The Iron is Hot - Cordelia & Wesley

Lost and Found
Author: Kath

Disclaimer: This universe and all it's contents belong to Numfar and Greenwalt. The story, however, is all mine.
Summary: Wesley awakens to find that his life as he knew it no longer exists.
Note: This takes place post Season 2, except there is no Fred, and Wes did not date Virginia.
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 2.
Rating: PG-13
Thanks: To Dub - for inviting me to become a part of the YesWes! team, for endless betas and emails of support, and for the wonderful graphic that so perfectly captures the mood of this story. To Barb - for being my dictionary, thesaurus, and beta extraordinaire; for the late night brain storming and advice, and for being able to take my words and figure out what I really meant to say in the first place. And to Ashley - for helping me come up with the story idea in the first place, and for your bravery. You're all terrific friends, and I'm proud to share a brain with you.
Feedback: You think Numfar's dance of joy was bad? You ain't seen nothin' yet! To vze25s65@verizon.net



Chapter 1


"Wesley! Look -"
*SPLAT*

"-out. Sorry." Angel shook his head remorsefully, before wiping off the blade of his sword with an old rag produced from his coat pocket.

Wesley turned to face him, luminous green slime dripping from his hair in thick globs, plastering his ruined shirt to his upper torso. Cordy and Gunn came speeding around the corner, weapons at the ready, only to be stopped short by the sight of him. The girl muffled a giggle behind her hand, while the street fighter just grinned widely.

"I fail to see what is so amusing about the fact that I appear to attract demon slime like a magnet," the former watcher's voice bordered on a whine, as he removed his glasses and looked for something clean to wipe them on.

"Let's face it, English. You're the slime magnet and Cordy's the 'I-want-you-to-have-my-demon-babies' magnet," Gunn supplied helpfully, his snicker threatening to become a full blown guffaw.

"Hey!" The offended parties cried out in unison.

"See. You're a perfect match." He ducked gleefully out of the way as Wesley flicked his arms, sending up a shower of goo. However, Gunn's gloat was interrupted by Angel's tapping on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Gunn, I need help dismembering the body." He handed the young man a small saw.

"Damn."

"Wes, I know how to dispose of a Ngrl Demon, but that's about all I know. Why don't you and Cordy take the car back to the hotel and see what else you can dig up," Angel suggested, helpfully. "I can catch a ride with Gunn."

Wesley looked down ruefully at what was once his favorite blue button-down shirt. "Uhm, I'm feeling a bit sticky at the moment. Would you mind if I...?"

"Shower's all yours, Wes."

Wesley's fingertips had barely brushed the car door handle when Cordelia put out a hand to stop him. Her nose was crinkled up in disgust, making it clear she didn't want to be anywhere near what continued to drip off the hapless Englishman in long, stringy beads.

"You are riding in the back seat, Mister, and if you so much as get one drip of that stuff on my new outfit..."

Wesley rolled his eyes. "If you would stop buying clothes every week they wouldn't always be new, now would they?" The friendly sniping continued to be heard as the black convertible pulled away from the curb, heading in the direction of the Hyperion Hotel.


***

(one hour later)
Angel wearily pushed open the front door to the hotel and trudged inside. Killing the Ngrl beast had been simple enough, but between hacking it to pieces, hauling them all to the beach and tossing them into the ocean, where the salt water would dissolve them, it had been a long night. All he wanted to do was find out what his research team had uncovered, so he could crawl into bed for at least a few hours sleep.

Gazing across the lobby, Angel spotted one half of said team. "So, what have you and Wes come up with? Any dangers we need to worry about?"

Cordy's heels clicked across the tiled floor angrily as she came over to join him. "We have come up with a big fat nothing, because some of us have been hogging all the hot water and haven't bothered to come back downstairs yet." She folded her arms across her ample chest, looking expectantly at Angel as if to say 'Well, do something.'

"Okay, I'll go up and see what's keeping him. Gunn's waiting for you outside. Why don't you go ahead home and I'll see you in the morning."

"It already is morning," Cordy grumbled to herself, but she wasted no time gathering her bag and coat and hurrying out the front door to her waiting ride.

Angel slouched up the stairs and entered his private rooms. Slipping out of his duster, he tossed it across the back of a chair and cocked his head slightly, listening for sounds of the shower running. When he was greeted with silence, he knocked lightly on the bedroom door, poked his head inside, and let out an audible sigh.

"Great. Guess this makes me Baby Bear."

Angel rubbed tiredly at his jaw, wondering what he was going to do about the rogue demon hunter sleeping on his bed. Or rather half on his bed for, upon closer examination, Wesley's legs were still hanging over the side, as if he'd been sitting and had just toppled over. Momentarily alarmed, Angel bent over the inert form and was relieved to hear a steady heartbeat. Wesley's chest moved quietly in and out as he lay on his side, his still-damp hair curling slightly on the pillow, the towel he'd been using still dangling from one hand.

"Alright, Goldilocks," Angel grunted, as he lifted Wesley's legs onto the bed and covered him with a blanket, before sinking his own aching body into the nearby wing chair. He told himself he'd wake his associate in an hour or so, before he too, promptly fell into a deep sleep.


***


Wesley rolled over in bed and stretched out his arms lazily, automatically reaching over to the nightstand for his glasses. When his hand hit nothing but more mattress he struggled to sit up, squinting to see in the dark room. Nothing was as it should be. The bed appeared to be on the wrong side of the room and the streetlight that usually lit a path across his floor was missing. Wes' legs felt trapped, and the more he struggled to free them the more tangled in the blanket they became. Panic rising, his heart racing, it took only a silent figure's sudden looming over him for a high-pitched 'eep' to free itself from his throat.
"Wes, are you okay?" A bedside lamp switched on, casting Angel-sized shadows onto the bed, across Wesley's shivering form. As the vampire leaned over him, worry etched on his face, the Englishman gasped and scooted himself as far away as possible.

"A-Angel?" He couldn't begin to fathom what the souled vampire might be doing in his bedroom. His first thoughts were of the slayer. "Did something happen? Is something wrong?" As he became more fully awake, Wesley realized this wasn't his bedroom at all.

Whereas, his room was painted a pale yellow, three of these walls were a dark plum color, while the fourth, behind the head of the bed, was covered with a diamond-shape patterned wallpaper. Two square, wooden night stands flanked the king-size bed, each holding an identical bedside lamp with a simple, white shade on it. Across the room, where a normal bedroom door should be, there was, instead, a set of French doors, draped with sheer, white curtains.

"Where am I? What's going on?" Confusion ran neck-and-neck with fury now, neither a clear winner.

"It's okay, Wes. You came in to take a shower last night and fell asleep, remember?"

Right, because trained watchers always went home with vampires they barely knew - and were barely tolerated by - to use their showers and spend the night. Either this was a bizarre dream, or something far more sinister was afoot. Looking down at himself, Wesley realized for the first time that he was wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants.

"This is your bed?" Wide blue eyes regarded Angel, practically begging for a 'no'. "What have you done to me? Why am I here?" He was disgusted with himself for failing to control the quivering timbre of his voice. It was no wonder no one respected him as a leader.

Angel backed off and held up his hands. "Whoa, Wes. Calm down. I think you were having a nightmare or something."

He wasn't kidding! And since when did Angel call him 'Wes'? Since when did the vampire acknowledge his presence... ever? With one final kick, Wesley finally managed to free himself from the blanket constricting his lower limbs and he was quick to scoot off the far side of the bed, keeping wary eyes focused on Angel the whole time, as he backed his way towards the bedroom door and freedom.


***

Angel hung back, uncertain, unable to understand what had come over his friend. Rather than diminishing, he could feel Wesley's uneasiness increasing, until it rolled off him in waves, causing the vampire to feel like he did when he'd indulged in too much coffee. Any attempts at reassurance only seemed to make things worse. Fortunately, just then a diversion was created in the form of Cordelia Chase sticking her head through one of the partially open French doors. She was wearing a sleeveless, denim blouse that tied at the waist, revealing her midriff, and a matching skirt, and was impatiently tapping at her bare wrist with one glossy pink polished nail.

"Hey! The time clock is ticking, Mr.You-Work-For-Us-Now. Get a move on." She spied Wesley in his state of partial undress and arched an eyebrow dramatically. "Do I want to know what's going on here? What's with the slumber party?" Before Angel could even open his mouth in his own defense, Wesley surprised them both by rushing at her and throwing his body in front of hers protectively.

"Be careful, Miss. Don't come too close," he gasped over his shoulder at her. "He hasn't harmed you, has he?"

Cordy leaned out around the human blockade, trying to see Angel. "What's his deal?" She then poked Wesley in the ribs with a sharp elbow. "Nice try, but the insanity plea won't work. If you're looking to get out of research detail you can think again. If anyone's getting the day off, it's me."

Wesley stood with his back ramrod straight, fists balled at his sides, his chin high in the air, as if mustering all the bravado he could. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, Angel, but I demand you return my clothing at once!"

Cordy opened her mouth again but the vampire held up a hand to silence her. He took a step closer but stopped when Wesley looked like he might bolt. Angel did his best to sound soothing and calm. "I didn't take your clothes, Wes. Can't you remember?"

"No, I can't remember!" Wesley snapped, running a shaky hand through his mussed, brown hair. "I wake up and find you've transported me here -" He vaguely motioned to the room around him. "- wherever here is - and I want to know why!" He seemed to realize he was shouting, for he took a deep breath and began again in a much lower tone of voice. "It's hardly a secret that we aren't on the best of terms, Angel, but I had thought that, since we are both here to help Buffy, that we might be able to put aside our differences, at least for now."

