Shadows across the heart

TITLE: Shadows across the heart
AUTHOR: Willie J
EMAIL: wmj166@yahoo.com
ARCHIVE SITE(S): http://parrot.nearheralways.com/index.php, http://www.brain-insane.com/beyondcanon/, http://www.adult-fanfiction.org
PAIRINGS: A/X, G/Wes/Fred, implied Ethan/Giles
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any part of Buffy et all, not Angel the Series.
FEEDBACK: Oh please send me feedback, privately or through the list
DISTRIBUTION: List Archives
SPOILERS:
BETA'D BY: Calidragon, Ely Jean, Trish (as you can see I needed lots of help)

Chapter 12

As the months passed, the two sets of do-gooders made determined efforts to be together and reestablish their shaky, fragile bonds, struggling to grow closer. While no one had been injured critically in the battle against the Shadow Queen, it wasn’t to say that their mental injuries were any less troublesome.

Buffy was the first to notice that their frequent togetherness, surrounded by the comforting warmth of family and friends, eased the malignant foulness that the Shadow Queen had left behind. As hard as they individually tried, each of the valiant defenders found themselves jumping at shadows, sleeping with the lights on, even freezing at a whisper of noise.

However, they found that by being together, laughing, playing...simply having fun, they were inch-by-inch reclaiming the joy that had once enriched their lives. It wasn’t easy, not by a long shot. They didn’t fool themselves into believing that some miracle would occur and they would regain the joie de vie they once knew. Some days were far worse than others were. Yet they persevered and refused to give in to the foul corruption that was part of the legacy of the Shadow Queen. Gradually they found the good days were slowly exceeding the bad days.

However, they knew…a dark knowledge was in their eyes. The Shadow Queen’s evil marred them, and she would probably laugh delightedly at the destruction that she had wrought, especially to a Guardian…to Xander in particular. However, she would not laugh for long. The two groups were growing stronger each day.

The others held their breath, as Xander and Buffy tentatively felt their way back to each other. What it cost Buffy . . .she of the ancient line of Slayers, the Chosen One decreed by Destiny, the Defender of humankind…was to always know the price Willow and Xander willingly paid. To realize that, even with all her power and might, she had been virtually helpless and in the dark about what was going on. The others would never know the sickening rage and despair that had her in an inexorable grip. That was driving her insane, the knowledge that her friends had paid a horrendous price to protect her.

They paid, not her.

All the others knew was that Xander and Buffy spent almost an entire day sealed away in a room together. A room that not even Angel could gain access within.

However, when the door opened, revealing two clear-eyed, though tearful Sunnydalers, their family and friends could see parts of Buffy’s and Xander’s torn and tattered souls healing. The place where Willow had once rested, no longer gaped with a raw, unhealthy freshness.

* * *

Wes smiled affectionately at his oblivious lover who was now arguing heatedly with Fred. His look was one of quiet, restrained happiness.

She was certainly a little spitfire, he mused admiringly. A growing surety in her place within the two groups had brought a startling change. On the other hand, maybe it was not quite a change, at least not according to Ethan. The man merely smirked knowingly at them the first time they ran headlong into Fred’s stubborn and intractable nature. She gradually let down the protective front she had developed during her years as a slave on Pylea. Some of the things she spoke softly about, when the three of them were alone, still had the power to make him shudder with rage. If he had the power, he would have opened a portal so he and Gunn could visit their justice upon the demons that had tormented her.

A cold, cruel smile slid across Wes’ face. One day he and Gunn would find a way there.

“Yo, Wes, you okay man?” Gunn asked quietly, slightly perturbed at the look darkening his lover’s face.

Wes started, abruptly brought out of his angry thoughts by the concerned look on Gunn’s face. There was a look of quiet understanding in his lover’s eyes when their eyes met. They exchanged a look, the same rage lying in both their souls. An unmistakable promise of retribution was in the fleeting glance they shared.

Fred glanced inquiringly at the two men, a slight frown on her face that eased with the gentle smile that crossed Wes’ face. She relaxed subtly, leaning into the hand he stretched across over the counter to stroke her face. “Yes…perfectly okay,” he answered Gunn, his attention on Fred.

Again, Wes mused on how different his two loves were to each other. Perhaps that was why he loved them so. Gunn, while blunt and outspoken in his opinion, actually took the time to consider his words before speaking his mind. His roughness tempered by love and concern. Fred, on the other hand, seemed to have no trouble expressing herself. Her feelings, her thoughts tumbled irrepressibly from her mouth. No longer did she attempt to hide in the background. If she had something to say, she spoke her mind.

It made his and Gunn’s pursuit of her something that provided endless amusement for the others, he reflected wryly. She wasn’t giving in to their blandishments or enticements. Stubbornly she insisted on time; time for her to be certain of their love and time to be certain that she would not come between them.

Time was all she asked.

And time was what they gave her. They wouldn’t have it any other way. The mystery of Fred was something to savor, to relish. In getting to know her, they deepened their knowledge of each other.

All his thoughts and feelings, the love and tenderness Wes felt for Fred was in his eyes. Feelings Gunn shared.

“You’re sure?” Fred asked doubtfully.

For an answer, Wes leaned over and kissed her. The surprised expression on her face made him chuckle softly when he drew back. Gunn kissed her too for good measure, thoroughly tasting the honeyed warmth of her mouth.

“The man says he’s…” Gunn began to reply huskily, but some instinct made him look at Wes. The unnatural pallor and frozen stiffness of his lover alarmed him. It made him remember the shocked look on Wes’ face when zombies had shot the Englishman.

He was staring over their shoulders. Then a shuttered, closed look descended on Wes’ face.

“Father,” was uttered in such a flat, toneless voice it made both Fred and Gunn spin in wary surprise. The lack of inflection in Wes’ voice made it plain just how unwelcome the rotund man framed in the doorway was.

Gunn’s reaction was the most noticeable. His lips thinned out into a flat, dangerous line. He even seemed to bulk up, becoming larger…threatening. His face resembled a carved ebony mask. Fred, on the other hand, seemed to shrink. Becoming smaller, if possible, taking her cue from the two men, as she effortlessly pulled her nervous, anxious persona about her like a shield.

