Man of the World

Author: enigmaticblue

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Through Ats S5, Origin, then back to Ats S3, Loyalty.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but if I did, they'd be a lot happier and I wouldn't have to take out student loans.

Archive: If you already have my stuff. If not, just ask, and I'll be happy to share.

Summary: Fred's death and the return of his memories leave Wesley a desperate man. He makes a dangerous bid to make things right, only to find that he's a stranger in a world that's no longer familiar to him.

"I want to be a man of the world, blood in my veins and a hurt in my heart, hide in the street with the noise and the dirt, and the one still looking for a brand new start. Oh, I've been sleeping far too long, hiding out in a palace of gold. Show me one thing before I'm gone that can't be bought and can't be sold. Show me how to come alive, show me how to make you mine. 'Cause if you'd only be my girl, I could be a man of the world." ~Marc Cohn, "Man of the World"

Chapter 3

"The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value. I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress and grow brave by reflection. 'Tis the business of little minds to shrink; but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death." ~Thomas Paine

He was still moving like an old man. The doctor had informed him that it would be weeks before he was completely recovered, given the extent of the damage. Two broken and four cracked ribs, a fractured collarbone, and a hole in his shoulder from the crossbow bolt, not to mention some internal bleeding—it was a miracle he was alive, the doctors kept saying.

Wesley thought it was just too bad.

Not that he was planning on going out and killing himself, not now. He'd come to terms with his survival over the last few days in the hospital. He'd had time to adjust to the idea of sticking around in this new world. It wasn't what he'd wanted, but Wesley had gotten pretty good at accepting things he hadn't wanted.

There was a part of him that wondered when payment would come due. The creature that had answered his call had declared him a tool of the Powers. While he hadn't been able to give it much thought at the time, the echo of its words haunted his dreams. What would it require of him next? What more could he possibly give?

"So, what are you in here for?"

The voice startled him, as he didn't recognize it. "Pardon me?"

She'd come up to stand next to him as he stood in the lounge. Cordelia had been kind enough to bring him his robe, and a few other essentials, and the doctor had encouraged him to begin moving around a bit. Wesley had been tired of his bed, and had been anxious to get out of the hospital room.

He'd had enough of hospitals.

"What are you in here for?" she repeated. The woman was on the tall side of average, a little on the heavy side—the kind of woman Ruben had painted. "Please tell me you got attacked by clowns."

The request was so absurd, Wesley found a smile forming in spite of himself. "Why would you want me to tell you that?"

"I have a baseless fear of clowns, so I'm always looking for justification," she replied, twin dimples forming as she grinned at him. "If clowns had trampled you, I thought it would be a pretty good indication that they were dangerous and ought to be excluded from civilized society."

"I'm afraid I can't help you," he replied. "They weren't clowns."

"Elephants, then?" she suggested.

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a fear of circuses in general?"

"Oh, no, I like elephants. You just look like elephants walked all over you."

"I'm a private detective," Wesley replied, not knowing why he was even telling her this. "I was injured while working on a case."

She wrinkled her nose. "Really? I didn't even know that private detectives existed outside the movies."

"We're a specialized firm," Wesley said. "We deal with unusual cases."

"Interesting." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Tuff."

Wesley took her hand. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," he replied automatically. "And 'Tuff?'"

"It's short for Tiffany, but the only people who ever call me that are the relatives I'm not allowed to kill." Tuff grinned at him. "Do I look like a Tiffany?"

Since the correct answer to that question was obviously "no," that's the one that Wesley gave, even though he really had no opinion on the matter. "I broke my arm when I was five, and I didn't cry, mostly because I was in too much shock," she continued. "My brother said I wasn't Tiff, I was Tuff. It stuck."

Wesley felt just a little overwhelmed by her ebullience. "I see. That makes perfect sense, then."

"Don't hospitals bore you to tears?" she asked. "I mean, you looked bored, which is why I thought I'd say hello."

