December 6, 2004

3.36 pm

Business was not going as expected.

Teeth clenched, Randall sat at his desk. He was fuming over the latest monthly report and what he was reading was horrifying.

Sanity was supposed to be a success. The figures were proving him wrong. It was making nowhere near the estimated profits. The profit at the end of each day barely paid for the overheads, let alone his debt to Wolfram and Hart. Sanity had been open for four months now, and even though the word was out on the street, it wasn't proving popular with the local demons.

Randall suspected that if he didn't do something soon, he wouldn't be on speaking terms with Wolfram and Hart for much longer. Something to be avoided at all costs. He knew what was wrong.

There was great bar service, drinks and an assortment of nibblies for almost every type of demon. The music was changed often so that there were songs and instrumental pieces to suit everyone. His whores were working their arses off, just like they were trained to do. The new demon whores were working out well, they were all employed voluntarily, reducing the 'care' costs. Unfortunately, the demon clients were not employing them for their hired services. The demon prostitutes were basically sitting around drinking and not really doing much else, while his human whores might as well not even move from their service rooms - they were in there 90% of the time anyway.

Getting up, the bar manager walked over to his personal stash of single malt whiskey, the disappointing figures thrown to one side of the desktop. Pouring himself a large glass, his forehead furrowed as he slipped once again into deep thought.

He knew what the problem was. It was one that both himself and Lindsey failed to take into account. Demons didn't want to sit down after a hard day with a drink - well, some did but most didn't. They wanted to slaughter something - the more blood, the better. If they got one of their own bones broken in the process of 'unwinding' after a hard day, then it was just put down as a minor detail.

Hardly a night or day went by without some type of brawl erupting between the various species that visited the bar. Word was passed around by both offending parties, each 'victim' telling their relatives and friends not to visit Sanity as their enemy loitered there. Needless to say, whole clans of demons suddenly stopped coming in, business slowing even more. If it wasn't for the human whores he had reclaimed, Randall knew that Sanity wouldn't have even lasted as long as it already had. That, and the fact that he had employed the demon prostitutes on a commission basis.

The running costs had finally killed him. The extra cost of hiring keepers/bodyguards/bouncers to protect the human whores was ridiculous, but he wasn't about to risk another kidnap attempt. He was tapped dry and Lindsey had already talked to him about his mounting debt to the law firm, indicating that the lawyer himself had also been talked to by his superiors. Sanity was going to have to close. Randall was going to have to cut his losses, swallow his pride and figure out how to stay in the land of the living.

He was clever and he had an idea.

His human whores had proved to be the only saving grace in the whole debacle. The former brothel owner had been repeatedly approached by various demons asking if they could purchase a certain boy, Randall feeling full of pride but saying no. Well, he wasn't going to say no now, and as much as he was fond of his boys, they were about to take a ride with which ever demon paid the most for them.

He was going to approach Lindsey with his idea the next day, he just wasn't too sure of how to pitch it to the lawyer. It wasn't every day you decided to become a demon consort trainer. Some of the sums of money offered for Scott, Andrew and even the red-haired Patrick, had been astronomical. When some of the more persistent clients had finally realised that Randall wasn't going to give in, the Sanity manager had been asked if he would be able to train a consort if the demon provided one. Another offer that Randall had refused.

With a sigh, the older man knew he was going to have to negotiate a cheaper rate for youths from the Hellmouth. There was no way he was going to pay the usual going rate if he was going to be buying bulk stock. He wanted a discount.

Randall wondered if he should also enquire about a discounted rate for youths not from Sunnydale, after all, couldn't hurt to ask...

He had almost drowned this time, but like always, he was going to swim.

=======================================

December 6, 2004

3.36 pm

A stumbled step forward, the lone figure wove a drunken path through the grass. Arms held out in front of him, Doyle tried to steer himself straight without tripping, vainly trying to feel an obstacle before bumping into it. Minutes later, he was lying on his side, exhausted.

