Scribes Of Angel

Briar Rose

Spoilers: AtS; one teensy weensy one for 'Expecting' but that's it.

Summary: A vignette, rated PG, AtS. Involes Angel, Cordy and Wesley. Friendship? Romance? You decide.

Website: http://spykeraven.gatefiction.com

There was a princess once, sleeping in an ivory tower, guarded by thousands and thousands of cruel thorny bushes that formed an impregnable thicket around her that none could penetrate.

They called her Briar Rose.

. He is making them breakfast as usual. It has become a ritual, breakfast at Angel's place, everyone turns up, Wesley and Cordy fight for the papers while Angel serves eggs and toast and that is how they start each day.

Every day.

"Hey, I wanted the comics!"

"Excuse ME, Ms. Chase, but I'm currently engaged in the most fascinating adventures of Prince Valiant, so would you kindly return that?"

"Uh-uh. Angel," this to the man at the stove stewing tomatoes and bacon, "are you done with this? There's this cool picture of Matt Damon that I'd like to cut out. Ooh, and discount coupons for Mattie's!"

"Mattie's?" He asks, laying the steaming plates on the table and wiping his hands on the 'Kiss the Chef' apron Cordelia got him for a gag gift.

"The dress store, you know? They have the BEST clothes."

Wesley attempts to look nonchalant.
"So, you have a date?"

She shoots him a look.
"Yea, unlike some weirdoes who think Scrabble is a way to spend Saturday night."

"Anyone we know?" Angel asks, stirring cream into his coffee.

She is suddenly evasive.
"Probably not."

"Do we get to meet him?"

She bites into the bacon and rolls her eyes exaggeratedly.
"Mm-HMM! Angel, mumf you are such a GOOD cook!"

Angel quirks an eyebrow and prepares to ask more. Luckily Wesley takes this opportunity to spill coffee over his end of the table. Amidst shouts of "Hey!" "My COUPONS!" "Oh dear me, I am SO sorry" and much chaos, the rest of the conversation is averted.

Until three hours later.

She snaps at him, glad that Wesley is in their makeshift laboratory, dissecting Graktha sprites,
"Listen, dead guy, there is more than one way to have a life, you know? A date isn't the end of the world!"

"I just think you should be more careful about who you go out with. I worry for you."

"Why? Its not like I have a soul to lose."

"Don't you?" He says softly. She turns away and began filing papers.

"Cordelia?"

"Shut up."

Wesley comes in, triumphantly brandishing a pale blue squishy thing.
"I found it! I was right, the spawn hatches in -"

He takes a look at the two before him and exhales.
"Did I miss something?"

A crash heralds Cordelia's exit from the room. Angel shrugs and says
"Coffee. She needs her cappuccino."

Wesley gives him the look and leaves to safely stow away the squishy thing.
He comes in again and sits down in front of Angel.

Quietly he speaks.
"It's a casting matter. Aura, her girlfriend from high school?" at Angel's nod he continues, "Apparently she knows someone who knows someone else..."

Comprehension dawns.

"Why didn't she tell me?" More obvious, the question - why does she tell you ?

Wesley smiles at Angel sadly.
"Maybe because I'm not someone she has to look good in front of."

. It was said that the princess was beautiful, good and kind, and would marry the first man to kiss her awake. Still, there are many women in this world. Many who are good, beautiful and kind-hearted. To that, they add a talent for music, or a rich dowry. Why would anyone want to chance the fury of a thousand thorns that shred eyes, ears, nose and mouth, leaving would be suitors deaf, dumb, blind and bleeding from a thousand wounds?

. "Cordelia? This is Lionel. Lionel Hart."

"Uh, Mr. Hart! This is such a surprise- "

His voice grows impatient.
"Stop with the games, sweetie. I heard you might be interested in that little part in _"

She closes her eyes and listens, trying to steady her breathing. It's her chance, she just knows it is. If only she can get it, this is the part that will make her name, make her famous. So that she doesn't have to live off charity any more.

Charity made even harder to take by the fact that the one who offers it is a friend. Someone whose approval and pride she longs for.

" - So it's Harry's bar at 8 then. Don't be late."

"I won't. Thank you, Mr. Hart, you won't -"

A click signifies the end of the conversation. She puts down the receiver, breathing heavily.

