ThatMournsInLonelyExileHere

Disclaimer: Angel, Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn and the rest of the characters and situations relating to �Angel� are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB Network. No ownership by the author is either intended or implied.

Notes on �That Mourns in Lonely Exile Here�: I wrote this story prior to this past Tuesday�s episode ("Reunion"), so it�s set out of time with the series. Please assume all the Darla problems are of the past sometime before Christmas. Or never happened. Or this is the Bizzaro World. I�m sorry, it�s all just too disturbing. A perfectly nice Christmas fic takes a beating from totally unexpected plot developments. I�m going to go lie down with a cold compress now. Also, everything in italics is a flashback.
Suggested Soundtrack: Bells of Dublin, by The Chieftains.

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Angel padded quietly through the Hyperion�s lobby, glancing warily as he went at the large Christmas tree his employees had insisted on erecting in what was now the front office of Angel Investigations. He knew the tree wasn�t technically a religious icon, and Cordy and Wesley had studiously avoided Christian imagery of any kind, sticking instead to simple shiny balls and gold ribbons, but still, its presence made him nervous.

Like everything else, it had been the topic of heated discussion between the two.

�I say we go with a tasteful two-tone color scheme,� Cordy had declared. �White lights, gold ornaments. Very classy.�

�Sure,� Wesley had retorted. �If by classy you mean sterile and impersonal.�

�That kind of tree is perfectly elegant.�

�It�s perfectly undistinguished, is what. Every office in town has a tree that looks exactly like that. I think Martha Stewart clones them herself.�

Neither one had asked his opinion, of course. They never did, any more. Finally, they had compromised on white lights and plain ribbons with multi-colored balls.

Now it sat, prominently displayed, forcing him to walk past it several times a day.

�Don�t you want to help us decorate, Angel,� Cordelia had asked as she tied the gold ribbon into bows at the end of every branch.

Angel glanced up from the desk. �No, thanks,� he said. �I don�t really� celebrate.�

�I guess not,� she said. �The whole vampire thing. Not big on the gift-giving.�

�No, we�re not,� Angel said, and Wesley had glanced up from his own tree-trimming duties to give his employer a cold look.

Angel knew exactly what was on the Englishman�s mind, the ex-Watcher who had read all of Angel�s profane history.

Knew Wesley was imagining, in vivid detail, Angelus�s infamous Christmas feasts for his �family,� featuring beautiful infants in white gowns and angel�s wings, their skin dusted with gold powder, arranged in red baskets beneath the tree.

And Angel had returned Wesley�s gaze with one of his own, one which silently implored that Cordelia remain innocent of these atrocities.

And the girl had changed the subject to the food for the office party, unaware of the unspoken exchange which had gone on around her.

The two were out fetching food from the gourmet shop now, and Angel was restless, pacing his home like a caged panther.

It wasn�t that he didn�t like spending down-time with his employees; he did. He even liked some of the typically human modes of relaxation they favored, after a fashion. But an office Christmas party� even to Angel it smacked of forced merriment.

The two returned then, Wesley carrying a box-full of smaller food containers, Cordelia with a shopping bag of packages.

�This is so fun,� Cordy said, unpacking the food and arranging it on the counter and desks. �Our first office party.�

�Which, of course, had been why Angel agreed.

Gunn arrived just as the others had placed the last of the presents beneath the tree. He carried a sack of his own, and it joined the other parcels. He regarded the spread dubiously.

�Tell me if there�s anything here I can pronounce,� he said.

Cordelia stalked over to the food. �Tandoori Chicken, Porcini Farfalle, Arugula Salad, Avocado-Tahini with Pita, and Pfeffernusse,� she said, pointing to each dish in turn.

�I didn�t think so,� Gunn said as he scooped some chicken wings onto his plate. Cordelia gave a smirk which he returned.

Angel watched as Wesley piled his plate high, devouring the chicken and pasta almost before he sat down, and immediately serving himself seconds. The vampire thought, not for the first time, that the young ex-Watcher ate like a man living close to starvation.

He had asked Wesley several times if his pay was sufficient, trying, in an oblique way, to determine the man�s expenses and see they were met. But now that they had worked together closely for so many months, Angel theorized that Wesley simply didn�t have an appetite if he had to eat alone. It was only when they ate together, when Angel cooked a late-night breakfast or Cordelia ordered pizza, that his hunger overcame him.

Charles Gunn, on the other hand, needed no such assembly around him to know his place in the world. He had his people, his gang of vampire hunters, but he was definitely in charge. Angel was constantly impressed that one so young could be so fully self-possessed, and hoped his influence would rub off on some of his more overly-prudent employees.

They all ate heartily, except for Angel, who still felt uncomfortable drinking blood in front of his human friends, but he had fed earlier, and now got by with a few sips of tea.

"So," Cordelia said when everyone was done. "Shall we exchange gifts?"