Hiding in plain sight as Cordy admiringly called it.

Of the two, people always took Gunn for the more dangerous one; arrogantly dismissing Fred from further consideration. By the time they realized the nervous, fidgety girl, was far too close to them…it was too late.

Vincent Wyndam-Price ignored his son’s lack of enthusiasm for his presence as he stepped into the hotel lobby. Calmly he glanced around the lobby, a faint distressed look gracing his high-bred, patrician face as he gazed about. In actuality, he wasn’t looking at the graceful, old-world beauty inherent in the grande hotel. Nor the way faultless care and attention to detail that was etched into the hand-crafted molding that Xander was repairing with exquisite care.

All he saw was his son.

Two stoic looking men trailed after the man, they gazed about with cold flat eyes. They were obviously bodyguards, Gunn decided.

A voluptuously, beautiful woman sauntered at his side, blonde hair, vivid green eyes, and a decidedly curvaceous figure made her movements seem like the prelude to a bump n’ grind. A slut was Fred charitable opinion.

Hair piled high in a seemingly careless, tumble of curls; makeup so artfully applied, she looked untouched by artifice means. The severity of her tweed suit only emphasized the sensual allure of her body. The knowing gleam in her eyes made it plain that she capitalized on the generous aspects of her body.

“Son,” Vincent finally acknowledged his only progeny mildly. Yet Wesley stiffened minutely, accurately reading the look in his father’s bland gaze. Despite living halfway around the world, he somehow managed to fall short in his father’s eyes. Nothing had changed; nor would it ever, he realized tiredly.

That subtle look of disappointment, the look of disdain…they were ever so familiar. They were the looks he had seen throughout childhood. No matter what he did, no matter the successes he achieved, he would always be a failure in his father’s eyes.

However, something had changed, at least within him. For the first time, he didn’t feel the need to rush into stumbling apologies. Wesley glanced around the hotel, seeing the look of shabby chic gracing the lobby and he felt pride. He was proud and satisfied with what he had a hand in building within this hotel.

A business that helped other; a life to be cherished and enjoyed to the fullest and group of friends that had become his family.

He straightened and met his father’s eyes, his head held high. This place…his life was none of his father’s business, yet under the counter, his hands slowly curled into tight fists.

The senior Wyndham-Price looked critically at the nervously smiling girl standing slightly behind the large black youth. Silently sniffing, he dismissed her with a flick of his eyes. However, he was grudging grateful that at least the boy was involved with a human. His eyes slid to Gunn, and a female at that.

Thankfully, his son’s penchant for male sexual encounters was just a phase, a fact he had told the foolish boy several times. It was bad enough to have Wesley working and living in such close proximity with a demon, but to have him believe he was in love with such a creature. Bringing such disgrace on the Wyndham-Price name….Dear God, what was the child thinking?

His bland, reptilian eyes rested on the large, black man. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly at the cold hostility radiating from those brown eyes. The indomitable will reflected in the young man’s hard, cold stare gave him pause. Nodding to himself, he decided one Mr. Charles Gunn would need removal from his son’s life post haste. There was no sense in giving Wesley ideas.

Now that Wesley was back on right track with females, it would be a mere matter of easing Miss Winifred Burkle out and a much more appropriate female in. A proper, handpicked girl from a fine established family.

His mouth quirked, perhaps Shelby would like to marry his son, was his jovial thought.

The heavy silence growing, Wesley spoke, his reluctance clear in his voice. “Father, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?” His tone made it perfectly clear just how much he wished such a dubious honor were visited on someone else. Preferably, on the other side of the world, China, perhaps.

Gunn’s white teeth flashed in an aborted grin at Wesley’s decidedly lack of welcome. Fred turned hastily away, but the senior Wyndam-Price saw her twitching lips.

Shelby turned up the wattage on her smile when Wesley’s eyes flicked in her direction.

“Can’t a father visit his only son?” Vincent answered instead. He made a tsking sound expressing his disapproval. Wesley simply stared at him, little give in his face.

“But you’re quite correct. It’s not you that I came to visit. You were merely in the vicinity. It would be passing strange were I not to chance a visit with my son. Good manners dictate such, one would think?”

“Now, perhaps you might care to introduce me to your companions?” His dry tone made it clear that Wesley was in serious danger of behaving like an ill-bred yokel.

Wesley’s jaw tightened as the familiar feeling of impotence and frustration tried to welled inside him. Savagely he fought it down, chastising himself for allowing his father to get to him. Just once, he wished his father could see him as a son to be proud of. It was a childish feeling, he knew, to wish for such. His father would never change. If he could not, would not show affection when his son was a mere child, it was highly unlikely his father would do so now.

“Charles Gunn, Winifred Burkle, please allow me to introduce my father, Vincent Wyndam-Price,” he said grudgingly.

“Very good, Wesley,” Vincent said approvingly, as if to a small child. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he continued with a small inclination of his head. “I would say that Wesley has told me all about you, but I fear the child rarely mentions any of his…
friends.”

‘That’s because you never want to hear,’ Wesley wanted to shout, however he remained silent, refusing to be drawn into this silly game with his father.

However, his friends had seen more than one falsely smiling face to be deceived by this man.

Vincent gestured to the stunningly beautiful woman standing next to him. “This is my assistant, Shelby Stanhope, a most invaluable aid in my work. She’s very good at what she does.” He smiled fondly at the woman.

Oh, I just bet she is, Gunn rather cynically thought, eyeing the woman critically. At the look in her eyes, he knew he was right about her. Ain’t nothing but a damn skeezer.

Coming around the counter, Wesley stood between Gunn and Fred, never taking his attention from his father. “Perhaps you might be kind enough to tell me the nature of your visit?” he asked tiredly. Gunn stirred at his side, outrage swelling within at the lost, defeated tone in his Wes’ voice.

Fred stepped close to the men, her expression shifting much like the flash of steel of a sword was partially withdrawn from its scabbard.

“Perhaps we might be of help?” Wesley suggested politely. He shook off his off his feelings of uselessness. He had friends, a group of people that surrounded him with care and affection.

