Painful Revelations by Kaz

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Joss owns it all. I own nothing.
Distribution: Near Her Always /nha.magical-worlds.us/
The Mystic Muse /mysticmuse.net
Feedback: I'd love it!
Spoilers: Buffy Season 7 and Angel Season 4
Authors Note: Thanks to: Meg for talking this plot out with me and giving some kickass ideas! Meg, Gunbunny, Shelly and Wesley's Girl for the beta!
Dedication: Written for Evette for the first Willowfic-a-thon. Hope you like it hon!
Pairing: Willow/Wesley

It had been two months. For two entire blissfully quiet months she had allowed herself to relax, becoming the woman she had always imagined she would be when she "grew up". She enjoyed her job, happily going to work each morning, returning to her apartment every evening to make dinner, watch the news, read a good book. She held dinner parties for her friends and not once were they crashed by uninvited guests of the supernatural sort. Her magic was under control and she was finally at peace with herself. She was happy. Almost.

Picking up the phone, she dialed a number by heart. "Hello, is Kennedy there please?" Her face fell when she heard the answer. "She's on patrol? Wasn't she on patrol last night too? Oh, well, just tell her Willow called. Oh, I'm fine, thanks. Yep, having a ball back here in L.A. Anyway, say hi to everyone for me! Bye!"

Tears filled her eyes and Willow blinked them back stubbornly as she returned the phone in its cradle. Resolved, she snatched her novel from the coffee table and slumped onto the couch. She had read a few pages when she heard a knock at her door. Carefully marking her place, she set the book on the table and went to the door.

Wesley stood in the doorway and she smiled her greeting, taking a step back to give him room to enter.

It wasn't until after he'd shuffled wearily across the threshold that she noticed. The rumpled oxford he wore looked suspiciously similar to yesterday's and hung off his body, shirttails trailing behind him.

"Willow, how're you?" He smiled, but it lacked authenticity and made her think he was doing it only for her benefit.

Willow shrugged. "Great," she said. Her own smile felt forced as well, making her cheeks ache with the effort of keeping up appearances. She wondered how long she could do it, before she broke; before she spilled her thoughts and feelings out and laid them bare for the world, or at least her friends, to see.

"Good. Well, at least that's what everyone tells me. I haven't talked to her in a couple weeks. She's always out or busy when I call." Well, that answered that question. She never had been good at lying. She shrugged again, pushing back the pain she felt every time she was told another explanation for Kennedy's continued absences. Even though she inherently knew how Kennedy felt, the excuses were beginning to sound contrived. Willow couldn't come up with any valid reasons for Kennedy to stay away, but she also couldn't dismiss the fact that Kennedy hadn't called in two weeks. Even on the Cleveland Hellmouth there could only be so many vampires to slay in one night. "I mean, when she decided to go with Faith, I knew communication would be a problem and that long distance relationships sucked but…" She didn't finish the thought.

"You never realized how large a problem it would be?" Wesley asked, his tone indicated he could understand the problem.

The question surprised her. Her argument with Kennedy had taken place at Angel Investigations and from the looks of sympathy she had received when Kennedy had announced that she, unlike Willow, needed the thrill of slaying and would be going to Cleveland, she had assumed everyone knew her reasons for staying. But, it appeared she was wrong. Then again, Wesley had been acting oddly since she'd arrived. Almost as if he was mentally unfocused on the world around him. She had mentioned it to Fred, who had shrugged it off as backlash from a stressful year.

"Not really. I needed a break. Not from her but from the excitement and the drama of slaying and saving the world. Seven years is a long time, but she's only just started and she wants the excitement and drama so," Taking a deep breath, Willow forced a smile to her face. "Anyway, what brings you here? 'Cause I don't think it was to hear about my problems with Kennedy. Is there a problem with the research I did on the Myacretian Scroll? I know that my Aramaic isn't the best but–"

A sigh of relief erupted from her lips before she could stem it. She enjoyed her position as Wesley's research assistant at Wolfram and Hart. The results of her assignments generally didn't have apocalyptic proportions, at least not immediately, and the mental stimulation was something she had always craved. Researching for Giles in the library and then the Magic Box had quenched the thirst for knowledge temporarily, but she had always wanted more. She had been delighted when Wesley offered her the position and it had filled her wildest job-related dreams.

