Rest for the Weary
© Joanna C
He supposed he should have stayed with her. Of all of them, Cordelia had known Angel the longest, and invested the most in him. Invested the most emotionally, at least. Gunn was as unwilling a warrior in the battle against evil as she was, but a bit more street-tough, a bit less...well, he didn't seek out the grand moral messages the way she did.
Poor thing, it had been the only way she could cope with the visions, with the constant struggle to right what couldn't always be righted. And after Angel's stunning rejection, his summary dismissal of them and what they had worked toward...he should have stayed with her, but they were all so shell-shocked. Darla raised something in Angel...something dark. But was it Angelus or was it simply Angel, but an overwhelmed, confused and very humanly burnt-out one? Was he evil, or merely tired?
They had sat for several moments in stunned silence after he left them. Gunn rose first, saying he had a few things to check on. Cordelia hastily followed, chewing her lower lip in obvious distress and claiming exhaustion. He made a mental note to call her later and check up on her (while at the same time mentally noting that Gunn would not need checking up on) before he finally left himself. What else was there to do?
He was awakened some time later by the persistent ringing of the phone. Eyes blurry and not quite awake, he batted the receiver off its cradle and felt a stirring of fear when all he heard was the empty hiss of static. Whoever was on the other end was either playing a prank (at this ungodly hour?) or somehow incapacitated. Cordelia. Was she trying to summon help from within the throes of a vision? Was she...his heart quieted as he noticed another sound: the insistent beeping of his laptop computer, which, in his exhaustion, he had failed to turn off.
He rose and stumbled to the table. There it was, a single icon blinking on the screen: new mail. As he scanned its contents, he instantly understood. The phone call had been a ruse to wake him, so he could see the message.
The person on the other end could not talk to him any other way. The staccato plea from Cordelia's ghost, Dennis, must have taken great effort for him to tap out on Cordelia's computer and email to him: Wes. Need you. C sick. Angelus. Hurry. Dennis.
He threw on a coat.
Ten minutes later, he tapped on the door of Cordelia's apartment. It blew open effortlessly; Dennis was waiting. And Cordelia was waiting too: sprawled on her couch, breathing raggedly, squirming fitfully but otherwise almost lucid. He watched her come out of wherever she was, and reflexively kick off her blanket. Dennis waited a moment for her to calm down, then quietly floated it onto her again. What was going on?
"Cordelia?" Wesley kept his voice low, unsure of what was happening.
"Hi." She smiled bravely. "How'd you know?"
"Dennis. He emailed me. What's going on?"
"Dennis emailed you? He can type?"
"Apparently. Cordelia, what's happening?"
She sighed. "Visions. But a different kind of vision. It's not the future, it's the past. Some of it things I've seen, some of it things...I couldn't have seen. Visions. And they're all...they're of Angelus, Wes. All of them."
"Is it normal for you to have flashbacks?"
She glared. "Oh yes. I totally know what is normal for psychic powers given to me by omniscient super-beings."
He sighed. "Point taken. But...how many?"
She shrugged. "Since I got back. I know I should have called you, called someone, but I was just in shock, and I'm so tired, Wes. They take so much out of me." He moved closer and grasped her hand with concern.
"You've been having visions continuously, all night?"
"That's the weird thing. They seem to be on some sort of cycle: one vision, every half hour on the half hour. One violent, scary vision of Angelus at his worst. I feel sick, Wes. I don't want to see this stuff. And some of it...it's people I know. Buffy, Giles...a lot of Giles. Being tortured, being hurt..."
"Well, if they're coming in a pattern like that it's clear the powers are trying to tell us something. I'll bet if we figure out what the message is, we can stop the visions. I'll call Gunn. We'll need all the help we can get."
Wesley quickly set up camp in Cordelia's living room. She should have called him earlier; in matters like this he could be wonderfully efficient. After a brief phone call to Gunn, he had force-fed her a glass of orange juice to keep her strength up, cleared off her kitchen table clutter and began hunting around for research materials. He kept a careful eye on the clock and at 20 after 2, abandoned his work and gently shook her awake.
