ATS Fic: Involuntary Actions

Here is a fic I wrote, first in the Ats fandom. Since I haven't posted anything for ages, I doubt anyone's reading this, and those of you who are are probably in the QAF fandom, but if you feedback I will love you, and if you rec me I may write more.

A sort of gapfiller around the time of Ep 6.07 "Eclipse" on http://www.ats-nolimits.com and set in that universe.

If you aren't following that series, um, you should.


Involuntary Actions 1/2
Rating: G to PG
Spoilers: Full series, esp. S4, S5, and the virtual season 6 upto 6.07
Pairings: None really, but Angel/Wes slashiness implied.




Wesley finds death easier to adjust to than life ever was. Life fit him awkwardly, starting with too long limbs and too thin shoulders and a too heavy name that would always be a nasal Weaselly in the mouths of the other boys at school, and ending with memories he didn't know he had, a twin existence and the unsettling loss of certainty in his own mind. And after all, what did a Watcher have left once he'd lost that? Death is simple, it has a predictability and an order to it. Everything that had been involuntary, necessary, such as breathing or eating, is now a choice. There are still habits he hasn't broken. He still breathes. And when he answers the knock on the door to find Angel on the other side he still inhales sharply in pleased surprise.

"Hey," Angel says with characteristic discomfort. "You said I could come by. I brought beer."

Wesley nods and lets Angel in, who looks around uncertainly and then heads for the kitchen. Wesley pulls out glasses and a tray of ice-cubes. They pour out the beer and sit down on the couch. Opposite ends. For a while there's an uncomfortable silence with Angel twirling his thumbs and sitting straight and then slouching and then sitting up and then stuttering and finally Wesley rolls his eyes and asks the question, "What is it, Angel?"

"You said you'd find me a map." Angel says defensively, and Wesley frowns in confusion so Angel continues, eyes on the floor like a sulky child, "I mean, without the Shanshu and everything. I mean even before the Shanshu, the visions were there, you know? Cordy and Doyle, and I was busy, and now... I miss Cordy, and without the visions I don't always know..."

Wesley nods in understanding, then says, "As I told you, you were a good man before the visions. And maybe all it comes down to is helping the helpless. That's what Cordy would want."

Angel looks dubious, as if expecting more. Wesley sighs and stares out the window, and when he speaks his voice is sad, tired. "Before Cordelia, before Doyle, in Sunnydale, you still had a moral compass. You fought on the right side because it was the right thing to do, because Buffy fought on that side. Not because of a reward... maybe that's all there is, fighting to preserve a world that you'd want to share with her."

"We fight because there's things worth fighting for," Angel says slowly, as if remembering words someone else once said.

"Yes." Wesley says, lost in thought. He doesn't see Angel turn to study his profile.

"Connor." Angel says softly, and Wesley is careful not to move a muscle. He just stares into the distance with unseeing eyes.

"And what if--" Angel asks, staring at Wesley's chin, "what if you've lost everything you fought for?"

"You haven't," Wesley says automatically.

"You did." Angel points out, and Wesley finally turns to face him. "You weren't planning on coming back after Vail, were you?"

Wesley contemplates outrage, then shrugs his shoulders at the thought of expending that much effort. Instead he says with a trace of bitterness, "My plans had nothing to do with what happened, which was that Vail found it hard to believe I'd betray you. Ironic, don't you think?"

Angel squirms at that and says with some petulance, "He said you were intriguingly unstable."

Wesley regards him over invisible glasses with some amusement, "Unstable, yes. But apparently not disloyal." Then his eyes harden as he continues, "I didn't make a play for your spot. Wolfram and Hart offered it to me anyway. Yet more irony. Our personnel department is not yet operational, but I've instructed them to send you a copy of my contract as their first order of business."

Angel scowls and then protests, "Damn it Wes, I trust you. And it was Harmony who betrayed me, I knew she would."

Wesley smiles sadly, "Yes, you trust me. Now, precisely when you shouldn't. The irony really is inescapable."

"I trusted you bef--"

"No you didn't," Wesley cuts him off, firmly but without anger. He gets up off the couch and walks over to the window. "I knew you didn't and I never understood why." He pauses, remembering Angel's anger when he'd put Fred at risk. He laughs bitterly and says, "I should have known."

"You couldn't have," Angel remarks with a trace of almost-guilt.

Wesley whips around to face him, shaking his head, "No, I could. You don't get it. Spells aren't perfect, magic never is. There's always traces. I saw them and I ignored them, and I should have known better."

"What do you mean?" Angel asks curiously.

For a moment Wesley stares at him incredulously, as if he can't believe he'd actually discuss this with Angel, then he relents, his eyes taking on the bright, inquisitive look they'd had years ago. "If, for instance, you were stung by a bee and developed a strong allergic reaction and a consequent dread of bees, then magic might take away the memory of the bee sting but not the accompanying fear. Such an irrational reaction ought to be sign enough for a Watcher that something out of the ordinary had trespassed."