Wesley nodded. "I am a bit bored."

"Tuff? Ready to go?" Wesley looked over at the entrance to the lounge, where Dr. Myers, one of his physicians, was standing. "Hello, Wesley. Don't tire yourself out now."

"I'm eating lunch with my dad," Tuff explained. "I'll see if I can't pick something up to alleviate the boredom on our way back, though. It was nice to meet you!"

She was gone before Wesley could even frame a reply. He contemplated sitting down, as he found himself suddenly exhausted, but the molded plastic chairs with their minimal padding weren't inviting. His bed suddenly seemed the better option.

Even though Tuff had promised to bring something, Wesley couldn't bring himself to believe her. She was a stranger, after all. She had no reason to show him kindness. Why should she care when his friends did not?

Wesley cursed himself in the next moment. It was so hard to remember sometimes that this was a different time. The only reason no one had visited him was because they'd had to deal with one of Cordelia's visions. Lorne was the only one who had gotten any rest, and it really wasn't a good idea for the demon to come by the hospital, where he might scare the other patients.

He hadn't been abandoned; it wasn't fair to hold actions they'd never technically committed against them.

Wesley levered himself into the hospital bed painfully, careful of the IV line that still went into his hand. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to overcome him, wishing that he had a better idea of how to relate to this new life of his.

~~~~~

When Wesley awoke several hours later, he found a plastic grocery sack full of books on the table next to his bed. He sat up slowly, reaching for the bag with a grunt of pain. "Bugger it," he snarled, tired of the constant ache.

Gritting his teeth, Wesley got the bag to the bed, and he pulled out the note, scribbled on a piece of scrap paper. "Hope one of these appeals to you. Feel free to keep them or leave them at the hospital when you're discharged. Tuff." Below her signature was a phone number.

He frowned, then laid the note on the bed; touched at her thoughtfulness, as he began to pull out the books. There was quite a diverse selection: two westerns, one romance novel (which Wesley greeted with a raised eyebrow), a Charles Dickens, a Jane Austen, and three fantasy novels.

Opening Pride and Prejudice, he read the note written inside the front cover. "I have to confess that I've read this book exactly eighteen times. Each time I'm amazed that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy fall in love. Have you read it? I know it's probably a girlie book, but it's a literary staple."

Intrigued, he opened the covers of all the books, and each one had a note inside the front cover—what she liked, what she didn't, what characters she wanted to strangle by the end. It was obvious that she'd raided her shelves for books to donate with no thought to having them returned.

He put the other books back in the bag, and opened Pride and Prejudice. Wesley was deeply into the story when he heard the sound of a throat being cleared. Dr. Myers stood next to his bed, and it was apparent that he'd been trying to get Wesley's attention for some time. "I take it Tuff was right in thinking you were a book person."

"Actually, yes," Wesley replied, putting the book down. "You'll have to thank her for me."

He smiled. "I'll do that. Let's see how you're doing, shall we?" The doctor conducted a careful examination of Wesley's healing ribs, and the bruising on his chest and back. "It looks like you're coming along. I want to keep you one more night, but I think I might be able to let you go home tomorrow."

"That would be good," Wesley said sincerely. "No offense, but I'm a bit tired of being here."

Dr. Myers chuckled. "None taken. Do you have someone who can stay with you?"

Wesley hoped his face didn't give anything away. "I have friends who would be happy to help out."

The older man gave him a sharp look. "That would stay with you?" he pressed.

"Of course."

It was obvious that the doctor didn't believe him, but he nodded. "Very well. You're going to need to avoid any kind of strenuous activity for at least six weeks. No heavy lifting or any physical altercations. You'll need to give your body time to fully heal, particularly those ribs."

"I understand," Wesley said. At the expression on the doctor's face, he added, "I promise."

"Good. Then I'll see you in the morning."

Wesley leaned back into his pillows, picking up the novel again. It was a pleasure to remember what an escape words could provide; it had been so long since he'd had the time to read for pleasure.

He chuckled darkly and remembered the doctor's orders. It looked like he would have plenty of time to revisit the pleasure.

