The One Who Was Lost

The world was still full of demons and vampires, monsters that prowled the alleys of the city in the wee hours of the night and monsters that put on suits and ties and made decisions involving hundreds of millions of dollars and tens of thousands of lives and ordered Vietnamese takeaway for lunch downtown. There would perhaps never be an end to the fighting, and the struggle, and Wesley had come to grips with that a long time ago, even before his friend Angel had learned that lesson at Wolfram & Hart. What mattered, as he'd told the vampire once, was the little bit of happiness one could find.

And that was why Wesley was standing outside the door of his own apartment, key hovering just in front of the lock, balancing a package under his arm. He glanced back at Gwen, holding her bag and standing what seemed like a safe distance away. Wesley smiled at her.

"You look like you might be a bit nervous," Wesley said, smiling. "You've been through this door before, you know."

Wesley stared at the door to his apartment, the apprehension that tightened his shoulders making him feel not only on edge, but utterly ridiculous for being tense in the first place. He was a grown man, an adult in an adult relationship with a smart, self-assured and reasonable woman. There was no logical reason for him to feel this kind of pressure simply discussing with Gwen the fact that Fred was back amongst them all. It was what he had told himself over and over since Gwen had said she would be over.

But Wesley wondered if what he and Gwen had was as strong and sure as he had been hoping. Every time they met, things had seemed that much more comfortable and familiar with her for him, and it became just that much easier to stop wondering when the other shoe would drop, and they might just be able to keep going as they were going.

He cursed himself a fool for thinking momentum lasted forever.

One thing Wesley knew was that he was not about to tell Gwen that he was leaving and taking back up with Fred. The simple and undeniable fact that the hadn't already told him that he had made his choice. He hoped that was what it meant. Still waiting, Wesley heard the sound of the cupboard in the kitchen opening and glasses being set on the table, followed by the more solid sound of a bottle. "Thank you, Dennis," Wesley said, smirking despite his nerves, "I think you're right."

The knock came immediately after, and Wesley answered, letting Gwen's presence put a genuine smile on his face. "Hello, there."

September 2008 - lyrics from "So Cold" by Breaking Benjamin

Hollow heroes...

( You do what you have to do. )

(975)

OOC: This ficlet is based on current RP events and canon for Wesley, and is part of his current storyline in that context. The Roger Wyndam-Pryce referred to is pryce_the_elder.

Muse: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Fandom: "Buffy TVS"/"Angel"

The office was empty when Wesley arrived, but then it was after midnight and everyone else in the building save for the maintenance staff were safely home and abed. Not so for the stalwarts of the Endeavour Agency, Wesley thought. Neither rain nor snow nor rain of fire...

Unlocking the door to his office, the light snapped on automatically, startling him for a moment. Laughing ruefully at his own jumpiness, he shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it on a peg. After hours of trudging through the downtown demon bars, he'd turned up almost nothing on the demons whose human sacrifice they'd interrupted. Unfortunately, the skirmish had left none of the unusual demons alive, and so Wesley and the others had been forced to use more direct methods of investigation.

Wesley was just unlocking the safe behind his desk when he heard the outer door open. He held his breath and let his right hand stray toward one of his pistols for a moment, then relaxed once he recognized the newcomer: Gwen.

"I hope you had better luck than I did," he called out to her.

It was something he hadn't done in a long time, so Wesley took the pursuit of the lead very seriously and with great enthusiasm. With the date for officially opening the doors of the as-yet-unnamed detective agency so close, he would have normally waited until he had the support of the entire team, but an inescapable time factor had entered the equation, and the investigation couldn't wait.

( Detective work )

OOC: Follows immediately after THIS PART.

Wesley stood from his place at the table to face the returning Lindsey. Meeting the other man's gaze levelly and calmly, he tried his best to gauge Lindsey's expression. He found he couldn't, not at that moment. "Lindsey," he said by way of greeting. "Welcome back. What do you say?"

