Warped Reflection
Part Six: Boundaries
by Ruth Quist

SUMMARY: What would happen if you looked in the mirror and you weren’t there?

RATING: FRT [V] [L] [A] [AU]

DISCLAIMERS: This fan fiction is copyrighted (2004) by the author. No infringement on the rights of Mutant Enemy, Inc., Greenwolf Corp., Lazy Dave, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, Twentieth Century Fox Television, UPN or The WB, or any other legitimate holders of copyright for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, or any other characters contained therein is intended. This material is produced entirely for the entertainment of fans. No profit is made.

SPOILERS: Spoilers for up to the end of Season 4 (In fact, it is assumed that you’ve seen Season 4. It will be hard to read this if you haven’t.). Minor spoilers for Season 5. Mostly related to characters introduced this season.

DISTRIBUTION: Please ask if you want it.

ASSUMPTIONS: (Spoiler warning!) They still haven’t explained how the Connor related mind wipe works. For the purposes of this fiction, it is assumed that all the events that happened are remembered exactly how they happened. Conner was simply edited from those memories. (i.e. Justine cut Wesley’s throat and he remembers that, but he doesn’t remember the baby being in his arms or her taking Conner.) As you can imagine, this leave’s weird gaps in everyone’s memory. People don’t question this because, as a part of the magical process to create the mind wipe, they were told not to question it. This also means that everyone’s emotional state is pretty much the same as it was before the mind wipe. Aren’t I nice to tell you? Now if Joss would just tell us!

Wesley closed and then leaned against the door to one of Wolfram and Hart’s ‘guest’ quarters. 
They found out about the rooms when Gunn brought Lorne and Fred to Wolfram and Hart after
Winston’s attack. 

Although a few of them, like the one Wesley was in, looked like luxury apartments, they were all actually glorified holding cells.  Beautifully appointed, and used in the past for visitors (both willing and unwilling), the Angel group had already figured out they would use them to sleep over when work ran too late and they were too tired. 

Dear Lord, he was tired.  He closed his eyes trying to will his body to move to the bedroom.  Still, he slumped at the door feeling like the distance to the bed was just too far away.  Angel had interrupted his and Fred’s conversation.  Probably for the best.  He was too tired to handle the discussion with any tact or patience and she was obviously uncomfortable with it.  He’d sensed that Angel wanted to talk about something but Wesley was in no mood for any more in-depth dialogue tonight.  Wesley ’d cut it short after a little discussion updating on the current crises.  A sudden knock at the door jarred his thoughts.  He sighed loudly and snorted amusedly at the thought that flitted through his brain unexpectedly, “No rest for the wicked.”  He was a little surprised when he realized he had said it aloud.  Shaking his head wearily, he stood up, turned, and opened the door. 

Angel stood there, hands out apologetically, “Look, I know you’re tired, but we really need to talk.” 

Wesley leaned one hand against the doorframe, while the other was still holding the doorknob.  He was flabbergasted.  Finally he said, “Angel, we just talked upstairs.  What could be so important that it can’t wait until tomorrow?” 

Angel looked down at the floor and then up at Wesley, “It can’t wait, Wes.” 

Wesley turned, leaving the door open, and headed towards the small refrigerator in the kitchenette.  “Do you want a drink?  I don’t think I’m going to be able to carry on at this point without one.”

Angel tentatively reached a hand out expecting to meet a barrier and found his hand freely passed through the doorway.  “Uh, sure.  How’d you know I didn’t need an invite?”  He moved in and looked the room over.

“What?”  Wesley looked back over his shoulder briefly, “Oh, I didn’t.  I simply forgot.  However, it isn’t really surprising.  You do technically own the building, you know, and it’s not like I actually live here.”  Wesley stooped down and scooped out two beers from the well stocked frig. 

Angel stopped in place at a sudden realization, surprise evident in his voice, “You didn’t do the uninvite ritual at your apartment.”   

Wesley froze for a moment and then slowly straightened.  He turned and looked at Angel for a few seconds, his face unreadable.  He dropped his eyes, took a deep breath, and then moved over to a plush red leather chair, waving Angel into another and put one beer on the coffee table between them while sitting down.  He twisted the lid off of the other and took a swig.  “Hmmm, pretty good,” he looked at the label, “Good Lord!  Pitfield’s Hoxton Best imported from London.  Their Dark Star is even better.  But this is very good.  Haven’t had it in a while.  Too bad they chill them.”  He rubbed his thumb thoughtfully over the film of moisture on the green glass clearing a tiny window to the dark contents within.