Frustrated and hungry, he swore for what was possibly the hundredth time that hour. With his hands tearing clumps of brittle grass from the cool ground, he let himself have a moment of self pity. The Irishman had earned just a moment's worth and damn it all, he was going to indulge. He had a fair idea that he was in the country, he was bumping into trees almost constantly. The half demon's upper body and face was covered in scratches and welts from stumbling into bushes and falling over.

Doyle was frightened that he would die, alone and without anyone knowing what had happened to him. He was worried about Cordelia's fate but was certain she was already back with Angel.

His employer was looking for him right that instant. Wesley was probably stuffing around with his spells and vile smelling concoctions, all the better to find him with. Comforted by this thought, the dark-haired man struggled to his feet, allowing himself to sway for a moment before pressing forward.

Surely there must be a farmstead or house close by?

Knowing his luck, he would be set upon by a farmers rabid dog before he even opened his mouth to ask for help if he happened to stumble across a farm. Arms reached out again, Doyle slowly put a foot forward, one at a time. Following the ground's natural swellings and dips, the dark haired man continued his journey.

The dry grass crunching under his feet, Doyle shrieked in both fright and pain as he smacked his stiff fingers against a very solid tree trunk. With his temper finally at the end of its tether, the smaller man kicked forward, grunting in satisfaction as his foot connected with the tree, screaming enough profanity for the tree's leaves to wither in shock. Yes, it hurt his foot but after kicking the trunk a few times, he had to admit that he felt better. A chuckle later, Doyle realised that he didn't even know the meaning of some of what he had screamed at an innocent tree. The laughter died down as he sank slowly to the ground, hoping to god that he didn't sit arse down on a rabbit trap.

"Fuck, I just want to get home. I want to be with Cordy and me friends, it's not too much to ask is it?"

Snorting, the half demon shook his head. He knew there was no one around to answer him, if there was, he would more than likely be in hospital by now. One hand fiddling with the grass beside him, the Irishman wondered if he would ever get back to the Hyperion and if he did, in just what state. Alive or dead? Knees drawn up to his chest, arms resting on top, Doyle lay his head on his forearms. He was lost and he had no idea of how to get home again, back to his friends and fiancee. The first thing he was going to do when he got back home was marry Cordelia. No more stuffing around with fancy invitations and what colour for the bridesmaid's dresses.

One less bridesmaid anyway, Buffy was dead. With a groan, Doyle thought back to that horrible night in the Magic Box. The last thing he had seen was Willow being thrown into a van, followed by one of the masked gunmen. What had happened to everybody after that, he had no idea. He had been too shocked to even put up a fight with the black clad man in the back of the van with him, just waiting out the hours in silence. Ultimately, he had been transported to an unknown location and transferred into a concrete cell that had held nothing but a few blankets, a mattress and a pillow. The only decoration had been a metal toilet bowl.

He had been fed twice a day for weeks, the boredom driving him to distraction after only a few days. No-one had spoken to him other than to tell him to stand and face the door when it was time for his meals, all his attempts at trying to share a joke or make conversation with one of his kidnappers had been ignored.

He now knew why people in constant isolation usually ended up having conversations with themselves, they weren't crazy, they were just bored. No-one had threatened or intimidated him. He had received a large bowl of warm water and sponge every second day to wash himself with, new clothes had been provided after his original garments had gotten too dirty and he had been given new toilet rolls just as the old ones ran out. Doyle knew he had been fairly well treated, his constant fear had been that he would end up like Xander, used and abused.

He had ended up being abused, just not in the way he had thought he would be. His eyes had been taken. No warning had been given. The half demon had been held down one morning over two weeks ago, his green eyes scooped out with an item that had looked like a spoon. It had hurt, he had screamed until he had passed out. He had shit himself, he wasn't ashamed to admit that.

With a shudder, he could almost feel the cool metal sliding in between his eye and the lower lid, resting just behind his eye, the pain of his orb bulging out of his too small socket. He had no idea if they had been able to get his eyes out in one piece or not, if they had had to slice them into smaller pieces. The Irishman had woken up thinking his head was aching from a vision, only realising the nightmare had been real after touching his sewn up eyelids. Amidst all his renewed screaming, he had learnt that he had been expected to die. His survival being put down to his half demon status.