“Hardly,” the elder drawled dismissively. Behind him, the door opened and the imposing, pompous figure of Quentin Travers strolled into the lobby, trailed by two more bodyguards.

Quentin glanced around, a visible sneer on his fleshy face. He seemed to fill the lobby with his blustering, domineering presence. His overwhelming arrogance gave the impression that THEY were the visitors and he the host, suffering with ill grace their boorish presence.

“Oh bloody marvelous,” Wesley muttered beneath his breath. Fred and Gunn darted confused looks at him.

His lips thinned, in a near bloodless line, Wesley closed his eyes and groaned softly. There was going to be trouble. He just knew it!

“Hey, Wes have you seen…dammit!”

And here’s Buffy! Wesley thought with morbid amusement.

Buffy halted her tumbling pace down the stairs at the unwelcome sight of Travers. Her expression hardened as she slowly descended the wide, curving stairs.

The bodyguards subtly drew closer to their charges. Their faces flattening in response to the dangerous, vibrating tension that coiled through the lobby.

Buffy abruptly smiled charmingly at the men as she sauntered further down the stairs. “Travers, I would say ‘How are you doing?’ which naturally would be the polite greeting.” She waited a beat. “But we both know I don’t give a shit about you and would just as soon dance a very happy, joyous dance over your grave. So let’s cut to the chase. What the hell do you want?” she demanded coldly.

“Buffy Summers, still as charmingly outspoken as ever,” Travers drawled with all the frosty disdain at his command. How he detested the girl! Always flouting the rules, as far as he was concerned, she was the worse example of a Slayer that had ever lived. He just wished some demon got lucky and killed the silly chit, at least that way the Council would at last have a proper Slayer.

Xander came bounding down the steps, Casiwe alerting him to the developing situation in the hotel lobby. He was hastily pulling on his shirt and trying, with limited success, to brush off the sand from the beach.

There was a look of dismay on his face, however, at the sight of Quentin Travers. “Crap,” he muttered softly. Resigned to being the peacemaker, he continued his hasty descent to the lobby floor. He was a bit out of breath, but he managed to get to Buffy before she hauled off and hit somebody.

“Mr. Travers…uhm, to what do we owe the pleasure?” he asked. He struggled with the effort to recall all various lessons in diplomacy and tact that Giles and Wesley were hell-bent on drumming into his head.

“Why bother asking? Just kick him and his gombah friends out!” Buffy chirped brightly, a wide cheerful smile on her face.

“Buffy,” Xander hissed urgently, a look of warning in his eyes. “Remember that little ‘talk’ Giles had with us about diplomacy? And what Ethan was gonna do to us if we upset Giles again?”

She blanched, her eyes widening a trifle. “Fine,” she grumbled, settling down. She crossed her arms and glared at the men. “I just wanna go on record as saying no good ever came from having HIM around!”

Shelby kept her face studiously blank. However, inside she was reeling with the shock at their attitude. Moreover, she was finding excessive enjoyment to see the old pompous windbag set back. Her disinterested eyes wandered over to the tall, young man. Alexander L. Harris, according to the reports Vincent had on the boy, friend of the Slayer. Hmmm, wonder where the little red head is? Willow, the third part of the usually inseparable trio.

Her attention returned to where the Slayer and Quentin were trading irate scowls. She hid a smile. Somehow, she didn’t think Quentin was going to get the best of the girl.

Drawing on his age and experience, Quentin disengaged from the glaring contest, annoyed with himself for even allowing the silly chit to draw him into her pathetic little world.

“Vincent, I believe that now your filial duty has been suitably addressed, it’s time to take our leave,” he stated austerely. Turning away, he grandly ignored the quiet ‘hurrah’ Buffy gave.

However, with spite gleaming in his eyes, he casually added, “I’m quite sure the newest avatar of the Guardian of the West should not be kept waiting.” At the abrupt silence behind him, he allowed a smirk to play on his face. Turning smoothly, a smug look in his eyes, he savored the blank looks on their faces. Though it was a pity that GIRL was too brainless to comprehend the sheer magnitude, the fulsome honor it was to meet a Guardian. Why, he personally had the privilege of conversing with Lady Alexis, Guardian of the South and Lord Aglakti, Guardian of the North, for several hours many years ago! That had certainly put a feather in his cap and gave rise to his promotion within the Council.

Wesley blinked. He cast look towards Xander, an unspoken query in his eyes. The young man shrugged and spread his hands, putting the decision in Wesley’s hands.

Turning back to the Council members, Wes spoke. “The Guardian, you say?” he asked with some hesitancy.

“Yes, perhaps you heard of them? Surely even immured in this dreadful place, you’ve heard of the Four Guardians of the World?” his father asked. However, his tone made it obvious that he had his doubts about Wesley’s knowledge of just about anything.

His son stiffened, his face once again tightening. Wesley switched gears, his hands iron hard and restraining on both a riled up Fred and his pit bull of a lover, Gunn.

“Like many of the leading players, we, that is, the Council, received our invitations to pay our respect to the newest Guardian,” Quentin coughed depreciatingly; he smiled thinly at the staring people. There was a look of triumph on his florid face.

Fred, Gunn, Buffy and Wesley turned narrow, accusing eyes on Xander. At his aghast, dismayed expression, they relaxed. They knew he was not the cause of the sudden influx of Watchers.

“By the way, Wesley,” his father said offhandedly as he followed Quentin, “Your mother says hello.”

Shelby paused, and perforce so did Vincent. He glanced inquiringly down into her face then directed his attention over his shoulder to his son.

“Where is she?” Wesley gritted out. He had managed so far not to ask that question, knowing he was would open himself to his father’s merciless attack.

Try as she might, he had long since realized that his mother was a powerless, a virtual prisoner in her own home, she had bought his freedom at the price of her own. His father was willing to let one of them go, but not both. One was insurance against the other. Jessica chose her son.

Wesley remembered the days at Watchers’ Academy. How nervous and terrified he was. Fearful of making even the slightest mistake, he became slightly obsessed with rules. The thought of having his blessed freedom abruptly taken away was what made him such an exemplary Head Boy. He was a by the book, hide-bound Watcher, never straying from doctrine, never taking a chance.

