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 9
"We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aid, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn." ~Henry David Thoreau
Fred watched from the doorway as Wesley scribbled in his notebook, going back and forth between texts and lexicons. She hated to interrupt while he was obviously so deep in thought, but she didn't think he'd appreciate missing this phone call. "Wesley?"
"Yes?" he asked automatically, his eyes still focused on the words in front of him.
"You've got a phone call." She waited for him to acknowledge her message. When he still didn't look up, Fred added, "It's Greta from the book shop. She said to tell you that she found the book you wanted."
That got his attention. Wesley's head shot up, and he fixed Fred with an intense gaze. "Is she still on the line?" When she nodded, he picked up the office phone, punching the button to select the incoming call. "Greta?"
Fred lingered in the doorway, listening, knowing that she probably shouldn't. Wesley seemed so much more closed off these days, so secretive. He was impossible to read, and Fred had no idea how he felt about her—about them. All of them.
"I can do that," Wesley said. "I'll be by tomorrow to pick it up."
"Was it something you needed?" Fred asked when he'd hung up the phone.
Wesley glanced up absent-mindedly, his attention already back on his translation. "Hmm? Oh, just a book I think might be helpful to me."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Fred asked wistfully.
Gunn and Angel had gone out, and Cordelia was busy shopping. It was Lorne's
turn to stay with Connor, and he was upstairs making phone calls to various
people. He had received a few offers from associates in show business, and one
of them had offered him his own show in
Wesley glanced up at her, and the expression on his face was so strange that Fred felt her breath catch. He was looking at her as though he'd never seen her before—or maybe like he'd thought he would never see her again. Fred wasn't sure she wanted to think about what that meant.
"You could keep me company if you like," Wesley finally said after some hesitation. "There really isn't much else to do."
She didn't want to be alone, so she sat down across the desk, watching as he worked. Fred had noticed that he was different—Wesley even looked different, with his rumpled clothing and spiky hair. He seemed to care less about his appearance these days, to care less about being with any of them, or being in charge.
He wasn't the same man she'd known. It was a little scary, in a way, watching a person change so completely in such a short period of time. While Fred knew it had been longer for him, it didn't feel that way from the outside looking in.
Not for the first time, she wondered about the physics of the change. How had the being Wesley called on done it? Had his consciousness been transferred back through time? Or was it simply an imparting of knowledge? Was anything really transported other than information, and if it had been, where was the old Wesley?
Fred wished she had some way of finding out, but there didn't seem to be any way to run an experiment.
She leaned forward, snagging a book that he didn't appear to be using, flipping through the pages while keeping his place marked with her finger. The language was one she didn't recognize, and Fred frowned. There might be a way she could help; there were computer programs to translate texts like this. Of course, the algorithms were amazingly complex, and there was no guarantee she'd be able to come up with a program that would give them the accuracy needed.
But it might be fun to try.
Wesley didn't say anything when she left the office to grab her laptop, bringing it back and beginning to play around with ideas.
They worked in silence, both of them immersed in the task at hand. Fred focused on working out the basics of a translating program, rather than the specifics. Each language would have its own set of specifications, but once the parameters of a particular language had been determined, she could input them and go from there.
"Are—are you okay, Wes?"
She watched as he froze, all movement stilled. "I'm quite alright," he finally replied.
"You've been avoiding us," Fred pointed out. "Gunn and I, anyway." Angel had spoken to them about Wesley's request that he not be in charge anymore. Gunn had said he thought Wes should stay in the position, although if he wanted out that badly, that was different. Angel didn't want to be in charge again; Cordelia thought that things were fine as they were.
Fred—well, Fred didn't really have an opinion. Wesley had been in charge for as long as she'd been at the hotel, so she couldn't say that it would be better if someone else was making the decisions.
She'd noticed that he was avoiding her, though. Gunn, too, but it was mostly her. Anytime she was in the room, Wesley seemed to freeze up, and then he found an excuse to leave as soon as possible. At first, Fred had thought it was just about the fact that Wesley had watched her die sometime in the future. Now, she wasn't so sure. According to Cordelia, she'd died too, and Wesley didn't have the same problem with the other woman.
