Title: A 500-Year Beginning
Fandom: Angel/Firefly x-over
Slash_100 Prompt: #1, Beginnings (table
Summary: After five hundred years being frozen in a box, Wesley wonders if he'll be able to start again.
Disclaimer: I don't own Angel: The Series or Firefly. They belong to Joss Whedon and all those other people.
Spoilers: Season Five, up to Smile Time, of Angel. Vague for Firefly, no Serenity: The Movie, probably takes place around the episode "Out of Gas".
"Gorram it all, this is our cargo?" A voice exclaimed, sounding muffled to Wesley's ears. The voice was deep, holding a hint of a southwestern American accent. "You do remember the last time we had one of these things on board, don't you?"
"I'm well aware of that, Jayne." Another voice replied, sounding annoyed.
"Uhh, Captain?" A third voice called out, sounding worried. Wesley tried to open his eyes, but they felt as though they were sewn closed. "Something's wrong with the lock on this unit. The vital readings are showing..."
"Spit it out, doc." The first voice, Jayne, snapped.
"Whoever is inside of here... They're awake."
Later, after his body had warmed and he was able to move, Wesley found himself in a small infirmary that looked like it belonged on Star Trek. It was quite a bit different than the medical lab of Wolfram and Hart. So different, in fact, Wesley started to wonder if he was dreaming. Or had been captured. It wasn't the first time, nor the last, that would happen.
Yet, the last thing he remembered was Angel insisting they never mention his Muppet-Self again. The thought brought a smirk to Wesley's lips. His boss, a vampire puppet. Still, he didn't recall being in a fight or captured. Merely walking back to his office and being called down to the archives to look at some strange artifact that had been buried under a pile of prophecies involving spaceships shaped like giant bugs.
"I think he's awake." Wesley opened his eyes to meet those of a concerned, yet purely professional, looking man. Blinking, Wesley didn't speak and instead chose to take a look around.
The man standing next to him was dressed in the sort of outfit he had seen rich bankers wear in westerns. Behind him another man in a burgundy shirt and tan pants stood, arms crossed. Next to him was a curvy woman with dark skin and a face that seemed far too familiar. Seconds later, Wesley found himself pushing himself backwards, weakly trying to hide inside the wall.
"Whoa, what's wrong with him?"
"I think he's scared, sir." The Jasmine look-a-like replied.
"Maybe you two should leave?" The first man -- A doctor? -- said. Once the others had left, he turned back to Wesley. "I'm Simon. Do you know where you are?"
"I haven't a clue, actually." Wesley replied, his voice cracking and throat dry.
"That's an interesting accent you have." Simon commented. "You're on a ship. Serenity to be exact. Your cryonic unit was tampered with before you were brought on board. That's why you're awake. I'm not sure how it got unlocked, but it was very old. I suspect someone was playing with it and the opening of your unit was an accident."
"Wait... Cryonic?" Wesley took a deep breath. "I take it you mean I was... Frozen?"
"In a matter of speaking, yes." Simon replied.
"What year is it?" It was such a clichéd question, but Wesley had a strong urgency to ask it. The odds were something had happened to Wolfram and Hart, though Wesley couldn't begin to wonder, and he had ended up placed in cryo.
"Well, it's--" Simon started.
"Doc, get down to the cargo bay immediately. We have a situation." A voice ordered through the intercom system. Simon let out a sigh and grabbed his medical bag, sending Wesley an apologetic look before rushing out of the door.
Five hundred years into the future. Five hundred years. The thought was daunting, but if Simon and the captain were to be believed it was true. Wesley, three days after being pulled from cryo, was still trying to fathom it. Zoë, the one who looked like the deranged goddess that had plagued L.A., wasn't Jasmine. Wolfram and Hart no longer existed and there was no sign that Angel or Spike had lived long enough to reach the evacuation of Earth.
Rubbing at his face, Wesley tried to remember how to breathe. He was in a passenger dorm, the sounds of the crew walking past his door hitting his ears. He had not left his bunk in the one day he had been released from the infirmary. It wasn't that Wesley was afraid it was just that... Well, okay, he was afraid. He was in a world that he didn't know.
Still, Simon had been rather insistent that he went to the infirmary for a check up that morning. Wesley wasn't the type to put things off, he preferred to get the nasty stuff over with. Pushing himself to his feet, Wesley tugged at his five hundred year old turtleneck and made his way to the door. He supposed that, sooner or later, he'd have to find a way to get clothes.
Change wasn't something Wesley was really good at. He had a tendency to make a fool of himself along the way. Getting fired from the Watcher's Council was perfect example of this. Briefly he wondered if they still existed. Or, for that matter, if there were still demons roaming the many worlds out there.
"They meshed into our minds, caught onto a last strand of survival." A soft voice said from behind him. Wesley turned around to find River, Simon's sister, standing a few feet away. She was barefoot, but didn't seem to notice the cold.
"Did they?" Wesley asked. He knew what she was talking about. He hadn't met many readers in his day, but after working with Angel a person had a tendency to take things as they came.
"Sun doesn't hurt inside the brain cavity." River stated.
"I suppose it wouldn't, especially without a heart to burn." Wesley agreed. It was odd, he understood her perfectly. From what he had discerned from his brief contact with the crew, no one else could figure out what she meant most of he time.