Doyle hadn't really been game since to touch his eyes, too afraid of the hollowness he knew he would feel. Yesterday, he had been carried to a van and thrown in. Lying on the floor, he had talked himself hoarse with his many questions of what was going to happen to him, no answer given like always. The van had stopped, doors opened and he had been shoved out. After falling onto the hard ground, he had been terrified to realise that he had just been left behind in what he assumed was the middle of nowhere.

At first he had sat down and waited for the van to come back, but after a while he had come to the conclusion that he was on his own and that only he could save himself. So, he had gotten up, twirled around a few times and had set off in the direction he had ended up pointing to. Walking into bushes, trees and falling into large holes. He had been lucky so far in that he hadn't seriously hurt himself and broken something. Doyle had felt the night descend, chilling him to the bone. All fears of broken bones and wild animal attacks had flown out of his head once he had felt the temperature drop. He had been more worried about freezing to death or catching a nasty virus. Ultimately he had been glad to wake to the sun warming his face, his body enjoying the rising temperature.

With a hand rubbed through his hair, Doyle carefully got to his feet, resting against the solid tree trunk for a moment. Stepping out from under the shade, the half demon continued his journey forward.

*****
Part 9:

December 7, 2004

Hyperion Hotel

12.12 pm

Cloth rinsed under the steaming water, Joyce winced as her hand came perilously close to being scalded by the hard stream of water. Cold-water tap twisted on, she let the two temperatures mingle before thrusting the cloth back into the steady stream. Cloth wrung out, the older woman proceeded to wipe down the kitchen bench.

"God damn it!"

It was Riley's birthday the next day and in trying to bake a simple chocolate cake, Joyce had created a barely organized chaos in the large kitchen. There was dried cake batter over almost every surface, the kitchen a quiet witness to a snap of Joyces nerves. It had taken three tries before finally getting a completely baked cake. The first try had been dropped on the floor in an accident, the tin just slipping from her grip. A few groans later, the almost done cake had been cleaned up and a new one shoved into the oven a mere half hour later.

The second try had been thrown against the opposite wall after Joyce had burnt her fingers in getting the tin out, to see how the batter was cooking. The impact had echoed around the large kitchen, deep brown half-baked cake flying in all directions. Joyce admitted to herself that it wouldn't be that hard to clean up if she hadn't been lazy and let it dry first while making the third attempt. This time however, it was perfect.

Riley was going to be twenty-eight. Joyce wouldn't be surprised if the tall ex-soldier took the opportunity to finally start drinking, allowing himself to slip into a beginning alcohol induced existence. Her daughter�s boyfriend was strong, she knew that. Only a person of exceptional character would have been able to keep Buffy's interest, let alone keep up with her.

The blond man was dangerously close to slipping though and tomorrow might just be the day he went over the edge. Joyce hoped that between her and Graham, it wouldn't happen. Riley's best friend had come to her that morning, revealing his own fears for his buddy. Both of them were going to try to keep the tall blond busy, keep him occupied with enough so that he wouldn't even contemplate pouring his nightly drink.

Angel had been informed of their fears, Graham having a quiet word to the vampire before the older demon had made his way to Wesley�s room that morning. Angel had merely grunted at the smaller man, brushing past Graham in the corridor like he wasn't there and Graham had let it happen. Upon being told, the older woman had hugged the taller man, slipping her arms around Graham's waist as she had felt the ex-soldier reciprocate. Together they had stood, neither making a move to release the other until Angel had burst into the kitchen, only then jumping apart as if burnt.

The older vampire had taken no notice of the two humans, just wiping at the mess on his jumper before leaving again, Graham flashing Joyce a small smile before following. Joyce had to admit that she was more than a little annoyed that Angel had chosen that particular moment to appear. She couldn't deny that it had been a pleasant experience, having Graham's arms around her. It had felt so different from hugging Angel and Riley, even Wesley before he had gone into self-imposed exile. It had been nice, her heart doing the tiniest of flutters as she had leaned into the strong warmth.