Wesley was silent for so long after she'd asked her question, Fred was afraid that he wasn't going to answer. That he was simply going to ignore her.
"It's better that you don't know everything that happens in the future," Wesley said quietly. "If I seem strange, it's because there are things that I haven't told you."
"I don't understand," Fred replied unhappily. She still felt as though she had done something to create this distance between them.
Wesley met her eyes, and she realized with a jolt that it was the first time he'd done so since all of this had happened, since he'd become another person. Fred could see the anguish in his gaze, and she suddenly realized exactly why Wesley might be uncomfortable around her and Gunn. Why he'd been angry when they had first started dating.
Why it seemed as though he couldn't even bear to look at her at times.
"Oh," she whispered.
He shook his head. "Let's just forget about it, Fred. There's no point in dwelling on things you can't change."
Fred knew that she wouldn't be able to forget about it.
~~~~~
Lilah went through the folder with growing impatience. There was nothing here, nothing that would give any indication of exactly what was going on with Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. The only real connection between him and the woman was that she worked at the same hospital he'd stayed at after he'd been injured. And the woman—
Well, she was boring. Utterly mundane.
Normal family, average student, average job. Her father had been one of Wesley's doctors at the hospital. Although there were a few doctors there that Wolfram & Hart represented, David Myers was not one of them. He and his wife were known as pillars of the community, patrons of the arts, and general philanthropists. What was worse was that there was no hint of hypocrisy.
They were genuinely nice people, as was their daughter, apparently. It seemed that Wesley had found himself a nice, normal woman to go out with on occasion. As far as surveillance went, there was no indication that either of them had spent the night yet. All evidence pointed to friendship, rather than romance.
She frowned. It was time to pull in the big guns. Perhaps Wesley wasn't the weak link that she'd thought him, but that didn't have to mean anything. In fact, it could be an indication that he was more important than they'd believed. It might be time to dig a little deeper.
And if her digging didn't take her anywhere, Lilah had other avenues.
After all, Angel had been rather upset when Lilah had targeted Cordelia; Wesley might be persuaded to cooperate if they went after Tiffany Myers, particularly if she was as normal as she appeared.
She doubted Wesley wanted his new friend to learn about his profession the hard way.
~~~~~
The knock on Tuff's door had her turning in her chair, expecting to see her father, since he was usually the one who came to visit. Instead, Wesley was leaning against the doorway, watching her with his intense stare. "Wesley. What are you doing here?"
"Is this not a good time?" he asked. "I could leave."
"Don't you dare!" Tuff shot back. "It's perfect timing, if you don't mind waiting a few minutes while I finish up this paperwork. I was almost ready to leave." She paused. "This is the first time you've visited me at work."
Actually, it was the first time he'd sought her out like this. Normally, she called him and they set up a time to get together, although Wesley had called her once or twice. This was the first time he'd just stopped by, however, and Tuff couldn't help getting her hopes up.
She really liked him.
He shrugged. "I had to pick up a book, and I was in the area." The expression on his face was difficult to read. "I had this sudden urge to see you, and I thought we could go out to dinner."
Tuff didn't know if she was pushing things, but she decided to ask anyway. "You know, I was planning on cooking tonight. If you want, we could go back to my place. I did promise I'd make dinner for you sometime."
He hesitated, and then seemed to come to some kind of a decision. "That would be nice."
Wesley took a seat in her spare chair, and Tuff turned back to her paperwork. She found it nearly impossible to concentrate with Wesley there. She wanted to know what had brought him by, if there had been some change in his feelings for her. If his sudden, unexplained appearance meant something more than friendship.
There were times when Tuff definitely hated her tendency to over-analyze things.
"Tuff?" This time it was her dad at the door, and she watched as he recognized Wesley. "Ah, Wesley." David Myers reacted with commendable aplomb. "You're looking much better than the last time I saw you."
"I'm feeling much better, thank you," Wesley replied, shaking the proffered hand. "It's nice to see you again."
David nodded, then looked at his daughter. "I was going to let you know that I'll be staying late tonight, but it seems you've already made plans."
