<< back to fiction index
Arrangements & Arguments

By Rach

THANK YOU: To Regina for beta reading and for giving me a prod when I got stuck for ideas *g* - couldn't have done it without you!

The sun shone down into the courtyard of the Hyperion Hotel. Taking advantage of the bright weather that had been preceded by weeks of fog and rain, Wesley and Fred sat together, enjoying each other's company. They both sat on the now-dry floor, Wesley with his back to the wall and legs outstretched, Fred in between them. Even though they'd been engaged for three months, every morning Wesley woke up and was still amazed that a girl like Fred would even consider marrying him. Every time she laughed, it lit up something in his heart, and every time she cried, it hurt him so much he thought his heart would break. He'd never been this happy with anyone before, and he never wanted for it to end.

He sat, delighting in the sunshine, gently stroking her hair whilst she read to herself. He was happy with her even when they weren't talking, or doing anything in particular. He'd always heard people saying not to mix business with pleasure, but for Wesley, working with his fiancée was pure bliss. He looked up at the sky and noticed it was starting to cloud over, although he saw no signs of rain yet. The air was still warm, but he noticed tiny goose bumps beginning to appear on Fred's arms. Slowly he moved his hands so they were gently rubbing the tops of Fred's arms, warming her up. Noticing Wesley's movement, she closed her book and snuggled back into him, closing her eyes.

There was something she'd been wanting to discuss with him, but she'd never found the right time. She wasn't sure he'd like it, and she didn't want to spoil the moment, but she thought now would be as good a time as any. Without moving or opening her eyes, she murmured Wesley's name.

"Yes, love?" he whispered back, kissing the top of her head as he did so.

"Can we get married at Christmastime? Its such a pretty time of year."

"Whatever you want, sweetheart," he replied, in the same, low tone of voice.

Fred took a deep breath. "And can we get married in England?"

Suddenly the mood was broken. Wesley stopped massaging her arms, and lifted her a little so he could stand up.

"No. I'm sorry, Fred, but no," his answer was commanding, and certain. Fred sighed, and stood up to face him.

"Why not? I'm sorry, but I don't understand why you wouldn't want to get married in your home country. I know you had such an awful childhood, and I wouldn't want to bring that back to you for anything, you know that, but we don't have to get married near your parents. What about York? It was so lovely there. I've always wanted to get married in another country, and England is so romantic." She took another step towards him, and reached out, her hand resting on his upper arm. "Please tell me you'll think about it."

As she spoke, she felt raindrops on her arm, and she sighed again as Wesley walked back into the hotel to escape the weather.

"Give me one good reason why not." Her voice was strong and powerful, and as she walked through the door, it echoed around the lobby, causing Cordelia and Gunn to exchange worried glances.

Wesley turned back to her. "I'll give you three. Number one, all our friends are here. There's no-one in England that I would want to invite, apart from my mother. Number two, I don't want to, and number three ... well I can't think of a number three right now, but I'm sure there's something. It's just got 'bad idea' written all over it. Besides, England isn't as romantic as you think. Especially in winter." "But, please, just say you think about it."

"Fred, can we not talk about this now please?" He turned away from her, and instead spoke to the room in general. "I'm going upstairs. I've got some paperwork to do."

Fred ran behind him, and Wesley sighed as her hand touched his shoulder. "Fred, please. Just let me be alone." He continued to walk, but something was tugging at his mind. "Fred?"

"Wesley?" They spoke simultaneously.

"Yes?" Wesley replied first.

"Are you angry with me?"

"Angry? Oh, no, of course I'm not angry! All you did was ask me a question, there's just some things I need to think about. I love you Fred."

Tears welled up in Fred's eyes as she watched Wesley climb the stairs until he was out of sight. Then she flung herself on the sofa, grabbed the remote for the TV and tried to look as if she wasn't bothered.

******* Wesley quietly closed the door to the room he shared with Fred and sat down on the floor. He remembered a phone call he'd had with his mother after he and Fred had arrived back in the states.