"I'm so fucking tired."

Shoulders shrugged, Joyce smiled a little at voicing a random thought. With the last of the cake batter cleaned up, she threw the rag into the bin.

"Quick pro quo and fucking blah, blah, blah."

Ok, things were getting weird now because she sure as hell didn't remember thinking that so...why would she even say it?

"Useless, that's what I am. That's what everyone is."

No. This could not be happening. She was not going to take Drusilla's place as the nutty one. There was no way she would be able to live up to the legend anyway. Joyce had read the books on the dark haired vampiress after everyone had gotten over the shock of Drusilla's demise and had to admit that the woman had been fascinating. No wonder Spike had been addicted to her. A pang of pity went through her at the thought of the bleached blond, hoping that he presently wasn't in the pain Drusilla was so adamant he was feeling. The same thought going out for all the missing friends.

"Bloody hell, where is everything?"

What on earth was happening? One hand clapped over her mouth, the older human woman wondered just why she was saying things she knew wasn't coming from her mind.

"Ich bin name...no, no that wasn't right. Hang on, Ich bin na..bugger!"

German? She didn't know any German but it had sounded like it. Her voice making the sounds even if she didn't think it. Feeling a little sick, she walked across the linoleum to the kitchen table, knees wobbling as her legs threatened to give out. Chair dragged out, Joyce sat heavily as she said a complete sentence in German. French. She knew French but the guttural language of the Germans hadn't held an interest for her so she had never studied it but she was fluent in French.

"London bridge is falling down, falling down..falling down,..London bridge is falling down..my fair lady."

A sob broke thorough the quiet atmosphere of the kitchen as her words took on a crisp clear accent. An English accent. Hand wiping across her eyes, she smeared the salty tears as they made their way down her cheeks.

"Oranges and lemons...the bells of Saint Clements...A-tishoo, A-tishoo...we all fall down...no, that was wrong. Damn it!"

An English accented *male* voice.

Not knowing whether to laugh or continue crying, the woman sniffled as she voiced more nursery rhymes from long ago. With her voice dropping lower with each word, she marvelled at how strange it was to speak with an accent other than American.

She knew whose voice it was.

It was one she had thought never to hear again, so uninhibited.

It was Wesley's, completely free from the restraints the maiming had left him with. Unfortunately, from what she was mouthing, it was clear the man didn't have the healthiest of minds.

*****
Part 10:

December 9, 2004

Hyperion Hotel

10.13 am

A hand rubbed through his hair, Angel poured himself a whisky. Gulping the half filled glass, he hesitated for a split second before pouring himself another. Sipping slower than before, the vampire thunked the heavy tumbler onto his stained desk, letting the few drops of spilled amber liquid blend into the numerous coffee rings.

"God, I love you so much Wes. I'm so sorry that this had to happen"

Whispering more in the hopes of making himself feel better, the tall brunette thought back to that morning and the complete disaster it had been.

After his meeting with one of the leading therapists at the hospital, he had reluctantly allowed himself to be bullied into making another appointment to discuss the former Watcher's state of mind. He had been partially reassured that he had been doing the right thing, that it was proving to Wesley that the vampire really did care even if his lover couldn't see it just yet. All hell had struck a few days ago, the day of Riley's birthday. Joyce had suddenly started speaking as Wesley. Accent, pitch and speech patterns, perfect in all.

Angel had been horrified to learn what was going through his lover's mind, saddened by Wesley's mental downfall. Needless to say, Joyce still wasn't handling it too well. She could still speak in her own voice but whatever she was trying to say was overridden by what Wesley was saying. Most of the time Wesley was trying to speak one of the numerous languages he had been so proficient in without letting the trauma to his tongue get in the way. French, German, Chinese, Latin and many more. Unfortunately, it was usually no more than random mutterings spiced up with such foul language even the normally stoic Graham was shocked. No one really knew just where he had learnt such language and if the situation had been different, each one would have teased the man mercilessly.