"In fact you did a wonderful job," he assured her, a smile on his lips. He opened his mouth to continue but stopped, looking concerned and confused, an altogether Un-Wesley _expression.

When he didn't go on, Willow cocked her head. "Would you like something to drink? I have tea, if you want? I'll make some tea," she said, not waiting for a reply. She hurried to the kitchen, Wesley in her wake. She began heating the kettle while she set out teacups. The two remained in silence as the water boiled.

Willow studied Wesley further, noting the lines on his face that weren't apparent at the office. She saw him briefly each day, to get her assignments and update him on the progress of her work. Perhaps the lighting was different, making the circles under his eyes stand out more, the bewildered look on his face more prominent.

Once the water boiled, Wesley stood up and took over the preparation. Willow watched in amusement, knowing it was virtually virtually impossible for an Englishman to watch an American make tea, much less drink the resulting beverage. Giles had done the same thing and had muttered about her 'improper' techniques. And she had to admit, although she methodically followed Giles's instructions, the tea he prepared was superior to her own.

"So, how are you?" She asked, when he set the tea in front of her and joined her at the table. Her eyes narrowed and she watched his features go slack, blank, expressionless. She hadn't expected such a reaction to her question. In fact, she had intended it to be a simple starting point from which she could draw him into telling her why he had come over. Reaching out, she touched his arm, her brow furrowed. "Wesley?"

"That's precisely what I came to talk to you about." His voice was tired, his accent, while always evident when he spoke, was more noticeable. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Oh. Okay. Is everything alright? I mean, you're not sick or anything?" She thought of Joyce, how she'd behaved the months before her death, and paled. Wesley seemed thinner, less substantial and as she searched his face and body for signs of illness, the gaunt hint in his cheeks worried her more. While she thought the rugged look suited him, his general appearance had slipped right along with his focus and left him looking very much the absent-minded professor.

Willow set down her cup and looked at him with concern. Her stomach churned at the thought of losing yet another friend, whatever the circumstances. However, she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. "Did you want me to take you to a doctor or something? I could take tomorrow afternoon off or we could go now if you want."

"Oh, no. That isn't what I meant," he assured her. He sighed, obviously collecting his thoughts before continuing. "Since a few days after you arrived, I've felt wrong; off, somehow. Something isn't quite right yet I can't put my finger on what's amiss. I've tried discussing it with Angel, but he says my imagination is getting the better of me."

Willow nodded, relief relaxing the knot in her stomach, though new bundles of worry filled the spaces they had left. "So you think Angel's wrong? That you're not just imagining it? Is it something bad?"

"Yes. No. That's just the problem, I'm not sure. I – I feel as if there's a glitch somewhere. Something fairly large, something I should know or remember or do is missing. And for the life of me, I can't figure out what."

Willow watched as his fingers stroked the thick scar at his neck idly, tracing its curve. "Does it have to do with your scar?" She asked curiously, noting to herself that such a gesture from him was not normal. She recalled several times where he had intentionally drawn attention away from the scar. Yet here he was, running his fingers over the scarred tissue.

"Well, I don't remember ever seeing you touch it at all," Willow observed. She gestured to his hand. "And now you're all with the fingers so I figured the two might be connected."

"I got the scar during the fight with Darla," he said shortly. His head tilted to the side, his brow furrowed. He pursed his lips and shook his head, as if pulling himself out of a fog. "No, I don't think I did. I don't know where, but I got it someplace else."

Wesley frowned. "That's odd. There's a feeling of, it's incorrect when I say that Darla gave me the scar on my neck even though that is precisely how I got it. It's as if…as if I'm not sure what I'm telling you. My memories are telling me one thing, yet my heart, if one believes in such a concept, is saying someone else entirely."

"Okay," Willow said slowly, thoughts racing. She could think of several explanations for this off the top of her head, but none of them fit what she knew of Wesley's symptoms. "What else feels odd? And can you remember what felt odd first? Like what thought or is it all just funny?"

"Okay. Well, when do your memories begin to get all strange then?" Willow tried a different tactic, hoping to elicit more information from him. She studied his face, noting the tired eyes, the lines around his lips as they pursed in thought and pain.

"Around the time I staked Darla and received the scar," Wesley admitted, his fingers once again idly touching the mark. He thought to himself for a moment before nodding. "Though, the fact that Angel and I had a falling out last summer feels accurate. As does the fact that I located him with Justine's assistance."