At mention of Buffy, Cordy visibly paled and Angel staggered back a step, reaching out to the bedside table to catch himself. Cordy pushed past Wesley to stand by Angel, resting a hand on the vampire's arm.

"If this is a joke, Wesley --" She was cut off once again by Angel.

"I don't think he's joking, Cordy. He's scared. I can smell it." To Wes: "What did you mean by 'here to help Buffy?' What does she need our help with?"

Wesley gaped at Angel as if he'd gone insane. "Oh for heaven's sake! This is ridicu-... fine. You know... Sunnydale... Hellmouth... Mayor's Ascension... any of that ringing a bell?"

Not expecting that answer, the stunned vampire blurted out, "What year do you think this is?"

Angel's worried expression and the tone of his voice drained all anger from Wesley's face, as he stared back, momentarily speechless. When he finally did answer it came out as more of a whispered question.

"1999?"


***

Wesley kept close watch on the figures across from him, as they conferred together in intense whispers. Why had Angel brought him here? Unless the vampire had turned evil again. He closed his eyes and silently prayed to whatever god might be listening that this was not the case. He could pretend he was fooling Giles and the others all he wanted, but he knew he was no match for an unleashed Angelus.

The girl looked familiar. In fact, she reminded him a great deal of Cordelia. He wondered if Ms.Chase had an older sister. Shoving his slipping glasses back up his nose, it then occurred to Wesley that he might have jumped to conclusions. Perhaps Angel had a demon problem requiring his expertise. He was, after all, a watcher, trained in such things.

The girl came closer, sitting on the bed and patting the spot next to her in invitation. After a moment's hesitation, the watcher reluctantly joined her.

"Hey, Wes."

"Cordelia? It is you!" He could already feel his cheeks and ears heating up as he folded his arms across his bare chest awkwardly, trying to cover himself. She smiled kindly and bent to retrieve a misplaced t-shirt from the floor, holding it out to him. Wesley regarded the faded cotton dubiously, but at Cordelia's encouraging nod, he took it from her and slipped it over his head, somewhat surprised at the comfortable fit. Grateful for the covering, however unlikely, he beamed at her.

"I am glad to see you, and I do apologize for my earlier outburst. I obviously misinterpreted the entire situation. I-I didn't recognize you at first. It was your hair, you see." He knew he was babbling, but couldn't help it. Being this close to her always created sweaty palms and a short-circuit in his thought processes. "It's lovely by the way. When did you get it cut?"

After a glance in Angel's direction, which was returned with a slight nod, Cordy took a deep breath and forced a smile on her face.

"It was a couple of months ago actually." She paused for this to sink in.

"But, but that's impossible. The prom was just last week, and you..." he trailed off, bewildered, catching the apprehension on both Cordelia's and Angel's faces. "W-what's going on?"

The seer covered one of his hands with her own. "We're not sure yet, Wes, but there's something we need to tell you...and I don't think you're gonna like it."


***


"Los Angeles?" Wesley stared down at the newspaper Angel had quickly retrieved from the lobby, then back at Cordelia. "2001?"
Looking down again he seemed to be fascinated by the newsprint that now stained the tips of his fingers. He held them up, examined them as he rubbed them together, and finally wiped them carefully on the hem of his t-shirt. When he was finished Wesley turned a questioning face to the girl once more. "I don't understand."

Cordelia shot Angel a worried look and he shrugged helplessly back at her. "We don't either, Wes," he said, coming over to stand next to his friends. "You were fine last night, and this morning..."

"No, I get that. Obviously something has occurred which has impaired my memory of the last two years - which I will admit is more than a little disconcerting - but what I fail to understand is what we are doing here in the first place...why the four of us left the Hellmouth."

Angel gulped. "The *four* of us?"

"The three of us and Buffy, of course." Then, off their exchanged looks, he paled. "Oh god, she didn't...the Ascension? The Mayor?"

"No, she... we... defeated the Mayor," Angel stammered.

"He's pretty much lizard barbeque," Cordy added.

"Then I don't understand. As Buffy's watcher, I should be with her, not -"

"The Council sent you here," Cordy blurted out. Two sets of unbelieving eyes now focused on the brunette. "To watch over Angel."

"Hey!" Angel protested.

"What, really? Hmmmm... A watcher for a vampire? Unusual, but I suppose, under the circumstances, I could see why..."

As Wesley mulled this over, Angel attempted to send daggered messages to Cordy with his eyes, which she very deftly ignored. Finally, he took the girl firmly by the arm and led her towards the door.

"May I speak to you in private for a moment, Cordelia?"


***

"Well, he took that alot better than I thought he would."

Angel shook his head. "I think he's in shock."

"And here is where I say 'duh'. Ya think?"

Angel decided to ignore the sarcasm and got right to the point. "Well, do you mind telling me what all that was back there?"

"What? A little white lie. So?" Cordy paced away from him, picking up a throw pillow, plumping it, and replacing it on the couch.

"So, we don't even know what's wrong with Wes. How do you know you're not making it worse," Angel protested, threading his fingers through his spiky hair.

"And how do you know I'm not making it better," she countered, hands on hips.

She had a point. He didn't. He didn't have the foggiest idea what could be causing Wesley's amnesia. His gaze fell to some distant point, as he scratched absently at his head, pondering the possibilities, until a sharp poke to the ribs brought him back.

"I said, what are we going to do now?"

He sighed, "Hopefully figure out what happened and how to reverse it. Beyond that, answer his questions and try to keep him out of trouble, I guess."

"Okay, but if he asks about Faith, I'm not going to tell him."


***

Sweaty palms rubbed nervously up and down the soft cotton fabric covering Wesley's thighs, as he attempted to will his fingers to stop shaking. Now alone, his outwardly calm facade began to crumble, revealing the rising panic beneath it. He recognized the familiar signs: the constricting chest making it difficult to breath, the inability to swallow around the growing lump in his throat, the sweat dotting his heated brow. He swiped a hand along his forehead, curling it into a fist to knock harshly at his temple, as if this alone would be enough to force the errant memories to return.

Shouldn't he feel different? Surely a person would be able to tell if he had suddenly lost two years of his life. But, he didn't feel anything. No - he corrected himself - that wasn't true. He still felt the smug pride at being chosen to replace Mr. Giles as Buffy's watcher, the hurt at being rejected by his slayer and her friends, and the determination to stop the Ascension and prove his worth to everyone. Only, these were now lies, outdated emotions that had no place in his current life. Giles and Buffy were miles away in Sunnydale, while he was here in Los Angeles with Angel.

An involuntary shudder ran the length of Wesley's body. In the privacy of his own thoughts, the watcher could admit to being somewhat afraid of the souled vampire. It was no wonder, considering that the exploits of Angelus constituted an entire course of required study at the Academy. Yet, the two of them had apparently been working together all this time, and Angel had actually been attentive this morning... seemed concerned. Perhaps Wesley was doing a good job after all. Perhaps the Council had been right to reassign him. Feeling his muscles relax a bit, the Englishman reminded himself that this all had to be temporary anyway. Whatever had happened to cause his memory loss, he was sure it could be remedied. If he couldn't find the answers, he reassured himself, the Council would have them.

Determined that he would not allow this temporary setback to interfere with his assigned duties, Wesley forced his fears aside and rose to curiously study his surroundings. The coolness of the wood floor reminded him of his bare feet and a search of the room turned up a pair of size 10 loafers. He had never had the opportunity to compare shoe sizes with Angel, but somehow he couldn't picture the vampire wearing brown loafers, so he slipped them on. It was then that he found the blue shirt stuffed into the wastepaper basket. Gingerly tugging it out with two fingers, Wesley held the matted, wrinkled garment aloft, carefully examining the hardened, olive green substance engulfing it, unable to discern exactly what it was. He peeled off a segment, slipping it into the pocket of his sweats, and dropped the shirt back where it had come from.

Wandering into the outer living area, Wes found Cordelia and Angel on the far side of the room, locked in a heated discussion. Upon spying the watcher, the girl broke away, a huge, toothy grin on her face. Instinctively he found himself returning it, and it felt good. Except for the night of the prom, it had been a good long while since he'd found reason to smile.

"Wesley!" the girl exclaimed. "C'mon with me and I'll show you around." Wesley sensed that the cheeriness was partially put on, but it was reassuring all the same. Without another word to Angel, he followed his guide out the door and down the hall to the curved staircase.



***


"....and this is where we run the agency from." Cordy indicated the area behind the front desk with a sweeping hand. Wesley was behind her, slowly turning in place, gazing up at the ceiling and around the sizable lobby, with its ornate decorations and fixtures.
"California Spanish Deco influence. I'd say built in the... 1920's?" He glanced questioningly over his shoulder at Cordy, who shrugged.

"That's what you said the last time."

He came over beside her, running his hands along the edge of the smooth green marble countertop. "And we run the business from here?"

"Yep, this is Vision Central." She didn't notice his bewildered look as she led him around behind the desk. And in there's your office."

"My... really?!" He peered over her shoulder, trying to see into the darkened room.

"There's some donuts here that I brought in, if you're hungry," Cordy continued. "I gotta go find some more filters for the coffee maker, then we can start trying to figure out what happened to you."

"I-is Angel coming down?" Wesley tried hard not to glance nervously towards the stairs.

"He's gonna take a shower and fix... uh, something to eat and then he'll be down." With that, Cordy swept back across the lobby, presumably towards the kitchen. Wesley lifted the lid on the white and green box on the desk and heard his stomach rumble. Once he'd chosen a thick powdered confection with red jelly oozing from its side, he couldn't resist taking a look at his office.