( Lindsey has his say, Wesley does not, and everyone else is probably glad it doesn't come to swords and gunfire. )

It wasn't the trendiest or highest-profile eatery in Los Angeles, but that was most of the point. Wesley had chosen the restaurant more for the ability to hold a meeting where topics that no one outside of their peculiar community would be prepared to overhear. That, and the fact that Dominick's quietly boasted quite a fine wine list. Wesley nodded to Bernard, the maitre d' and slipped the older man the promised hundred dollar note. Bernard was perhaps in his late sixties, and had no doubt stood his station since Dominick's played host to Los Angeles underworld luminaries of a much more organised crime sense of the world. Certainly the private back dining room into which Bernard ushered Wesley was a holdover from those days.

The lighting was low, but sufficient to keep the atmosphere from entering gloom. Wesley ran his hand over the rich woods and leather backs of the chairs and table and wondered what nefarious men and privacy-seeking Hollywood golden age celebrities had taken refuge in this room. He hoped whatever ghosts might still linger in this space would look kindly on his intentions. Taking a seat with an unobstructed view of the door, Wesley ordered a scotch, neat, and awaited the first of his invited soon-to-be teammates.

( The players assemble at one table, new faces meet old, Wesley makes his offer and reactions are mixed. )

Wesley's email to Logan had been terse, but the particulars, he felt, were a little too sensitive to discuss openly.

From: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
To: Logan Cale

Priority: High
Security: High

Subject: A favour

Logan,

I was wondering if I couldn't interest you in that drink and collaboration you mentioned. I'm in the Northern California area on business, so I hope that's sufficiently in the middle for us to meet.

Sincerely,
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

And so Wesley found himself in a bar once more, though one slightly more upscale than the demon-run or vampire-frequented establishments of his usual haunts. It wouldn't have done to ask someone like Logan, so uninitiated, to risk such a location. And so, it was a quiet and dark hotel lounge, but one that was sure to provide enough cover for what was sure to be an unusual conversation.

The agent that met Wesley at the apartment building was only partly successful at not looking at him as if he had sprouted a second set of arms. Instead, she was merely befuddled as she shook his hand and led him into the building proper.

"And you're certain it's unit number six you're looking for, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?"

Wesley nodded. By inference, he'd determined that Cordelia's former apartment had gone through at least a dozen or more tenants since she'd vacated the place, but thankfully none of them had met violent and unfortunate ends. That much indicated that it was indeed still home to Phantom Dennis and only the poltergeist and not his deceased mother's spirit as well.

Opening the door for him, the agent let Wesley step through the doorway first. "The furniture in here is for display only," she told him, "although we'd be happy to recommend a good rental service." Whether she noticed that he noticed how the display furniture had been broken and repaired, the agent did not let on.

For his part, Wesley was paying her little to no attention. Instead, he was soaking in the room, remembering the summer Angel Investigations had used Cordy's apartment as its ad-hoc headquarters. There had been Cordelia's parties, and many meetings and nights off that had happened within these walls, and Wesley could very nearly remember them all.

"I'll take it," he said.

The agent stared again. "Don't you want to take a look around?"

Before Wesley could answer, there was a mechanical click and suddenly the room began to cool, the air conditioning spilling a refreshing breeze from the overhead vents. The agent frowned. "That's funny. The landlord's never been able to get that to work right," she said absently.

"It's all right," Wesley assured her. "I think we'll be just fine here."

Certain things in life are greatly counter-intuitive.

One of those things, Wesley determined, was the best way to escape from a hospital.

( Separations )

OOC: This is my personal effort to get TM-Wesley into the place that I'd like him to be, and deal with a few things that I couldn't in good conscience just ignore or undo without making the effort. It's accelerated as far as emotions go, but there will be repercussions. In any case, he's a little freer to go his own way now, and that was really my aim with it in the first place.