"If the pattern holds, you're due for another one very soon," he said quietly. "There are things we can do to make this easier..."
She lowered her eyes. "Easier for you, maybe. If the powers have a special message for us, I wish they would pick a more direct way of sharing it."
"Maybe it isn't meant to be direct. Maybe we won't learn it unless we do it the hard way."
Her eyes teared. "The hard way. Oh Wes, you have no idea..."
2:27. "I know. All right, Cordelia, why don't we try some deep breathing?"
She took a deep breath. 2:28. The door fluttered open and Gunn, taking in the scene and sensing an impending moment, muttered "Thank you, Ghost Butler" before moving into the shadows to watch.
2:29. She grasps his hand as her body stiffens. A second later, her back crumples as she thrashes in his arms. He mumbles "I'm here" and strokes her hair as they wait it out.
She screams: first in pain, then in brave explication, offering up what clues she can: Angelus. Drusilla. Sunnydale. She was there, but not like this. Not like this...
2:34. It's over. She flops onto the couch, hyperventilating, as Wesley calmly guides her back to them. Breathe. Relax, it's over. We're here, it's now and it's over. Drink some juice. Get your bearings. And breathe.
Her companions allowed her a few silent moments to get her bearings. When Dennis finally floated the blanket back onto her lap, they took that as cue that the crisis was over. Wesley released her hand and rose, stretching, as Gunn demanded "What the hell was that?"
Wesley explained. "She's been getting visions, at intervals every half hour. Flashbacks of Angel when he was Angelus."
"Angelus is his bad self, right? Before he had a soul?"
"And after he had one, but lost it."
"So does this mean he's lost it again?"
"We aren't sure. But these visions she's having...in a pattern like this...it has to be some kind of message."
"And you figure she'll keep having them until we figure out the message."
Cordelia drew a shaky breath. "I hope so. I don't know how many more I can handle."
Wesley gave her a reassuring smile, as Dennis wafted by and smoothed out her blanket. "Well, we've got 27 minutes left until the next one. Where do we start?"
50 minutes later, little progress had been made. Wesley had just been getting into his research when the next vision hit, and it seemed they got longer and more traumatic each time they came. It had been more than 24 hours since she had slept properly, and the pain from the visions left her too nauseous to eat.
She was getting grumpy, and her foul mood in no way helped the situation. When Wesley tried to calm her down, she snapped. "You know Mr. Research, I'm very sorry if my excruciatingly painful flashbacks are interrupting your research. If I had the strength to stand upright after no sleep, no food, no shower and to kick it all off, a day from hell, I'd help you."
Wesley sighed. "I'm not blaming you, Cordelia. But the quicker we figure out why you are getting these visions, the quicker we can put a stop to them. And to do that, I need to concentrate."
"Well, no one's forcing you to be here."
He frowned. "Don't be silly. I want to help you, Cordelia. In spite of what you may think of me, I am your friend and I won't abandon you."
Gunn spoke up. "Maybe I could help."
"Huh?"
"All you need is someone to hold her hand and help her through these vision things, right? I know she's more used to you and all, but if you can stop this thing...go do it. I'll look after the lady here."
Wesley glanced at the clock. "We have six minutes. I'll walk you through this one." He positioned himself behind the couch, at Cordelia's eye-level: a perfect vantage point to supervise. Gunn kneeled on the floor and took her hand. "Now, the important thing is to keep her grounded. Talk to her during the vision, and note anything she says about what she's seeing. They could be clues. When she comes out of it, use physical details to bring her back to reality: your hand, the blanket, things like that. Once she's settled down, have her drink some juice. She won't feel like it, but it's important to prevent her from getting dehydrated."
Gunn nodded. "Anything else?"
Wesley nodded. "Don't coddle her. She might need to talk things through, and that's fine. But shameless pity is not constructive."
Cordelia stiffened, body contorting as the vision hit.
"Here we go. All right, Cordelia, breathe. You'll feel better if you do."
It took longer to bring her out of it this time, which worried Wesley. Even so, he knew the best way to help her was to leave her now so he could finish his research. He grabbed his beeper, and a satchel of books, and headed out the door.