***

The pale green walls and dark, wooden, book-filled shelves dividing them gave off a certain masculine feel. The framed panoramic view of London was a bit of a cliché, but did create a few pangs of homesickness. Wesley's scrutiny was then drawn to a narrow shelf behind the large oak desk, where tiny, hand-painted soldiers stood at attention in a neat little row. Eyes misting, he swallowed hard and picked up the nearest figure - a colonial soldier from the revolutionary era. Edward, his mother's brother, had given these to him when he was eight, and the two of them had spent hours together painting them. They were the first things he'd seen all day that he actually remembered as being his. So it was true, all of it. He really did belong here now.

Wesley was still idly twirling the figurine between two fingers, a far off look on his face, when a noise from the other room broke him from his reverie. Carefully returning the miniature man to his spot, he went to the doorway, expecting to find Cordelia, but instead catching a tall, bald, black man rummaging for something on the desk in front of him.

"Stop right there," Wesley commanded. The other man froze for a moment, then continued without comment.

"What do you think you're doing?" The man turned around slowly and Wesley was surprised at how young he was, probably only in his early twenties at most. He was wearing jeans, a red t-shirt with a faded logo on it, and a grey hooded sweat shirt, and was in the process of biting into the donut he'd procured from the box behind him.

"No use gettin' all huffy, English," an amused voice intoned around chewing noises. "Y'know there's no callin' 'dibs' on the jellies... 'specially when they're Krispy Kremes." The young man flashed a wide grin at him and took another huge bite, as if to prove his point, licking a drip of jelly off his finger before it escaped and landed on his chin.

Pulling himself up to full height, Wesley folded his arms firmly across his chest, his eyebrows drawn so close together they might have been touching. "For the last time, what are you doing here?"

Nonplused, the young man wiped his fingers on his sweatshirt before reaching back to the box for another donut. "Last time I checked I worked here. Boy, somebody sure woke up cranky this morning. Whassa matter, Cordy make the coffee again?"

"You work for me...er, us?"

"Work for ya? Now wait a second..." Just then Cordelia came back, and was immediately accosted by two angry men talking at the same time.

"What's with English here? Mr. Donut Police all a sudden. I think it's time we rethink this 'you're in charge' business before it goes to his head any more than it already has."

"Why didn't you tell me we had someone else working for us? I was about to club him over the head with... well, something heavy."

"Hey, hey, hey, nobody's clubbing anyone around here." Cordy held up her hands in an attempt to silence them. "If you would both calm down, I can explain everything."



Chapter 2


Gunn leaned back, tipping his chair at a precarious 45 degree angle, as he eyeballed the familiar figure sitting across from him. Wesley stared back at him, an equally frustrated scowl on his face.
"So, you don't remember anything that's happened in the last two years?"

"Correct."

"And you know Angel and Cordy from before..." Gunn continued to rock back and forth.

"Yes." Wes shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not enjoying this third degree at all.

The chair thunked down onto all four legs, as Gunn leaned forward, intently. "...but you don't remember me at all."

Heavy sigh. "No, I'm sorry to say I don't."

"Harsh."

"Yes, that's precisely what I said when I found out," Wesley snapped, testily.

"So, I'm noticin'... the old you... kinda on the sarcastic side."

"Well I'd like to see how you would handle all of this..."

"Boys, do I have to seat you at separate desks?" Cordy admonished sternly.

Gunn made a face at her and went back to watching Wesley, who had smiled apologetically at Cordy and gone back to leafing through one of his dusty books. Now that he knew, Charles could see the changes in his friend. Sure, he looked the same, but there were signs: his stiff posture; the way his clipped accent was even more 'English' than before, his choice of words more 'proper'; how he looked at Gunn as if he were a stranger. He tried not to take it personally, but it nagged at him... being the only one that Wes didn't know anymore.

"I think it was Wolfram & Hart," Cordy piped up. The three of them, plus Angel, had been brainstorming for the last 20 minutes, trying to come up with a plausible answer for what had happened to Wesley.

"Who are Wolfram and Hart?"

"Evil law firm," Gunn supplied. "Well, more evil than normal. They kinda got it in for Angel."

"Yeah, and they've used magic before," Cordy continued her line of thought. "Maybe they put a spell on Wes, so he...." she trailed off. "Well, I'm not sure why."

"Wes, are you sure you didn't bump your head in the fight last night?" Angel asked, taking a sip of his coffee before remembering why he hadn't been drinking it. Luckily Cordelia hadn't noticed the face he'd made. "Oh yeah, sorry. Guess you don't remember."

Gunn rolled his eyes. They were going in circles here. "Maybe our slimy friend did do something to Wes last night and we just don't know what," he suggested. Wesley's head shot up excitedly and he began to dig into his pocket.

"You said I was sprayed by the demon's bodily fluids when you killed it, Angel?"

"I'll say!" Gunn snickered. Cordy smacked him hard on the arm. "Hey, you was laughin' too, at the time."

"I found a shirt upstairs covered in this." Wesley held up the sample he'd retrieved earlier. "What demon did you say we were fighting?"

"Uh, a Ngrl Beast. It's pretty unusual to find them around here. Last one I saw was in France...." Angel watched curiously as Wes yanked a book from the pile in front of him and began leafing rapidly through its yellowing pages.

"And it's possible the secretions got on my bare skin?" He'd obviously found the page he wanted and was running his finger down it, scanning for anything helpful.

"Well, yeah, it was all over your hair and clothes."

"Aha! Found it!" His look of triumph quickly faded however, as he read the entry he'd found. "Oh dear."

"What? What's it say?" Three people eagerly crowded around, trying to see over Wesley's shoulder.

Cordy read aloud: "... bodily fluids contain toxins that, when in prolonged contact with its victim's skin, can cause damage to its brain functions and/or nervous system, depending on species...blah, blah, blah...Reversibility of symptoms determined by length of contact....blah, blah...Known antidotes...Ngrooblau Demons...Huh?" She flipped the pages back and forth, to see if she'd missed anything. "Hey! Where'd the rest go?!"

Angel grabbed the book from her hands and examined it closely. "There's a page ripped out."

All four sat back in stunned silence.

"It did say 'reversible'," Cordy finally broke the quiet. "All we need is the antidote."

"Yeah, and we're just the well-oiled machine to hunt it down," Gunn added hopefully.

Wesley continued to stare down at his hands, not saying a word.

"At least now we know what to look for." Angel looked helplessly at the other two. He wasn't much for cheering people up.

"Right, well, this particular text is an extremely rare one. I suggest that our first course of action be to try to locate someone else who has another copy, or has the information we need." The others looked on in surprise at Wesley's renewed determination.

Cordy pulled her laptop towards her. "I'll start searching the internet. Who knows, it might even turn up on ebay. Oh, and I can email Willow and see if maybe Giles has a copy of the book too."

Gunn stood up and grabbed his coat. "Give me a list and I can start checkin' the magic shops and bookstores."

"And I'll start talking to my contacts," Angel added, heading for the basement door, and his access to the sewers.

Wesley was surprised, both at the speed with which the others began carrying out his orders, and by the fact that they genuinely seemed to care. Pulling another heavy tome towards him, he began to delve, searching for anything that might lead to a cure for his problem.


***

Wesley sat quietly in the cab of Gunn's truck, his hand on the door handle causing the vibrations of the idling engine to travel lightly up his arm. After a full day of research and failure to find the answers they were looking for, he was second guessing his decision to hold off calling the Council. He knew they would have a list of the necessary ingredients for the antidote, if not the cure itself on hand. Of course, Cordelia had been right when she'd said they might see his plight as a sign of weakness. Undoubtedly there would be repercussions, should they find out he'd allowed this to happen to himself. Besides, it wasn't as if he were in any physical danger...
Having shoved aside his doubts, at least for the time being, he turned back towards his companions, secretly hoping they were going to change their minds about leaving him on his own.

"Are you sure this is a good idea Cordy?" Gunn hissed.

"He's gotta go home sometime," she reasoned, turning back to Wesley. "You'll be fine. Besides, all your stuff is here. Maybe it will spark something and your memory will come back." Gunn and Wesley both looked doubtful. "The alternative is staying at Angel's..."

Wesley popped open the door and slid out quickly. "It's the first door on the....?"

"Left. Ya got your keys?" Wesley dug into his pocket and retrieved the key ring. Before he could ask, Cordy had taken it, pulled out the correct key, and handed it back. "Gunn's gonna pick you up in the morning." Seeing his hesitation, she patted his hand lightly and smiled her soothing smile. He could feel his insides melting just at the sight of it. Damn, he was weak. "You'll be fine, I promise. Have I ever let you down?"

*snort* "Not so's he'd remember anyway," Gunn chortled quietly, before being silenced by The Look.

With a wave, Cordy pulled the door shut again and Wesley watched as the truck zoomed off down the street. He hadn't felt this alone since he'd stepped off the plane in California, months - no, years, he corrected himself - ago. He wished Cordelia had offered to stay with him, but then, how would that look? Turning to head towards the apartment building he couldn't help wondering just what his relationship with Ms. Chase was these days. He could only assume they had come out to L.A. together, and she seemed to care for him. Perhaps she just felt awkward, because he didn't remember anything. Well, Cordelia wasn't the only one.