She doesn't hear the second sound; the one that indicates someone else has been using the extension in the main room, and is trying very hard not to slam the receiver down.

She is too busy trying to ignore a screaming conscience, and wondering what to wear.

Four hours later...

"Mr. Hart?"

"Yes?" The man gazes superciliously at the leather-clad apparition that has accosted him in the bar.

"Are you waiting for somebody?"

The man who is responsible for the term 'casting couch' curls his upper lip in a style that, he has been told, is reminiscent of Marlon Brando in his heyday.

"I'm not gay, you know, so you may as well leave now."

Mr. Hart's sneer fades to uncertainty as the man beside him smiles and stands to his full height, at least six inches taller than Mr. Hart himself.

There is a long interval in which the two men gauge each other, and Mr. Hart loses miserably.

"Have we met before?" he tries finally, needing desperately to break the awful silence that has cocooned them in the midst of a Saturday night bar crowd.

The man in leather tilts his head.
"No. But I have a message for you."

"Yes?"

Hart sees the fist coming towards him and tries desperately to duck. An iron grip holds his head steady and the thrust stops barely short of his aristocratic nose.

Head to head, nose to nose like the gay lovers that Hart despises, they stand and the man with the face of an angel speaks in a voice that Hart knows will haunt his nightmares for years to come.

"If you so much as look at her again, I will kill you."

Then he is gone and Hart nearly falls on his knees, despite the surroundings. However, a healthy sense of self-preservation keeps him upright and propels him to the doorway, all the while swearing never, ever to look at brunettes again.

"Angel? What are you doing here?"

The angel in leather turns and smiles at the suspicious girl. "I needed a drink. So, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, nothing special. Nothing at all." She neatly sidesteps and makes her way to the bar. Fifteen minutes later,

"Buy you a drink?" says the man sliding into the seat beside her.

She turns around with a brilliant smile that mutes into a scowl.
"Angel?!"

Angel bends his head and sniffs the arm of his leather jacket.
"Ok, I'm guessing you object to my deodorant."

She gives him the look.
"No, but I AM keeping that seat for someone."

Angel smiles.
"Well, tell me about him."

"As far as I know, he's human and unlikely to impregnate me with his demon seed, so lose the protective attitude, ok? Geez, ever since Wilson, you and Wesley have been worse than, than, a couple of mother bird things!"

He holds up his hands in an exaggerated display of self-defence.
"If its attitude we're talking about here, you're the one who needs a lesson in -"

"Bite me!" She snaps.

He grins at her.
"I won't, but you never know who else might."

After a while, she grins back.
"Go away."

He shakes his head.
"Uh-uh. Free country. Staying put. You?"

She loses the tiniest bit of certainty.
"Uh, Angel... I'm really here to meet someone, so..."

He takes a swallow of his drink and contrives to look hurt.
"What, are you ashamed of me?"

"No - yes! Yes."

He shakes his head.
"Too bad. I'm staying."

"GO!"
She near screams at him, nerves tensed to a fever pitch at the thought of what she is here to do, and not needing or wanting him adding his accusations to those of her overloaded conscience.

He gives her a look, then gets up and leaves.

She pointedly doesn't look after him, and smiles falsely at the bar tender. She cannot, will not allow herself to be distracted.

So what if - if...

She takes deep steadying breaths.

He knows a friend in the business... its just a dinner date... I won't , she thinks, knowing already that her presence here means I might , which is this close to I will.

But it's my life. She squares her shoulders and takes a sip of the drink Angel left behind.

My life. Me alone.

. Many princes tried. Some brought axes to chop down the bushes, but they only grew stronger and wilder.

Then, they say, then after a hundred years, there came a prince who knew what the rose bushes wanted. They wanted to be loved. To be sung to. To be wooed and won over, not attacked.

I say that it is unlikely that any prince would be able to understand what the rose bushes wanted. After all, one is a man and the other a plant. They have totally different needs and thoughts.

. "What did you do to him?!" She's shouting as she enters the office, brandishing a tabloid paper.

Angel turns around, alarmed.
"Cordy, calm down and -"

"I will NOT calm down! Who the hell do you think you are anyway? Look at that - LOOK at THAT!"

Angel picks up the paper and sees a beautiful shot of Mr. Lionel Hart, bruised and black eyed, attempting to get into his BMW, which appears to have suffered as badly as he has.