Willow frowned. "How'd you get her to –" Upon seeing Wesley's bleak look, she trailed off. "Um, never mind. Okay, well, have you done anything to try to figure it out?"

"I attempted a simple memory spell, but it didn't work properly. I suspect my Lethe's Bramble wasn't fresh enough."

Willow nodded, chewing her bottom lip as she considered the problem. After a moment, she leaned over and grabbed a pen and paper from the counter. She quickly jotted down several facts about Wesley's life from the past year. Pen poised, she continued. "Okay, let's go over a few things. You tell me if they feel weird or not, okay?" At Wesley's nod, she glanced down at the first line. "Cordelia getting pregnant and giving birth to Jasmine?"

Willow nodded, making a check mark beside her note. "You guys deciding to bring Angelus back?"

Willow scowled. Raising an eyebrow, she asked the next question. "Cordelia killing Jasmine?" She held her breath when Wesley did not immediately reply.

Willow bounced in her seat. "Yay, progress!" She said delightedly, giving Wesley a grin. When Wesley didn't join in her enthusiasm, only staring at his tea, one hand clutching the table edge, she winced. "Um, sorry, got a little excited. So Cordelia killing Jasmine feels ookey."

"That's 'cause you're British," Willow informed him absently, waving her hand in dismissal. She glanced at him, hating that she had to broach the next topic, yet knowing it was necessary. "You and Lilah?"

"Fine," he replied shortly, his voice trembling slightly. He cleared his throat, not meeting her eyes.

"Um…not on the topic of our little game of Twenty Questions, but if ya know…you ever want to talk about that…I kinda have some experience in that department," she offered softly. Both Fred and Angel had told her of Wesley's relationship with the now undead lawyer. She couldn't begin to imagine how it would feel to be forced to decapitate your lover's body after finding her dead, regardless of whether or not you admitted to yourself your true feelings about her. And although she herself had lived through a similar horror, she couldn't imagine mutilating Tara's body that way. Her stomach turned at the thought. She swallowed, glancing at Wesley, grateful when he didn't appear to notice her discomfort.

Wesley shook his head, eyes glued to the table. "Thank you for your offer, however…" He trailed off, obviously uncomfortable with the subject.

"I understand." Willow sighed and turned her attention back to her list. Tapping her finger on the side of her teacup, she summarized their findings so far. "So we have a starting place with the freaky feelings…does Jasmine dying feeling ookey or is it just that Cordelia killed her?"

"Hmmm," Willow said, jotting down that piece of information. "Have you done any research on memory spells?"

"I did look into the basics but I thought it wise to get a second opinion before doing anything rash."

Willow nodded, pleased he had thought of her with so complex a matter. She gave him a little smile when he looked up, nodding her approval of his methods. "That's smart. And thanks for trusting me with this," she said before frowning. "Hmmm," she murmured, standing up from the table and going to her bookshelf.

She began to reach for one of her journals when she felt Wesley standing behind her. She turned, her lips quirking in a smile when she found herself nose to nose with him. Taking his arm, she led him to her couch. She handed him the book she had been reading. "Do you like Horatio Hornblower?"

Willow nodded. "I know but…these are my personal diaries and I've written things in them that I'd rather you didn't know. No offense of course," she hastily added, her eyes apologetic.

Wesley nodded and peered at the cover, an eyebrow raised. "I presume that this is a modern day Horatio Hornblower then?"

"Well, if you think thousands of years in the future is modern, yeah sure. David Weber is a fantastic writer and this is the first in his Honor Harrington series," Willow informed him, hoping he would agree to be distracted by the book and would let her work in peace.

"I'm not really interested in reading at the moment." Wesley returned the book to the table and stood up. "Perhaps you have a text I can look at?"

Willow studied Wesley, noting how his hands clenched and released at his sides and how his shoulders rolled forward when he stood still. Willow sighed and nodded, realizing how she herself would feel in his place. "Okay," she agreed. She went to her bookshelf and retrieved a well-worn copy of a book of spells. She grimaced when she remembered the events that had occurred the last time she used this book. "There's a memory spell in there – very potent, remind me to tell you that story sometime, kinda funny. Anyway, I never really looked past that one spell so there might be more, if you want to try it?"