"Call me if you need me," he told Gunn. And to Cordelia, he said "Just try and stay as positive as you can, all right?"
Her eyes were watering, her eyes queasy. "Just hurry up, all right?"
Wesley nodded. On his way out, he leaned close to Gunn and whispered "That no coddling speech? That was for her. Do what you for her. The poor thing---she could use a bit of coddling." And he was gone.
Wesley's mind wandered aimlessly as he began walking. He wasn't sure where he was going, but when he found himself at the door to Carita's, it seemed obvious that this was where he should be. The bar wasn't crowded, and the anagogic host greeted him happily. "Evening, friend. Song for your thoughts?"
He allowed himself to be led to the microphone, as the host introduced him.
"Folks, we have a rare treat for you. A real, live human is here tonight, but don't let his humanity fool ya. He's got the same problems as the rest of us. So let's give it up for Wesley the defender of the hopeless!"
Amidst loud cheers, he felt the first strains of his selection begin and he sang with feeling:
'Try not to get worried, try not to turn on to
Problems that upset you, oh
Don't you know everything's alright, yes,
everything's fine
And we want you to sleep well tonight
Let the world turn without you tonight
If we try, we'll get by so forget all about us
tonight...
He was a terrible singer, so he was surprised the demon host let him finish. There was polite clapping as the demon led him backstage.
"Gotta tell ya bro, I like showtunes as much as the next guy. But 'Jesus Christ Superstar?' You feeling a bit martyred tonight?"
Wesley sighed. "It's been a rough day."
"Yeah, the boss wigged out and fired you. Must be hard. But he hasn't turned bad, you know. Confused, maybe. And possibly a little afraid. But not apocalyptic."
Wesley smiled. "That's a relief. But Cordelia..."
"Uh huh. It's not about her, bro. And it's not about him either."
"What do you mean not about him? The visions are of Angel when he was bad, of Angelus. You're saying it's not a warning?"
"I'm not saying that. It could be a warning, but not about what you think it's a warning for."
"So what do we do? How do we know?"
The demon shrugged. "That's not my problem, bro. I only see what I see. You want more, I'll need another song---and not from you."
The night was cool, and the breeze refreshed him. He emerged from Carita's deep in thought, but paused at a stop light to glance at his watch. 4:15 a.m. If he hurried, he could get back for the next one. Poor Cordelia! He was glad Angel had not lost his soul again, but he still didn't know what the message was, what they needed to figure out in order for the visions to stop.
The host wanted another song, but how could he convince Angel to go to Carita's, even for Cordelia?
Maybe Angel was pushing them away to protect them, or to protect himself. But he was still pushing them away...But the host didn't say he needed Angel, did he? And he did say it wasn't about Angel even though it might seem to be. So maybe Gunn could be his other song. Or maybe...Cordelia? Could they take her, could she manage it in her present state? He broke into a run, suddenly renewed.
4:28, Wesley burst in to Cordelia's apartment. She had her eyes closed, and was breathing deeply, trying to brace herself. He tiptoed past her and mouthed "How is she?" to Gunn.
Gunn's eyes never left Cordelia. "Managing," he whispered. Cordelia tensed, face crumpling, and tightened her grip on Gunn's hand. "She's slept some. Little naps," said Gunn. "She's remembering more when she comes out of it, but it's harder to ground her."
They both winced as Cordelia shrieked in agony.
"We're getting close," said Wesley. "But we need to take her somewhere."
Cordelia's body went slack as the vision ended. Her cries tapered off to a low moan, and she pressed a hand to her forehead gingerly. Gunn fetched her a glass of orange juice and nodded to Wesley. "Look who's back."
She opened her eyes and faced him wearily. "Have you made progress? Tell me you've made some progress."
"Well, I know for sure that he hasn't lost his soul, if that's what you mean. But the rest of it...the lesson...I need your help to figure that out."
She heaved herself into a sitting position, than sank back into the pillows with a piteous groan. "I'm not exactly in fighting form."
"I know. I just need you to come somewhere with me. To Carita's. He wants to hear you sing."
"Sing? Wesley, I am a rotten singer even in the best circumstances. I have terrible stage fright! And like this..."
