Lay Down Your Arms || Wesley, Penelope, Gen & Simon
The bowl of cereal in front of him was growing soggier by the minute, but Wesley couldn't bring himself to eat anything. He absentmindedly prodded at it with the tip of his spoon, looking past it, his eyes staring holes through the MIRA headline. It was as though the entire newspaper had been dedicated to it. He'd ready every word two and a half times before he'd been unable to take any more in. This wasn't how he'd imagined adding the word 'agent' to his name. Even the eleven year old James Bond fan inside him couldn't get very excited about the idea of MI-12. The emptiness of the kitchen left him far too alone with his thoughts, and he was glad at the sound of stirring people, distant voices. He looked up as they walked into the room. "Morning," he mumbled, pushing the newspaper across the table. "I'd say good, but..."
"There's nothing good about it." Penelope finished. "Years spent trying to get out from under the feet of arrogant men who think they know best and now it's either get back under or go to prison." She sat down beside Wesley, wan and miserable.
"Well, tell us what you really think," Gen said through her first slice of toast. It had passed. That probably should have shocked her more, but she'd already come to terms with her decision. She tightened her fist around the newspaper almost involuntarily as she flicked through the pages. MI-12. She almost snickered. "I suppose you two have already made up your mind, then?" She glanced from her mother to her mother's boyfriend. Penelope's face had already been on the news. Everyone knew who she was. She had to stay and register, or she had to run, and she wouldn't go without Gen. In spite of the powerful feeling that her decision regarding registry was the right one, right for her at least, she couldn't help but feel guilty knowing she'd made up Penelope's mind, too. "Or perhaps not." Had they even spoken about it, she and him?
Simon 's head was still throbbing from morning grogginess when he'd gotten the news alert. It felt worse than a cold shower and he was still shaking from it quietly as he padded into the kitchen. He was good at following orders, especially way back when. But this was a crazy-ass new world, and no one in those government buildings had been making any calls he felt good about for awhile.
Penelope turned to Wesley uneasily. "Thanks to all that running about from conference to conference, I'm quite the public figure," she began carefully. "I am the Head of Council, or I was, I suppose, and Gen has her mind set on enlisting in this MI-12 program." Her fingers gently touched his, "I have to register with her too."
Wesley clenched Penelope's fingers, his eyes widening. Of all the slayers who might line up to register, he had believed the ex-murderer who'd had more than enough of being under people's thumbs would be the last of them. 'You don't,' he almost said, but bit back his words as though they were bile in his throat. Penelope would never leave the girl, no matter how idiotic the decision was. "I really don't feel like that's wise, for either of you," he said firmly, his eyes searching Simon's face for some hint of reaction. "Did you know about this?"
Simon kept his arms folded, fists clenched. That cold shower was turning into a nasty, sick, red feeling. He shook his head and kept his eyes to the ground. The last thing he wanted was to fight with Gen or get everyone on her ass but jesus... "These guys are playing for control, and power. They wanna show they got a handle on things. But even if things were on the level, the military's no place for most Slayers."
Gen stiffened visibly. Him, too. If anyone could make her doubt her decision, it was Simon. He'd been in the military, in MI-5. He must have left for a reason, some disillusionment or dissatisfaction. Just how bad was it? For a brief moment, she couldn't remember any of her reasons for wanting to sign up, at least not well enough to argue them. "I'm not asking any of you to come with me," she insisted, her breath leaving her nostrils in a heavy sigh. "But I believe in this. Not how they went about it, but... I believe in our armed forces, and in our police. We could never work with them before because everything was a secret. Now it's not. They're never going to learn to understand or trust what we do if we keep hiding it from them. Nobody is going to reach any compromise if we all run to another country. They'll just call us outlaws and fugitives... and I've had enough of that. You can't change my mind." She couldn't look into his eyes as she said the last words. She wasn't even convinced that they were true.
Simon spoke very quietly, "You've never been near the military before, have you?"
Gen didn't have to answer. He already knew. "That doesn't change anything."
