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Fallen Heroes

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Summary: Angel Investigation is changed when one of their number falls in battle, can a mysterious stranger help? Character death mentioned. Angel/Daniel Jackson, Angel/Wes implied

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > Multiple Pairings > Slash PairingsSecondaltoFR1879,059031,08126 Jun 1126 Jun 11No

Chapter One

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. Stargate SG-1/Angel the Series crossover

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Angel ran his fingers over the stone marker. He was at the grave again, as he'd been every night for the past three months. It was Catholic guilt, the habits of a lifetime ago, that drove him back here. Or so he told himself.

The gravestone was stark white in the moonlight, and the words he'd chosen scored black across it. Fred had wanted more, Gunn didn’t care. Cordelia would have understood.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Hero.

Simple words to describe a complex man. Hero. Co-worker. Friend. Lover.

Angel always wondered if they would have finally resolved their differences had Wesley lived. Wesley had been caught in the final conflict with Jasmine. He’d followed when Angel had gone to confront Connor, killed by the goddess before Angel could react.

“Cordelia is doing well. Still in a coma. Fred seems to think its mystical, but that’s more your department.”

Angel always told Wesley how things were going, who was up to what. It made him feel connected. He wondered what Wes would think of the choices he had made for their friends. If he would have done things differently had Wes been there as his voice of reason. Probably not.

“I got a surprise at the office yesterday. That amulet I gave to Buffy? It was sent back to me. With Spike trapped inside.” Angel let out a harsh laugh. “How’s that for irony. I lose you and gain him. I think the Powers That Be are messing with me.”

It was getting late. Or early depending on your point of view. Angel needed to get going.

“I’m going back to the Hyperion later today, Wes. Putting the last of your things away. I’m keeping the books; never know when those will come in handy.”

He ran his hand over the top of the marker one last time.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. Fred says it isn’t healthy for me to come and see you every night. That I should move on. So it will probably be a while. I love you, Wes.”

Angel arrived just as the sun was threatening to spill over the horizon. He ran through the doors just ahead of the first rays. As he slowed he took stock of his surroundings. The Hyperion had always felt a little lonely but now it felt desolate. Angel half expected to see Wesley sitting in the office, researching some demon. He sighed heavily; it was the office he would be packing up. He steeled himself, glad someone had already sent over boxes for him to pack things in. Even though Wolfram and Hart supposedly boasted an impressive library, Wesley’s books would be added to it. They were Angel’s last connection to him.

With the last book packed, Angel looked around the office to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He could almost hear Wes and Cordy bickering over some small thing and it cut him to the quick. His memories were interrupted by a noise. Angel looked towards the lobby and was blinded by a bright light. He wondered if the rift from Quortoth had been reopened.

As the light dimmed, Angel grabbed a sword that had been left behind. He kept an eye on the light and jumped back when something fell. No, not something, someone, he thought as he saw arms and legs. Angel couldn’t figure out where the light was coming from. It wasn’t the rift, he knew that much. When it disappeared, Angel moved forward to where the person had fallen.

It was a naked man. Angel knelt down and saw the man was breathing. He had no idea how the man had come to be here, but Angel knew it was his responsibility; it came with being a champion. He pulled out his cell and made a call. He ordered a full security detail, better to be safe than sorry. But whoever he was, this man would be taken care of by the best doctors Wolfram and Hart could provide.

Voices. Distant, loud and angry. He had done something wrong. He was being punished. No! He had to stop them, had to save them. No!

His eyes flew open as he sat up, breathing hard. Instantly he was surrounded by people. He looked around, familiarizing himself with his surroundings. He blinked, trying to focus. There were machines on either side of him and he was obviously in a bed. The people were poking and prodding, asking a million questions. There was someone standing in the doorway.

He closed his eyes for a moment, tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about. Nothing. Just feelings, confusion and a sense of loss. He flinched at someone poked him hard and he opened his eyes to glare. There was a woman standing there, reading some papers. She was small, thin, but her eyes were curious. She was reading the information to the man in the doorway. He kept looking around.

This wasn’t a hospital. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. The room was…smaller, more comfortable. The walls were not white, but a muted blue. He couldn’t place any smells that he associated with the feeling of a hospital. So he knew something, which was significant.

He tried to focus on what else he knew. He didn’t seem to be hurt in any way, but that didn’t really mean much. His eyes wandered to the IV sticking out of his hand. Just because he couldn’t feel the pain, didn’t mean they weren’t giving him something for it. The people kept poking and prodding and talking over him. He blinked. He had poor eye sight; everything around him was a bit of a blur. He’d have to ask about that, when he could get a word in edgewise. They kept turning to that man with what they found. He would just nod, barely acknowledging what they said.

The man was tall, dark and mysterious. His face was full of concern and when their eyes met; there was a brief moment of understanding, sympathy. One of the people prodding him was trying to get his attention.

“Can you answer some questions?”

“Um, I think so,” he swallowed. “Where am I?”

“In the medical facilities of the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart. We’re taking care of you.”

“Oh.” He looked around, still blinking and squinting. “Who am I?”

“So what can you tell me?”

Angel was leaning against his desk in his office, Fred and Gunn standing a few feet away.

“Well, physically he’s fine, in really good shape. Really good shape,” Fred emphasized with a bit of a blush. “They can’t find any medical reason for his amnesia, no blows to the head or other physical trauma.”

“Any idea if he’ll regain his memory?”

“They don’t know. Sometimes amnesia victims do get their memories back, sometimes they don’t. Doctor Thomas seems to thing the amnesia might be mystical or magical rather than medical. But that’s something that…” she trailed off.

“Its okay, Fred. You can say his name. It’s something Wesley could have looked into,” Angel replied. “So we get other people on that.”

“Already done boss,” Gunn said. “I asked Lorne to see what he could do. Maybe get a read on any mojo going on with this guy.”

“No can do, cupcake.” Lorne walked in with a look of concern on his face. “Forgetful Jones has a decent voice. His problems are…well it’s like nothing I’ve seen before.”

“Evil?” Angel asked.

“No, I’m not getting an evil vibe. Whoever sent him here is powerful, Angel-cakes. And I don’t mean Senior Partners powerful. Or even Powers That Be powerful. The people that did this, bigger. It’s beyond my understanding. I wouldn’t want to mess with them. No one would. Including Wolfram and Hart.”

Angel frowned. “So what do we do in the meantime? If he’s healthy the doctors will release him soon.”

“He’s smart,” Fred answered. “Genius level even. Maybe he can work for us. We’d just have to see what his specialty is.”

“I can pony up the paperwork,” Gunn offered. “I just need a name for him.”

“Got that for you, pumpkin,” Lorne said. “About the only concrete thing I read from him. It’s Daniel, Daniel Jackson.”
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