. Starting with this one.”
As at a signal from Collins, Smith made to grab Wesley.
“Get away from him!” Giles landed a punch that sent Smith reeling; only to turn back onto a savage blow from Collins, the man snatching up the poker to finish the job.
“Get off him!” Wesley grabbed Collins’s arm and yanked on it with all his strength.
Collins swung his arm and Giles saw with horror that the man either didn’t care that Wesley was so much lighter than an adult now or else had just miscalculated, for the jerk of Collins’ arm sent Wesley smacking hard into the wall, the little boy crumpling semi-conscious.
“You bastard!” As Giles dived at Collins, he became aware that Weatherby was closing in on him a millisecond too late to avoid a morningstar of pain in his head. He hit the ground and had enough experience of being hit very hard by yet another blunt instrument to know he was only still conscious at all by the skin of his teeth, and that one movement would probably send him spiralling into darkness. Blood trickled from a cut on his head into his eye and he blinked to clear it, seeing Smith easing the dazed Wesley up with something that looked like concern.
“He’s alive,” Smith said, “But he’s not looking too well.”
“Good.” Weatherby grabbed Wesley by the shoulder roughly and shook him. “Wake up, Wyndam-Pryce, you little bastard, and start talking.”
“He’s just a kid,” Smith protested.
“No, he isn’t,” Collins stepped over Giles. “He’s a renegade Watcher who now works for a vampire, who has betrayed his calling, and who played us for fools the last time we met up.”
Wesley gazed up at them and Giles thought he could see the man he was visible in the boy he had become in the stubborn set of his jaw. “I'm not telling you anything.”
“We’ll see about that.” Weatherby grabbed him by the hair and yanked him towards the door.
Giles desperately tried to get to his feet and Collins, hearing him move, turned around and came back to where he was lying. “Thanks for your help, Rupert. It’s much appreciated.”
Then a boot hit his jaw and white light exploded in his head.
***
“Why don’t you sit in the front, Weatherby?” Smith suggested, looking around anxiously as he did so. He presumed, living on a Hellmouth as they did, that the residents of Sunnydale must be used to strange occurrences, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t intervene if they saw three grown men manhandling a dazed little boy. He was hoping to separate Weatherby from Wesley as he didn’t trust to the man’s ability to keep his spite and bad temper in check.
“Why don’t you shut up and get in the car?” Weatherby countered, yanking open the back door and practically throwing Wesley onto the back seat.
Smith saw the boy skid across the leather and hit the far door. The speed with which he grabbed the door handle and twisted it suggested that for all the bruise on his cheekbone and cut on his forehead he still had his wits about him.
From the pavement, Collins slammed the door closed as Wesley tried to get it open. “I don’t think so, son. Not until you’ve answered our questions. Weatherby…?”
“I’ve got him.” Weatherby slid into the other side of the car and grabbed Wesley by the collar, yanking him back close enough to twist his arm spitefully. “Sit down and shut up or I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
Smith heard the boy stifle a cry of pain and winced. “He’s just a kid, Weatherby,” he protested. “Knock it off with the strong arm tactics.”
“No, he looks like a kid, he’s still Wyndam Sodding Pryce in there and I’m going to make him pay for what Wyndam Sodding Pryce did to me.”
Collins started the car and pulled out with great precision and economy, nothing in his driving likely to attract the attention of the police. “Not while we’re in public sight, you’re not, Weatherby,” he said calmly. He glanced in his rear view mirror. “Don’t do anything stupid, Wesley, like trying to attract attention to yourself or call for help. There’s no reason for this to get ugly as long as you cooperate.”
“You just bludgeoned Rupert Giles into unconsciousness,” Wesley said tersely. “I think it’s already got ugly.”
“Shut up.” Weatherby smacked him around the back of the head.
“I know your father,” Collins continued evenly. “And I'm quite sure you know all about little boys needing to be seen and not heard and not answering back and generally being polite and respectful to their elders if they don’t want to suffer the consequences.”