Narrow and rigid, he was the perfect Watcher.

As a reward, he found himself sent to America, to replace a ‘failed’ Watcher. Very much like Giles, he found the American Slayer functioning in a very atypical manner. The rules he had spent so much time impressing into his brain, were not exactly being applied in a Council approved manner. He was reasonably certain, pounding a demon senseless with a research text was not in part of the rules that he knew, was his wry thought.

Yet he learned something important, while consigned to the outside of that very, tight group. Only by throwing away the rules, the regulations of the Council dictates did he find freedom and himself.

Wesley snapped out of his reverie as his father spoke again. “Oh, I’m sorry I thought I had told you,” the older man murmured and he turned as if surprised.

His act fooled no one, especially not with that crocodile smile curving his thin lips.

“She’s out in the car,” Shelby spoke, smoothly stealing his thunder. A mock concerned look swept over her face. “Poor old thing, after her surgery, she was practically confined to bed. Why I even had to move into your father’s home to make sure things ran efficiently.” She smiled, running a hand down one shapely hip.

“Oh, she just did not go there,” Buffy muttered softly, her face darkening with fury. Only Xander’s hand on her arm kept her in place.

“She’s been of great assistance to me with your mother’s incapacitation,” Vincent said blandly. However, there was look of dark, sensual knowledge in his eyes. It did not take a mental genius to guess exactly whom she was helping in the middle of the night.

“I’m quite sure,” Wesley replied coldly. His eyes swept contemptuously up and down Shelby’s curvaceous figure.

The skin at the corner of her eyes tightened faintly at his look. For a brief second, they saw something ugly and dangerous glitter in her eyes before a smile of surpassing sweetness curved her lips. Buffy raised her brows and exchanged glances with Xander. Without a word exchanged, the five friends’ bodies became loose and easy. They were ready for anything.

With a flick of her eyes, Shelby dismissed them all. Her entire focus locked on Wesley. She knew his weakness. In a move worthy of Angelus, she went smoothly for the kill.

In some indescribable way, Shelby seemed to soften and curve comfortably into Vincent. “Your poor mother, she’s such a funny old thing! She’s so sweet I could just pinch her cheeks!” she tittered, a mocking gleam in her catlike eyes. “Jessica is quite determined to regain all her strength, but I keep telling her that at her age, recovery time is maddeningly slow and arduous. While she was infirmed, your father asked me to take over the running of the household. Poor Jessica…she frets so much, but I’ve assured her that I have everything tightly in hand and under my very firm control. Why, the people who visit with your father have barely noticed her absence below stairs.”

Wesley was livid. He struggled to think past the fury that threatened to engulf him. Shakily he breathed in and out, fighting for control.

At the fury that raged in the man’s eyes, Shelby’s smile widened with sweet malice. “So don’t you worry about your dear father, I assure you, I am taking care of all his…needs.” There was such blatant lasciviousness in her words that now it was Gunn and Fred’s duty to hold Wesley tightly to stop him from putting a balled fist in the woman’s face.

Buffy glared at the woman, her hands coiling into fists. She remarked in a low, yet perfectly audible voice, “That bitch’s balls are almost as big as Cordy’s!”

Stanford swelled with anger at the girl’s cheekiness. Whirling, he pinned her with an icy imperious glare of his own. “How dare you?! You will watch your mouth, girl, when you speak to your betters!”

“Tell you what; you point out a couple of ‘em and I’ll be sure to mind my manners. I think that’s kinda fair? Don’t you?” She raised brow, her eyes cool and mocking at the furious look that flashed in his eyes. Then her face seemed to flatten into a hard and dangerous look. She walked closer to them with a smooth, cold deliberation. Her eyes were coming alive with righteous fury as she stalked closer.

The bodyguards swiftly moved to place their charges behind them. Their faces set in equally hard and grim lines.

Quentin took one look at Buffy’s face and decided that was time for him to leave. A quick glance of his eyes pulled his guards’ attention to him, and they departed quickly.

“But right now, all I see is a couple of bodyguards, a pompous fat ass and his jacked up whore. I’m sorry Wes, but your dad’s an old fart!” Buffy exclaimed, turning to the man.

Vincent’s eyes widened, his face paling with shock at the girl’s language and sheer disrespect. “Wesley! Are you going to let her speak to me like that?” he shouted, his air of cool superiority vanishing as his temper got the better of him.

Wesley blinked, goggling at his father’s loss of control. He glanced at Buffy in awe, astonished at her audacity.

She smile modestly, waving her hands in an ‘aw shucks’ manner. “What can I say? It’s a gift.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

He looked at his father and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry Father, she is the Slayer after all.”

The older Wyndham-Price’s eyes narrowed. Then his expression seemed to relax, making Wesley stiffen in apprehension. Vincent allowed a faint smile on his face. “You were such a promising young lad. A pity. Very well then, as I see where your ‘loyalties’ lie, I believe I shall depart. I will extend, of course, your goodbyes to your mother. She was so looking forward to seeing your face.” His smile grew at the struck look that suddenly overtook Wesley’s face.

Shelby smirked when Buffy clapped her hands over her mouth, a guilty look on the girl’s tiny face.

“Ta,” she trilled mockingly as she took Vincent’s arm. Together they swept out the doors.

“Oh damn…me and my big mouth,” Buffy groaned in dismay. She rushed to a frozen Wesley, gingerly touching his arm. Her eyes were distraught and full of worry. “Wes, I’m sorry…it’s like sometimes with me, open mouth and insert foot! Maybe if I run out and grovel, apologize a lot…you think he’ll let you talk to your mom?” Taking his silence for assent, she turned to dash out the door.

An iron band around her upper arm held her back. Looking up, she shivered at the queer smile on Wesley’s face. “I have a much better idea…” he said softly, still staring at the door.

Quietly he finished explaining and it was their turn to look at him in awe. Cackling with laughter, they eagerly raced up the stairs and to the elevators.