“Oh. Yeah.  Uh, they didn’t really use ice much anywhere when I came over to the States,” Angel grabbed the other beer and took off the cap.  He turned the cap over and over in his hand.

Wesley was slouched in his chair, exhaustion apparent in every movement, “So, you needed to talk?”

Angel looked up, stopped playing with the cap, and started to speak and then stopped.  He put the cap and the beer down and tried again, “I…I needed to talk to you about Winston.”

Wesley laid the cool, dew covered bottle against a particularly annoying bruise on the side of his head and sighed, “You want to tell me he has a soul, don’t you.” 

Angel’s surprise was clear in his voice, “How’d you know?”

“It’s really not much of a guess, what with that exit line of my brother’s.  In any case, I assume you could sense it.  I supposed it’s good to have it confirmed.” 

Angel responded quietly, “Yeah.  How do suppose he got it?”

“Well, I have my suspicions.”  Wesley seemed to focus inward for a moment and then shook himself back to the conversation, “However, I’m too tired to speculate right now.  It doesn’t especially matter in any case.”  Wesley looked into the dark green bottle he was holding as if it held the secrets inside.  He broke off staring and took another few gulps.

He’s attacked Fred, Gunn, and you.  He’ll turn you and kill us all if he gets the chance.”  Angel’s face was grim.  “Despite the soul, we’re still going to have to kill him, Wes.”

Wesley slumped a little more in the chair laying his head back, “Yes, I know.”

*******************************************************************

A little later, Angel hesitated at the front door as he was leaving.  Wesley didn’t bother to turn as he moved wearily in the other direction towards the bedroom door, “Just let yourself out, Angel.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wes?” Angel’s hand tightened around the door knob as he spoke.

Wesley paused to lean against the door frame but didn’t turn around; he spoke quietly, “Yes?”

Angel spoke quietly too, “Why didn’t you do the uninvite at your place?”

Wesley turned and looked at Angel, a mixture of sadness and resignation on his face, “At first, I couldn’t,” he gestured towards his throat.  “Afterwards, I just didn’t care anymore.”  Wesley turned away again, “Goodnight, Angel.”  He stepped into the bedroom and softly shut the door.”

Angel realized he was in danger of crushing the doorknob and released it.  He looked at the bedroom door for a minute, took a deep unnecessary breath, and pulled the front door shut.

*******************************************************************

The next morning, feeling refreshed, Wesley arrived at his office from the ‘guest’ quarters in the building.  The exhaustion of the yesterday’s events combined with the lack of sleep had caused him to practically fall into bed asleep, despite his roiling emotions.

Waiting on his desk, from the lawyers, was the brief on Faith’s situation.  After a call to Giles setting up the meeting, he leaned back in the chair he’d sat in yesterday, when Fred had kneeled in front of him. 

He’d been so worn out last night that he couldn’t think straight.  He’d reacted badly.  She was trying to comfort him.  She cared for him; he’d seen it in her eyes.  It was unfair to hold a split-second, involuntary reaction against her.

He stood up.  It was time to visit the Science Department.

*******************************************************************

Fred stood looking out the window in her office.  The usual ginormous stack of status reports sat on her desk waiting for her attention.  Instead, she stared sightlessly at the Los Angeles skyline, completely ignoring the work.  She was tired.  She’d finally fallen asleep last night after tossing and turning restlessly for several hours. 

Angel showed up in Wesley’s office last night before Fred could say anything to try to heal the unintentional rift she’d created with Wes last night.  What could she have said anyway?  That she was sorry?  That he scared her a little?  That all her emotions went haywire around him?  Her thoughts were still running around in circles about Wesley.  There was no way she could have figured it all out last night—or this morning apparently. 

She sighed, a mixture of exhaustion and frustration.  Last night, Wesley, understandably distant, spoke briefly with Angel about the various issues of the police, Winston, and Faith.  Then Wesley quietly, but firmly, excused himself to go the Wolfram and Hart’s ‘guest’ quarters.  She was using one herself, now that the Hyperion wasn’t safe, just until she found a place of her own.

Wesley looked very tired last night.  She hoped he was feeling more rested than she did…and forgiving.

“Penny for them,” Knox’s voice surprised her.  She turned and looked at the young scientist.  He was carrying a clipboard stuffed with papers and his other hand was slipped into the pocket of his white lab coat. 