"I enjoyed seeing you with Fred. She seems like a lovely girl - what I saw of her. Ignore what your father said, I don't care that she's American, as long as you love her."
"It's not a disease, you know mother. He doesn't seem to realise that. Most of the people I've met in America are far nicer than many of those in England - one in particular."
"Now, Wesley, I know what you said, but couldn't you see fit to forgive your father - just this once?"
"Mother - I've had a lifetime of "just this once"s. I've given him more last chances that I'd care to remember. No, if he wants to disown me, that's fine with me."

Later in the conversation, he'd heard that man call for his mother.

"I'll be there in a second, dear."
"Who are you talking to?"
"It's no-one, just Anne from the Bridge Club."
"I don't believe you." He remembered the scuffle he'd heard, and then his father's voice.
"Hello?"
"Father."
"Thought as much." Wesley heard the phone drop, and the sound of hand on skin. A sound he was all too familiar with. The voices became fainter, but Wesley could still hear his mothers whimpers.
"Did I not make it clear to you the last time? You are to have NO contact with that waste of a life, and if I even hear that he's been in the country, you'll wish you'd kept your legs shut."

Wesley had never felt so helpless. Even during his time in Sunnydale, he'd had enthusiasm to get him through, and he did his best to help. But this time there was nothing he could do. He listened, tears streaming down his face, to someone beating the hell out of his mother, and he couldn't do anything. It had been hard for him when he used to be locked in the cupboard, but this time he knew there was no point in even trying to help. He was so terrified for her he didn't even dare shout down the phone. Eventually he replaced the receiver, and thought of all sorts of ways he could get revenge on his father, but none of them would work. Because deep down inside, he knew that his mother loved his father, and she would be devastated if anything happened to him, no matter how badly he had treated her.

He wasn't sure how seriously to take his father's words, but he wasn't willing to take chances. He knew Fred wanted to marry in style, and he wanted nothing more than to make her happy, but this was something he couldn't do, for the safety of his mother. He wondered if he'd over-reacted before, wondering why he hadn't just come straight out and told Fred why he didn't want to go to England, but something wouldn't let him. Embarrassment? Maybe. His pride? Possibly. The painful memories? That was probably part of it, although he'd relived that phone call so many times in his head, maybe telling someone would exorcise it. It was probably a mixture of a lot of things, but the one thing he knew was that he wasn't ready to tell her about it.

Maybe because he thought she'd blame herself.

Maybe she should.

No! Where had that thought come from? He realised with horror that's what had been nagging at him. His father had been worse than ever since he brought Fred home - something else for him to be ashamed of Wesley for. If he'd fallen in love with an English girl, someone his father thought respectable, would it have made a difference? Who knows. He knew he loved Fred. He knew he wanted to marry her. So what was wrong with him?

He jumped slightly as there was a knock at the door. "Wesley?"

Cordelia's voice came floating through to him.

"Yes?"

"Wesley, your mom's on the phone. It sounds kinda urgent."

The second he heard the words 'your mom' he flung open the door and grabbed the telephone from Cordy's hands.

"Mum? What's the matter, are you alright?"

"It's your father, Wesley, he's had a heart attack." Although he thought he didn't care what happened to his father, hearing his mum sound so upset tugged at something inside him. "He's been asking for you."

"Asking for *me*?! Why?"

"The doctors don't think he'll last much longer. I suppose he just wants to say goodbye. I've been on the phone, and there's a flight from LA to Leeds/Bradford tonight. I'd appreciate it if you'd come."

"Of course I will." He looked over at where Cordy stood, looking at him worriedly. He smiled reassuringly, and nodded towards the stairs. As she descended the stairs he made the necessary arrangements with his mother, and then hung up, re-entering his room long enough to pack a small suitcase. He didn't know how long he'd have to be there, but the hospital wasn't far from home and he could wash things if he needed to.

A small cough came from the doorway, and he turned to see Fred standing there, leaning against the frame. "Are you going somewhere?" she asked, her voice small.

"Yes, I'm afraid I have to go to England, I'm catching a flight later tonight."

"Is something wrong at home?"

"My father's had a heart attack. I wouldn't go, but I think mum need's some support."

"Would you like me to come with you?"

Wesley smiled, locked his suitcase and walked over to the bed, sitting on the end of it, and patting the space beside him. Fred came and sat next to him, and he took her hand. "I need you to stay here. Keep them all in control for me. I don't think I'll be away too long."