"He's a link to the powers, Cordelia. And at the moment, our only link."
By the time he had her securely in his arms, Gunn had already summoned a taxi.
They arrived at Carita's with 15 minutes to spare before the next vision was due. The anagogic demon was delighted to see them.
"Hey, you're back! And you've brought friends this time. I knew you would. You know, this is perfect. We can get to the bottom of things, solve the problem, have closure. It's a good night for closure, don't you think?"
Cordelia had gotten out of the taxi under her own power, but leaned of Wesley heavily and glanced at her watch nervously. The host clapped his hands. "All right, I see we're under a bit of time pressure here. Let's get the lady up there right away. I assume it's her you've brought me?"
Wesley nodded, as the host trotted up to the microphone.
"Evening, folks. We have a very special presentation tonight. Our next lovely performer has graciously agreed to sneak in a number in between her horrifically painful visions. Let's give it up for Cor-de-li-a!"
The crowd cheered as the host carefully guided her to a small stool.
"You'll get better projection if you stand," he said. "But under the circumstances, I'll make an exception."
The bright lights on the stage made her appear greener than she really was, and the unhealthy sheen of sweat was obvious, and worrisome. She had 11 minutes.
I'm trying to tell you something about my life
Maybe give me insight between black and white
And the best thing you've ever done for me
Is to help me live my life less seriously
Well, darkness has a hunger that's insatiable
And lightness has a call that's hard to hear
I wrapped my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety 'till I sank it, I'm
crawling on your shores
I went to the doctor, I went to the mountain
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountain
There's more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive,
the closer I am to fine...
9 minutes, but he had seen enough. Wesley and Gunn hovered anxiously as the host gently helped Cordelia into a chair.
"Interesting song choice," he said. "Didn't peg you for a fan of chick bands."
Cordelia glanced worriedly at her watch: 7 minutes. "But truer words were never spoken. Darkness IS insatiable, and lightness is hard to hear. There IS more than one answer, but you haven't given up your search for the definitive, and that's what's holding you back."
6 minutes. Her breathing quickened and her body tensed. "So tell me something I can't learn from song lyrics. What am I supposed to know?"
He shook his head. "That's your second mistake, assuming that if it's not about him, it's about you. You area tool, just as he is."
4 minutes. "You mean Angel?"
"No, YOU mean Angel. And in your mind, I suppose you and he are cosmically wrapped up in some grand scheme, with some higher power calling all the shots like a self-righteous svengali."
2 minutes. "And you're telling me it's not like that?"
"I'm telling you that is a stunningly linear way of looking at things. Has it never occurred to you that these powers might have as little agency as you yourself?"
1 minute. The demon host's features softened. "Poor dear. You're in so much pain, aren't you? Carita's has always been a sanctuary. You'll have no more visions while you're here." He touched her forehead and she winced in pain. Then her features softened and her knees buckled.
"Wesley...."
He caught her as she slipped into unconsciousness.
Wesley glared at the host sharply. "What have you done to her?"
"Only halted the process, bro. Relax, this is only her body sensing a break and seizing it. She's sleeping, nothing more."
"Well, what can you tell us?"
"I have told you, bro. It's out of my hands now." The host ambled away, then abruptly turned back and looked Gunn in the eye.
"Can you watch them?" Gunn nodded. The host leaned foreword and touched his forehead to Cordelia's, the kneeled and touched it again to Wesley's.
"You're tired, bro," he told Wesley. "Why don't you have a nap?" An instant later, Wesley was fast asleep and an amazed Gunn was comfortably ensconced at a corner table, a drink by his side and one unconscious friend propped up against each shoulder.
It wasn't a vision, but a dream. At first, she doubted that. But there was no pain this time, and the picture was a bit fuzzy. A dream, for sure. She was in a white room, seated on the floor in a meditative lotus pose. Above her, there was a shadow but it didn't frighten her. Below her, there was a small pond about the size of a kitchen table. When she looked into the pond, she saw the faintest outline of a face, not her own. The shadow above her whispered "the powers..."