“What?” Fred asked. 

Knox smiled genially, “A penny for your thoughts?  Although, you know, I should probably offer more, with you being the boss and all, or maybe,” he posed as if thinking, “you should pay me.” 

She smiled back at him, “I thought I did pay you already, um, figuratively anyway, you know, as the boss.”  Her voice ended on something like the tone of a question.  She looked uncertainly at him, “Did you need something?” 

Knox took his hand out of his pocket and waved towards the lab visible through the inner window, “Oh, yeah, we’ve got that experimental grenade design prototype,” Knox leaned forward speaking confidentially, “without explosive or primer, for your approval.  If you like it, we can take it out to the testing facility for a practical test.  Then magic man can try adding the, you know, Hogwarts stuff.”  Knox made a mock hand motion of spell casting. 

Fred replied, half amused and half serious, “Magic man is called Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Knox.”

“Yeah, sorry.”  Knox didn’t look or sound particularly sorry.  “So, you wanna look?”  He opened the door, took a step down, and held it open so she could follow.  Fred laughed softly in amusement as she walked down the steps after Knox.  At the bottom, Knox turned back to her and opened his mouth to speak.  The prototype on the lab table captured her attention as she was stepping down and Fred misjudged the last step and stumbled. 

Knox grabbed her as she fell and she put both her hands on his chest as he supported her.  They looked into each other’s eyes for a few seconds and then she pulled away laughing nervously, muttered an apology, and was obviously a little embarrassed. 

Knox smiled and they moved over to the new prototyped.  Both leaned on the table, heads fairly close as they looked over the device.

*******************************************************************

Wesley smiled a little as he walked through the door of the Science Department.  He thought he heard the sound of her soft laughter up ahead.  He started to turn the corner into the main room of the lab, when he saw the pair standing at the base of the stairs, in each other’s arms, and apparently oblivious to anyone else.  It felt like someone crushed his heart in a vice. 

He stepped back around the corner, pressed against the wall, and tried to breathe.  He heard her laugh again.  He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the two of them in each other’s arms, and a single tear slowly traced a path down his face.  You’d think he’d have learned by now.  But, as usual, the laugh was on him.    

*******************************************************************

Giles had to admit, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was a changed man.  The man Giles knew in Sunnydale would have talked endlessly and, for the most part, uselessly.  But this man (it was hard to think of him as the same man) was sporting fresh bruises around his throat and refused, firmly and politely, to talk about them.  All Wesley would say, when Faith questioned him like a bulldog with a bone, was, “just took a little work home last night.”  His voice was slightly hoarse and he immediately changed the subject.  This patent subterfuge failed to mollify the girl, who looked surprisingly worried about the man who’d been so instrumental in her original fall from grace.  

Also, Pryce was true to his word.  Although the man seemed grim and Giles detected some underlying tension (not surprising considering the bruises and what Giles had heard about Pryce’s brother), Wesley listened alertly to the lawyers’ plan.  The former ‘rogue demon hunter’ emphatically refused to let Faith sign anything and after a rather pointed look from the man, the lawyers stopped asking. 

The plan was simple enough; it included a large amount of fairly painless official record changing (something Wolfram and Hart were apparently adept at) and a certain percentage of bribes (another signature skill).  The lawyers figured it would take a week. 

Giles leaned back in his chair unhappily, he knew this was the only way to clear Faith’s path.  However, it was distasteful in the extreme to use these methods and this organization.  As he looked at Wesley, he knew the man could see his discomfort.  “Would you like to discuss this further, Giles?” Wesley asked quietly. 

“No, no,” Giles said with a sigh, “I know this is the only way.  I simply don’t like it.”

“What about you, Faith?  Is this what you want to do?” Wesley inquired.  Faith was sitting with her feet up on the table. 

Up until now, she had just listened while the lawyers and watchers hashed out the details, “Hey, no probs here.  I know I didn’t do my time, but I figure I’ll make it up in Slayer duty, ya’ know?”  She looked down at her hands folded in her lap, “I’ve got a lot to make up for.  You all are givin’ me a second chance.  I don’t plan to blow it.” 

Giles lay his hand on hers reassuringly, “You won’t, Faith.  Never fear.  There will be plenty of work for everyone.”  They shared a small look of understanding and then Faith looked at her two favorite watchers, her eyes shining.

*******************************************************************

Angel met them as they walked out of the conference room.  The lawyers scurried past, off to complete their nefarious deeds for (cough) good.