~~~~~

Wesley dialed the number for the hotel, listening as the answering machine picked up. "Hello, this is Angel Investigations. We help the helpless..."

"This is Wesley," he stated. "The doctor released me, but as no one is there, I suppose I'll just take a cab. I'll be at my place."

"Okay, you know the nurses aren't going to let you take a cab," Tuff said from the doorway behind him. "They'll wheel you out in the wheelchair, and then they'll laugh at you for even thinking about getting away with it. You're supposed to have someone staying with you."

"They'll meet me at my apartment as soon as they get the message." He turned to face her. "And thank you for the loan of the books. I can return them to you now if you like."

"Keep them," she replied. "Give me a call when you've finished them if you want." She grimaced. "Although, I do want to assure you that I don't normally try to pick up strange men in hospitals." There was a pause, and then she turned bright red. "Actually, I don't usually try to pick strange men up anywhere, but..." Tuff laughed, sounding embarrassed. "Do you want a ride home?"

"I wouldn't want to put you out," Wesley protested. "I'm sure you have somewhere to be."

"Work," Tuff agreed. "That's one of the nice things about working here, though. If I tell them I'm giving a friend a ride home from the hospital, they'll be fine with that. I don't have much on my plate this afternoon anyway."

Wesley hesitated. "I really can't accept—"

"Tell you what," Tuff said. "If you ride with me, I'll make sure that they don't insist on the wheelchair."

Wesley nodded, liking that idea. "I'll get my things."

Tuff helped him with the paperwork, and then she led him through the corridors, down the elevator, and out a little-used entrance. "I'm sure you think I'm pretty bold."

"No, it's fine," Wesley said quickly. "I appreciate all your help. Are you a doctor as well?"

"Are you kidding?" she asked. "That many years of school? Not on your life. Actually, I work in human resources, so hospital administration. I admire my father, but I wanted to have a life."

Wesley smiled, the expression holding a bitterness he didn't intend to reveal. "A life, huh?"

"Let me guess, you don't know what that is either," Tuff said. "I guess you're getting a mandatory vacation now, though."

"I suppose I will be." Wesley realized that he was going to spend what would probably end up being weeks alone in his apartment. Again. At least this time it wouldn't be because Angel would try to kill him if he showed up at the Hyperion.

She followed his directions, but otherwise let the silence hang. It was, oddly enough, not uncomfortable. "Here we are," Tuff announced as she pulled up in front of his apartment building. "If I offered to help, would you take it?"

"Probably not," Wesley admitted. "Thank you, though."

"Do you have my number?" Tuff asked. "If you want to call, get out of your apartment for a couple of hours, let me know."

He touched his jacket pocket. "I have your number. I need to return your books, if nothing else."

"I hope that's not the only reason you call me."

Wesley was unused to having a woman pursue him so intently. Her dark eyes were open and frankly admiring. "I—I don't..."

She smiled. "Yeah, figures. One of the people you work with?"

"No," Wesley quickly said. "There's no one."

Tuff nodded, although she didn't seem to be buying it. "Give me a call when you want to return the books," she said. "We can talk about them." Her dimples flashed again. "I can't wait to hear what you have to say about the romance novel."

"What makes you think I'll read that one?" he asked.

"Because you're secure enough in your masculinity to not be threatened?" Tuff guessed. "And because you won't want to miss my commentary, I promise."

"I'll call you," he promised. "Thank you again."