Smith saw Wesley grit his teeth. He was obviously having to fight very hard not to cry, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw that suggested however scared or hurt he was he still wasn’t going to make life easy for them. Smith felt his unease grow. However this went, he didn’t think it was going to end well.
The house had been abandoned some time before. Going by the bloodstains they had found on the parquet, Smith suspected the inhabitants had probably been eaten by something. Proof, he supposed, that the Slayer wasn’t really doing her job here in Sunnydale, or that living on a Hellmouth just caused too many problems for one girl to solve alone.
It had once been a rather grand place but it was musty with neglect now. They had set up in it as soon as they arrived in Sunnydale and knew that it was far enough into the good end of town – where the houses stood in their own grounds and were less inclined to be overlooked by neighbours – for them to be able to carry out their business unobserved.
Right now, Smith wasn’t sure how good a thing that was. Knowing intellectually that this was Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, ally of vampires, and betrayer of his calling, didn’t stop him looking like a thin, pale, little boy whom his colleague was now bullying spitefully. He saw the boy wince, tears in his eyes, as Weatherby twisted his arm again, as he dragged him into the house.
“Stop doing that,” Smith told Weatherby. “I don’t care who he used to be. You can’t torture a little boy.” He turned to Collins. “There are lines we don’t cross.”
Collins shrugged. “Agreed. No one is going to be torturing any children.”
Weatherby looked up in disappointment. “Why not?”
“We’re meant to be the good guys, remember?” Smith pointed out.
Collins led the way into the neglected sitting room. They had got rid of most of the cobwebs but the furniture still smelt as if mice had been nesting it. Collins pointed to a chair. “Sit down, Wesley.” He crossed to where he had the video camera set up, aimed it at Wesley and switched it on.
Weatherby reluctantly released Wesley’s arm and shoved him in the direction of the chair. “You try anything and I'm going to break your arms,” he told him.
“We just want to ask you a few questions, Wesley,” Collins continued calmly. “I hope you’re going to be sensible and help us?”
Wesley looked up at them. He had a cut on his forehead from his nasty collision with the wall and a bruise on his cheekbone from where Weatherby had hit him, his shirt was no longer tucked into his trousers and Collins could see Weatherby’s spiteful fingers had already begun to leave bruises on his wrists. His expression, however, was defiant.
“Oh yes. Why wouldn’t I want to help three gun-toting maniacs who’ve already proven themselves to be liars and would-be murderers?”
Weatherby smacked him across the face before Smith could grab him. He turned on Collins angrily, “Make him stop or I will.”
“Weatherby, that’s enough. Wesley, I suggest you remember your manners before I have to lose my temper with you.”
When Wesley lifted his head there was blood running from his mouth and Smith looked up at the ceiling. “For God’s sake, Weatherby!” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Wesley.
“Thank you,” the little boy said quietly, pressing the handkerchief to his mouth.
“I owe him!” Weatherby protested.
“You owe the man he was. Wait until he’s an adult again before you do that.”
“I don’t think that will be an option,” said Collins comfortably. “Wesley isn’t going to be an adult again. Well, not for a good few years yet. I destroyed the focusing orb that was necessary for the reversal of the spell. So, bearing that in mind, Wesley, I think you’d better think very hard about your future.”
“And your present,” Weatherby told him nastily.
Collins continued evenly: “We know a lot about you. Thanks to your father.”
Wesley looked up in shock and Smith saw that the jibe had gone home. Had they been dealing with the adult Wyndam-Pryce he might even have felt some satisfaction but this was too much like bullying for him to take any pleasure from it.
Wesley licked the blood from his mouth then said quietly, “If you want information about me my father is the last person you should be asking. He doesn’t know anything about me and never has.”
“I disagree,” Collins returned. “You see, after you turned renegade, betrayed your calling and set up as the errand boy for a vampire, we had to report your traitorous conduct to the Council. Your father was deeply grieved, of course, but he did his duty and agreed that as you were now an enemy of everything the Council stood for he would be happy to furnish the Council with information about you that might be useful, the same way he would have done with any other enemy of those who oppose the forces of darkness.”