Cordelia seethes as he reads and shouts when he chuckles.
"Its not funny!"

"But Cordy - he deserved..."

"I SAID! It's NOT FUNNY! The one guy, the ONE guy who has more clout than Cecil B. Mille and might have used some of it in my favour, and you drive him away! Who gave you the right? Who gave you the fucking RIGHT to do that to me?"

Angel stands up, forgetting reason.
"Did you even stop to think of what he might want from you for that FAVOUR? Huh? Did you?"

"And what fucking business is it of yours?"

"What fucking BUSINESS - fine! FINE! Next time you decide to act like a slut and get impregnated by some bastard, don't you bloody come crawling to me!"

She opens and shuts her mouth a couple of times, then turns and simply runs.

Angel stares after her helplessly, fists clenching and unclenching with anger.

Wesley rises from behind some huge tome, grey and ashen.

"That was cruel."

"Shut up."

"So was that."

Angel turns to leave, but Wesley's voice stops him.

"Do you know how much your opinion means to her?"

He snaps at his friend, knowing it is unreasonable, but not caring.
"If she knew, she wouldn't act like a slut!"

"Who are you to judge her, Angel? Her father?"

Angel pivots and looks at Wesley square in the face.
"Who are YOU?" he snarls. "Her LOVER? I didn't think so!"

He stops at the look of hurt on Wesley's face. The two men face each other for a while; the only sound that of Wesley's harsh breathing echoing through the room.

Finally he speaks, voice husky and raw.
"Maybe I'm not her lover. Maybe I will never be good enough for her-"

"Wesley -" Angel starts, but is forestalled by Wesley's outstretched hand.

He catches his breath in a raw sound, maybe a sob, before speaking again.
"Maybe I'm not her dark hero, or the demon she could have loved. But what I am, Angel, what I AM, is the man who would marry her and raise her children the second, the very second she said she needed help. And I wouldn't care whose they were, so long as they were hers."

Angel looks down, unable to compete with the love and hurt in Wesley's face. He keeps looking down as the door slams and he knows he's been left alone.

They don't come for breakfast that day. Or the next.

On the third night, it's Wesley alone.

"I got hungry." He smiles hesitantly at the vampire behind the door.

"I'll make pancakes." Angel's smile of relief is unbearably sweet as he hurries away to find the apron and make the coffee.

"For DINNER?" Wesley asks, bemused, following his friend into the kitchen.

. Tell me, do you think that a hundred years behind a prison of rose bushes would have changed the princess any? Maybe the bushes turned the flowers to her and the thorns to her suitors. Maybe she was happy in her prison. Maybe she planted the rose bushes.

I suppose we will never know.

. She stands in front of the mirror clad only in her undergarments. Her hand traces a scar on her belly, moving up and down, up and down. Mesmerized by the sensation of smooth on rough, she stands until a ringing telephone startles her into action.

"Delia?"

"Yes."

"I thought we were meeting twenty minutes ago."

"Huh?"

"It's Derek. I'm at the pool. You were going to teach me about the joys of swimming under the stars."

"I can't."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't have a costume."

An exasperated snort comes from the other end.
"Yes you do. I bought it for you three days ago. Now quit stalling, its boring counting stars out here by myself."

"I can't."

A click signals the end of the call. The phone rings again, but she doesn't pick it up. Just watches herself in the mirror, one hand tracing a scar on her stomach.

. I don't think a suitor would try so hard for the hand of a beloved he had never seen. Family, on the other hand, a mother, a father, a brother, an uncle, family is a different matter. Family would have begged, pleaded, burnt, cajoled, hacked at those rose bushes until they were let in. Because that's what family does.

Then again, I suppose we will never know.

. "So, um... so where's Cordelia?" He asks casually, before burning his finger on the stove.

"OW!"

Wesley helps him find a band-aid; then stands uncertainly behind as Angel attempts to mix the batter by hand.

"She won't let me in."

"Oh."

Angel curses because the batter won't turn properly. Wesley sighs and pours himself a cup of coffee.

"Have you called her, Angel?"

"No. Have you?"

Silence as Wesley finishes his coffee, then comes to stand behind Angel, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. He doesn't dare breathe, but Angel doesn't shove him away, so maybe, maybe he can speak his piece after all.

"Call her. I miss her too."

