Wild Days

Angel:

I hear the knock and instantly know it's Wesley. Okay, so I smell him - his special scent, his fear, his uncertainty - and the guilt. Let's not forget the guilt. The scent is so strong it overlays everything else. Good. I want him to feel guilt. Guilt so strong he wants to rip his heart out. Because that's what he did when he took the only child I might have - took him away and gave him to a man who hated me more than anything, a man who misused Connor as a weapon. Who taught my child nothing but hatred and death.

True, I told Connor that I wasn't in a position to place blame, but with Wesley it's different. Even if I wanted, I couldn't change what I feel. I can almost taste the rage on my tongue, the bitterness of betrayal. The problem is, I also remember the good times. And there were a lot of them.

"Angel?"

He's standing in the doorway, a little thinner than I remember him, his hair standing on end, as if he's run his fingers through lots of times, and the glasses on his nose are askew. And I still don't care. A part of me wants to. Wants to see the friend. But the bigger part can't. That part only sees the betrayal and the pain - a pain I didn't think possible. Maybe I should just forgive him, should reach out my hand. And only a few years ago I would have. I would have compared my own guilt to his and come to the conclusion that whatever he's done cannot be worse than what I did.

I wonder if I'm more human already that I can't think that way anymore. Or maybe the feeling of guilt has lessened. Who knows? Who cares? I don't.

"Can I … come in? Buffy said you … wanted to talk to me."

"All I want is to see you suffer for what you did," I reply, a part of me enjoying the way he's reeling back as if I've slapped him. "But," I say when I see he's about to step back. "We're not in a position where wishes come true. Buffy told me that you found parts of the lost scroll of Aberijan?" He's about to speak and I hold up a hand, "Let's get this clear first, this is not a reconciliation meeting. I'm not interested in rebuilding our friendship, so let's stick to the facts and do what needs to be done."

He looks at me for a long time, his eyes dark with pain, and strangely enough it doesn't make me happy like I thought it would. But there is a faint feeling of satisfaction and for now it's enough. There was a lot more pain in Connor's eyes. And he's only sixteen, and his sin was to be the son of two vampires. He's done nothing to earn this. And even though he didn't want it, Wesley played a big part in my son's fate. And I won't - can't - ever forget that.

Finally the man at the door nods, "Alright. I accept whatever you want. Even though I think it's highly unfair."

Surprised I look at him. I can sense what the words have cost him, can still feel the guilt, but it's mixed with a little defiance now. "Let's not talk about unfair, Wes. Because I'm pretty sure you'd lose the argument. What I want to know is … Buffy said we both are important. Important, how?"

He frowns for a short moment, then sighs slightly. "So you can forgive Connor, but you can't forgive me. Is that it?"

I feel anger. Pure. Deep. Instant. "You've got some nerve to ask for forgiveness," I say slowly, infusing my voice with just enough steel to let him know I don't like his change of subject. "You took my son. You lied to me. You gave him to Holtz, although you knew he was insane with hatred. And all this for some stupid prophecy." I can't look at him. As weak as I am, if I look at him, I might rip him apart.

"I thought you would kill him. I did it to save his life. I agree, I made a mistake. But none of us knew that the prophecy was fake. What if it had been true. What if you *had* killed Connor? Would you've been able to live with it?"

"It was not your choice to make," I grit out between clenched teeth. "You should've come to me the moment you found out. We would've found a solution. But instead you took fate in your own hands and stole my son. You didn't trust me. Damn you, Wesley. Damn you, for trying to play God."

"I had all the right I needed. I'm your friend."

I'm on my feet in a flash, not even realizing my unconscious move at first. "You're not - and will never be -" I feel suddenly weak, and my vision goes blurry from the quick movement, not used to being upright again. Grabbing for something to steady myself, I feel Wesley reaching for me, and take a step back. "Don't," I warn him, my voice a low growl. "Touch me." I finally find the bedpost and hold onto it, taking several deep breaths. Slowly the nausea fades, my vision clears. "You're not my friend," I ground out. "I don't want you to be my friend. Your friendship is poison."

I take another steadying breath. "And now I want to talk about the prophecy. We won't talk about Connor again. Do you understand?"

"You're not God either," he retorts. "I know I betrayed you. I know what I did," he puts a hand on his chest, his voice turning desperate. "I have to live with it. Holtz follows me into my sleep. And I can see your eyes … from the night you came to the hospital. I will never forget what I did to you. But I'm still your friend. Like it or not. You might not forgive me - ever - but that won't change what I feel. You're one of the noblest persons I've met."