"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own? I can come if you want ..."

"I wish you could be there, but I think this is something I'm going to have to do on my own." He looked up into her face. "I'm going to miss you *so* much, Fred."

"I'll miss you too." She stood up and walked over to the small chest of drawers on her side of the bedroom. Unlocking the bottom drawer, she pulled out a small, stuffed bear, with a halo held above its head by a string. She handed it to Wesley. "My mom gave me this when my Gran died. She said it was my guardian angel, and it was to make me feel better whenever things are hard. Take it with you, and I'll be there with you the whole time."

Wesley smiled again. Fred was so sweet to him - what had he done to deserve her? He set the bear down beside them on the bed, and enveloped Fred in a massive hug.

"Oh - and Wesley?" She whispered, reluctant to let go.

"Mm?"

"We don't have to get married in England you know. As long as you're there, it'll be perfect wherever it is."

"Wait until I get back, and then we can talk about it." To himself, he added 'it mightn't be an issue by then'. He looked at his watch, and reluctantly broke the hug. "I have to go. I'll call you when I get there." Picking up his suitcase, he started to head downstairs.

"I'll be waiting by the phone."

*****

Wesley sat on the plane, trying to concentrate on the book he'd brought, but unable to direct his attention towards it. His eyes roamed all over the compartment, always coming to rest on Fred's guardian angel that was sitting on the pull down table in front of him.

She'd been right - he had been away from her for two hours, and already he missed her, but the bear made it seem as if she was there with him. He didn't know why he missed her so much - they'd been apart before. Maybe it was because this time he didn't know when he'd see her again. He looked at his watch. There was still hours to go before he reached Leeds, so he packed away his book and attempted to go to sleep instead.

*****

The journey from Leeds to Surrey did not usually take long. But his plane had landed in the middle of rush hour down the A1, so it took the taxi at least four hours to get to the hospital where his father was. When he finally arrived, his mother was waiting anxiously for him at the main entrance.

"Wesley, thank God you're here."

"How is he?"

"Not good. You should go and see him."

"How are you?"

"I'm holding up." Molly smiled, to demonstrate this, and turned to lead Wesley towards his father's room. When they reached it, she put a hand on the doorknob, and looked at Wesley questioningly. He nodded, and she pushed the door open and entered.

"David?" She spoke gently. "David, Wesley's come to see you."

"About time. Margaret, can you leave us please? I'd like to talk to my son alone before I go."

"Yes, of course." As Molly left the room, Wesley's father tried to sit himself up slightly. Wesley stood at the end of the bed, arms crossed, face stern.

"Wesley. Nice to see you." Wesley could see the strain it was causing his father to be polite.

"No, its not. Why am I here?"

"You're right, it's not nice to see you. Have you changed your mind about that American girl at all?"

"Only in that we're getting married.

"You're determined to be a disgrace to me, aren't you child?!"

"No, father. My aim in life, contrary to your opinion, is not to be a disgrace to you - I have better things to think about than you. My aim in life is to be successful, and happy. Thanks to Fred, for the first time in my life, the latter is true."

"I want you to look after your mother once I'm gone."

"Whatever would give you the idea I wouldn't? All my life, *you've* been the one who has beaten her to a pulp, and traumatised us both, not me. I don't think you have the right to patronise me like that, do you?"

There was something about this situation that Wesley liked, in a morbid sense. His father had no way to retaliate, and Wesley could finally let out all the frustrations that would have earned him a slap at any other point over the last 30 years. He realised that was part of the problem with Fred, if not all of it. He didn't think that she deserved to get the blame - he was just looking for someone *to* blame. All his life, he'd let anger bubble up inside of him instead of letting it out healthily. Partly through fear that his father would hurt him, but mainly because he was afraid of becoming his father. He rarely argued or shouted, because he didn't know if there was a chance he would become like the man he loathed more than any other.

"Do you realise, father, that because of you, I spent a great part of my childhood locked in a cupboard? No wonder I was so scrawny, when you only gave me the bare minimum to eat and drink so that I would stay alive. Is it any wonder that I despise you? So I hope that you haven't asked me here to get my forgiveness, because if you have, you can think again."