"I heard through the grapevine that you had your hands full," Tuff responded. "I'd planned on having a night in, anyway."
David nodded, looking from her to Wesley and back again. "Be sure to invite Wesley to dinner on Sunday, sweetheart." He gave her a kiss goodbye and left.
Tuff glanced over at Wesley, who had an expression of ill-concealed longing on his face. She had to wonder if it had something to do with his own relationship with his parents. Tuff had a hard time believing that there wasn't some problem there, since he hadn't seen his parents in years.
"What's Sunday?" Wesley asked before she could say anything.
Tuff shrugged. "My birthday, actually. We're doing the traditional family gathering."
He frowned. "It's your birthday? I didn't realize."
"I didn't tell you," she responded. "It's not really a big deal. Well, it is in our family, but—I didn't know if we were there yet."
"If we were where?" he asked, clearly confused.
"You know, at the point in our friendship where we know about birthdays and anniversaries and stuff," she said. "It always seems like you've hit the next stage when that happens."
Tuff could tell that he was taken aback by that idea, but he nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
She couldn't quite get a read on his expression or tone of voice, and Tuff asked, "So when is your birthday?"
"It isn't important," Wesley replied.
"You know when mine is," she said. "And I want to know."
He hesitated, then admitted, "It's the twelfth of September."
"Good," Tuff responded, satisfied. "I've got plenty of time to make plans, then." At his expression she added, "Unless you have a problem with that."
"No!" Wesley shook his head, still staring at her. "No, it's just—that's fine."
There was something that he wasn't saying, but Tuff decided not to press. She knew him well enough at this point to know that Wesley couldn't be pushed. He could, however, be coaxed. One of these days she'd try to get him drunk and see if that didn't loosen him up a bit. For now, though, she would let things lie.
She hit save on her computer files and then shut the machine down. "Let's get out of here."
~~~~~
Wesley wasn't quite sure why he'd decided to visit Tuff at the hospital instead of immediately going back to his apartment to begin his research with the new text. After his discussion with Fred, he wanted to avoid the hotel for a while, at least until he was sure that his revelation wasn't going to cause things to be even more strained between him and Fred, or him and Gunn.
Wesley remembered how the tension had escalated after Fred had found out how he'd felt while they'd been fighting the Beast. Whatever his feelings were for her now, he had no desire to cause that sort of trouble.
Besides, it was finally beginning to hurt less. At least it didn't feel like he'd been gut-punched every time he saw Fred and Gunn together.
After he'd left the bookstore, it had hit him that he was only a few minutes away from the hospital, and that Tuff should be getting off work soon. Once he'd thought about it, the desire to see her had been too strong to resist. The pleased surprise on her face had been reward enough for his showing up; the promise of a home-cooked meal was just a bonus.
Although, most of Wesley's recent experience with others' cooking was with Cordelia's, which was something he tried to avoid if at all possible. Even if the food wasn't good, Wesley figured he'd do the same thing that he'd done for Cordy—lie through his teeth.
He pulled up behind her in front of a modest apartment complex, parking on the street. Wesley noted with interest that it wasn't too far from Cordelia's apartment, and the thought crossed his mind that Cordy and Tuff would probably get along quite well.
Not that he was planning on introducing them any time soon.
Wesley followed her into the building and up three flights of stairs. "Sorry about the hike," Tuff apologized. "The elevator is a little scary, though."
"I don't mind," he assured her.
She laughed. "Yeah, I imagine you're in better shape than I am."
"I don't know. I like your shape." Wesley couldn't quite believe that those words had come out of his mouth. Actually, if he'd been the man he was three years before, they probably wouldn't have, but he'd loosened up quite a bit.
Watching the flush creep up her neck, and seeing the pleased embarrassment on her face when she turned to look at him made him appreciate that in a new way. "Thank you," she said quietly.
Her apartment fit her, Wesley decided when he entered. There were large windows with gauzy, brightly colored curtains, and her furniture was overstuffed in mixed neutral and bright colors. There were bookshelves along every wall, crammed with books, seemingly with no order; it was clean, but cluttered, obviously well lived-in, an inviting sort of space.
"I like it," Wesley said.