"God, I wish … for a moment I wish I could get rid of my soul … then I could just kill you and not care," I hiss, turning away from him.

"Good," he bites out, taking a step closer to me. "Maybe you should fuck Buffy and get it over with."

This time the rage is hot and even more instant than the anger before. I whirl around, not caring that I see stars for a moment, "You …," I grab his collar and it fills me with satisfaction to see that I'm strong enough again to lift him from the ground. "Are playing with your life."

"M-maybe," he croaks. "But we're going to face something none of us has ever faced before, and we don't need that kind of attitude in one of our champions." I let go of him and with a sigh of relief he looks at me. "Yes. I betrayed you. But I did it with the best of intentions. You need to get over this, Angel. You need to trust me for the things to come. Not still hold a grudge for something that can't be changed. Besides, when the whole Connor-disaster went down you were more concerned about sniffling around Cordy's neck than the fact that your kid was in danger."

"That was not me," I defend myself. "I was influenced by magic." The moment the words are out I wonder if they are true. I'm not influenced by magic anymore, but I can still picture Cordy's long, shapely legs, and the scent of her perfume. And the memories are not entirely unpleasant.

"Magic or not, your were busy getting into her pants despite the fact that your soul was shaky. I wonder where Connor fits into that interesting development."

I don't know what I expected from Wesley. Probably that he'd fall on his knees - no, not literally, but you know what I mean - and beg for forgiveness. I certainly didn't expect him to attack. And I sure as Hell didn't expect to feel guilty for what - hopefully - happened under the influence of magic.

"Can we not talk about this," I snap. "And instead turn to the matter at hand."

"The matter at hand," he says, coming closer again, "is that we need to stick together for what lies in front of us."

"So far I don't even know *what* lies in front of us," I retort.

For a moment I feel Wesley looking at me, and I can almost taste his need to continue this argument, but then he blows out a long breath and runs his hand through his already tousled hair. "Alright," he says finally, "Let's talk about business."

*

Wesley:

I have no idea what came over me, why I acted the way I did. When I ascended the stairs all I felt was guilt and remorse, and all I wanted was to make amends with the man I betrayed, the man who was my friend for a long time, who offered friendship when no one else did. But the moment I stepped into the room - no, actually the moment he started to attack, something inside of me snapped. He had done so much more, has allowed vampires to kill people. And I don't mean his time as Angelus. True, the people were evil, but does it really matter? He was playing God - and now he's accusing *me* of doing it? I never wanted to play God, I never wanted to change fate. All I wanted was to save the life of an innocent boy, and to prevent his father from committing the greatest sin there is - the killing of a child. And I know without doubt Angel wouldn't have been able to live with that.

And yes, maybe mentioning his behavior towards Cordy was a low blow, but really, it was sickening to watch him sniffling after her. And while he was busy with her he forgot all about his so called destiny and the reason he started this agency in the first place. But he wasn't saving souls anymore. Between panting after the seer and caring for his son, there was hardly any time left to do what he was meant to.

"So, tell me," he says after a moment, bringing me back to the matter at hand. "I suppose while I was out of it, you had enough time to chew this through with Giles. What's the result."

This is the Angel I remember, and missed for a while. "You know," I reply, "If you had acted like this half a year ago I might have come talking to you, but you weren't. Maybe you should think about that." Before he can say anything I go on, "And that's the last I'm going to say about the subject. And yes, you are right.
I went over the contents of the piece I found."

"At Lilah's I heard," he comments, then wanders towards the window but stays out of the sunlight.

Ah - so he has heard that, too. "Yes," I confirm. "At Lilah's, but that's over and you can forget about it. I was … not in a good place for a while."

He rubs his neck, before he sighs, "I know all about bad places," he says finally.

I frown at that. That sounds not like the angry vampire from just before. Cautiously I take a step closer, "Yes, I suppose you do." For the first time since I entered the room I have the feeling that something I said really sunk in.

"Wesley, I … I don't know if I can ever trust you again. This is … I know I don't have the right to blame people … after … but then I see Connor's eyes and-"

"No," I interrupt, taking another step, "You have. It's human nature to blame. And I don't mind. I know I've earned it. But … I also think that it's part of being human to forgive." I see his body tense and sigh inwardly. Maybe it's too early for this. And maybe it's not really important right now - we've already made a step into the right direction. We're actually talking - and not yelling for a change. "Okay, what exactly do you want to know about the prophecy?"