Willow looked up from her diary. She had worked her way through the notes she had taken on her memories when Buffy had told them all what the monks had done and why. Both she and Giles had done some research that summer on memory in an effort to see through the monks' enchantment, but both were unable and unwilling to try to break it. Oddly, in her rampage the previous year, the thought of ending that particular spell never entered her mind, much to her relief as she realized the havoc and pain that could have caused.

Sighing, she shut the book, not having made any progress on Wesley's dilemma – or rather, not sufficient progress to suit her growing anxiety about Wesley. A few ideas on how to determine what, if any, spell had been used were hurriedly scribbled on the last page of her journal, but to fully understand a spell she would have to discover who cast it and why.

Willow glanced over at Wesley, her face softening when she saw that he had fallen asleep, his hands clutching the book carefully. Standing quietly, she retrieved a blanket from her bedroom and spreading it over the sleeping man. Even now, completely relaxed, it was plain to see the stress and strain from the past months on his face. She wondered why no one, especially those he was close with, had recognized his pain. It wasn't as if it wasn't obvious.

Sighing, she shook her head. There wasn't anything she could do about it right now. However, now that she knew she would be undisturbed, she could work a simple spell to put her on the right path to discovering who set the spell, if indeed there was one.

Laying out a few herbs, her mortar and pestle and some candles, Willow sat down, legs crossed. She inhaled then exhaled slowly, feeling the pull of the earth. This refined act of focusing, the energy rising up through the floor, focused her. Smiling, she began her chant.

Willow sat in shock, her mind reeling at all she had discovered. The spell itself was fairly simple, at least for someone of her ability. However its implications were as far-reaching as the one the monks had performed to insert Dawn into everyone's lives. Except they had taken someone out. Connor. She wasn't supposed to remember him, though now she did. She remembered hearing about Wesley being outcast from the group for taking Connor to supposed safety, how Wesley had worked to bring Angel back despite the history between them. She also recalled meeting Connor when she had restored Angel's soul, his sneering lips and dark eyes following her, scornful of magic and her plan. Her own lips quirked at the thought. So he wasn't the nicest kid–weren't all teenagers supposed to be rebellious and feel superior? Hell, even she had snuck tea bags into the Bronze. Well, and blown up the school. She supposed, on the whole, the latter might be considered just a bit more rebellious than the former.

She shook her head, sorting out the real memories from the false ones. So who had performed the spell? And why? She frowned as something tugged at her memory. Something Fred had told her when she was relating how they had become the de facto powers that be at Wolfram and Hart. Something about Angel going to see someone…someone named Connor. But Fred hadn't known who Connor was. But Angel had remembered. Angel knew.

She blinked, her eyes falling upon the man still asleep on her couch. Standing quickly and picking up the remnants of the spell, she scribbled a note for Wesley, saying she had gone to research a few things at work. Hopefully either she'd be back before he woke or he wouldn't find it until morning.

Grabbing her jacket to ward off the chilly night air, she closed the door behind her.

"Willow? What are you doing here?" Angel asked, curiosity in his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"I'll say!" She replied, hands crossed over her chest. On the ride over, her emotions had swelled until she was in a state of righteous fury. How dare they do that to him when all he wanted was to help! Was Angel punishing him for what he'd done? She would have thought that a year long estrangement from his friends and nearly dying would be punishment enough, but apparently not!

When Angel just stared at her, she rolled her eyes and pushed past him into his apartment. She glanced about, seeing no signs left of his son.

"Do you know what it's doing to him? Do you even realize? He's going insane. He's quietly going insane. And not only is this your fault, but you didn't even notice! No one did! You were all like 'it's your imagination' and 'it's been a hard year'. Well, guess what! It's not just his imagination and you damn well know it!"

Willow scowled. "Yes, I'm talking about Wesley, you big doofus!" She glared at him, one foot tapping.

"What he's been telling me," she began, interrupting him. "Is that he's going crazy trying to figure out what's wrong with him. And that's your fault for that stupid spell!"

Willow growled at him, taking a step forward. "Yes, spell! The one where you told whatever minions you have at Wolfram and Hart who are powerful enough to do it to erase Connor from everyone's memories!"

Angel studied her face, pushing back his own anger to truly look at her. Her words about Wesley sunk in and he sighed. Sinking into a chair, he put his head in his hands. "I had to," he said softly.

Willow felt her own anger leave her suddenly at his admission. She hadn't intended to come here to yell at him. She had just wanted to find out why he'd done the spell. Mentally berating herself, she put a hand on his shoulder. "Why?"