***

The key slid easily into the lock. With a click and a turn of the knob the door opened. Timidly, Wesley peeked inside. No one shrieked for him to get out; no attack dog pounced. Must be the right place. Setting down his satchel and flipping on the lights, the former watcher gazed appraisingly around his living room, from the bookshelves crammed with books to the tasteful artwork on the walls to the family photos set neatly on the table to his left. He smiled fondly at the familiar pictures of him as a boy, both with his parents and his favorite Uncle Edward. There was also one his father had taken of him and his mother, the day he'd left for the watchers academy. They'd had such high hopes for him then. Suddenly feeling very alone, he contemplated phoning them. His mother would surely be sympathetic, and it would be nice just to hear her voice. His father on the other hand... no, perhaps now would not be a good time. He noticed a Polaroid, stuck into the front of another picture's frame and picked it up. In it Gunn and Cordelia were grinning and laughing at the camera. He studied it and studied it, trying to find something familiar, but couldn't. With a frustrated sigh he tossed the photo back onto the table and went to flop down heavily onto the sofa.
Within minutes, Wesley found sulking to be rather counterproductive and he once again got up to curiously move around the room. He was thrilled at the number of rare books he'd accumulated, recognizing some of them as ones he'd brought over from England, as well as many of the knickknacks and artifacts on display throughout the room. In one corner stood an old beat up metal filing cabinet. When he went to open it, however, he found it locked. After trying several of his keys without success, he abandoned it for another time, and headed down the hall, finding first the bathroom and then the bedroom.

Examination of the dresser drawers yielded the typical socks and underwear, as well as a surprising number of t-shirts and sweaters. Throwing open the closet door Wesley found that his collection of double-breasted suits - his traditional watcher's uniform - was gone. In its place was a selection of more casual suit jackets and trousers, as well as a few pairs of jeans, and a wide variety of khakis and dress shirts. Sliding the hangers along the rod, he was amazed to find not one, but two pairs of leather trousers, as well as a well worn leather jacket. What on earth had possessed him to buy those?

Moving to close the door, Wesley caught his reflection in the full length mirror hanging on the inside for the first time, and froze. His shocked expression gaped back at him, as he came closer to the glass, instinctively reaching out to touch its smooth, flat surface. He hardly recognized himself. What had happened to his hair? Running his hand over the dark brown spikes, he attempted to smooth them down, but they kept springing back up with a defiant life of their own. Two days growth of beard on his chin also gave him a rather rugged appearance. And he looked older. There were lines that hadn't been there before, and little scars with unknown origins. Even his eyes were different... haunted, like they'd seen things he could never dream of. It was almost as if he were looking at a stranger.

Instinctively, the tall, thin man reached down and pulled his t-shirt over his head, with an unexpected desperate need to examine every bit of himself for more clues to the life he'd led but couldn't remember. Immediately, his hand came up to just below his left shoulder, his fingers lightly tracing the long, jagged scar there, as he tried to guess what had made the ugly wound. It wasn't clean enough for a knife, perhaps a claw of some kind. From there his fingers traced the path of downy chest hair down to his belly button and to the right, where they sought out the second scar. This one was puckered and pink and much more recent than the first. It had probably been serious, causing a great deal of internal damage. Suddenly he didn't want to see anymore.

Quickly shutting the closet door, Wesley went to the bed and yanked back the covers, pausing only long enough to kick off his shoes and turn out the light before climbing in and pulling the blankets up over his head. Once cocooned in his safe haven, he clamped his eyes shut and hugged himself tightly, repeated softly the mantra he'd learned in his meditation course at the academy.

"I am strong. I can handle any adversity. I will not fear the unknown. Only I control my destiny."

Before long, his breathing calmed, his muscles relaxed, and he was asleep.


***

(the next day)
Angel sauntered into the lobby, casually sipping from a mug of freshly heated blood, and wondered where everyone was. The sound of someone clearing his throat drew his attention to the office behind the desk, where he could see Cordy and Gunn sitting across from Wesley at his desk. All eyes were on the vampire as he wandered in to join them.

"Ah, now that we're all here --" Wesley began.

"Did I miss something?" Angel stage whispered to Cordy, only to be silenced by a glare in his direction from the former watcher, now his boss. Quickly finding a seat in the empty chair next to Gunn, he tried his best to look attentive, as Wesley stood and began again.

"As I was saying... I have decided that until such time as we locate the vital information we have been searching for, concerning the solution to my... er, situation... we should continue with business as usual. In order for me to better do my job, under these unusual circumstances, I thought it best that each of you provide me with a job description of what exactly you do here at Angel Investigations."

"Job description?" Gunn snorted under his breath.

"Ah, Charles, perhaps you would like to go first."

Gunn's face screwed up into a incredulous frown, and it looked for a moment like he wasn't going to answer at all. Finally, he muttered "I hunt evil. Kill it. With a big axe."

"Hmmm, hunt evil, yes. I was hoping for a more detailed description, but alright." Wesley turned to Cordelia and smiled encouragingly. "Cordelia?"

"Well, aside from being Vision Girl, I balance the books, keep track of the appointments and pretty much keep this place from falling apart. Oh, and I handle all the money."

"You're the secretary then, very good."

"Secretary?! Hmmph! Think again, Buster." But Wesley had already moved on. "And Angel, do you... ah, patrol?"

Angel fidgeted in his seat. "Well, no... not really."

"Patrol? Like lookin' for vamps?" Gunn interrupted. "Cause me and my crew take care a that."

"Thank you, Charles, but I was speaking to Angel."

"What the hell is this, kindergarten?" Gunn exploded, jumping up from his seat. "Next thing you'll want me to raise my hand to go to the bathroom."

Angel's attention ping-ponged between the increasingly angry Gunn and the annoyingly pompous Wesley he had forgotten even existed until now. Fighting down the urge to smirk, he tried to convince himself it was wrong to feel even the tiniest bit pleased that the two 'brothers-in-arms' were having a quarrel. Because, to do that, he would have to admit to having felt jealous, which he hadn't.... really.

Wesley leaned forward, pressing his palms to the top of his desk, as he regarded Gunn with a patronizing look. "I realize this may not be how I ran things before, but until I get a better understanding of the routine around here I am doing the best I can. If you don't like it, I'm sure you can find employ elsewhere."

"EMPLOY ELSEWHERE?!"

Both Angel and Cordy jumped up from their seats, Angel to stop Gunn from leaping across the desk to throttle Wesley, and Cordy to grab at her head in pain.

"Ooooh, vision," she moaned, before nearly toppling over. Both Gunn and Angel turned to her, Angel deftly catching the seer before she hit the ground. Gunn went to retrieve the bottle of pain relievers from Cordy's desk, while Wesley came to hover over her prone figure, pale and frightened for the poor girl.

"What's wrong? Is it a seizure of some kind? Cordelia, are you alright?" The girl peeled open one eye and glared, muttering through gritted teeth. "Why does everyone always ask me that, when they can see perfectly well that I'm not? And which part of 'vision girl' didn't you understand?"

"Well, I didn't know you meant -- "

"What did you see, Cordy?" Angel butted in, pulling Wesley's notepad off his desk, prepared to write anything important down.

"Huge... all drooly and sharp teeth... kinda furry but with green, scaly... Ugh! Why don't the PTBs ever send pictures of cute, fluffy bunnies? The city zoo... reptile house... a group of schoolchildren... and it's hungry!"

Angel looked up at Gunn. "You'll have to take care of it. There's no direct sewer access there." Gunn nodded and headed for the weapons cabinet, withdrawing several items.

"C'mon, English." He tossed an axe and small crossbow at Wesley without waiting for his acknowledgment. "We ain't got all day."

Wesley juggled the weapons, only just barely able to hold onto them. "M-me? You want me to go with you?" He had to hustle after Gunn, who was already heading towards the door.

The young man looked back over his shoulder. "Around here we all take care of the creepy crawlers. We're a team."

Angel watched them go, then helped Cordelia over to the cushioned chair. "Well, they're bound to kill something... I just wonder if it'll be the demon, or each other."


***


Wesley leaned back against the cool dark wall of the Reptile House, holding his crossbow aloft as he watched Gunn peer around the corner into its inner recesses. His heart was pounding and there was a slight euphoria, most likely from the increased adrenaline pumping through his veins. He couldn't help being both annoyed that Charles was so determined to take charge, and yet relieved at the same time. The ex-watcher's last confrontation with a demon had not gone especially well, and he had no desire to repeat the performance.
They had arrived at the zoo to find an evacuation in progress. One frightened patron, when pulled aside, revealed that he'd heard that an animal had escaped from its cage and was threatening a small group of grammar school children, there on a field trip, in the reptile house.

Gunn leaned back and whispered that he could make out the demon on the left, busy feeding on the snakes in the tanks there, while the school children were huddled together on the right. There was no way for them to get to the door without attracting attention to themselves.

Gunn hefted his hubcap axe onto his shoulder and turned towards Wesley, who was eyeing the weapon dubiously.

"What?"

"Er, nothing... but, what exactly is that thing?"

Something akin to a growl rumbled in Gunn's throat. "Hey, don't you know better than to insult another man's weaponry?" Before Wesley could stammer out a reply, the other man held up his hand to 'shush' him and continued. "Okay, here's the plan. I go in first and distract 'im, then you get the kids out."

"That's it? That's the plan?"

"You got any other ideas?"

"Well, no...."

"You wanna be the one to distract him?"

"Er..."

"That's what I thought." Before Wesley could think of a suitable protest, Gunn disappeared around the corner. He could be heard yelling "Hey, Butt Ugly! Yeah, I'm talkin' to you..."

Sucking in his breath, Wesley closed his eyes and counted to five before slipping quietly forward, towards the frightened group of children. A loud snarl from behind caused him to turn, and what he saw rooted him to the floor. Ugly didn't begin to describe the creature. It was at least ten feet tall, with an enormous snapping jaw containing rows of razor sharp teeth. Drool dripped from the sides of its mouth onto its fur, and there seemed to be green scales running down its...