"Buffy told me that she and I are mentioned. And that we are important." He turns slowly, and looks at me. "I need to know what it means."

I nod, ruffling my hair yet again. I've avoided mirrors for days - probably a good idea. "As far as Mr. Giles and I can tell, and we are by no means hundred percent certain, but as far as we can determine it seems that a battle is ahead of us. Buffy and you are the leaders, and then there is a sentence we're not quite sure what it means."

His eyes sharpen, "What sentence?"

"It's a language none of us have ever seen before, so we're only guessing, but it could be something like 'two have the power, one doesn't.'"

He inhales sharply, and starts pacing the room with agitated movements. "Together you're powerful," he says, then repeats the sentence twice. "Damn," he swears, stops and rubs a hand over his face. "I'm such an idiot. You accused me of playing God, and you were right."

"Angel-" What is this all about , I wonder. I want to ask him, but he doesn't let me.

"Can you believe that I knew it all along?" he asks, shaking his head. "But I was too busy meddling with fate to listen. Instead of taking a minute and think it over, I made them turn back time instead – too afraid to endanger Buffy. Only to have her die anyway."

I frown. What the hell is he talking about? Turning back time? Endangering Buffy? "You had someone turn back time? I never heard about something like that before." Maybe he's not completely recovered yet, maybe he's still delusional.

He slashes the air with his palm, "Forget it," he says, his voice like a whip. "It's enough that I know how stupid I was. God, I can't believe I …" he trails off, shakes his head. "So, Buffy and I are … the leaders. Together. Together, how?"

"The passage doesn't specify," I tell him, still trying to understand what this was all about. "The text also says," I clear my throat, knowing that this will be quite a bomb I'm going to place, "That your union will create the power to defeat the darkness. The union … uhm … is … so we assume … meant literally."

Silence. Then - as I expected - his head snaps up. "What?" He stares at me incredulously. "Are you referring to me and Buffy having sex? Did I understand you correctly?"

"It seems so. But you should talk to Giles about it. He was the who who translated this special fragment. But he is adamant that he didn't get it wrong." I give him a wry grin, "I suppose whoever wrote the prophecy had no idea that the gypsies invented the happiness clause."

He actually chuckles at that, "No, probably not. So, what do you expect us to do? We're doing the deed and Willow sits down in the basement with an Orb of Thesula in front of her, or what?"

"If Giles wasn't wrong, and I sincerely doubt he was, it might be the only way."

Another chuckle escapes his mouth, but this time it's a bitter one. "You know, the last time I slept with Buffy I …," he breaks off, shakes his head, "Let's not go there. With Darla it was out of anger, and because I was," his eyes seek mine for a second, "in a bad place. This time I can fuck for destiny – even lose my soul for the sake of the world. And with Buffy of all women. Gee, this really makes me feel special. And I thought there was no way they could fuck up my life any worse." Again the chuckle. It makes my gut clench with compassion.

"We still could be wrong."

He looks up, "But you don't think you are." It's not a question.

And because I'm his friend I don't want to lie. "No, I don't. I think the translation is accurate. What we don't know is, when this is supposed to happen. There is no time table."

"Oh, great! No I have to get it up after a schedule. Does Buffy know this?"

I slowly shake my head, "No. I … Giles wanted to tell her, but then Fred made a comment and she stormed off."

His eyes narrow, "A comment?"

I sigh, not wanting to be the messenger of this. I wonder if I was born under a black star that I have to do all the bad things lately. "She … she didn't think … or didn't realize that it would hurt Buffy. She said you, Cordelia and Connor were so sweet together."

He swears viciously under his breath, words I haven't even known existed. "Fred and her babbling," he hisses. "Where is she now?"

"Fred … oh, you mean Buffy? She went down to the basement. To work off some steam. Spike is there and maybe they…" he's at the door so quick, I hardly realize it. "Where are you going? Buffy said you are still to weak to-"

"I'm going down there," he announces, "And don't even try to stop me."

With that he's out of the door - leaving me with more questions. But I have a certain feeling that parts of the puzzle will be solved soon.