"Anytime, Mr. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

~~~~~

He was still thinking about her words hours later. It wasn't surprising, really, given the fact that he was reading one of her books. Wesley couldn't help but wonder why she had been so persistent. He had no idea what she had seen to cause her interest.

The knock on the door had him grimacing. "Just a minute!"

"It's me, Wes," Cordelia called. "I'll just use my key. Don't move."

He settled back on his couch with a sigh, grateful that he didn't have to try and get up. His ribs were protesting the day's activity already.

Cordelia came breezing into his apartment, coming to stand in front of him with her hands on her hips. "You couldn't have waited?"

"I didn't know when you'd be back," Wesley protested. "I really didn't want to be there any longer."

She frowned, then rolled her eyes. "I guess I can understand that." Cordelia settled down next to him. "Did you really take a cab?"

"I got a ride from a friend," Wesley replied.

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? What friend?"

"Just someone I ran into." Wesley knew he was being evasive, but he didn't want to explain. He was certain that Cordelia would take it the wrong way.

"Fine, be Mr. Mysterious," Cordy said, teasing him. She sobered. "Groo left."

"I know."

"You knew he was going to leave."

It was a statement, not a question, and Wesley simply nodded. "He sensed how you felt about Angel."

"Did he tell you where he was going?" Cordelia asked.

"No, I'm sorry." Wesley gave her a sympathetic look.

Cordelia sighed. "Really, it's not that I'm in love with Angel. It's just that Connor needs me right now. We're friends. That's all." When she caught the look on Wesley's face, Cordy gave him a gentle smack on the arm. "Shut up."

"Did I say anything?" he asked, a smile beginning to form. Cordelia, of all of them, was the easiest to be with. There weren't any bad memories here. She was simply Cordelia.

She turned to face him. "Angel told me what you said. You didn't give him the whole story."

"No, I didn't." He wasn't sure he wanted to tell her any more than he'd already told Angel.

Cordelia touched his arm gently. "Wes, tell me. What really happened?" He shook his head. Wesley didn't even know where to begin. "Angel said that I'd been killed? And Fred?"

Wesley hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. First you, and then Fred."

"He also said that Holtz took Connor," Cordy prodded.

"I went to talk to him," Wesley whispered. "I knew that if—if things kept on the way they were, people would die. People I cared about. I found the prophecy that said 'the father will kill the son,' and I believed that it meant Angel would kill Connor. I thought I was doing what was right."

"What happened then?"

And so it went. Wesley spilled the whole sorry tale to her, not sparing himself. He somehow knew that Cordelia would understand, or at least accept. She had seen him at his worst, and she had still offered him her friendship.

In many ways, they had grown up together.

Cordelia offered gentle prompts when he stopped, keeping her hand on his arm. When his voice grew hoarse and he began to cough, she rose to get him a glass of water. "That's why I had to kill Holtz," Wesley finished. "I knew that it was the only way to stop it all from happening. I had to—I had to save her."

"Wes," Cordy said. "I'm sorry. I never—Fred being with Gunn. I didn't see that one coming, and normally my radar is pretty good for that kind of thing."

"It's okay," Wesley replied, knowing that it really wasn't. "I knew what I was coming back to."

He could see it in her eyes; Cordelia knew that he hadn't meant to survive the encounter with Holtz. "And then Angel has to go and save your life."

"Yeah."

"You should really come back to the hotel," she suggested. "Until you're recovered, anyway."

Wesley shook his head. "I can't, Cordy. I can't be around them right now." He left it up to her to decide who he was referring to.

"Well, okay," she declared. "I guess you'll just be stuck with me, then."

He frowned. "What about Angel? Connor—"

"He can live without me," Cordelia replied. "I'm staying here until you're settled for the night. We can order take-out, and I can tell you all about what's been happening while you were in the hospital." When it looked like he was about to protest, she held up a hand. "How long has it been since you've seen me where you've been? Or when you've been, I guess."

Wesley swallowed hard. "Months," he admitted. "It feels like years, though."

"How do you feel about Thai food?" Cordelia asked.

"That would be fine," Wesley replied.

"Good," she said, sounding determinedly cheerful. "And I want you to tell me every mistake that Angel makes in the future, because I plan on making sure that he avoids all of them."

"Absolutely," Wesley replied.

For the first time, Wesley thought that there might be some advantages to not dying.