A whimper from one of the children shook Wesley awake and he managed to lead them quietly towards the exit. Once they saw the light of day they took off running, their howls echoing back inside the building. Turning back once more, Wesley could see Gunn swinging his strange axe at the creature, yelling and swearing at it at the top of his lungs. He'd managed to get in a few well placed blows and one of the demon's arms hung uselessly at its side. Unfortunately, it still had two more.

"Yo, English! I could use a little help here," Gunn yelled, as he dodged a clawed paw. "You plan on fightin' or you just gonna stand around and watch me get pounded into the floor?" Unsure of what to do, Wesley moved a little closer, then stopped again. Just then, Gunn lost his footing and was sent crashing to the floor. Immediately, the hairy beast was over him, ready to snap his neck with its powerful teeth.

"Hey! Over here!" Wesley wondered who had shouted, before realizing it had been himself. The demon swung its head away from Gunn and began to lurch towards the petrified Englishman. He could only watch as it came closer, gnashing its teeth in anticipation. Suddenly remembering the crossbow in his hands, the former watcher raised it up and looked down its sights. Wesley was trembling so badly he was sure he'd miss, but he took aim, held his breath and fired.

*thunk*

The shaft buried itself directly between the demon's eyes. It angrily swung its head from side to side, attempting to rid itself of the painful spike, then keeled over backwards, onto Gunn, unmoving. The younger man sputtered and spat fur from his mouth as he struggled to free himself of the dead weight on top of him.

"Man, English, we gotta work on your timing!"

Wesley could barely hear the words above the rushing sound in his ears. The ground beneath him began to sway, as if he were on a ship, lost in a storm, and darkness was slowly creeping in along the edges of his vision. He felt a hand grip his shoulder, twirling him around.

"You listenin' to me?"

He tried to focus on the fuzzy, brown face in front of him. It really wouldn't do if he fainted. What kind of message would that send? Charles must have noticed how pale he was, because he was doing less yelling and more holding him up.

"Awww, shit. Was that your first demon?" The voice was soft and kind now.

Wesley shook his head slowly and held up two trembling fingers. "Second," he whispered softly. Wide blue eyes raised to meet dark brown ones, and surprisingly the anger in them was gone. In its place there was - perhaps - a glimmer of understanding.


***

Cordelia was running a buffer over her fingernails, while reading her horoscope in the latest issue of Cosmo, but her heart wasn't in it. She glanced surreptitiously at the clock on her laptop. Sigh, only two minutes since the last time she'd peeked. She was being silly, she knew it. It's not as if this were the first time Wes and Gunn had gone off in answer to a vision before. They'd proven more than once that they were more than capable of working on their own, without Angel. Why should this time be any different?
Because, ever since she'd found out about Wesley's predicament the day before, she'd had this strange - almost maternal - instinct to protect him, that's why. Maybe it was because she remembered how it was back in Sunnydale, how needy he'd been. He looked at her now, with those same trusting, puppy dog eyes and her instincts just took over.

At least she wasn't the only one worrying, if the vampire pacing back and forth across the lobby was any indication.

"Relax, Angel, they're gonna be fine." Just who was she trying to convince anyway? "There's no use wearing a hole in the floor."

He stopped in front of the desk. "Says the girl who hasn't turned the page in her magazine for a half hour."

Damn. Busted. Oh well, might as well go with it. "You think I should call Gunn on his cell phone? Just to, uh..."

"You could ask him to pick you up some lunch," Angel finished helpfully.

Cordy beamed at him. "Great idea! I mean, yeah, wouldn't want him to have to make a special trip, now would I?" she remarked while reaching for the phone.


***


Wesley sat on the purple-and-orange-painted wooden bench, sipping slowly at his drink. He savored the refreshing cool taste of the tangy pink lemonade as it flowed down his parched throat. For some reason, he had been incredibly thirsty.
"Feeling any better?" He glanced over to find Gunn with his head cocked to one side, apparently giving him a once over.

Withdrawing the straw from his mouth, the chagrined man managed a small smile. "Well enough to feel somewhat silly drinking from a large, plastic panda." This answer seemed to reassure his companion, who was now grinning broadly at him.

"Yeah, you're alright."

Wesley set his drink aside and, unable to meet Gunn's eyes, began to pick nervously at the hangnail on his left thumb. "I feel I should apologize to you. My inaction back there nearly got you killed. There really is no excuse..."

Gunn placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You didn't leave me hangin', dog. You were there for me when it counted, and that's what matters. 'Sides, you gotta damned fine excuse. I get that now."

He was glad one of them did. Perhaps he should have Charles explain it to him. Thinking he might have been too hard on the young man that morning, he sought to rectify the situation.

"And, er, about this morning. I may have come on a little strong --"

"Yeah, well you were doin' a mighty fine imitation of a jackass, " Gunn agreed amiably.

"Now wait a minute --"

"No, you wait a minute. I don't know about that 'council' you come from, but if that's how they taught you to make friends and influence people, you need to get your money back, cause that 'superior' shit ain't flyin' around here. And I'm only sayin' this cause - whether you remember or not - you're my friend and I hate to see you makin' an ass a yourself." Having said his piece, the frustrated tone dissipated, and Gunn began to speak more kindly. "You don't need to act that way, Wes, 'specially not around us. You already got us on your side. We don't work for you... we're a team - you, me, and Cordy... and Angel too I guess," he relented. "We chose you to lead us."

Wesley wanted to believe Gunn so badly, wanted to be thought of as accepted, as part of 'the team', but how could he know for sure that he could trust him? He'd trusted the Council, when they sent him to Sunnydale, telling him how ready he was to command the slayer, how, if he did as he was told, everyone would respect and listen to him. Look how that had turned out.

His expression must have betrayed his doubts, because Gunn's eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to 'read' him.

"Hey, Wes, I know this is hard for you. After all, it's sorta like we just met. And I'm not asking you to make up your mind right this second," Gunn remarked, with a quirk of a smile. "I just thought you should know how things stand between us."

Relieved, Wesley managed a smile. "Thank you, Charles, I do appreciate your honesty. I-I'll definitely consider what you said."

Gunn's face grew stern again. "There is just one more thing..." He laughed as the Englishman's eyes grew round with worry. "Call me Gunn. Only my momma called me Charles... well, her and Cordy, but ya can't say nothin' to her."

As if on cue, a shrill ring began to emanate from Gunn's coat pocket. Fishing inside, he pulled out his cell phone.

"Yeah?... Funny, we was just talkin' about you.... No, I ain't gonna tell you what we said.... You want me to what? Do I look like I have 'errand boy' tattooed on my forehead?" Gunn turned to look at Wesley, which seemed to indicate to Wesley that Cordelia had mentioned him. "We're fine. We're all fine... well, except for the demon. Mr. Ugly is one dead mother.... Yeah, English got him right between the eyes...." Gunn held out the phone to Wes. "Her Majesty wants to speak to you."

Rather pleased, Wesley held the phone to his ear. "Er, hello? Cordelia?"

"Hey, Wes, I hear you kicked evil's booty."

"Ah, yes, well, I shot him with the crossbow, actually."

"Great! Listen, I was just calling to have Gunn pick up some lunch, and thought I'd say 'hello'."

"Yes, well, thank you. I believe we shall be leaving shortly, so we should be back soon." After he'd hung up, he caught the look on Gunn's face.

"What?"

"Awwww, ain't that cute," Gunn teased. "She was worried about you." Rewarded with a deep blush from Wesley, Gunn began to resemble a Cheshire cat. "C'mon, let's go. Don't want her sendin' a search party after us."

The two men gathered their weaponry, Wesley retrieved his panda cup, and they were ready to leave. As they headed through the exit gate, Wes paused long enough to look back at Gunn, who was bringing up the rear.

"Do you really think she was worried?"

Gunn just chuckled and gave Wes a shove, to get him moving again. "Keep moving, Romeo."



Chapter 3


Angel stalked his unsuspecting prey, decades of experience having honed his talent for stealth into a fine art. Spying around the corner, he decided the time was right to make his move. His quarry was finally alone.

"Hi, Wes!"

Wesley jumped in his seat, sending his book skidding across to the far side of his desk, the pencil he was writing with snapping in half with a sharp *crack*.

Angel caught the book before it could fall and placed it in front of Wesley again. "Sorry."

Deep breath. "Was there something you wanted, Angel?"

"No, uh, not really." He dropped down into a nearby chair, crossing one leg over the other in a studied, casual pose.

There was, of course, something he wanted, but he didn't know how to ask. He wasn't even sure if he was entitled to. Maybe it was part of his redemption, to lose the friendship of the one person who had ever known what he was, seen him at his worst, and still chosen to stand by his side unconditionally, no strings attached. Guilt, his familiar companion, gnawed at him as he remembered how he'd taken Wes for granted, always assuming he'd be there, even after the entire Darla debacle. Perhaps by only trying to woo Cordy back, he'd proven himself unworthy of Wesley's trust. Still, he had to believe it wasn't too late, that this was his chance to make it right - even if he had no idea how.

"O-okay." Wesley pulled open a desk drawer and selected another pencil. Flipping past a few pages in his book until he'd located the one he'd been reading, he bent his head over it again. After another moment his eyes flicked up to Angel again. "Are you sure I can't help you with anything?" he reiterated tolerantly.

"No, I just... uhm... so, whatcha doing?"

Wesley sat back and blinked at him, before carefully setting aside his pencil and readjusting his glasses. "I found this text - 'Vampires et Démons de la Renaissance Française' - when Gunn and I went searching some of the local magic shops yesterday, and remembered something you said about seeing a Ngrl demon while you were traveling through France. I've been attempting to translate it, but it's a bit slow going, as the French like to be incredibly flowery with their descriptions and rather vague with any actually helpful information.