"And you were still afraid of me?" Angel asks with a frown.

Wesley laughs mirthlessly. "I wasn't afraid of you to begin with. No, of cutting myself during a close shave. Absurd, really." He doesn't continue, doesn't tell Angel about the perpetual nightmares about suffocating in his sleep, about how he'd occasionally forget to breathe and pass out from the lack of oxygen, about how he fought to regain control over sudden, causeless panic attacks. He especially does not tell Angel about the irrational sense of shame he'd felt over his own neck that had driven him to buy a set of sweaters entirely unsuited to LA. It would be pointlessly malicious to bring these things up with Angel, and watchers are trained not to show malice unless it is productive. In fact, the first lesson they were taught by the council was that emotions couldn't be allowed to get in the way of making allies or enemies as was necessary. It was how he'd fought down everything he'd formerly felt for Faith when he needed her help to capture Angelus.

"I get that. Connor still likes older women." Angel offers with a tentative smile. Wesley can't find it in himself to smile. He looks down at his feet. What the Watcher's council didn't teach him, Illyria has. She stood in his office when he'd got his memories back, "You are my betrayer", she'd said, adding in her confusion, "Betrayal was a neutral word in my day, as unjudged a word as water or breeze." Much could be learned from her. Angel's greatest weakness was that despite his two and a half centuries of living in the world, despite the atrocities he himself had committed as Angelus, he still expected loyalty. Wesley's own betrayal hadn't done anything to prepare Angel for Cordelia's eventual treachery. Both had shown their ability to surprise and hurt him. Wesley wondered if Illyria had it right -- betrayal was inevitable, and it was not to be taken personally.

"I wanted to fix things." Angel says in a small voice and Wesley finds that death doesn't ease grief because tears spring to his eyes at the memory of Fred, of her irretrievably lost soul.

"Some things can't be fixed, Angel," he says quietly, his voice breaking slightly.

"Is that why you killed yourself?" Angel asks, his voice equally quiet, without accusation.

British humour escapes Wesley before he can stop it, "No, that was purely so I could drink without concerning myself with liver trouble." When Angel smiles, Wesley adds gently, without regret, "I've been dead a long time, Angel."

There is silence, and the both of them contemplate their feet. Finally Wesley speaks, "Perhaps I"m not the best person to consult about your situation. In fact, the best person to advise you--"

"You even think of saying Spike and you're a dead man." Angel warns him. That gets a raised eyebrow and a hearty laugh out of Wesley, until the memory hits him with renewed vigour. You're a dead man, Pryce! He turns away and tries to control his unnecessary breathing.

"Wes." Angel calls to him insistently, but he doesn't hear.

"Wes."

This time he listens, facing Angel to see brown eyes looking at him pleadingly. He realizes he's been absently rubbing his neck, and he pulls his hand away with an effort and gives Angel a brittle smile. Angel looks at him with worry, then gets up from the couch.

"I should... um, go." he says awkwardly.

"Goodnight Angel," Wesley says.

"'night Wes."

The door closes, and Wesley takes a deep breath. Some habits are hard to break.

* * *





Involuntary Actions 2/2
Rating: G to PG
Spoilers: Full series, esp. S4, S5, and the virtual season 6 upto 6.14 "Crucible"
Pairings: None really, but Angel/Wes slashiness implied.
Warnings: Blood and death but nothing worse than anything we've already seen on the show




Angel wakes up in an unfamiliar room to see a figure slouched over the balcony railing, staring at the city lights. The figure, however, is familiar and it fills him with a burst of rage. He growls, and Wesley turns to face him.

"Where are we?"

"My bedroom," Wesley says cautiously, turning to face Angel. "Why are you here?"

"You did this. Why bring me here?" Angel asks, fists clenched at his sides.

"I must be dreaming." Wesley says, frowning.

"No, this is my dream," Angel snaps, "And I can smell you. What is it, Calynthia powder?"

Wes gives him a disbelieving look and doesn't bother replying. They stare at each other, nostrils almost flaring, before Angel rolls his eyes and looks away. Wesley turns back to look at the city.

"Why'd you do it, Wes?"

"Which it are we talking about exactly?" Wesley asks tiredly.

"Why'd you take on the job? Is this payback for the memory spell?"

Wesley doesn't turn back to look at Angel, but he does respond with some alacrity, "I told you already, there are things that need to be done. Things you are incapable of doing."

"Kidnapping?" Angel spits out, hoping to score a hit.

Wesley merely shrugs, but after a while he says pensively, "Do you know what I share with Gunn, Fred, Lorne, Lilah, Faith, even Connor? We're murderers, every one of us. You couldn't kill Lindsey, could you? Too bloody noble to spill human blood. Had to have Lorne do it for you."