Upon approaching Wes, backed up by Joyce and Graham, Angel had almost instantly wept when he had seen the horrific state of his former lover. The younger human had been lying in the middle of his room and for the first time in months, Angel had seen him naked. Gasps behind him had told the brunette that he wasn't imagining the protruding ribs and thin spindly limbs that were covered by a light matting of hair. He had been told by the therapist to expect something like that but how could he have? When people starved themselves of their body fat, the body automatically tried to conserve its body heat by growing extra body hair, he *had* been told but it had still shocked him.

He had turned around without alerting the sleeping man to their presence, cutting off Joyce's protests by quietly telling her that he was going to hospitalise Wesley as soon as possible. That had been this morning.

After a talk with the hospital therapist handling Wesley's case, Angel and Anne had gone through the traumas the former Watcher had been through over the last few months and combined with what both Joyce and Graham told her of Wesley's change of personality, Anne had agreed to take him in for observation. Wesley however, had given the ambulance officers a good run around the hotel, only allowing them to get him after he had collapsed from the effort. He had been strapped down on the trolley and slid into the ambulance, screaming obscenities to all and sundry - Joyce trying not to cry while clearly pronouncing the words that Wesley would forever twist. Anne had tried to reassure Angel by telling him that Wesley's problem was probably stemming from stress and not a distorted body image. The brunette had given the therapist a tight smile, not even bothering to tell the petite woman that the idea wasn't helping.

That had been merely ten minutes ago and Angel was already exhausted for the day. He had no idea of how to help an increasingly distressed Joyce, thankful that Graham was currently plying her with numerous cups of camomile tea in an attempt to calm her down. Riley was at the hospital on Angel's behalf, dealing with the paperwork for Wesley's admittance. With all the uproar over Joyce's new-found abilities, Riley's birthday had been pushed aside and all but forgotten by everyone but Riley himself. He had taken himself upstairs once looking in the magic books had proved to be fruitless and had proceeded to drink himself into a state of semi-consciousness. Angel had eventually helped Graham settle Riley into bed, both ignoring the drunken protests. The vampire had then wandered back to his own room while Graham had gone to sit with Joyce for a little.

Sighing, Angel knew that there was an attraction between the older woman and the normally stern soldier. He wasn't blind, and even if he was, there was no way he could miss the tiny wafts of arousal that emerged when they were together. Joyce wasn't unattractive for her age, no, she was actually still quite beautiful. Buffy had definitely gotten her looks from her mothers side. The older human woman was kind, patient, caring and loving. She was also a lot stronger than she looked, she had a strong will and a quiet determination. Angel admired her and he admitted that things would have been a lot harder on all of them if Joyce hadn't been around. She was his friend and if starting something with Graham brought her a little pleasure and happiness, then Angel was all for it.

Graham wasn't a bad choice either. The brunette had never really met him before raiding Eternal but he had come to like the soldier. He was quiet but when he spoke, it was always worth taking note of whatever was said. The ex-soldier was stubborn, Angel knew that if he ever had to go head-to-head with the shorter man, he really didn't know who would win an argument. Graham was calm, never did anything out of the ordinary and was totally reliable. The only time Angel had seen him spooked was when Drusilla had run her hand down his arm, then again, Dru had spooked almost everyone she had ever met. All in all, Graham was Joyce's rock.

With a slight smile to himself, Angel thought that whatever the reputation soldiers usually had for getting regular sex, it was obvious that Joyce was going to be the more experienced of the two. Rubbing at the beginning headache, Angel tried to will it away, knowing that it was a futile attempt. The only thing that would take away his headache, was a few of the tablets he kept hidden away and he didn't have any. He had used the last of them after his meeting with Anne, the therapist from the hospital, two days ago and he hadn't been able to go out and get any since.

He had however, been given something extra in his last foil wrapped pills. Angel had handed over the wad of $50 dollar bills to the vet, snatching the offered package with out even looking at it. It had just been shoved into his duster pocket, the vampire in a hurry to get back to the Hyperion so he could have a relaxing few hours, something that he was seeking more and more. Upon unwrapping the packet while locked in his bathroom, the brunette had been disgusted to find three syringes, sterile swabs and a vial of clear liquid as well as his usual ten horse tranquillisers.