"So nothing new then," Angel continued his attempt at small talk, rather pleased he was doing so well.

"I did come across what appears to be a fascinating chapter on your exploits. However, I've only just skimmed it though."

Angel didn't know how to respond to that. What was he supposed to say? 'Oh really? Did they have the time when Darla and I....' No, probably not a good idea to go there. He heaved a mental sigh. So much for doing so well.

"Angel, are you alright?" Wesley was leaning forward, observing him with either concern or distrust. Angel wasn't sure which.

"Yeah, sorry. Hey, I was wondering... but, no, I can see you're busy. It can wait... or I can ask Gunn when he gets back. Never mind." He remembered the good old days when he could still complete a full sentence.

Wesley closed his book and straightened in his chair, folding his hands together neatly on the desk in front of him. "Angel, if there's anything you need, I wish you'd ask me. Really, that's what I'm here for."

Wes was taking his role as leader very seriously, Angel mused. That could actually work in his favor. "I was wondering if you'd consider training with me," he blurted out in a rush. "It's been awhile and --"

"Of course, Angel." Wesley had jumped up, catching the vampire off guard with his quick response. "I should have thought of that. You would need someone to... I just didn't think... I'd be more than happy to. Uh, now?"

"If you've got time." Angel stood up and headed for the door. "Meet you in the basement in fifteen minutes? You do know where the basement is, right?" Wesley nodded slowly. "Okay, great." Leaving his old office, Angel headed up towards his apartment to change.


***

Wesley paused in the doorway, dubiously scrutinizing the dusty wooden staircase leading down to the dimly lit basement below. Plagued by second thoughts, he wondered now if he might be able to claim temporary insanity. Then, chuckling in spite of himself, he realized that, given his present situation, he probably could. What had possessed him to agree to the training session with Angel? Even assuming the vampire didn't mean him any harm, he was hardly experienced enough to hold his own in a fight. Training with fellow watchers and putting the slayers through obstacle courses was one thing; armed sparring with a master vampire was something else entirely.
Once he'd made his way down the creaky stairs, the Englishman stopped to run his hand over the target hanging on the wall beside him, his fingertips tracing holes too big to have been made from darts. Finding a set of small knives sitting on a stool beneath, he couldn't resist trying them out. Moving to the other side of the room, he carefully took aim and threw. Bullseye! He smiled. The knives were perfectly balanced. He aimed again and this time hit just to the left of the first.

"Nice throw."

Wesley looked up and waited for Angel to finish descending the stairs. "Thank you. Playing darts has always been a hobby of mine."

"Yeah, I know. So, are you ready to do this?"

Wesley looked at Angel in his sleeveless t-shirt and sweatpants, then down at his own suit and tie. "I'm not exactly dressed for it, am I?"

"Hey, if you wanted to change your mind, I'd understand." Angel moved to unlock a tall locker, withdrawing two heavy swords.

"No, no, I'm not changing my mind." Wes took off his jacket and tugged at the knot in his tie, loosening it enough to slip it over his head. He hung both over the back of a chair and then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Angel grinned and handed him one of the swords. "Don't look so glum. We'll start slow." He raised his weapon, in salute.

Wesley swung his sword back and forth, getting the feel of its weight and balance, and was surprised at how comfortable it felt in his hand. He could remember working with similar weapons at the academy, and how awkward they'd been to handle. He swiped at the empty air a few more times, then raised it in an answering salute. The two men began circling each other, striking out and blocking each other's thrusts, first slowly, then picking up speed.

At first, Wesley stuck to defensive moves, feeling awkward and unsure of himself, but as they continued and he gained confidence in his abilities he began to become more daring, almost knocking Angel's sword from his hand. Then the vampire sidestepped a move at the last moment and Wesley's swing went wild, its momentum nearly sending him careening into the concrete wall. He was out of breath and could feel his now damp shirt clinging to his back. Panting, he leaned forward, resting his hands on his thighs, as he blinked the sweat out of his eyes and looked up at Angel.

Angel grinned challengingly. "Had enough?"

Wes removed his shirt, allowing it to fall to the cement floor, and picked up his sword again, pride not allowing him to give in. "Hardly! I was just getting warmed up."

They began again, circling each other faster, their blows more aggressive. For Wesley, the rest of the world fell away, his attention resting solely on his opponent. His mind might not have remembered how to do this, but his body apparently did. Hesitation and awkwardness gave way to instinct, his moves fluid and graceful, and this time, when Angel feinted to the left, Wesley was ready for him. He saw the right shoulder dip slightly and adjusted accordingly, catching the guard of Angel's sword with the tip of his own, sending it spinning across the room. An elbow to the ribs knocked the vampire off balance and he fell to the floor, with Wesley standing over him, triumphant. Who was grinning now?

"Had enough?"

Angel put up both hands. "Okay, I yield. You win." Wes held out his hand and helped his colleague up. "Nice move, Wes."

Wesley blushed and ducked his head. "Thank you. I don't even know where I learned how to do that."

Angel considered admitting that he'd been the one to teach it to him, but decided not to. It was starting to feel like old times, and he didn't want to ruin it.

"You'd better rest up tonight, cause tomorrow I'm gonna want a rematch, and I'm thinking quarterstaffs next time."

Wesley laughed and realized he was feeling comfortable around Angel for the first time. "You're on!" Retrieving his shirt, jacket and tie he quickly disappeared up the stairs, wondering if Gunn was back yet. He was desperately in need of a ride home and a shower. Besides, he couldn't wait to tell the street fighter what he'd accomplished.


***

Coming through the doorway, Wesley shivered as the chill of the air conditioned lobby hit his bare skin. The drying sweat was already making his skin itch and he couldn't wait to get home and into a nice warm shower... or possibly a hot bath. His muscles were beginning to feel the effects of their recent exertion and he wondered just how long it had been since he and Angel had trained together.
So intent was he on reaching a particularly hard to reach itch in the middle of his back, that he didn't see Cordelia crossing the lobby until he had nearly bumped into her headlong.

"Excuse me?!" She huffed, catching herself on the back of the couch to keep from falling. "Look where you're going much?"

"Cordelia! I do apologize. I - uh, I say, you look lovely today." He winced, hoping she hadn't noticed.

"Yeah," she remarked slowly. "So you said this morning." Damn. She'd noticed. She was also looking him up and down with an appraising eye. "What's with the partial nakedness?" Then she wrinkled up her nose. "Ew, and the stinkiness."

"Oh, oh, I do... I'm sorry." He turned a beet red and some small portion of his brain wondered if his entire body was suddenly on fire, and if so could it just turn to ash and be done with it. He tried to cover himself, but was reluctant to actually put his damp shirt back on, so he ended up wearing his suit jacket alone. God, he thought. I must look like a total ponce. "A-Angel and I were just training in the basement and -"

Cordy didn't wait for him to finish. "You and Angel were what?"

"Uh, training?" He didn't see why this should upset her, unless she were worried for his safety. That thought pleased him quite alot. "Yes, and I did quite well, actually." He puffed up proudly, but she seemed not to notice at all.

"And who's brilliant idea was that?"

Wesley frowned. This new, more abrasive side to Cordelia took some getting used to. She had always been one to speak her mind, but when he'd known her last she'd never been anything but soft spoken and kind to him. However, her relaxed, casual attitude towards him now hinted at an intimacy and comfort in their relationship that had previously been missing, and he had quickly taken that to heart. He actually found her honesty refreshing, and her passion for life exhilarating.

Realizing that she was still waiting for an answer, Wesley managed to stammer out: "A-Angel's actually, why?" Before she could do more than 'hmmf', he added, "You haven't, by any chance, seen Gunn, have you? It's just that, I could really do with a ride home. I'd like to shower and get out of these clothes."

Cordy planted both hands firmly on her hips. "Gunn does have a life outside of being your personal chauffeur, Wes."

"I never said he didn't," the ex-watcher protested quickly. "Only, I don't know how else to get home."

"Wait right there." She disappeared into Wesley's office, reappearing moments later with something silver in her hand. "Here." She pressed a key into his hand. "I think you're ready for this. You're bike's in the back." With that she placed both hands on his shoulders and turned him in the direction of the delivery entrance.

Bewildered, Wes looked back over his shoulder. "Are you sure you couldn't..."

"Sorry, Wes, but somebody's gotta stick around and do a little real work around here. Besides, I need to have a serious talk with the Undead Wonder." With that, she disappeared through the basement door.


***

Cordy paused at the top of the stairs, fanning herself with her hand as she watched Wesley leave the lobby. Was it hot in there? It couldn't possibly be the sight of the sweaty man without his shirt on, causing long idle yearnings to resurface. She was so past that. This was Wesley after all. Still, she couldn't help but wonder when the Englishman had gone from 'skin and bones' to 'lean and luscious'.

So what if she liked a little muscle on a guy, Cordy reasoned. She was only human after all. And it was kinda cute the way he got so embarrassed and tried to cover himself up - so typical Wes!

It was all Angel's fault, Cordelia decided firmly, for making the former watcher shirtless and sweaty in the first place. They'd all agreed to go easy on Wes, yet the minute her back was turned, Angel pulled something like this. Frustrated, Cordy marched down the stairs to give the unsuspecting vampire a piece of her mind.


***

Completely baffled, Wesley found himself standing on the curb, outside the back entrance to the hotel. Surely Cordelia couldn't have seriously expected him to ride a bicycle all the way to his flat from here. The only route he knew was via the highway, and he certainly wasn't about to risk life and limb just for the sake of a little cleanliness. Besides, the only modes of transportation he could find out there were Angel's convertible and a large...
Oh no. Oh god no.