Wesley swallowed. He looked even paler than before but his voice was even: “I hear a lot from the Council about how they oppose the ‘forces of darkness’ but I don’t see them out there every night risking their lives. I see Buffy in Sunnydale and I see Angel in LA. Where was the Watcher’s Council when the Mayor was ascending? Oh that’s right, sitting safely on their asses back in London while a group of American High School children fought the good fight on their behalf.”
This time Smith managed to grab Weatherby before he hit the boy again. “Stop it,” he said fiercely.
Weatherby looked at him in surprise. “What’s got into you?”
“I saw Buffy there,” Wesley continued relentlessly. “Risking her neck as always. I saw Giles there. I saw Willow and Xander and Cordelia and Oz and Angel. Didn’t see any of you.”
“Do you really think the only battles out there are the ones you happen to witness?” Collins demanded.
“No.” Wesley looked up at him unblinkingly. “But I know how little action I saw when being trained as a Watcher and how much actual good I’ve had a chance to do since working with Buffy and with Angel.”
“Buffy wouldn’t give you the time of day!” Weatherby told him angrily.
Wesley shrugged, a curiously grown up gesture for that narrow little child’s body. “She still saved my life. That’s what she does. Every day. Saves people. So does Angel. What do you three do?”
Weatherby turned to Collins. “You’ve got to let me smack him a few times.”
“No need.” Collins unbuckled his belt deliberately. “There are ways children can be punished that don’t violate any moral codes.”
“You haven’t even asked him anything,” Smith protested. “At least give him a chance to cooperate.”
“Just to make things clear, Wesley.” Collins pulled his belt loose from its keepers. “We will be contacting your father. We will be taking you back to England with us. We will be handing you over to him. Perhaps this time he’ll make a better job of bringing you up as someone who shows loyalty to your own kind.”
Wesley shuddered and dropped his gaze. Smith saw the way all the defiance drained out of him in that moment and he was just a pale scared little boy faced with what seemed to be close to his worst fear.
Collins continued relentlessly: “Having had the pleasure of your father’s company and knowing his views on childcare, I imagine that you will be getting some serious discipline on your return to his care. And going by the way you’ve turned out, not a moment too soon.”
Still with his head bowed, Wesley snatched another panicky breath. Smith hoped the kid didn’t have a history of asthma attacks or he thought he was going to spring a full blown one any minute.
“Or,” Collins added, “you can be tell me about Angelus. Did he kill those lawyers?”
“No.” Wesley snatched another breath. “Darla and Drusilla killed them.”
“But he helped.”
“No.”
“He was involved.”
Wesley looked up and although he was still ghostly pale and looked as if he might be about to be sick any moment his expression was unflinching. “Do you consider yourself involved?”
“What does that mean?”
“At the time those lawyers were being eaten, what were you doing to save them?”
Collins narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t know about it. Our reports say that Angel did. Our reports say that Angel locked those people in with them.”
Wesley faced him, still breathing quickly, but defiance written in his body language. “Do your reports say that I was there?”
“No.”
“So, why are you asking me?”
“Did he fire you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Last time Wolfram & Hart came after him, Cordelia and I were the ones who ended up in the hospital. He felt that separating himself from the rest of us was the best way to keep us safe.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” Weatherby sneered. “That he did it for your own good?”
Wesley faced him unblinkingly. “No, it’s what I'm telling you. Did you get it the first time or would you like me to repeat it?”
“Don’t!” Smith held onto Weatherby’s arm. “I mean it. I don’t care who he used to be, he’s just a little boy now and I'm not letting you hit him in front of me.”
“Get out then,” Weatherby suggested.
“I'm not leaving you alone with him either.” Smith looked at Collins. “Either of you.”
“I knew you’d go soft,” Weatherby sneered. “You were always useless.”
“Where was Angel when you were getting shot, Wesley?” Collins enquired conversationally.
“Trying to find out who was controlling the zombie policemen,” Wesley answered without a pause. “Where were you? Oh, that’s right. Sitting on your backsides in London. As usual.”
“You can’t do good by allying yourself with evil,” Collins retorted.