In anger, the vampire had almost thrown out the syringes and flush the vial down the toilet but had stopped, reading the label of the vial first. Grade 3 Equine Sedative. He had let the lid of the toilet clatter down as he took in the words. It was just a liquid form of what he was already taking, nothing much, just something that was helping him go to sleep when he really needed it. The re-wrapped package was hidden in a box at the top of his closet.

With a groan, Angel rubbed harder at his right temple, bottom lip gnawed as the headache struck full force. He wanted some sleep and he didn't have any tablets but he could get a few more in under half an hour if he ventured down into the sewer system and continued to the vet clinic. Something that he really didn't want to do but the promise of being oblivious to all was becoming more tempting by the second.

In a snap decision, the vampire left his dark office and climbed the stairs to the first floor. A wave of pain flowed through him as he glanced down towards Wesley's rooms. Door closed and locked behind him, Angel crossed over to the closet. Rummaging around for the small tin, he experienced a feeling of relief as he brought down the colourful box. Foil packet opened, the brunette wondered if it was even going to work.

Would the drug even circulate around his body without a heartbeat to pump the blood through his veins? The tablets had taken effect even without a working digestive system, so this should work as well. Head shaken, the vampire was momentarily dazed as the pain from his head started its trek down his body, his back knotting up in protest. He walked back to his bed, sitting down on the edge while placing the vial on the bedside table. Uncapping one of the syringes, Angel wondered how much to even take. It wasn't as if it was going to kill him but he didn't want to be out for too long, just long enough to relax and have a brief respite from the constant stress that surrounded him.

Carefully putting the sliver thin needle into the rubber stopper of the vial, he drew a full syringe full of clear liquid. Hesitating before removing the needle, Angel told himself that he was only going to do this the once. He was going to make sure that he didn't run out of the tablets again. Needle removed, the vampire lay the full syringe down on the bedside table. Taking off his thick jumper and long sleeved t-shirt, Angel gave his temple an absent rub before leaning down to take off his shoes and socks. Once standing, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his black slacks, letting them slide to the floor.

For once he didn't worry about his clothes getting dirty, just allowing the expensive clothes to decorate his bedroom floor. Fisted pumped a few times, Angel reached down to pick up his belt from the floor and wrapped it tight around his upper arm, just above the crook of his elbow. He was only going to do this the once...never again. Repeating the sentence to himself a few times, Angel choked down the feeling of guilt, not wanting to know about it just that minute.

Belt pulled tight, he opened and clenched his fist fast until he saw a vein rise. Angel really wasn't sure how he was able to get a rising vein as he was officially dead, but he wasn't about to question it right now. Once satisfied that he could see the blue stripe in the crook of his elbow clearly, he gathered up the syringe. Jaw clenched, the vampire firmly inserted the thin needle under his skin and into what he hoped was the vein, grimacing as he felt the metal glance against a nerve.

How on earth did he know if it was even in his vein? Taking a chance, he pressed the plunger down, not looking as the clear liquid flowed into this body. Almost instantly Angel felt a burning around where the needle was situated. Tearing out the needle, Angel paid no attention to the small drips of blood. Belt loosened, he felt his arm grow cold as the drug made it's way up his limb, his fingers already cooler than he would have thought possible. Fingers tingling, he shook his hand, gasping as his body temperature dropped.

"Fuck...what the hell have I just done?"

Horrified by the sensation, the vampire stood and crossed the thick carpet towards the bathroom. Uncoordinated, Angel tried to turn on the bathroom light, growling as his hand refused to work properly. Sliding to his knees as the drug reached his mind, the brunette's growl turned into an exclamation of pleasure as he felt his body relax, his limbs feeling like they were controlled by strings. He was lying awkwardly on the cold hard tiles of the small room but as far as Angel was concerned, he was floating on a cloud of feathers. His mind finally relaxing into a pool of warm light liquid.

It was nice.

Maybe he wouldn't have the tablets next time?

No, this was a once off time.....sort of....mmmmmmm...niiiiice.

*****