Finding Purpose: Duty
by MarcustheBloody
16 hours earlier…

Wesley, sitting at the desk in his office, stared at five golden boxes that were lined up on his desk. All of them were identical; perfect squares that glowed dully in the faint light of the room.

Next to the boxes stood a picture of Wes, Fred, and Lorne hamming it up for the camera at the Wolfram & Hart Christmas party. Both of them, Fred and Wes, had been mystically drunk at the time, thanks to Lorne’s projective empathy. They were all smiles as Lorne stood behind them giving his “showtime” grin.

It all seemed a lifetime ago. The happiness that Wesley finally felt in his life with Fred sometime after that had not been a result of Lorne’s suggestions, yet it had a magical quality of it’s own. Now that was gone…

The prospects of what he now faced paled in comparison to the loss he had sustained when Fred had been taken away from him by Illyria. What he was about to do with his companions was inconsequential. He had told Angel that Illyria was hollowing out Fred, using her body as a shell, during her horrific transformation, yet it was him now that was a shell. He was empty without her. In truth, he had died when Fred did.

All that remained was sitting on his desk. Five golden boxes and duty.

Wesley had always tried to do what was right. Tonight would be no different. Although he care little anymore for himself, he wanted to see Angel and the others through this ordeal if he could.

His mind suddenly shifted to Angel and Connor and his action that led up to where they were now. The prophesies said that the father would kill the son, so Wes assumed he was doing the right thing in taking Angel’s baby boy and giving him to Holts. Holts then went into the portal, Connor returned later as an adult, eventually fell under Jasmine’s control, which led Angel to make a deal with Wolfram & Hart, which in turn brought Illyria and what they were about to do.

One action. His choice, whether right or wrong, had brought them to their present dilemma. Fred was gone and he had killed her.

Wes hoped that this time would be different. Would his decision now effect their lives, if they made it out of this with them, down the road for ruin? Wesley hoped not. His father, on one of the rare occasion that he had spoke to him as an equal, had said, “Wesley, one has to life for the immediate. Be where they are at, not where they wish to be. Do what is right in the moment because that is what you can control. The outcome is up to fate.”

Live for the moment.

It was sound advice. Yet what his father had failed to tell him was what to do when every moment without Fred felt like an eternity. How did he get out of the moment and find fate again?

Wesley was reaching for the first cube when his cell phone rang.

“Yes,” Wesley said as he flipped the phone open.

Whoever was on the other side of the phone talked for a moment before Wesley responded.

“Good. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

With that he flipped the phone shut and slipped it in his shirt pocket.

It was all coming together, yet there was so much to do. The last piece of it as was Vail, yet the rest of the puzzle lay before him. There were so many pieces that were missing and time was running out.

Picking up the first cube, Wes spoke in a guttural tone.

Thid un syh machari shay she.

With the sounding of the final syllable that came from his mouth, the cube began to shimmer and pulse with a lavender inner light.

It was then that he began to speak.


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