She went to the tree and pulled out three packages in shiny paper. "First for you, Charles," she said, passing the young man a large box. "Merry Christmas."

Gunn took the gift from her, a little surprised by its weight, and tore it open. Inside was a large battle axe, and the vampire-killer grinned. "This the same one you whacked my boy with?" he said.

"No, it's new," Cordy said. "I ordered it from one of Angel's catalogs." She passed a much smaller box to Wesley. "You next."

The ex-Watcher smiled gratefully and ripped off the wrapping. It was a small collection of CD-ROMs. "Ten great word puzzles," Wesley read aloud. "Crossword deluxe. Risk for Mac O/S. Encarta 2001." Wes was smiling more broadly now. "Thank you, Cordelia. I'm sure I'll enjoy these very much."

"And last but not least," Cordy said, handing a box to Angel.

The vampire carefully undid the paper and opened the box. Inside was a selection of pastels, paints, and art paper. "Cordelia," Angel said. "This is so... generous."

"Use it for painting something nice, for a change," Cordy told him.

"I'll go next," Wesley said quickly, fetching his packages. He passed them to his co-workers. "You may as well open them all at once..." he said uncertainly, and the other three tore into the plainly-wrapped boxes. Out of each came a small stone disk, suspended from a thin leather cord.

"Um... it's nice," Cordelia said, turning it over in her hands.

"What is it?" Gunn asked.

But it was Angel who answered. "It's a Hawkestone," he said, his voice hushed with something like reverence. "A powerful protective charm." He looked up at the young Englishman, whose face was now set with pride. "You can't buy these, Wesley," Angel said. "You can only win them in exchange for a duty."

"Yes," Wesley agreed. "I know."

"What did you do?" Cordelia asked, her own voice full of awe.

Wesley lowered his eyes. "Now, that's between the mage in question and myself," he said. "But it was a service I was quite happy to perform. And you can also thank our green friend at Caritas for putting me in touch with said mage in the first place."

Angel allowed himself a knowing smirk. "What did you sing?"

Wesley flushed slightly, his eyes still down. "I sang a tune from the repertoire of the illustrious Ricky Martin." Cordelia and Gunn began to laugh, and he quickly added, "and that's all I'm going to say."

"Was it 'She Bangs?'" Cordy persisted.

"No, no," Gunn said, "'Living la Vida Loca.'"

"I've got it," Cordelia squealed. "'Shake Your Bon-Bon!'"

Wesley did look up at that, blushing furiously now. "I never..."

"It's a wonderful gift," Angel said over his employees' general hilarity. "You've outdone yourself, Wesley."

The Englishman gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile. "I hope you never have use of them," he said, "but just in case. We can use all the protection we can get in our line of work."

"You said it," Gunn agreed.

"Thank you, Wesley," Cordelia said, and she leaned across to kiss him on the cheek.

"Okay," Gunn said, rising and retrieving his sack. "This was sort of a last-minute thing for me, so excuse the lack of wrapping." He dipped in and drew out a small box which he handed to Cordy.

She opened it with a small squeal of delight and held it up. Nestled within was a pair of earrings shaped like stars. "They're adorable," she declared, and Gunn grinned.

"You next," he said to Wesley, and tossed a small bundle of cloth across to the Englishman's hands.

Wesley unfolded it and held it up. "A Dodger's jersey?"

"Yep," Gunn said. "You been an Angeleno for a year now. About time you started looking like one."

A slow smile crept across Wesley's face. "I guess you're right," he said. "Thank you."

"Now, you," Gunn said, turning to Angel. "You are impossible to shop for."

"I don't need..." Angel began, but Gunn stopped him with a raised hand.

"Well, I'm hoping it will really be for all of us," Gunn said. "Unless you�re having a really bad week." And he lifted out a bottle from the sack.

Angel took it and gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval. "Bushmill's," he said. "A very good whiskey."

"I thought I remembered hearing you were Irish originally," Gunn said.

Angel smiled wryly. "Still am," he said, then looked up at his employees. "Come with me," he said, getting to his feet.

"Where are we going?" Cordelia asked.

"Gunn's right," Angel said. "We need to share this, but not here."

"Is something wrong?" asked Wesley.

"No," Angel said. "It's just... we work here. And if we're going to share a drink, I want to do it as friends, not co-workers." He led the three up the stairs and down the hall, past his suite, to the room next door.

Inside, the walls were lined with shelves scavenged from throughout the hotel, and there were a number of odd chairs, tables, and a roll-top desk. Stacked on the shelves were the few reference books Angel had managed to salvage from the wreckage of his old apartment, along with some new additions. There was also a strange collection of items left behind when the hotel was abandoned--- china plates and teacups, a porcelain vase, a carnival-glass lamp, a silver cigarette case, four small inlayed wooden boxes, a pair of jade candlesticks, a brass giraffe, and, oddly, a child's toy dump truck.