“So, how did everything go?” Angel looked uncomfortable in a suit and tie, his hand clutching a sheaf of papers.  “Five by five, big guy.  Wes has my back.”  Faith playfully punched Wesley’s arm. 

Wesley winced slightly and then smiled ruefully at Faith, massaging his arm briefly, “Good to know you’ve kept up your training, Faith.”  He looked at Angel, “The lawyers expect the process to take a week.  Then Faith can travel freely without fear of incarceration.  That is assuming she doesn’t punch me hard enough to get charged with assault.” 

Faith hid a giggle behind her hand while she looked at Wesley, “Oh!  Sorry!  I’ve been around the teen Slayers so much lately, I forgot how wussy you watcher boys are.” 

Wes and Faith looked at each other with amusement, while Giles said dryly, “Yes, thank you Faith.   I’m sure both Wesley and I appreciate your denigration of both our manhood and chosen vocation.”

While Wesley looked astonished at Giles over this token acknowledgement of solidarity, Angel smiled and crossed his arms, “Faith, Giles, can I talk to you both in my office for a minute?”  Wesley and Angel made eye contact for a second and Wesley gave a short nod and moved away.  Giles noted the interchange and eyed Wesley’s receding figure speculatively as Angel directed them into his office.

*******************************************************************

Wesley sighed and leaned back in the chair in his office, phone to his ear, listening.  A business card rested squarely on the center of his desk.

“Hi!  I’m Jean Rydell, O’Day Real Estate.  We’ll light the way to your new home.  I’m either showing or closing on a house right now, however, if you leave a message…” 

Wesley listened as the overly cheerful, tinny voice on the answering machine ran through its litany.  He left a message and slowly hung up the phone.  He’d give it a couple of hours and then go personally to the real estate office.

*******************************************************************

“Hi, Pryce here.  We need to meet.”  Winston had no idea who he was talking to using Wesley’s old cell phone.  It didn’t really matter as long as they thought he was Wesley.  He almost snickered aloud.  The phone address book just said ‘team.’  The man on the other end said cautiously, “Sure, what’s the word?”

Word?  What could the man possibly be talking about?  Was that some kind of ridiculous American slang?

Winston, doing his best to sound like Wesley, replied, “There’s something going on and we need to meet.”

There was a pause and then the man said slowly, “Alright, where do you want to meet?”

Winston had given this a lot of thought.  Wesley’s apartment would have been the ideal meeting location.  The site would have allayed any apprehensions of the guests.  According to the minions watching Wesley’s apartment, his dear little brother hadn’t been back since the attack.  Winston smirked, a flurry of police toadies had scurried in and out and some workmen entered to temporarily board up Winston’s newly created ‘exit’—but no Wesley.

His brother was such an idiot.  As their father had consistently pointed out, Wesley always was incompetent, despite that unexpectedly effective counterattack at Junior’s apartment.  That was just a fluke.  Toys and tired magic tricks.  Old Wussley hadn’t gone back to do the disinvite spell.  That meant Winston still had a free invitation to enter.  However, none of his minions did.  In addition, the damage to the abode and crime scene accouterments would put anyone off.  Not the attitude he wanted Wesley’s friends to sport when he ‘greeted’ them.  He grinned broadly as he spoke on the phone.

He thought he had the perfect place.

*******************************************************************

“Angel, I just got a call from one of my team.” Wesley's words surprised Angel. 

The vampire looked up from the stacks of interminable paperwork that seemed to arrive hourly, “Your team?  You still have a team?  I thought you…um…stopped doing that whole lone ranger thing, you know, with the Beast and all.  You weren’t thinking of going back to that were you?  I thought you were back with us for good?”  Angel stood awkwardly, his eyes a little uncertain. 

Wesley stood in front of the desk, bewildered by the direction the conversation had taken, “I appreciate you’re having all this unanticipated angst, but if you’re quite done…?” Wesley quirked an eyebrow inquiringly.

Angel swallowed, shuffled some of the papers into a new stack, and nodded his assent.  Wesley continued, “Right then.  One of my team members, Hawkins, said someone called, using my old cell phone and pretending to be me.  The caller, presumably Winston, wanted to meet my team.  I thought we could handle that meeting instead?” Wesley quirked an eyebrow and allowed a small humorless smile to reach his lips. 

Angel grinned back broadly and clapped his hands together loudly, “Now that’s the first meeting since we got here that sounds worth going to!”

© August 2004

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