Simon shook his head, "Well this stubborness? You wanting something, and everyone here going along with it out of respect for you? That's not how it's gonna work when you get in there. They point, you shoot. You follow your orders to the letter." Or else they made your life hell. For him it was the kind you could get over, usually. But the way this whole thing had folded out, he wasn't too sure if these guys were above doing much worse. But Gen wasn't budging. And Wes could look as upset as he wanted, she'd still get things done the way that felt right no matter what. "Just make sure you know what you're getting into," he grumbled. He gave Lady Fairfax a hard sideways glance. Part of him wanted to say that went double for her.
Wesley wouldn't have thought the morning could get any worse, but having a front row seat to their little squabble made him question that thought. He remembered the last time he'd tried to talk the slayers out of doing something stupid, when he'd told them donating blood was a mistake and done nothing but widen the already existing wedge between Estela and himself. They'd all done it anyway, and nothing bad had happened, but how could he know that would be the case this time? "They asked for watchers, said we would have input in compiling their registries. They don't know enough about this to be able to control it or give orders that make sense. They'll need someone else to lead it." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes finding Penelope's poignantly as he spoke.
Penelope caught Wesley's gaze. "All the more reason for me to be there and register with Gen and any other girls determined to do this."
Wesley nodded. That had been exactly what he had been getting at. "I hope you don't expect me to go on the run without you. If anything, at least I know how to use a gun."
Penelope sighed, "I know better than to ask you outright, but if my colleagues are going to be sentimental fools, I need someone capable and trustworthy to help girls leave."
"Well that rules me out," Wesley said plainly. Penny's slayer wasn't the only person at the table with a stubborn streak. They could all play that card when the situation suited them. "None of them know me, or like me. No, it's a far better option for me to sign on with you." He had years of experience under his belt. He had inside knowledge of Wolfram and Hart, the Council, and Angel Investigations. If they were to have any hope of changing the system from within, it would require all of them, and all their strengths. He tried not to think of the last time they'd tried that, with Wolfram and Hart, but his neck chilled at the momentary consideration. He brushed it aside. There was no time for such things now.
Penelope wanted to argue, but way Estela had shied away from him in the past rang too vividly in her mind. Her heart ached, but if she was going to sit here and fume about being practical, she had to swallow the fact that someone as hardened and calculating as Wesley could be would best serve in London. At least, she supposed, there was a strong change they would die together should worse come to worst. "Alright," she murmured.
Gen remained quiet, looking at Simon as the exchange between them reached its crescendo. The word 'alright' left Penelope's lips, and Gen's gaze stiffened. There was only him left.
Simon stiffened. He still couldn't look at Gen. This was a crap idea and she didn't have to do it. Wes had his point, but the rest of them? A straighter head would've had them all out of here weeks ago. "I'm not a Watcher," he said. He didn't want any more part of this than he had to take. Would they even let him in? He still had a buddy or two, but he had a feeling most of them weren't gonna be in on this. And what would he do if he bunked with the rest of them? Be a practice dummy? Stand on the sidelines while they got shot at? Die? He swallowed. "I'll go where you point me, Lady Fairfax. Last check I'm still in your employ.
Penelope only had the energy to raise her head up a little ways. "For the moment, Mr. Hastings, I would like you to be on standby." she said softly. "God willing, at least some girls will be packing. They'll need to be transported safely through our escape routes, which you are already familiar with. Beyond that is up to you."
Simon nodded, "Yes, ma'am."
Gen looked at her hands, her lips a thin line as she fought back all the things she wanted to say. She'd have to get used to this, people being ordered away from her, not getting her own way, holding her tongue. "May I be excused? I need to pack."
Penelope rose from her seat. "Of course. We need to do the same as well." She gave Wesley's hand a brave squeeze and met his gaze. "Shall we?"
Wesley rose, taking Penelope's hand. Gen had fled from the room as soon as Penelope had nodded her agreement. This was already going terribly. "Yes, let's," he sighed. "It can hardly get any worse." What did they say about tempting fate? Well, he had just waved a bloody red flag in front of it.