The pain and horror in Angel's eyes when he met her gaze caused her to cringe. "Oh Angel, what happened?"

Angel shrugged, his face devoid of emotion. "It's best for him this way. It really is. He's happy and is going to college and…" He trailed off, his pride in his son warring with the agony of his loss.

"I -I didn't mean to. I mean, I'm just worried about him," she admitted. "He's so lost and in pain."

"From what you've told me, I wouldn't want to. Connor is much happier like he is, regardless of how much it hurts you. But Wesley isn't and I do want to tell him, show him the truth."

Angel nodded. "I had hoped he wouldn't ever remember. The spell wasn't supposed to leave those traces, it was supposed to work perfectly."

"No spell is perfect, Angel. Even the one the monks used glitched enough so Buffy figured out about Dawn." Willow stood, her eyes remaining on Angel's face. "Now, don't do that. No broodiness allowed. You did what you needed to do to save your son."

"And he is that, Angel. You two had your share of problems, definitely. He did kidnap your son, though he thought he was doing the right thing, and you tried to kill him. But you've come a long way and I think if he knew the reason behind what you did…he would understand. I mean, look what he did for Connor himself and look at the price he paid."

Angel looked at her, the guilt laid bare in his eyes. "I know. And I know I should apologize, but…if he hadn't, I would have my son. He'd be two years old, I wouldn't have missed out on all those years of his life and I wouldn't have had to do this." He gestured with his hand in the general direction of Wolfram and Hart.

Willow raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know that? How do you know Holtz wouldn't have kidnapped Connor later? You said yourself that he was waiting for the right time. He would have found it, Angel, and for all you or I or anyone knows we'd still be right here," she told him. "I know it's hard to forgive, I really do, but you need to."

"But it's so much easier to hate. To be filled with anger and go about punishing those who wronged you. To be vengeance personified," Willow finished for him. She stepped in front of him, her face impassive. "I know Angel. But if you don't let it go, you won't be able to live. And, if anything, my little foray into the dark side taught me that living is the best way to honor someone's memory."

Willow smiled at him, pleased that while he might not yet agree with her, he seemed willing to think about what she'd said. "Oh, I've always been this smart, I just don't like to make everyone else feel bad."

Angel's lips quirked. "Of course," he agreed. Sighing again, he looked at her. "You know that I did the spell for Connor, right? Not out of a need to punish anyone?"

"I know, Angel," she assured him. She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and stood, heading for the exit. "It's later than I thought. I have to go. I left Wesley sleeping on my couch."

Angel nodded. "Tell him – tell him that I didn't mean for the spell to do that to him. And ask him not to tell the others? They're happier not knowing I think."

"Not sure I agree, but I won't tell and I'll tell him what you said too. And you could probably tell him that first part yourself, ya know," she said as she stepped out the door. She smiled back at him before shutting the door behind her.

She opened her door quietly to see Wesley sitting on her couch. She smiled when she saw that he was flipping through the Honor Harrington novel. He looked up when he heard the door.

He shrugged, eyes empty. "I was going to but I figured if you'd wanted my company you'd have asked. Did you find anything?"

"Didn't expect it to be," he admitted. He sighed, his body relaxing slightly. He shook his head, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. "At least I know I'm not mad."

Willow shook her head. "No, you're not," she agreed. She wet her lips, not quite knowing where to begin. "Um, you have to promise not to tell anyone. He thinks they're better off not knowing."

"Yeah. He thinks they're happier with the memories they have rather than the real ones," she told him, her voice emotionless.

"But you don't agree with his assessment, I see," he observed. Sighing, he shrugged. "Then I agree to his terms. I – I can't not know. It's eating me up inside."

"Whether it was the intention of the spell or not, it did have that effect on me," he said.

Willow could taste his bitterness on her own tongue at his words. Swallowing, she gazed at him for a moment, gauging his probable reaction to her next words.

"Can I show you why?" Willow asked, not sure if she was doing him a favor or if she'd be adding to the burden of guilt, pain and anger he already felt. Putting aside her worries, she reached for his hand and grasped it. She waited for his assent. It wouldn't require the ingredients this time. All she had to do was open his mind to the truth.

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Painful Revelations

by Kaz

Copyright © 2003

kardeb97@yahoo.com