Wesley looked at Smith. “Words to live by.” He turned back to Collins. “Angel isn’t evil. The demon that possessed his body after he was murdered was evil. That isn’t who he is. That was never who he is. He just got left to carry the can for that demon’s crimes. Think about it. Do you really think Wolfram & Hart are good people? Now think about how much effort they’ve put into trying to derail Angel from his destiny. Doesn’t that suggest to you that Angel’s destiny must be to do a lot of good?”
“He’s a vampire,” Weatherby snarled. “He should be dust and you should have been the guy who dusted him by now. Any Watcher worth his salt would have done.”
“Well, I wasn’t worth my salt, was I?” Wesley returned evenly. “That’s why the Council fired me.”
“It’s not too late, Wesley,” Collins said. “You can retrain. Your father would give you another chance. So would the Council. You’ve made mistakes, it’s true, but, unlike most people, you’ve been given a chance to live your life over again. This time you could be a Watcher your father could be proud of.”
Smith saw the words go home, saw the wince, but Wesley held up his chin defiantly. “Oh yes, because the way things are now I'm no longer able to have the honour of calling people like you my colleagues. I have to settle for a man who’s been fighting vampires from the age when the worst problem most Watchers have to deal with is memorizing their Latin prep, a woman who has given up every other aspect of her life to be a conduit for the extremely painful visions of the Powers That Be just in the hope of helping some of the people out there who are suffering, and a vampire who has done more good for humanity in the past few years that any member of the Watcher’s Council has done in a lifetime. What a tragedy for me.”
“You will be going back to England, Wesley,” Collins returned calmly. “And that kind of an attitude isn’t going to do you any good. I’d hate to have to tell your father about how badly you’ve been behaving.” He shook out the belt and it snapped threateningly.
“No,” Smith said quietly.
“Shut it,” Weatherby told him.
Smith ignored him to look at Collins. “No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I'm not going to let you hit him with that.”
Wesley looked up at Smith in surprise while Collins only shrugged. “Who says I was intending to?”
“Oh, come on,” Weatherby protested. “He deserves a belting and more.”
“I tend to agree with you.” Collins caught Wesley by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. “But he won’t be getting it from me. I'm not an unreasonable man and I'm happy to give Wesley some space and quiet to think about his attitude and how he might like to improve it.” He spun Wesley around and pulled his arms behind his back, lashing his wrists together with the belt, and pulling it tight enough to make the little boy wince.
“Just wait until Daddy finds out what a bad little boy you’ve turned into,” Weatherby sneered. “You’re not going to see daylight until your voice breaks.”
Grabbing Wesley by the shoulder again, Collins pulled him towards the hallway.
“What are you doing?” Smith pressed.
“I'm going to give Wesley some time to think about his behaviour and see if he wouldn’t like to be a lot more cooperative to people who are only trying to help him.”
“Help me to betray my friends?” Wesley stumbled as the man shoved him rapidly across the parquet floor of the hallway and only Collins’ iron grip on his shirt held him up. “That’s never going to happen.”
“We’ll see.” Collins smiled as he reached the cupboard under the stairs, pulling open the door with a flourish. The place was revealed to be dank, dark and cobwebby. Something skittering away from the light as the door opened that sounded very rat-like.
Smith saw Wesley visibly blanche. “I won’t tell you anything,” he said in a small voice but he was already trembling.
Collins’ smile grew wider. “Oh, I think you will. After a few hours. Or days if necessary. Your father really was very helpful.” Then he shoved Wesley hard into the dark space and slammed the door on him. “Just call out when you’re ready to come out.” He bolted the door and turned around, dusting his hands. “A couple of hours and I think we’ll see a result.”
“You should have belted him,” Weatherby complained darkly.
“Trust me,” Collins patted Weatherby on the shoulder as he passed him. “This is better.”
Smith looked back at the bolted door and thought about that skinny little boy huddled in the dark, probably trying to tell himself that those gleams in the shadows weren’t the eyes of rats after all. At least this way no one was hitting him, he just wished he could have shaken off the feeling that if it came to being locked up in the dark or suffering the worst beating in the world, Wesley would have chosen the beating every time...
***