***

Buffy:

Hammering my fists into the punching bag, I try to forget that Spike is still in the basement. After Anya left he simply stayed and I do my best to ignore him all together. After we talked a while ago I thought the tension between us was finally gone, but after seeing him in a liplock with Anya …

I want to believe it's just because of Xander. Because Anya was or is his girlfriend, and because a repeated performance of the Magic Box scenario would hurt him. Yet, deep inside I hear a little voice telling me that my reaction wasn't nearly as selfless. It's not that I love Spike. I don't. I never did. And there were times when I felt guilty for it. That I could be so cold, simply taking what Spike offered, not caring for his feelings or wishes. But I don't feel guilty for it anymore. Not after what he did, not after I realized that he used me the same way. Because he was acting almost human it was easy to forget that underneath the pretty exterior was the black soul of a demon, just tamed a little by a chip. There was no goodness of heart, no real affection. When he pressed me to the cool floor of my bathroom, his face contorted with rage, I finally saw him for what he was - a demon, that, if unleashed, wouldn't hesitate a second to torture, maim and kill, to use force to get his will done - just like his nature told him.

And then he came back - with a soul of all things.

Talk about irony.

I still don't know how it all happened. I never asked. I know he spoke with Giles and after one particularly long conversation they had in the basement of my house, my watcher was looking at me oddly - but he didn't say anything. And I didn't want to know. I was at a stage where I tried my best to pretend the whole Spike-disaster never happened. I convinced myself that it meant nothing, that it was just the relieving of tension, hurt, pain … that it had nothing to do with feeling … anything.

But I was wrong. Seeing him today with Anya - I felt the same I did when I saw them on the surveillance monitor all those month ago.

It hurt.

More than I'd thought possible. And I don't like it. I don't like the idea that I might have felt more for him. That it was more than just sex, that deep inside there was a part of me that craved him. The darkness he represented then. And that - in a strange way - a part of my heart was involved, too.

With another double of especially vicious blows the bag almost hits the ceiling, and I sidestep it when it comes slamming back at me. I'm drenched with sweat, but the exercise doesn't help much.

Besides trying to figure out my own feelings towards Spike, I can't forget Fred's words about Angel and Cordelia. So they were sweet together. How nice!

Kick. Double slam. Kick.

Cordelia.

How I wish she was here. Right in front of me. Instead of this stupid bag.

Kick. Kick. Slam.

The punching bag groans under my blows, but I don't care. On the contrary, I increase the force and it's not even a problem, imagining a certain brunette instead.

"Slayer, don't you think it's enough."

I narrow my eyes. Just when I started to forget he is here … "Shut up," I hiss, and kick the bag again.

"You're going to wear yourself out. I know I should feel kind of flattered, but somehow I doubt it's just because I kissed Anya."

I catch the bag in mid air, and pant heavily. "You … can … kiss … Anya … as … long … as … you …want. Or … any … other … woman … for … that … matter." I keep several deep breaths, feel my heart hammering in my chest. "It had nothing to do with you two anyway," I lie, "I was upset before."

He chuckles, "I kind of noticed." I feel him taking a step towards me and my body tenses.

"Stay away from me, Spike. Or I might hurt you in a way you can't even imagine."

"I'm a vampire pet, I will survive. Maybe it'll help you to get rid of all the pent up anger."

"She said," comes a very familiar voice from the door, "to stay away from her." It's laced with barely suppressed anger.

For a moment concern overrules everything and I whirl around, "Angel," I rush to his side. He is standing at the bottom of the stairs, one palm at the wall to steady himself, but he looks a lot less shaky that I'd have expected. "You shouldn't be up."

"And he shouldn't be around you, if he cares to stay alive for a little longer." His eyes are focused on Spike, and there's a warning nobody in his right mind would ignore. Angel might be weak but underestimating him could prove fatal.


"She is right, you shouldn't be up," Spike says mildly, his body relaxed. "And we didn't do anything. I just offered to spar with her."

"There's no need," Angel grits out, "If anyone spars with her it's going to be me."

"No offense, mate," the blond deliberately keeps his distance, his posture non aggressive, "but you won't be sparring with her for a long while. Not if she's in a mood like this."

"Yeah, she was really pissed. I could tell."

We all freeze at the sound of a voice none of us had expected to hear. And for a moment I wonder if it's a wacky trick of my own imagination. But then I see Angel and Spike stare at a point behind me and know that it's true.

I turn and see a woman who looks like someone I once knew, even though she looks entirely different. Where the hell did the white hair and the sparkles come from? And why is she so pale? And kind of floats above ground?

Still, there is no doubt that the woman standing in the corner of the basement is Cordelia. Or maybe an otherworldly version of her. Yet, the voice is the same …

And I would've remembered the grin everywhere, "Hi folks," she says with a twinkle in her strangely blue eyes, "did you miss me?"