Angel exhales, and turns to give Wesley a rueful look.
"What's happening here Wesley? Do you have any idea?"

Wesley shrugs and removes his hand.
"I'm not sure myself."

He gives Angel a shy smile.
"But I think it's ... interesting, don't you?"

An hour later...

There's another call coming in for Cordelia Chase, but she refuses to pick it up.
The answering machine gets it.

A diffident voice fills her room, familiar and arresting.

"C-cordelia? This is Wesley. Wesley Wyndham Price. Um."

There is a pause and she feels a wry grin coming on. How many Wesleys does she know, anyway?

She fancies she can hear him shuffling his feet.

"Um. Ms. Chase? Cordelia? I, that is to say we, we are a little worried about your absence for the past two days. I, I ..."

An oath and she hears a thud. Wesley's voice can be heard offline, a little muffled.
"Come BACK here! You promised!"

He returns to her, more authoritative.
"Cordelia? Cordelia, there is someone here who would like to speak with you. Please hold."

Another voice, equally familiar, comes on.
"...damn it Wesley, alright, I'm doing it, ok? Cordy? Cordy, hi, this is Angel. Look, I'm really sorry for what I said to you. About the - the thing."

She can hear Wesley prompting in the background and Angel's irritated "Yea, yea, I'm telling her."

"Look, Cordy, I'm not gonna apologize for scaring off that Hart jerk, because he was a jerk and you knew it. Ok, so you do have a right to lead your own life." There's a pause before he continues.

"No scratch that last sentence. Because what you choose to do with your life isn't really just your business, you know that? Because, because we care about you, heck, I care about you and I don't want to see you hurt. So - um, so what I'm trying to say is, um, I'm sorry. Really."

She thinks she can hear feet shuffling again and is amused. Twice in one day!

"Cordy? Listen, damn it, I'm sorry, ok? If you don't call back in an hour I'm going to come over and break down your bloody door."

Wesley in the background again.
"Angel, she may be out shopping."

"Oh. Right. If you're not in by tomorrow, I'm gonna come and break down your door."

Horror struck Wesley as a second possibility occurs to him.
"But what if she's really ill? I - I never considered that..."

"Shut up Wes-"

BEEP!

The machine signs off.

Cordelia smiles.

On the other end, Angel tries to prevent a distraught Wesley from dispatching an ambulance to Cordelia's apartment.

"She'll be fine, Wes!"

"You can't be sure-"

"I AM sure! I'm as sure as the fact that I didn't see you in Harry's bar, tapping a certain Mr. Hart on the shoulder with the crowbar in your fist."

"But - oh." Wesley pauses and adjusts his spectacles.

"Oh." He says again.

Angel smiles.

Wesley straightens his spectacles a second time.
"So, you, you didn't see me in Harry's bar, accosting Mr. Hart?"

Angel folds his arms.
"Nope."

"And, and since you didn't see me there, there's no likelihood of your telling Ms. Chase that... that you didn't see me?"

Angel cocks his head to the side.
"What's to tell?"

"Er - yes. Precisely."

There's silence for a while, then Angel's shoulders shake with mirth and Wesley is aghast at the sight of his boss and friend laughing .

"Wesley, Wesley, what am I going to do with you? Did you have to do his face and his car at the same time?"

Wesley shrugs, smiles and adjusts the lapels of his coat.
"I informed him that I had 'taken care of his car' with the crowbar, but the rest was just using the dukes."

Angel stops laughing and looks hard at Wesley.
"You really do love her."

He shrugs.
"We're friends. For now, it must be enough."

Angel nods. Then -
"Wesley?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Wesley shrugs and gives his rare grin.
"We're friends. For now and the rest of eternity, that has to be enough."

The two men collapse laughing again.

. I think the princess must have really liked the roses for them to be so eager to protect her. Your true friends are always your best friends. Though even they may not know what you need, their love is none the less affectionate for that.

. "Hot date tonight?"

"Maybe..." Cordelia twirls in a dizzy spangle and Angel could swear that stars sprung off her dress to fill the air around her.

Wesley enters in a tuxedo, tie dangling helplessly from one hand.
"Er, Ms. Chase, I wonder if you could -"

He stops and she stares.

After a while, she gently prods him.
"You look smashing."