"Well, look at that. My son's grown a backbone."

"A backbone, perhaps. But you know what? There's no way I'm ever going to become like you, because I know what you were like, and I could never hurt anyone like you hurt me. You traumatised me, you know. I was so paranoid, and so frightened, it's only over the last few years since I got some *real* friends that I've realised what a sad man you are. There's a part of me that's still that little boy locked in the cupboard. Still, after all these years. But that part is becoming more and more like someone else, and less and less part of me. You aren't going to be part of me forever."

"Don't you care that you'll be leaving your mother with a blackened name by marrying this girl? If she is a girl - what kind of a name is 'Fred' for a girl?"

"It's short for Winifred, and apart from that, mother loves Fred. She's just happy that I'm happy, as you would be if you were any kind of a father at all."

"You'll know one day, when you and your wench have children of your own, how difficult it is to be a father, and you'll wish you hadn't said those things to me."

"I sincerely doubt that. If I'm the kind of father to my children that you were to me, I hope that Fred leaves me and takes them away, but I intend never to let that happen."

"Get out."

"Can't think of a comeback, father? Unusual for you. It must be because you can't use your fists to get your point across. What a shame. I'm going to ring Fred, let her know I arrived OK. Because *she* cares."

*****

Wesley spent the next four days sitting outside his father's room. Not once did he enter, and not once did his mother ask him to. He didn't know if his father had told her what had gone on inside his room, but Wesley guessed not. His mother told him he'd gone into a stupor the night he'd spoken to Wesley, but he was being tough, refusing to die. Typical of his father, too stubborn to even die on time. He called Fred every morning and every night, and as the days passed he was missing her more and more.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, the doctor left his father's room to talk to Wesley.

"He only has minutes left. I think your mother would appreciate it if you went in now."

Wesley thanked the doctor, and stood up, entering the room quietly. His mother turned to him.

"He's almost gone now. I can feel it." Wesley moved the chair from the other side of the bed, and placed it next to his mum's. He gripped her spare hand, choosing to support her rather than hope for a miraculous recovery by his father. That was something he just couldn't bring himself to do. They sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Wesley wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there when the beep-beep-beep turned into one long, continuous noise. Neither him nor his mother moved - they knew what had happened, the doctor would be along soon.

Wesley hardly noticed when the doctor came in. It felt strange - he'd spent so much of his life hating this man, and yet now he was gone, it hurt. He felt like something was missing - it felt as if he'd actually been a Dad to him.

The next couple of days were a blur, making arrangements for the funeral and such like. His mother declined his offer to move to LA - she decided she was "too old" to move so far away from everything she knew, so instead she was moving to Newcastle to live with his uncle and his wife.

*****

The morning after the funeral Wesley walked down the stairs of the family home - he used the word 'family' loosely - for the last time. All his mother's possessions were boxed up, ready for her to leave, and the house didn't feel the same, but he still couldn't say he wasn't glad to see the back of it. Knowing he would never be coming back here was a refreshing feeling, as if he was exorcising something.

He and his mother spent the rest of the day loading up his father's car, and then they headed up to Newcastle, Wesley driving. He stayed long enough to have a cup of tea with his uncle, and then left for the airport. He was missing Fred more than he thought possible, although he liked having the bear with him. He hadn't let it out of his sight the whole time he'd been in England, and although it was a poor substitute for Fred, he was starting to grow attached to it.

He arrived at the Hyperion late that night. He quietly slipped inside, being careful not to make any noise or turn any lights on. Once he was into the Lobby he opened his suitcase and took out something to sleep in, before heading into the downstairs bathroom to get changed. He decided to leave his case there til morning, to avoid making a noise, and instead headed straight for bed.

He opened the door to his and Fred's room slowly, peeking around it before entering. He smiled when he saw Fred curled up on her edge of the bed, clutching a photo frame containing a picture of the two of them together. He slowly crept into the room, prising the picture from her fingers, and slipped into the bed beside her. He certainly didn't want to be accidentally accosted by a picture frame in the middle of the night.

He leant over and kissed her on the cheek, whispering "Lets get married in England," into her ear, before he turned over and fell asleep himself.

<< back to fiction index