Angel starts in shock, but takes advantage of the fact that Wesley's back is turned to hide his surprise. "So this is about... Knox?"

Wesley laughs. "If you think Knox's death weighs on my conscience, you are sorely mistaken. No, we Watchers are quite dangerous in that respect, trained to square many things with our conscience. But all the same, there are things you were far too noble, or far too much of a coward to do. I'm not sure which."

"I killed Drogyn."

"He was hardly human."

"He was innocent."

Wesley turns to face him, a mocking smile on his face. "An inability to lie does not make one innocent; it makes one handicapped. You know this, Angel. It's why you used him."

Angel finds himself at a loss for a moment. Finally he tries sarcasm, "You know, after all their botched attempts at turning me evil, you'd think the Senior partners would finally give up on the idea of punishment. I mean, at this point, why not just kill me and be done with it?"

Wesley doesn't take the bait, and his eyes are distant as he smiles, "I could ask you the very same thing, Angel."

Angel clenches his teeth. If this is, after all, his dream, Wesley's constant wins are highly annoying. Wesley continues in an exasperating monotone, "You've always distanced yourself from Angelus. Some of us don't have such an excuse, no convenient evil twin to take on the blame. You think you're so far removed from Angelus, but--"

You walk a fine line, Angel.

Wesley continues calmly, "At some point you have to come to terms with it, the extent to which you are Angelus. Both of you love Connor, and both of you would rather see me suffering than dead. The reasons and methods might be different but the end results are the same."

"You think I wouldn't kill you?" Angel threatens, walking up to Wesley, into his personal space.

Wesley doesn't even flinch, just says with icy detachment, "That's the crux of the matter, isn't it? I don't doubt for a minute that you could kill me, just as you know I'm capable of the same. That's what they're waiting to see, after all, which one of us will destroy the other first, or if we'll sink together, and how many others we'll take with us as collateral damage."

Angel sighs and gives in, standing next to Wesley at the railing. He doesn't know a way out, and the only one who might is the person he's supposed to destroy. Their elbows brush each other with the closeness that's always come easy to them, even when things were at their worst. Sometimes violent, Angel holding Wesley up by his collar when Gunn was stabbed, and sometimes reassuring, a soft grounding touch when Illyria demanded her debt upon bringing Gunn back from his hell, but always a constant upon which to place their hopes when words failed them.

"We're really going to do this, aren't we?" Angel asks, the weight of the world making him hunch his shoulders. Wesley seems to have taken it in stride because he still stands tall. But maybe British repression techniques are simply a form of escapism because when it mattered, Wesley's eyes have always betrayed him. He's never done stiff-upper-lip the way Giles could.

"It's what we do, Angel," Wesley says, and when he looks at Angel it's all the vampire can do to stay on his feet in the face of so much feeling. Wesley continues softly, "Family isn't about love, or trust, or any such intangible emotion. It's about blood, sharing it, spilling it. That's what makes them matter. Family is who you kill, who you'll protect in order to eventually destroy yourself. The first people the vampire kills upon being turned. You killed them, and you killed Drusilla, Darla, Penn, and Connor. And now--"

"How did you know--"Angel begins, startled.

The sorrow in Wesley's eyes is palpable, a cloud of acrid smoke veiling his too-blue eyes. "Your dream, Angel. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know."

Angel hesitates, then lifts his hand and places it on Wesley's neck. Room temperature now that he's dead. He whispers regretfully, "I'm sorry I didn't try to save you, Wes."

Wesley gives him a genuine smile then, if tinged with the same regret. "I'm not sure you could have, Angel. No more than Buffy could have saved Faith. We've taken far too much from each other."

There's a slight breeze then, a relief. The silence stretches out between them but they stand close, Angel's hand gently caressing the back of Wesley's neck. Finally Angel asks, "What now, Wes?"

Wesley slowly lifts his arms to circle Angel's neck, and Angel's chest feels tight. Not since... not for a while have they hugged, and it seems things might be as they used to be, for one transient, perfect moment. Wes leans to the side and Angel inhales the scent of Wesley's neck, familiar and reassuring.

"Goodbye, Angel." Wesley says softly.

Angel is about to protest but instead his teeth scrape against Wesley's neck, tearing into the vein. The blood doesn't spurt out; Wes no longer has circulation. Angel feels his lips settle against the skin and start to suck. He wants to pull away but he can't, and Wesley doesn't either. The embrace becomes tighter, and he can feel Wesley's bones breaking under his grip and he wants to yell at Wes to get away from him, wants to warn him about--

"Angelus" Wesley moans softly, his arms still around Angel's neck, and Angel stills in shock, suddenly unsure whether it's him or Angelus now crushing Wesley, but the body in his arms starts to turn to ash.

"No! Wes! No!" he screams, his arms now embracing thin air, and Angel wakes up with a start.

He looks around suspiciously but he's in his own bed and nothing is amiss. The room does not smell of Wesley.

* * *



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