* * *

Jessica flinched imperceptibly when her husband forcefully entered the car. With the skill of long practice, she kept her face immobile and bland. At the curt growl directed at the driver, the car smoothly began to move. Though disappointed that she would not be able to see her son, she was elated that Wesley was not with Vincent. Everything she had worked towards had at last come to fruition. Her son was free. Vincent couldn’t touch him now.

Jessica turned her face out towards the window, watching the passing scenery with unseeing eyes.

The others in the car began discussing Council business, acting as if she didn’t exist, and in their minds, she didn’t. Allowing their conversation to wash over her, Jessica calmly reviewed her plans of escape. It was five long, arduous years in the making but at last, she would be free.

Or dead, she thought carelessly. Either way, she would no longer have to abide Vincent’s soul destroying presence. The Council abhorred demons, but the fools didn’t realize that humans could be just inhuman as demons. Vampires, in draining your blood, took away your life; Vincent, in draining your soul, left you functional and very much aware of everything going on around you.

Soon it would be all over. Come hell or high water, she would be free. A faint smile crossed her gently lined face.

Vincent eyed his wife with cool, distant eyes. It would be quite easy to arrange a nice, convenient little accident for her. She had just about exhausted her usefulness. His eyes turned to the exotically sexy girl beside him. His loins stirred at the sloe-eyed look she gave him. Yes, hiring the sinfully multi-talented Shelby was one of his more brilliant ideas.

Yes, a quick and tidy accident while in America would be just the thing for his dear wife.

Quentin eyed Vincent and mentally shook his head. There was no fool like an old fool. Vincent Wyndham-Price had to win the booby prize for being the biggest fool of them all. Did he really think he was enough to satisfy a sexy young bird like Shelby?


An hour later, the limousine reached its destination. Exiting the car, everyone’s eyes widened at the quiet tastefulness of the Western Guardian’s sumptuous palatial home.

“Wow,” Shelby whispered half to herself. Her eyes glittered with greed when they were ushered into wide, beautifully wrought foyer. Exquisite works of art graced the walls while large and small objects d’art took their places on various ornate stands.

Quentin frowned darkly at the numerous people milling around, some sitting or casually standing, talking amongst one another. His eyes narrowed as a couple of demons strolled through the throng, stopping and chatting here and there with humans. What were clearly waiters passed through the crowd with platters of food and drink, effortlessly cutting through the multitude.

“What is the meaning of this?” he grumbled. Drawing himself up to his full height, he gazed imperiously around. However, he was a bit disturbed and uneasy at the thronging crowd. Already he recognized several prominent wizards, sorceress’ and other such magic users standing around talking.

A blonde woman standing overlooking the foyer hurried down the winding grand staircase. Coming to an abrupt stop before the Council representatives, she had a distracted look on her face. “There you are,” she exclaimed with brisk officiousness. “Come along, you’re keeping everyone waiting.” Gesturing to them to follow, she turned back around and made her way through the parting crowd.

Quentin frowned, a faint memory teasing at his mind. “I know you,” he said slowly, following the girl.

Anya tossed him an impatient, irritated look. These people were seriously cutting into her Spending Xander’s Money Time. Angry, she didn’t bother answering the man. Her face was set in grim lines. Somebody had better have a good explanation as to why she had to be the one to come and get these people. Two more minutes, she and Cordy would have been in Paris! Just two lousy minutes! Besides, it wasn’t even her turn to play Greeter.

Casting a look behind her, she noticed one of the women was lagging very far behind. She stopped and frowned. “Are you always this slow?” Her face reflected only honest puzzlement. However, the others had stopped as well. They gave Jessica angry, threatening looks promising severe retribution if the woman didn’t step up her pace.

Jessica looked up, her face, as ever, calm and serene. Though her heart was beating laboriously and her limbs trembled alarmingly, she smiled blandly at the young woman. Hiding her embarrassment and near total exhaustion behind a blank exterior, she replied, “Only when I’ve been ill, and recuperating for the better part of a year.”

“Oh.” Anya studied the older woman with penetrating eyes. Then stretching to her full, if modest, height she scanned the crowd. Calmly she ignored the resentful glares cast their way. Many of the restless people had been waiting for days to see the Guardian.

Catching the eye of a massive Warrior, she summoned him with a quick gesture. In short order, Ja’ko was reluctantly standing before her.

“Carry her, she’s been sick,” Anya ordered with an airy wave of her hand.

The Warrior grimly eyed the short, impatient human. If he protested he knew Master Angel’s Third Advisor would nag him mercilessly; discretion being the better part of valor, he simply picked up the astonished woman and waited for Anya to move. The others looked on in dumbstruck shock.

“Not Ms. Sex in the City! The other one,” Anya screeched, with an exasperated roll of her eyes.

Dumping Shelby rudely, Ja’ko turned angry eyes on the former Vengeance Demon. “Then you should have said so in the first place,” he snapped back. Reaching for Jessica, he paused, searching the aged woman’s eyes. Carefully, with excruciating tenderness and gentleness, he eased the older woman into his arms.

Gazing into her widened eyes, he inclined his head. “Greetings, Mistress…my friends call me Ja’ko.”

Jessica glanced wildly around. When he had first picked her up, only rigid control prevented the rather childish squeak she felt building in her throat. Swallowing hard, she quivered before getting control of herself. “Ja’ko…I’m Jessica Wy….”

“Put my wife down!” Vincent drawled with cold, repressive hauteur. His eyes could have easily frozen molten lava they were so icy.

Ja’ko turned his head slowly. Peering from his greater height, he calmly regarded the little chubby human. “No,” he replied simply. Turning, he strode easily through the crowd and began a casual conversation with the woman in his arms.

Vincent huffed, blinking in angry displeasure. His lips thinned in a flat line. It was disgraceful the way Jessica was behaving!

“Can we go now?” Anya grumbled impatiently, drawing him from his angry thoughts.

“Where is he taking her?” he demanded.

“Where we’re supposed to be going! D’uh! Now let’s go! He’s waiting for us. Sheesh,” she muttered under her breath as she strode away.

As they traveled through the palatial mansion, Quentin began questioning the young woman. “What exactly is your role? I mean, what is your position?” he questioned with unwonted delicacy, heeding his inner warning to tread with extreme care.