She smiled, her dimples showing. "Thanks. Give me a minute. I'm going to get changed, and then we can start dinner."
Wesley wandered around, running his hands over the spines of the books, recognizing a pattern after a few minutes, separate genres on separate shelves. It made quite a bit of sense when he thought about it, particularly if you couldn't recall the title or author of the book you were looking for.
"See something you'd like to borrow?"
Wesley straightened and turned. "I imagine I would, given time. You do like books, don't you?"
"They're a girl's best friends," Tuff replied. "I know they say it's diamonds, but it's kind of a pain to take a diamond to bed with you."
She'd changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and Wesley realized that he had no desire to go back to his empty apartment that night, to begin another round of research that would only prompt another string of questions he couldn't answer. Not when he could be here. "Books do provide an escape," he acknowledged, reading between the lines.
"What is it that you wanted to escape from?" Tuff asked, beginning to pull foodstuffs out of the refrigerator.
Wesley leaned against the counter, watching her. "Duty, rules, life in general. You?"
"Stupid people," she responded. "When you're on the chunky side, people aren't always kind."
"Ah." Wesley wasn't quite sure what to say to that, particularly since he was certain that she wasn't fishing for compliments. "People don't always need an excuse to be cruel."
"No, they don't," Tuff replied. "It wasn't so bad. I had some good friends, so it wasn't like I was the kid everybody picked on, but it was easier to lose myself in a book sometimes."
"Yes." Wesley considered his next words carefully. "You seem to have a close relationship with your parents."
"We are close," she admitted. "Speaking of, you are invited this weekend, just in case I didn't make it clear."
"I'd like to come," Wesley replied, and meant it.
She looked over at him. "How are you with a knife?"
"Not bad," Wesley replied.
"Good. You can chop." Tuff handed him a knife and pointed him in the direction of the cutting board she'd set out in front of the vegetables. "It's just pasta and a salad," she said, "but the sauce is homemade."
"It sounds fine," Wesley replied.
"You aren't close to your parents," Tuff commented. "Any particular reason?"
"I'm a terrible disappointment." Wesley had no idea why he'd said that out loud. He'd never really been that blunt with Angel or the others, although he imagined that they probably had gotten a partial picture from the hints he'd let drop. They had never asked, though, perhaps because they had their own pasts to deal with.
Tuff laughed, and then stopped abruptly when she realized that he wasn't joking. "You're kidding, right?" she asked. Turning from the stove where she'd just put the pasta on to boil, she stared at him. "You can't possibly be serious."
"Very serious," Wesley replied. "I was fired from the position my father got for me for gross incompetence, and then I decided to become a private detective." It wasn't a complete lie. In fact, it was the truth, although a much edited version of it.
"But—" Tuff blinked. "You're his son, Wesley."
"And that makes it even more difficult for him." He got a sort of perverse pleasure out of laying it out so starkly.
Her dark eyes studied him for a long moment, and then she finally nodded slowly. "Yeah. I get that."
Wesley thought it might be time to change the subject. "So what kind of sauce is that?"
"Roasted tomato," Tuff replied, sounding determinedly cheerful. "My mom gets these cooking magazines, and then she hands them off to me. She's always trying new things out on my dad."
"Will she be there on Sunday?" Wesley asked.
"Yeah, and you'll get to meet my brother and his family, too." Tuff gave him an apologetic look. "I'll warn you now that it's going to be chaos, and everyone will probably ask a dozen questions."
"Including your father?"
"My dad might actually be on your side," she replied. "He seems to like you."
Wesley nodded absently, wondering if Dr. Myers would feel the same if he knew everything. "That's nice."
"Do you want a glass of wine with dinner?" she asked. "There's a bottle in the fridge, if you want to open it."
He turned to look at her, and the expression on her face told him that she wanted him. The feeling was mutual, although Wesley knew that he was entering into dangerous territory. It was one thing to get involved with a woman like Lilah Morgan, who knew that sex between them would likely never be much more than a physical exercise—even if it had become something different in time.
Tuff, he suspected, wanted something more, something Wesley wasn't sure he could give her.
He wondered what kind of man he was that he would take what she offered him anyway.