"They got a new beginning." River nodded solemnly. "Like you."
"I wouldn't call it that." Wesley said.
"You will." River smiled.
Wesley gave her a short nod, watched her walk away, before slowly walking toward the infirmary. He found Simon and Jayne there, arguing over something. The room was a bit of a mess, with gauze and needle packages littering the floor. Wesley gulped when he saw that Jayne was shirtless. There was no doubt in the statement that Jayne was a very attractive man.
"I needed tape." Jayne was growling at Simon.
"Yes, I can see that!" Simon waved his arms around at the room. "Couldn't you simply look without throwing everything onto the floor? You do this every time you need tape!"
"Maybe if you'd put it somewhere a person could actually find then I wouldn't had to dig for it." Jayne snapped.
"It was in the same drawer it was in last time you went searching." Simon replied.
“Excuse me?” Wesley interrupted. The Infirmary was already starting to make him nervous and he wanted nothing else than to get out of there and back to his room. Jayne glanced at him, raising an eyebrow before snatching up his roll of tape and storming out of the room. Wesley watched him leave; noticing the way the loose fitting pants did nothing to hide his muscular backside.
“I was hoping you’d show up.” Simon smiled. “Here, have a seat.”
The examination went smoothly, Simon eventually finding in top shape. According to the doctor, Wesley could still be feeling the effects of having been frozen in cryo for so long, hence his urge to be withdrawn and stay in bed. Wesley merely nodded his agreement, not feeling up to arguing with anything he said.
After all, Simon didn’t know that Wesley was now over 500 years old. He didn’t know that everyone that he had as a friend was now dead, their bones disintegrated on a planet that no longer withstands life. The idea of telling anyone was horrifying and far too depressing, as far as Wesley was concerned.
Wesley fought down the urge to feel giddy when Jayne looked over at him. After a month on the ship Wesley’s appreciation of the man had officially turned into a crush. It was rather embarrassing.
“He likes you.” River’s soft voice said. Wesley glanced over at her, watching as she swung her bare feet. She sat on the catwalk, legs dangling off the side. Below them Jayne and the others were preparing for a job.
“Does he?” Wesley asked, fighting down a blush.
“Yes.” River nodded. “He likes your butt.”
“That’s… Nice, thank you River.” Wesley replied. River smiled.
“You should go.” River ordered, her head tilting to the side. Her eyes went a little blank, a look that Wesley had seen on her before. It was rather common around the times she either had one of her fits or said something that made no sense at all. “All the soldiers in a row… Missing a bullet, though. Not good, not good at all.”
“Do you really think I should…?”
“Save the big one.” River insisted. “Make his enemies go pop and you’ll win the heart of the lion, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.”
Wesley didn’t reply. He didn’t see a need and most likely River wouldn’t pay any attention to him anyway. Taking in a deep breath, Wesley walked down the steps until he reached the lower cargo bay. Jayne spotted him first, the larger man’s eyebrow rising.
“I was wondering, Captain, if I may offer my help in today’s little adventure.” Wesley managed to get out. Truthfully the thought of going out there, onto some unknown planet that was far from his, was terrifying. But River thought he should go and Wesley wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the suggestion of a reader.
“No offence, but you don’t look like you are much of a fighter. Besides, I don’t like the idea of perfect strangers knowing our business.” Mal replied.
“I understand that, sir, but I have yet to work off any of the debt I surely owe you.” Wesley often found that when he had to argue his case to someone it was often best to fall back onto the polite form of speaking his father had taught him.
“Ah, come on Mal, let the man prove show us what he can do.” Jayne interjected, a slight grin formed on his lips. Wesley avoided looking at them.
“It would be safer to have more than just us, sir.” Zoë pointed out.
“Did you all just forget that I am the captain of this boat?” Mal demanded. He let out a sound of annoyance. “Can you shoot?”
Shoot? Wesley nearly laughed. He had been raised to shoot crossbows and rifles. He could hit the mark farther than any of his graduating class at the Watcher’s Council. It was one of the few things his father had been proud of.
“Yes.” Wesley replied.
Later, Wesley shifted the rifle within his grip. It felt good to have a weapon in his hands again. He felt safer, in control of the world around him. Of course, it was hard to be in control when a simple retrieval plan was going down the drain.
Wesley was hiding under a brush, aiming the gun toward the fight before him. Bullets were soaring over their heads. Wesley shot, bringing one bandit to his knees. Turning, Wesley caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Swinging, Wesley fired a bullet into a man’s lower back, who had been trying to sneak up on Jayne.
Jayne looked up, meeting Wesley’s eyes. Wesley smiled.
“I told you.” River informed him as he stepped onto the ship.
“Yes, I suppose you did.” Wesley replied. River watched, her gaze unnerving, as Jayne bumped into Wesley’s shoulder.
“Sorry.” Jayne mumbled.
“It’s alright.” Wesley replied. Jayne blinked at him, as though debating. “Did you want something?”
“Nah, I…” Jayne gave him an easy grin, which could easily be considered a leer. “I just thought you might want to celebrate with me.”
“In the beginning…” River muttered to herself.
“Actually…” Wesley nodded, sending Jayne his own smile. “I would like that.”
this can be considered the end, but I plan on continuing this plotline in a couple other stories later.