“Me? Oh, I’m one of the Defender’s Senior Advisors. There’s five of us to the Guardian’s four,” she snickered softly, her eyes dancing with amusement. “They get outvoted a lot,” she said confidingly, winking at the confused man.

Then they were at a set of beautiful, massive doors. “Casiwe,” Anya said calmly, stroking the ornate doors. Silently they opened.

The Council representatives stared into the dimly lit room, each feeling a disquieting sensation of reality shifting around them; and a need to exercise judicious vigilance rose paramount in their minds. They warily stepped forward and followed the woman into the room.

From what they could see, the room was mundanely normal, though that did not quiet their unsettling sense of otherworldliness. A comfortable couch and chairs were easily visible and arranged with their backs to the doors, set at an angle. A pool of light cast a soothing glow on the cozy seating arrangement.

Anya gestured to the couch and chairs. “Have a seat. The Guardian’s First Advisor will be with you in a sec,” she said casually as she sauntered into the room.

Quentin raised a brow, but followed the girl. The memory of where he had seen her drawing closer in his mind. Sitting down, he let out a soft exclamation at how incredibly comfortable the chair was.

“Where is my wife?” Vincent growled in a dangerous tone. He stalked further into the room and sat on the couch. Shelby seated herself calmly next to him. The low lighting in the room made trying to view the room difficult. However, she had the distinct impression that the dimensions of the room were something to be marvel at.

Ja’ko strode into the room, animatedly holding forth on some subject with Vincent’s wife. Vincent’s eyes narrowed coldly, settling on Jessica’s vivacious face. She had a look of interest and intelligence that had been missing for many years.

Involved in her conversation with Ja’ko, Jessica didn’t notice Vincent’s glaring eyes.

Plastering a gently amused expression on his face, he spoke. “Jessica, there you are! I thought for a minute that Ja’ko had stolen you away…how utterly silly of me to believe such a fanciful notion!” He laughed lightly, as if to allow everyone a bit of humor at his silly idea.

Ja’ko paused in his conversation with Jessica. Looking at the man, his eyes were scarily empty as he spoke coldly. “Only my friends are permitted to use my selfname. You will address me as Ja’EmanyKo.” He paused. “Or I will kill you.” Vincent blinked, taken aback by that flat statement. He looked uncertainly at the blonde woman, then back at the demon, unsure whether or not the demon was joking.

Turning back to the woman in his arms, Ja’ko resumed their conversation. “So, you’re saying that the soil needs to be in the right mixture to grow roses? The tulips, what did you think about them?”

Jessica blinked, glancing warily at her silently fuming husband then at the large demon that had just given her a tour of a most magnificent garden she had ever had the privilege to see. While she couldn’t be sure, what with him being a demon, Ja’ko sounded like an anxious, slightly proud father. Then she smiled, understanding his question.

“Did you grow them? They are beautiful!” she replied warmly, her smile widening at the light of happiness that radiated from his eyes. She could swear he was blushing.

Carefully, he eased her into one of the chairs then lowered himself to the floor, ready to continue their conversation. He suddenly stiffened and seemed to listen for a second before rising to his feet. Rigidly he stood at attention.

Anya rolled her eyes and pulled an emery board from her pocket. Idly she began to shape her nails.

There came the sound of a door opening, deep in the dimmest part of the room. There came the sound of footsteps, many feet; several people. There was a deliberate pace to the steps, as if the people were in no hurry. The room began growing brighter as the steps drew closer.

Closer still, until…

“Hello father,” Wesley said quietly, his eyes grave and still in his remote face. Buffy stood to his left, while Ethan occupied his right. Five massive Warriors towered behind them.

“First Advisor, Second Advisor, Third Advisor to the Guardian of the West.” Respectively, Wesley, Ethan and Buffy all nodded their heads at Ja’ko’s greeting.

Three chairs slid soundlessly across the room for them. Sitting, they calmly eyed the shell-shocked look on the Council’s representatives. Buffy and Ethan had a bet going on as to how long it would take before Wes’ dad blew up.

For a few seconds the room was eerily silent. “I don’t know what gave you are playing, however, I would suggest you immediately decease!” Vincent said frozenly. “Playing Advisor to a Guardian is just not something one does.”

Buffy silently extended her hand, a triumphant expression on her face. Grumbling under his breath about the cheekiness of kids, Ethan paid up.

“No one’s playing, Father,” Wesley responded coolly, pretending to ignore the exchange.

Another door opened, and Xander who bounced cheerfully into the room. A fourth chair sailed across the room. Voicing his thanks to Casiwe, he sat. “Sorry, stinky diaper…” he muttered abbreviated. They nodded in understanding, wry smiles appearing on their lips. “Did I miss anything?”

“Other than my father expressing his vast skepticism concerning our status as Advisors to the Guardian of the West, his credence that we, or rather I, have completely lost my senses and should be locked up in Bedlam to prevent my madness from contaminating others, you haven’t missed a thing,” Wesley reported dryly.

Xander blinked, regarding his First Advisor uncertainly. “Oooookay…” he replied slowly.

Quentin recovered from his astonishment. He struggled to resume control over this situation. After all, he knew these people. There was no possible way any of these…people could be associated with Guardians.

“Where is the Guardian? We wish to speak with him or her,” he demanded arrogantly, pushing himself from the chair. “Not to some,” he cast a disparaging eye on the Buffy and the others, “Hangers-on’s.”

Xander’s eyes narrowed slightly. His smile hardened imperceptibly around the edges. It had been a long time since he had seen that kinda look on someone’s face when they spoke to him.

He leaned back in his chair, a faint look of hauteur equaling if not exceeding Vincent’s. “You are speaking to the Fourth Guardian. I am the newly invested Guardian of the Western sphere.”

“So might I humbly suggest, you modify your tone of voice and change the ‘tude.” He paused, his voice dropping to an icy register. “Or I WILL do it for you.” His eyes met Quentin Traver’s astonished gaze with the force of a hard, backhand slap. The older man tried to hold the boy’s gaze, but to his surprise, he was the first to look away. A mumbled apology fell from his lips.