A tear slid down her cheek. "What have you done to me?" she asked them.
A voice answered. "Such pain. Does it serve it's purpose?"
"Purpose? You're telling me it's painful on purpose?"
The voice was surprised. "You didn't know that? Of course it has a purpose!" Then, more gently: "Of course you didn't know that. It's why it works so well."
"You know, you have some nerve," she said. "I never asked for this. I never wanted this. And yet you've brought me in, made me a part of this...fight of yours. And nearly killed me several times!"
"And yet you survive," the voice said. "Did you ever wonder why?"
Cordelia frowned. "I don't care why. I shouldn't have to be surviving. I should be...you know, I grew up in Sunnydale. I thought that by coming to L.A. I could get away from that."
"We know."
"Then why did you do this to me? Why did you get me involved like this? I never had a choice! It was just..."
"Better that way," said the voice. "Better to have you unwilling."
"What?"
The voice was unbearably gentle. "It's harder when you have a willing soldier. They are too eager to fight at all costs, to martyr themselves for the common good. But an unwilling conscript...she saves herself because she knows that when the war is over, she can go home. She has something to live for BESIDES the cause."
"But why me? It doesn't seem fair..."
"Why you? In that, we had no choice. Certain things...are beyond the powers of any power. Certain things just are. We know we will need soldiers. We know where, and when, and how many. But who...we don't always know that."
"But tonight...the flashbacks...those weren't like the other visions. They were deliberate. And controlled."
The voice sighed. "Yes."
The face in the pond shimmered and solidified for a split second. "We don't usually intervene in this way. But your friend...the Angel...he is going through something difficult right now, and for whatever reason he is pushing you away. We sensed that you were feeling discouraged, and we needed to remind you that although your purpose and your wishes may not always coincide, your duty is unwavering. The fight is not about you, or about him."
The voice paused for breath. "Do you understand why the visions always hurt?"
She shook her head.
"Because the pain consumes you. It takes your personality, your wishes and your will out of the equation. It reminds you that you are more than just yourself."
"And the flashbacks? Angelus?"
"We knew it would bring you here. But more importantly, it reminded you that although he is your friend, it doesn't always matter as far as the cause is concerned. He has his nature, his destiny. And it is very different from yours."
"But he IS my friend, and I care about him."
"Yes, he is your friend. And he will return to you. But with or without him, you have your destiny."
She dried her tears. "So the visions are over now?"
"The flashbacks are. It is not our habit to intervene like this, and I think we shall likely not do so again."
She scrunched her face. "My head hurts."
"You're waking up. You've been through a lot and I imagine you won't feel that great. But you'll manage. The stubbornness that got you chosen will take care of you as you recover. And he WILL come back to you."
She took a deep breath. "I understand."
The pond flickered. "There's one more thing we have to tell you. We don't often intervene like this."
"I know."
"And...well, we really aren't supposed to. We can teach you whatever lesson we want to, but when we interfere like we have it doesn't always sink in."
"So I won't remember this?"
"Not entirely. But...there's a loophole. They let you bring in an observer, and he'll remember the whole thing." The shadow above her trembled as if it was waving. She looked skyward and for the briefest moment saw Wesley's face.
"Wesley?"
"He is an observer. And it will be a lesson for him. He is the willing soldier, training his whole life to combat evil. What he has seen tonight may temper him."
The light went out with the most blinding flash of pain Cordelia had ever experienced. She heard herself scream, and when her senses returned to her, the host of Carita's was standing over her.
"I'm sorry, love. Closing time. You and your friends need to go home now."
She raised her head and as Gunn helped her upright, she saw Wesley rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and rising to join them. She was still quite unsteady, and felt more than a little sick. Her head hurt, and her brain felt fuzzy. When she spoke, her words slurred. "Where are we? What's...happened?"
Wesley shushed her gently. "We're taking you home, Cordelia. You're going to be just fine."
"My head hurts."
"I know."
"These vision things really wear me out. If I ever meet those powers..."
Wesley smiled. "You'll love them as much as they love you."
"Maybe. But right now I bet I hardly look like a crusader for the cause."
He grinned. "You'd be surprised."
The end