"You most certainly do -"

His mouth is still open, and realising that, he shuts it with a snap, offering her the tie.
"Could you possibly -"

He makes throat-cutting motions with his free hand.
"I can't really seem to-"

"Of course."
She accepts the tie and ties it around his neck. Wesley gulps audibly, and has difficulty breathing.

"Too tight?"

"No, no - near perfect." He gasps.

Angel watches, amused and slightly surprised.
"What's the occasion?"

Cordelia turns to him and curtseys.
"Lord Wyndham Price here is about to educate me into the mysteries of life."

Angel's brow creases.
"Which would be?"

"Opera." Clarifies the object of his scrutiny.

"Which one?"

"Pirates of Penzance."

He shrugs at Angel's incredulous look.

"I thought we had better ease into it."

Angel waves a hand vaguely.

"Well, you kids go - have a good time."

Cordelia swoops down on him and tugs on his arm.
"Uh-huh. You're coming too. I want to make the whole hall jealous when I enter with two such toothsome hunks hanging on my every word."

"What?"

She giggles and jerks him out of his chair.
"Kidding, just kidding. But hurry up and change, would you? We'll be late otherwise."

Smiling bemusedly, Angel allows himself to be persuaded.

. My favourite story is the one where the prince comes to the fence of roses surrounding the tower and sings of his great love for roses. He speaks not of the princess, but of how he loves the roses, how he coats the walls of his tower and castle with them because he cherishes them for their scent and their beauty, for the roses themselves and not for any other reason. The wall of thorns melts in ecstasy and he can pass through, the gaps closing behind him as he enters into the secret garden.

The princess is there, waiting for him with a smile on her face and a bunch of roses in her hands.

"I knew you'd come." She whispers and jumps up and hugs him.

The prince holds her close and asks "How? How did you know about me?"

She holds him at arms length and looks at him seriously.
"Because I've seen your tower too, and its covered in roses just like mine."

And they live happily ever after.

But it's still a sad story, because there is no room for more than two in that happy ending.

Maybe one day there will be fairy tales that don't have to end.

. "...sho where do we go now?" roars Wesley happily, waving a beer bottle like some trophy of the battlefield. "The night ish young and SHO AM I!"

"Hush!" winces Angel, supporting a dead to the world Cordelia.
"Oh hell!" he grunts and swings her into his arms.

The opera was marvellous, though he now regrets the idea of showing Cordelia what a pub-crawl is. She passed out after only five drinks, the combination of heat, noise and Wesley at the karaoke bar too much for her to take.

Still... he looks down at the girl snuggling to his chest and feels a warm protective feeling overtaking him

It's been a marvellous night, just the three of them, having fun.

It's been a while since he's had fun. Good clean, family fun.

Wesley has stopped at the crossroads, a little confused.

"Bosh?" he asks, swinging around and nearly beaning Angel with the bottle in his hand, "Bosh, I'm losht. Where do we go from here?"

Angel looks at him and half smiles.

"Forward, I guess." He shifts Cordelia's weight a bit and feels that warmth again.

"Yes, with the three of us together, forward would be my best bet."

"F-forward?" Hiccups Wesley.
"Forward! Onward! Charge!!" he yells, pleased and runs off, leading the way.

Angel shakes his head and hopes he won't be having to carry the offspring of the Wyndham Prices home as well. Cordelia is heavy enough.

He peers ahead. Wesley is standing on a post box, waving his bottle and yelling
"Bosh! Come on! Half a league onward!"

At least he appears to have plenty of stamina left.

And with Wesley singing 'The Charge of the Light Brigade', the three of them make their way home.

~ End.

Disclaimer: I understand and attest that the characters of Angel, Cordelia and Wesley are not mine, but Joss Whedon's. I thought Lionel Hart was an original character, but after the story was written, I remembered about Wolfram and Hart. Put him there if you wish, I have no objections.

Note: This vignette presupposes a long association between Angel, Wes and Cordy. At least a couple of years. You may not agree with how I think the characters will develop, but hey, artist's license!
Did I mention I love feedback? =)

Further explanation: I always thought that Cordelia would be likely to have a slight infatuation for Angel, come on, she's barely twenty and here's this dark clad hunk of a night thing! At the same time, I think Wesley has a thing for Cordelia which she doesn't know about, and so... this story may be my way of detailing the interaction between the three. It's anyone's guess what happens next!

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