The lighting was subdued, the walls hung with dark curtains, and an oriental rug was spread over the plain industrial carpeting. Wesley stopped in the doorway.

"Angel," he said uncertainly. "When did you do all this?"

"After I had that time where I slept so much," the vampire said, "I spent a lot of time not sleeping." He shook his head. "It's not important."

He rolled back the top of the desk, revealing three packages in white paper. He picked up the smallest and handed it to Gunn. The young man opened it to find one of Angel's business cards. He raised an eyebrow in Angel's direction.

"I've written a note to the maitre d' at the Blue Tree on the back," Angel said. "Tomorrow I've arranged for your entire outfit to have Christmas dinner there."

Gunn, for once, was speechless. "Angel... this must have..."

"I want to," Angel said. "I remember what it's like to have family to take care of." He picked up the next box and placed it on Wesley's lap. "You next."

The ex-Watcher undid the wrapping to find four book in a neat stack. His brow knotted in momentary confusion. "Aren't these children's..."

"Well, sort of," Angel said. "I read them this summer and liked them a lot. I thought you could identify, actually. The combination of British boarding school and magic training, you know."

Wesley smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Angel," he said softly.

"Okay, me next," Cordelia said, bouncing lightly in her seat.

Angel gave the girl a fond smile and handed her the last box. "Careful," he said. "It's very heavy."

"Boy, you're not kidding," she said. "This had better be lots and lots of jewelry."

"Well, not exactly..."

She pulled out what looked like a bundle of small-link chain. "What is it?"

"Here," Angel said, taking it from her hands and straightening it out. "It's a ring-mail shirt. For protection."

Cordelia looked at him doubtfully, and Angel took a deep breath. "I don't say this often," he said, "but I worry about you." He looked around the room. "All of you. I just want to keep you safe."

Cordelia rose and took the ring-mail from him, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the cheek. "And I don't say this often, or, ever, really," she said, "but it's nice having you look out for me."

Angel touched his face where she'd kissed him. "Thanks," he said.

"Just don't, you know, get too happy about it," she said.

Wesley stood and crossed to the shelves, taking down four mismatched cups. "Let's have that toast now," he said.

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Epilogue:

Angel was watching Wesley with some amusement. He had never seen the Englishman drunk before and found the combination of his heightened insecurity and sudden inability to pronounce words correctly strangely endearing.

"It's too early, of courshe, to discuss matri... matrim... marriage with Miss Brishe," Wesley slurred, "but I have to consh... consider what sort of life I'd be asking her to live, what with my line of work and all. I mean, the conshtant danger, the ever... ever-present threat of death..." He trailed off, his head nodding, and Angel wondered if he should just steer him towards a guest room or offer to drive him home.

Gunn had left several hours before to return to his own people, and Cordelia was curled in an overstuffed armchair, asleep.

Angel reflected how his personal history seemed to be repeating itself. Here he was, again responsible for his own assembled "family," though thankfully under better circumstances than in the past.

Wesley came back awake with a small snort and peered around the room for a moment in confusion. "Oh, Anshel," he said. "Forgive me. I seem to have dozed off." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm feeling a bit dizzy. Maybe I should just go to one of the guest rooms..." He climbed unsteadily to his feet and Angel rose and took his arm, guiding him out into the hall and down a few doors. Inside was a double bed, and the mortal collapsed into it, out cold. Angel pulled the blankets up around him, then returned to the study.

"Cordelia," he said gently, shaking the girl's shoulder.

She blinked up at him, her eyes not quite focusing.

"Time for bed," he told her, scooping her easily up into his arms and carrying her to the room next to Wesley's. He laid her carefully on the bed, draping the coverlet over her.

�Thank you,� she murmured, half-asleep. �Merry Christmas, Angel.�

The vampire smiled in the darkness. �You, too,� he said.

She replied with a small sigh of contentment, and he closed the door, returning to his own suite.

He flicked on the light and glanced at the wall clock in the kitchenette; almost three a.m. He rubbed his eyes. Christmas already. He�d make a nice brunch for Cordelia and Wesley when they woke up, he thought, and then they�d go out for dinner later. Maybe join Gunn�s people.

He turned towards his bed and stopped short.

Placed just next to his pillow was a gift wrapped in gold paper.

Angel walked over to the bed, confused. Had one of his employees decided to give him something privately? he wondered. He picked up the small card tucked underneath the bow.

Written in a small, neat script was a single word. The handwriting was familiar to Angel, but his mind couldn�t quite grab it. It fluttered at the edge, an itch he couldn�t quite reach.

He opened the box and found a glass globe. He lifted it out and saw the figure of an angel within. But this was no simpering girl in a white gown. This was a warrior-angel, armor-clad, wings spread wide, sword-bearing arm raised high.

Angel read the card again, the single word stark against the cream-colored paper: Remember.

Angel rotated the gift in his hand.

Inside the sphere, the snow began to fall.

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