Looking down at the key in his hand, then up at the Big Dog motorcycle in front of him, he groaned inwardly. Not satisfied with that, he groaned out loud too. Surely this must be Angel's... but no, she'd said 'your bike'. Resigned to his fate, Wesley located the ignition and inserted the key. A perfect fit.

Leaning wearily against the wall, Wes stared silently at the hunk of metal machinery before him, heels of his palms lifting his glasses just high enough to rub tiredly at his eyes. Well, this explained the leather anyway. But nothing explained how he'd turned into the leather-wearing, Big Dog-riding man he'd apparently become. What other secrets to his past - or was it future - were locked inside his head? What else were the others not telling him?

"Who am I?"


***

"Bloody hell!"
Gunn's eyebrows raised and he glanced up from cleaning the weapons he and Angel had used the night before, to send a questioning look across the desk to Cordelia.

"What's with Wes?"

She shrugged, and leaned in to speak quietly. "Beats me. He's been huffy and puffy all day. Maybe it's the room."

"Hey!" Vampire ears took offense to the subtle dig at his former broodiness. "I was never huffy or puffy."

"Or maybe," Cordelia swung around to face Angel, as he was pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. "He's ticked because you beat on him yesterday. I told you to take it easy."

"And I told you I didn't lay a hand on him. It was sword fighting, and he held his own just fine... seemed to enjoy it, as a matter of fact." There was no keeping the smugness from creeping into Angel's tone. "It was probably you making him ride the bike home that did it," he accused.

Standing and stretching his long legs, Gunn gave the two of them one of his patented eye rolls and set down his rag. "Well, you all just carry on discussin' it among yourselves. Me, I prefer to go to the source."

With that, he walked over and pulled the sliding doors to Wesley's office open, just as a pencil came whizzing past his head.

"Yo, English, somethin' I said?" Not waiting for a response, the street fighter came in and shut the doors behind him again. Wesley's long fingers ran through his hair, leaving tangled spikes in their wake.

"I'm sorry, Gunn," he sighed, rocking back in his leather chair. "I didn't see you there."

"Let's hope not." He settled down across from Wesley and got right to the point. "You been hidin' in here, mutterin' to yourself all day. Wassup with that?"

"It's just that..." Wesley took his glasses off and tossed them to the desk in a frustrated gesture. "...I don't know. I've been searching through these books for days, and every time I think I've found a lead it turns into a red herring. It's maddening. " He threw up his hands, then let them fall bonelessly into his lap. "I'm sorry. I know you don't want to be hearing this."

"Come again?"

"I try to not let it bother me... the not remembering part. I want to be the person you expect me to be... want me to be -"

"What?!" Gunn exploded incredulously. "You think we're only gonna like you if you act a certain way? That we want you to pretend that everything's alright, even when it's not? Hell, Wes, I'd think you were crazy if this didn't bother you."

"You just can't understand how strange this is for me." Wesley leaned forward, and Gunn could see he was struggling to explain what he was thinking. "Yesterday, I rode home on my motorcycle." Gunn nodded. "Only, until that moment I didn't even know I owned one. It's like the facts of my life are being spoon fed to me on a 'need to know' basis."

"And you're sayin' you 'need to know' everything."

"Exactly!" Relief flooded the other man's face, before clouding over again. "I can't help feeling you're hiding things from me. Maybe not you so much as Cordelia and Angel. I ask them questions and their answers are vague, or they change the subject. Oh, I know they think it's 'for my own good', but..." He lapsed into silence.

Gunn thought hard about what Wesley had said, then came to a decision. "English, I'm gonna promise you right now, whatever you wanna ask me...I'll be straight with you."

"Thank you, I appreciate that." He'd obviously not expected such a direct response, and Gunn had to laugh at his flustered expression.

"It's not like you gotta come up with a list right this second. Just... whenever." They shared a laugh.

"I-I do have a question actually." Wes rose up and slowly untucked the front of his shirt, pulling the right side up several inches. He pointed to his abdomen, while looking Gunn straight in the eyes. "What's this from?"

Charles didn't even have to look to know what his friend was talking about. He answered without hesitation. "Gunshot wound. Zombie cop was hassling me and you tried to stop him."

"Really?" Wesley had grown quite pale, as he looked down, then back at Gunn. "N-not that I don't believe you," he added hastily. "It's just that... oh my. Was it... serious?"

"Yeah, it was." Gunn's voice was full of emotion, as he relived the terror of that night in his mind. "I thought you were gonna die on me, Wesley." Their eyes met. "You saved my life, and I kinda been tryin' to return the favor ever since."

Uncomfortable with this decidedly 'unmanly' show of emotion, Gunn shook himself a little and tipped his head to one side. "Anything else ya want to know?" Following Wesley's gaze towards the closed office doors, he felt a loopy grin forcing its way onto his face.

"You got it bad, don't you?"

"What?"

"Don't 'what' me. Cordy! You got it bad for her," he repeated, and was rewarded with a quick blush on Wesley's face.

"Am I that obvious?"

"Nah, only to those of us in the western hemisphere."

"But if we're not together anymore..." Wes shrugged helplessly.

Gunn considered this for a moment. "Depends on what you mean by 'together'. Are you a romantic couple? Not as far as I know. Does she love you? I'd have to answer in the affirmative on that one. Would she admit it? Most likely only under pain of death."

Wes smiled wistfully. "You'll probably find this silly, but one of my last clear memories is of Cordelia and myself... dancing together at her high school prom."

This fact did surprise Gunn. "Did she look hot?"

"Oh god, yes." the Englishman nodded vigorously. Her hair, it was lovely, all done up..." His hands went to his head, miming an elaborate upswept hairstyle. "And her dress... it was low and..." At Gunn's quizzical expression, Wesley glanced down to see where his hands were. "Well, she looked very nice," he finished lamely.

"So, you and her had a 'thing' back then?" This was getting good.

Wesley leaned forward and steepled his fingers before him, the smile still in place. "I'd say it was more like we were progressing towards a 'thing'. I did have high hopes for us though." Regret colored his last remark.

This made it all clear to Gunn. The constant bickering... the traded insults... the denied jealousy. Yeah, there was most definitely still a 'thing'. "I say go for it, then. Make a move. Let her know how you feel."

"I don't know." Wesley looked doubtful. "Wouldn't it be better to wait until I'm my old self again? Damn! If only there was a way for me to locate that bloody antidote. Perhaps I should consider calling a psychic hotline. It certainly couldn't hurt at this point."

Gunn shot up out of his chair at Wesley's words. Of course! Why hadn't any of them thought of that before. "Wes, get your coat. We're goin' for a ride."

"What? Where?" He had just enough time to pluck his jacket from the back of his chair, before Charles was dragging him out of the office by his shirt sleeve.

Gunn grinned triumphantly at Angel and Cordy, who were looking on in confusion, before throwing a single question over his shoulder at his friend. "Wes, how's your singing voice?"


***

The narrow stairwell wound its way down, the faded wallpapered walls covered over with framed old movie posters that depicted such singing and dancing sensations as Judy Garland, Gene Kelly, and Fred and Ginger. At the bottom, stood a doorway through which soft light, music and the bustling sounds of many murmured conversations filtered, indicating a thriving business of some kind. Sandwiched in between Gunn and Angel, Wesley could not begin to fathom why he had been brought here. He kept a tight grip on the handrail as the little group descended, and he found it hard to shake the feeling of impending doom settling into the pit of his stomach.
It was a bar. No, a 'special kind of bar', was all Cordelia had said. Apparently, there was someone who worked there that they felt might have answers for the Englishman. It didn't help that there had been an air of expectancy surrounding him since they'd all left the Hyperion and piled into Angel's car. Even the vampire was smiling a ghost of a smile. It was as if they couldn't wait to see his reaction to something.

Far be it for him to let them down.

Having been looked over by the enormous bouncer at the door, Wesley was about to ask why there was a need for a metal detector, when he froze in his tracks, eyes bugging out and mouth falling open in astonishment. It was as if his Demonology 101 textbook had sprung to life before his eyes. To his right lay a long bar, behind which a human bartender was serving up drinks to what appeared to be two lizard demons, a Gorrishyn mage and a rather hairy fellow with curling horns coming out of the top of his head. Further down, a thrall demon and his groupies were snuggled into a booth in the corner. Ten or so tables were spread out throughout the rest of the room, at which sat a wide variety of both human and non-human patrons.

Instinctively, the former watcher reached for his only weapon, a stake, but his hand was caught gently by Angel, who smiled and nodded towards a sign on the wall. 'Safe Haven for Demons. All Welcome. No Weapons or Violence Allowed'

"It's okay, Wes. They're only here to sing."

Sing? Well, that explained the stage and microphone to the left, with the shimmering black and silver curtain behind it, as well as the rather disturbing two headed creature currently up there mangling Hall & Oates' 'Maneater'. No, on second thought, it didn't really explain things at all.

When Wesley continued to scan the area , Gunn finally had to ask. "Whatcha lookin' for, English?"

"Han Solo and Chewbacca," he muttered back, before turning an accusing glare towards his tall friend, who's eyes were twinkling with amusement. "You couldn't have warned me before we got here?"

"And miss the look on your face?" Gunn laughed. Cordy and Angel were also trying to hide wide grins, which on the vampire was a bit unsettling.

Before more questions could be asked, the AI team was approached by an aggressive looking demon, with green skin, ruby red eyes, and horns protruding from his forehead. The creature was wearing, of all things, a Hawaiian shirt under a stylish white suit, a pink and yellow lei around his neck, and a matching yellow handkerchief in his breast pocket. He was heading straight for Wesley with a determined look in his eye, and a second lei in his hand.