Vincent’s mouth dropped open at Quentin’s cap-in-hand expression. He closed it with an audible snap. “Well, I for one do NOT believe such nonsense,” he said roundly. Looking at the blank expressions on his son and friends, he sniffed contemptuously. “I have a good mind to find the nearest Guardian and report this…this…farce to them! I’m quite sure that they would take strong measures in dealing with you.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” drawled an amused voice behind them. “Maybe we might take them out for coffee or even have a tea party.”

The Council representatives jumped to their feet and whirled around. Their surprised looks faded into ones of awe. Quentin immediately bowed low, quickly recognizing two of the three Guardians and their demon Defenders.

“May I present Lady Kaori and her Defender, Chalo, Lord Aglakti and his Defender Seecha, and Lady Alexis and her Defender, Xtchalay. Guardians and Defenders of the East, North and South respectively,” Wesley drawled from behind them.

The three named Guardians briefly inclined their heads to the flabbergasted Council people; their Defenders gave the humans bored looks. Ka shifted her gaze and attention to Wes. “Hey Wes, are you going to be long? I just got the Chronicles of Sehih and I’ve been dying for you to take a look at it,” she said eagerly. She and Wesley had a rather odd relationship. While both were normally cool and retiring, they both loved to argue. Not with everyone, just with each other. Actually, they didn’t think the others were up to their mental gymnastics.

“It’s true,” Jessica whispered softly, drawing Wesley’s attention. His face softened. Getting up from his chair, he crossed to her and kneeled before her chair.

“Mother.” A wealth of longing was in his voice.

Jessica’s hand trembled as she touched his face gently. Silent tears made their journey down her face. “Oh my, such a fine handsome man you’ve become,” she said faintly. Her lips quivered and her voice had a watery sound to it. They both ignored everything as they gazed at one another. “I’ve waited for this moment for almost ten years,” she continued huskily, her hungry eyes consuming his face trying to store his dear face in her memory.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Wesley choked out. His eyes glistened and he blinked rapidly. “Not a day went by where I did not miss seeing your smile. It warmed me on the inside. The memory of your love gave me the strength to go on.” A beaufic smile wreathed the woman’s face.

Gunn and Fred quietly entered the room and stood hesitantly on the outskirts of the group. Jessica looked up and caught sight of Fred. She smiled at the girl, recalling discussions Vincent had with Shelby regarding the woman. “And is this your young lady?” she asked gently.

Wesley hesitated, a faint look of unease on his face. Gunn shoved Fred forward, a wide, fake smile on his face. “Yes she is.” He gave his lover a stern glare, warning the man not to blow this chance.

Wesley merely smiled at him, his eyes full of loving affection. “Actually mother,” and he pointed a discomfited Gunn, “He is my young man.”

Jessica blinked, and smiled hesitantly at Gunn. She turned her attention back to her son. “My, he is certainly a strapping young man, isn’t he?” she whispered confidingly to Wesley and smiled mischievously. He laughed delightedly.

“Mother, I have missed you!”

“Well, now that our family is reunited….good show, Wesley. For how ever long you may hold your post, I assure you that I am quite thrilled. That my son has the honor of being an Advisor to a Guardian…absolutely amazing.” Vincent shook his head, allowing his astonishment to show on his face.

Wesley face tightened and he rose to his feet. Jessica clutched at his hand anxiously, looking up at him worriedly. However, Xander spoke before Wesley was able. “You know, your words say one thing but your tone say you know tomorrow he’s gonna fuck shit up,” he said thoughtfully. His words cut through the man’s carefully ego-destroying sentence like a knife, revealing the underlying ugliness beneath Vincent’s words.

“Mind your tongue, young man!” Vincent snapped out thoughtlessly.

“Dude, you’re in my house, so my rules,” Xander retorted cheerfully. He rose to his feet. “My dad was kinda like you, but instead of words, he liked to use his fists. In his opinion, I was born a nothing, I would always BE nothing, and I would die…nothing. I would never amount to anything. In his esteemed opinion, I would never be anything beyond a dumb, stupid asshole.”

He looked at Wesley, his eyes envious of the obvious love Mrs. Wyndham-Price had for her son. “But unlike me, Wes has got a mother that loves him.”

“I’m quite sure your parents are very proud of you,” Quentin quickly injected his comments into the increasingly strained atmosphere. He glared thunderously at Vincent, a silent command to ‘shut up’ in his eyes.

Xander snorted. “Not likely…’sides, Angel and Spike killed them both,” he said casually. At their astonished disbelieving looks, he added hastily, “And I made sure I told them that was not a nice thing to do.”

“Yeah, and they felt very bad afterwards,” Buffy injected dryly in the spreading silence Xander’s words brought.

Quentin quietly gave up. He knew that he and Vincent clearly were the wrong people to be representing the Council. Nothing good would come of their dealing with this particular Guardian. It would not do to get the lad’s back up, especially not at the Council. It would be best to have someone else from the Council meet with the Western Guardian and his people. What the Council was doing was too important not to have a being with the magnitude of power such as the Western Guardian at their throats.

“Perhaps it would be best were we to send other representatives to meet with you,” he said with solemn dignity to Xander. Despite his strong aversion to Buffy Summers, the needs of the Council came first to his own. That was one fact he never forgot. Long after he was dead and forgotten, the Council would go on.

Just because he thought Buffy Summers was an ignorant, disrespectful, reckless, ill-manner chit of a girl did not mean he was as foolish as to ignore what the rest of the Council thought of her. They thought the silly girl hung the moon and stars.

He eyed Buffy and grudgingly admitted that she was extraordinarily good at what she did. However, he would be damned and double-damned before he would EVER admit such to her.

“Let’s go,” he ordered shortly to the others. Perhaps it was best that others were sent to foster goodwill between the Western Guardian and the Council. Feeling the way he felt about Buffy Summers, he would probably wind up saying something that would put in serious jeopardy the potential relationship the Council wanted with the new Western Guardian.

“Mr. Wyndham-Price,” he said icily when Vincent did not move, “Perhaps you did not hear me, we are leaving….NOW.”

Vincent smiled slowly at Wesley, his eyes twinkling with gentle good humor. “Might I spend a little time with my son? After all, it’s been quite some time since I’ve had the pleasure.”