"Friends, comrades, compadres! Aloha! Welcome to Luau night at Caritas!" Wesley stepped back uneasily, but before the demon could reach him, he'd reeled back, as if slapped.

"Lorne, are you okay?" Cordy's worried tone surprised Wes. This was a friend?

Lorne was clutching at his head, in a way reminiscent of Cordelia when she was in the throes of a vision. Perhaps this was something the two of them had in common.

"Doll Face! Are you shutting me out? I'm getting a blank reading here," the confounded green man accused. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed hold of Wesley's sleeve and began pulling him towards the stage. "Sweetie, I need to hear you sing, and pronto!"

"Unhand me, sir!" Wesley struggled to free himself, while looking over at Gunn and Angel for assistance. He added a bewildered "Sing?" once Lorne's words had sunk in. "I'm not going to sing."

The others joined him and Cordelia tried to explain. "Wes, that's why we brought you here. Lorne's an analogical demon and he can read your aura."

"He's a what?! "

"Er, that's anagogic - but thanks for helping, beautiful - and you can just call me The Host." To the others: "Hit on the head one too many times?"

"Not exactly, but close," Angel admitted.

"Anagogic? You're psychic?"

"Still swift, this one. Yeah, hon, but I do best when you sing for me, so how about hopping up on stage and giving us a little number?" He snapped his fingers and a large red drink in a long- stemmed glass appeared in his hand, as if by magic. "Ah, Rico, you know just the way to my heart."

Wesley closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. When he opened them, nothing had changed. "Let me see if I understand you correctly," he began, in a measured tone that suggested disbelief. "This is a karaoke bar... which is also a safe haven for demons. On top of that, the host of said bar can read my future, but only if I sing for him." Four heads nodded as one. "And none of you finds this particularly odd?"

"Well, it is a little outside the box," Angel agreed, echoing Wesley's very own description of the place, when he'd first brought them there.

"C'mon, English," Gunn encouraged. "It ain't so bad. We all done it."

Wesley was about to demonstrate just how stubborn he was capable of being, when he caught the encouraging smile on Cordy's face and his determination wilted.

"Oh, very well," he grumbled. Stoically marching towards the stage, Wesley paused only long enough to pluck the glass from the astonished Host's green fingers, downing the stolen Sea Breeze in one, desperate gulp. Swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, the former watcher continued on, stomping up the step to the stage, only to lose most of his nerve at the sight of the expectant audience before him. Just as he debated whether or not he could make a run for it, a spotlight flipped on, effectively blinding him. Resigned to his fate, and fighting to see beyond the spots floating before his eyes, Wesley attempted to scroll through the song titles available on the karaoke machine.

Several familiar songs from the spring of 1999 were on the list. 'Every Morning' by Sugar Ray, [I don't think so.] 'Kiss Me' by Six Pence None The Richer, [A catchy tune, but no.] Cher's 'I Believe', [Most definitely not!] 'Living La Vida Loca'? Wes looked down at himself. He'd changed, but not that much. Perhaps he'd be better off choosing a classic.

Finally, Wesley found a selection he liked and moved to the microphone. Someone must have corrected the angle of the spotlight, for it was no longer shining directly into his face. Now all he had to contend with was a severe case of cotton mouth, sweaty palms and shaky knees. Running a sandpaper tongue across his rapidly chapping lips, the nervous Englishman swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

*ahem*

"Er, hello. Ah, I suppose I'm ready. My apologies in advance to Mr. Elton John." The music began to play.


***

The Host cleared a table down front for Cordy and the rest, obviously thrilled at Wesley's choice of artist. "Now there's a boy with taste!" he trilled happily.

Cordy felt sorry for how unhappy Wesley looked on stage. At least she'd been three sheets to the wind, with an equally drunk Wes and Gunn by her side, when she'd sung. Needles of guilt began to surface, at not having warned the poor guy ahead of time what he'd be in for when they brought him here.

The music started and, ever so timidly, Wes began to sing, his voice wavering and unsure.

Daniel is traveling tonight on a plane
I can see the red tail lights heading for Spain
Oh and I can see Daniel waving goodbye
God it looks like Daniel, must be the clouds in my eyes

Lorne, standing behind Cordy and Gunn's chairs mumbled softly, "Oh, poo. Couldn't he have picked something a little more upbeat?"

Tilting his head back just enough to eyeball the green Aretha-wannabe, Gunn defended his friend quietly. "The man ain't 'xactly been feelin' too upbeat lately, y'know."

"Well, would 'Yellow Brick Road' have been too much to ask for then?"

They say Spain is pretty though I've never been
Well Daniel says it's the best place that he's ever seen
Oh and he should know, he's been there enough
Lord, I miss Daniel, oh I miss him so much

Caught up in the sad tale being woven before her, Cordelia was surprised at how 'not-so-bad' Wesley's voice actually was, once he put a little confidence behind it. She was about to turn in her seat to shush the Host and tell him to pay attention when she felt his hand rest lightly on her shoulder. An audible gasp escaped her lips and her entire body stiffened, as she felt her brain flowering opened, like a beautiful rose on a warm, summer day. Her vision blurring, the image of Wesley on stage began to shimmer and radiate with a deep, blue light.

Daniel, my brother, you are older than me
Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won't heal
Your eyes have died but you see more than I
Daniel, you're a star in the face of the sky

Tears streamed freely down the affected seer's face, as waves of fear, joy, pain, and love flowed down to her from Wesley. She could sense his loneliness and his pride, his determination and his desire to do good. Is this what the Host saw every day? Was this what a person's soul looked like? Wesley's was definitely a masculine blue, but not harsh. Rather it was warm and inviting, making Cordy wish she could reach out and wrap it around herself, like a security blanket. Studying it closer, she saw that it wasn't a solid blue, but rather contained subtle swirls of gold and pinpoints of sparkling white, like stars in a clear night's sky.

"Cordy, are you okay?" Angel's concerned voice filtered in, sounding very far away. Abruptly the hand was removed from her shoulder, wrenching the powerful sensations away painfully, leaving the girl limp and hollow. It was as if, for one brief moment, she'd felt what it was like to be completely whole, and now a part of her was missing again.

"What was that? What did you just do to me?" the girl faced the Host, eyes flashing.

"Do?" he parroted innocently. "When?"

"Just now, here, when you.... when I...." Suddenly Cordy couldn't quite remember what had happened anymore. She frowned in concentration and shook her head as if to clear it. "I know something just happened here."

Gunn and Angel exchanged confused looks. "Maybe it was a vision, Cordy," Gunn offered helpfully.

"No, I..." The girl looked up at the stage, where Wesley was finishing the song. "It had something to do with Wes. That much I'm sure of."

"And here comes our little buttercup now." The Host held out his arms to welcome the Englishman, as he made his way from the stage.


***

Still feeling a bit foolish, but flushed with success after having received a hearty round of applause from the crowd, Wesley moved to join his coworkers at their table, where a heated discussion appeared to be underway. He wondered what was to happen next. Upon seeing Cordelia's tear stained face, however, the former watcher ignored the outstretched arms of The Host and rushed to the girl's side, kneeling down beside her.

"Are you alright? What's wrong?"

Covering his hand with her own, Cordelia affected a cheery tone. "I'm fine, Wes. I was just... well, that was a very moving song."

"Did you really think so?"

She nodded and looked up at Lorne. "Did you see anything?"

Wesley felt his stomach drop. He'd actually forgotten why they'd wanted him to sing in the first place. Hesitantly, he approached the psychic demon, who appeared to be about to sling an arm around Wes' shoulders, before seeing the alarm on the tall man' face.

"Well," the Host began, dramatically. "You've got one crowded aura, my fine friend. Or maybe I should say 'auras', cause I'm getting two distinct readings. This 'Retro You' - he's kinda got a 'Stranger In A Strange Land' complex going, but there's something big on the horizon for him. As for the 'Now You' - and I'm gonna need scorecards here in a minute - I can understand the amnesia thing might be causing you a bit of distress, but don't fret. The answers to all your questions are closer than you think, for both of you."

Wesley had been trying his best to follow the Host's lightning fast explanation, but was clearly lost now. "Us?" He motioned to his waiting friends, who appeared to be just as confused as he was.

"No, both of you," Lorne tried again.

"You mentioned answers," Angel piped up. "Where can he find them?" Wesley turned to Angel, then back to the Host, expectantly. Good question.

"That I can't say," the green demon admitted, rather unhelpfully. "I can tell you that the key is to find... well, the keys."

Wesley's head was swimming. "Are these real keys or figurative ones?"

Lorne considered this for a moment. "Both, actually."

"Typical demon mumbo jumbo," Gunn grumbled. "Don't know why we thought this guy'd be any help."

"Well, it was your idea, Charles," Cordy sarcastically sniped back.

Wesley was about to get up and rejoin his friends, when the Host pulled him closer and began to whisper. "Ask the girl out already. You know you want to."

Wes made sure the others weren't listening, then whispered back. "Do you really think I should?"

Lorne shrugged and took a step back, towards his office. "Hey, I can only offer suggestions, but what do you got to lose?" He waved farewell to the others. "I'd love to stay and shoot the breeze some more -" Rico appeared instantly at his side, drink in hand. "Well, I didn't say Sea Breeze, but I admire your intuition, muffin!" The Host took the glass and sipped appreciatively. "As I was sayin', a host's job is never done. Lovely to see you all. Come back soon." With that he winked suggestively at Angel and departed.


TO THE NEXT PART

 

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