Quentin eyed the man sourly. “Then you should have picked up the phone and had a chat with the boy. You’ve had ample opportunity in which to foster better ties with your son,” he responded pointedly. “I would suggest you leave well enough alone,” he added dryly.

The other gave him a hard, cold glare. Xander’s lips twitched at Quentin’s comment.

Vincent swiftly reconsidered his next move. “Very well.” He gave Wesley such a heartfelt look of sorrow, only the most cynical and cold-hearted person would doubt his love for his son.

Too bad Wesley and the others were just such people.

“Jessica, it’s time for us to depart,” he said with quiet, wounded dignity to his wife, now his only hold on his son.

Wesley squeezed his mother’s hand tightly and crouched to her level. “Mother, stay here with me,” he said urgently. “There’s plenty of room in the hotel, and if you’d rather not live in the hotel, I can find an apartment in the city where you would be most comfortable.”

“She is not living in America!” Vincent protested strongly. “She is coming back to England where she belongs!” If Jessica stayed, he would have no advantage against his son, no way to control the boy, and thereby lose a fortuitous entry to the Guardian of the West.

They began to argue vehemently, their voices rising with each passing second.

The others looked on, their heads twisting back and forth as the argument raged.

“Uhm…excuse me…excuse me,” Fred tried to timidly interrupt. Neither man spared her a glance, intent on out shouting each other. “I said EXCUSE ME!”

A shocked silence fell. Blushing furiously, she cleared her throat. “Uhm…why don’t you ask Mrs. Wyndham-Price where she wants to live. It’s her life…I mean, it’s only fair,” she mumbled stepping back.

Jessica smiled at the girl, approving of her instantly. Such a pity Wesley was not into females. She had a feeling the girl would be quite good for him. “Thank you my dear.”

“Darling, you do want to return home to England?” Vincent instantly turned to his wife, a vague, threatening note in his voice.

Jessica released her son’s hand and folded hers together in her lap, mainly to hide the nervous quiver. She lifted her face to her husband, facing his dark glower with calm composure and a raise brow.

“To what? To more humiliation? To more of your increasing desire to reduce me to nothing more than a silent, useless appendage that you can parade around. You’ve made a mockery of our marriage, of the vows you swore before God that you would uphold. Did you think I didn’t know about those filthy creatures in which you slaked your lust? The countless women you fornicated with? Why do you think I finally turned from you? You refused to get help, to admit that there was even a problem. Now you installed your concubine in my home, you both treat me as if I’m some kinda of feeble minded invalid, set her over me, give her stewardship over me in my own home, mind you, and you expect me to return to that life? Hmmm, let me think about it,” she replied her quiet voice packing more power than if she had screamed at the top of her lungs. There was a quiet, graceful dignity about her, a serene beauty all its own.

“My dear…” Vincent tried to protest, his face paling alarmingly at having all his peccadilloes paraded about before others. He trembled, struggling to present a cool, unworried front. But he burned with a sickening need to strangle the woman, if only to shut her up. How dare she question him? His job was highly demanding, he deserved to have a pretty, young thing like Shelby at his beck and call, enthusiastically bouncing in his lap. It helped him think and perform his job to the utmost without the distraction of seeking out various avenues of escape. She should be grateful that he was no longer roaming the streets in the dark of night, wasting his money on whores.

Shelby had the good sense not to say a word, silently effacing herself in order keep the attention away from her presence.

“I haven’t been your ‘dear’ since the day Wesley was conceived, perhaps even before that,” Jessica interrupted him. “I would have long since divorced you had I not wanted to protect my son. Now he’s beyond your reach. Now, I am free. Free of you and your silent contempt, along with your blatant disregard for me. You go to hell, Vincent Wyndham-Price. And take your little whore with you.” She sighed, as a weight seemed to lift from her soul. It felt incredibly good to get this off her chest.

“My, that certainly felt good!” she exclaimed happily, looking faintly astonished at her daring.

Buffy, Anya and Fred turned away, their shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. They had to find a way to keep her! When they turned back, they communicated their desire to Xander with frantic, watery eyes.

Jessica ignored her glaring husband and looked up at Wesley. “You’re a good boy; you always have been and always will be. But I don’t think I would be entirely comfortable living in a hotel.”

“How about a castle then?” Xander suggested quickly, tossing a swift urgent look over his shoulder as Angel entered the room. “I mean, it’ll be kinda helpful to have a woman around that actually knows something about babies,” he said in a rush. “Right now, we’re just guessing about what to do.” Silently Angel nodded in agreement. Not that he had a clue about what was going on, but if someone could teach them how to take care of Shay, then he was all for the idea.

Jessica’s face softening, she breathed, “You have a child?”

“Uhm, yes ma’am. Me and him,” Xander replied, leaning into the comforting presence of Angel’s cool body. “Part of the condition of being a Guardian. A demon mate, and a fertile body every 50 years.” A flicker of self-consciousness was in his face at the Council’s astonished stares.

Angel’s face rippled from human to demon and back again.

Quentin hardly dared breathe. He was learning more about Guardians than anyone on the Council.

“A baby,” Jessica whispered softly, her heart sorely tempted at the idea of holding a baby in her arms. At the helpless, pleading look Xander turned on her, she crumbled. “Of course, I’ll be more than happy to stay,” she said warmly. A pretty flush rose in her cheeks at the grateful wide smile he gave her.

“Jessica!” Vincent raised his voice in protest, an edge of desperation in his tone. His control was slipping from his grasp.

She looked at him distantly, wondering where the charming young man that had courted her to determinedly had vanished. Moreover, she wondered if he had ever existed.

“Goodbye Vincent,” she pronounced with quiet finality. A closed, reserve expression was in her eyes, as if looking at a stranger.

His teeth clenched and his jaw tight with fury, Vincent was a sight to behold. No longer was he the faintly superior lord of the manor surveying his peons. Now he looked like what he was…a manipulative and selfish autocrat seeing his rigidly controlled, ordered life dissolving into a sea of chaos.

To the others credit, they did not laugh at him. They merely regarded him with pity.