nomorekaraoke | Of Watchers and People Persons

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Of Watchers and People Persons

Seeing Emma--

Let's start over.

Seeing Beth was probably one of the hardest things he's done in the past year, but he doesn't regret coming here. He doesn't care about the looks he gets from everyone, nor about the whispers or the tension so thick you could cut with something suitably sharp... And yet, it's getting to him despite his best efforts; he needs air, he needs open spaces, and more than anything, he needs a mini marshmallow.

Or twelve of them. Badly.

Only problem is, once he's outside, there's this thing... getting the bag out of his (very manly and stylish) traveling suitcase is one thing. Getting it open (without using his teeth, thank you very much) is kind of difficult if you've only got full use of one of your arms. In short, life sucks on all levels today. Why can't Deathwoks have sharp claws like every other demon? Or fangs. Actual fangs would be nice.

He is not going to use his teeth for this. Not gonna happen.

His problems, so huge, aren't they. So huge even his narration jumps on the sarcasm wagon.

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"She's been upset a lot longer than anyone here realized. She must have been planning this for over a year." Andrew shakes his head.

And, after a beat, adds "So are you here to give evidence against her and the others, or what?"

He doesn't say anything about people not noticing things; he knows too well just how good you get at hiding that anything's wrong. But the other thing, the question, he has no qualms answering that one.

"No." Shaking his head. "I'm here for Emma."

Andrew blinks, then straightens slowly. "Emma," he repeats. "Emma Baldwin?"

He's heard the name before, oh yes. In close and unwelcome connection with Beth.

"Beth Lehrer. I only ever knew her as Emma." Ducking his head, he focuses for a moment to fumble with his coat lapels, not wanting his temporary handicapability to show too much. All it does is draw attention to the fact there's a demon on the grounds, and he's wounded. An easy mark for over eager Slayers.

A breath of fresh air like nothing else, his ironic bone points out to him.

"I knew it was a fake name, but I didn't care. Still don't."

He stares, and then brings up a hand to press to his eyes as though to stave off an incipient headache.

"You're telling me," he mutters, "that she was using Emma as her fake name? Sweet zombie Jesus on a half-shell."

"Brilliant, isn't it?" says the demon, the hint of a smirk teasing at the corners of his mouth. He's figuring yet another piece of the puzzle out. Emma's the name of the woman. The lawyer who promised Beth she could help with the nightmares.

"You would never have guessed it."

Andrew shakes his head again.

"So you didn't meet her until after the whole business." The whole filthy business, his tone says.

Lorne promptly ignores the tone and what ever it may imply (for the moment). Instead, he looks Wells over with something hesitantly assessing. Again that thing people tend to call a voice at the back of one's head pokes and prods at his attention. Could he be trusted? Could he possibly?

"Funny how you can make just knowing her sound distasteful. I don't blame you, really. You should've seen the look on the guard dog's face when she opened the door to kick me out of the holding cell," he knows it isn't a holding cell, technically, but for all intents and purposes...

"Is it because I'm a demon with a mysterious past, or because everyone assumes she's the very lifeblood of Evil?"

"I've met the lifeblood of Evil," Andrew says shortly. "She doesn't come anywhere close. She was a dupe. Obviously."

"Well," he notes wryly. "Good of you to notice, you little cookie cutter."

"Doesn't make her not guilty."

His face is set, and he's just gonna ignore that nickname completely.

"Somebody told her a pretty story. Nobody held a gun to her head. Or rigged her with a compulsion."

Or a geas -- no.

"Oh, please," he wheezes out a small chuckle. "Like you've never stabbed someone in the back. Everyone does it, sooner or later. Just a matter of who, when and where. I'm just sorry she got involved with W&H."

Right that moment, something tight and coiling and acrid slithers through his voice, though he does everything he can to hide it. "You never recover from that."

(So I've done the backstabbing thing before, okay? I have both been there and done that, and --)

With a jerk of his shoulders, Andrew pushes away from the tree trunk and takes a step toward Lorne.

"Not by running away from it, you don't."

Someone's in a feisty mood today, and it isn't Lorne. He raises his constant frown, but doesn't back off. He isn't ready to quite yet.

"No, of course not. You accomplish so much more by getting yourself killed by a trio of rogue Slayers."

"She's got to face up to what she did."

His voice is steady now, and very hard.

"Not Jordie's way. Not a vengeance killing. But she's going to have to stand trial."

Okay, this is officially cease hostility time.

"I never said anything about not standing trial. I know what she did was wrong, I know she has to pay for what she did. I was simply suggesting that there's nothing wrong with me being there for her. Here. For her sake."

It could be a dare, the way his voice grinds through the words, it could be a warning not to judge him for being her friend.

It could be him not wanting Wells to look to closely.

A long, long beat.

"No," Andrew says finally, low-voiced. "Nothing wrong with that."

"And that everyone makes mistakes they gotta own up to. Okay? I'm not dissing you and yours, I'm just a bitch with an occasional mean streak."

A one-shouldered shrug and a beat later, "I don't really mean half of the bitching. Even less. It's just...she's my-- my friend, you know?"

Quiet: "And this time you want to be there."

Andrew half turns away, looking up at the Academy building; there are lights on in several offices that are usually dark, this time of night.

"What do you think's going to happen to her? After?" Toneless, giving nothing away.

His face drains another touch of color, his hand tremors for one brief, telling moment. Again, the plastic squeaks, only reminding him of how close he came to throwing everything away for someone he barely even knows. But he wasn't there for the others, he ran, and people died. He isn't going to be that kind of bastard again. He'll do everything he can to be there for her. He'll be her Champion.

"I don't have the faintest. But if you guys were old school, she'd be dead already. The fact she isn't...means you're considering your options. Weighing her crimes against some kind of moral code or notion of what's best for everyone involved. Most suitable." He doesn't think. Doesn't want to think of what they might do to her. What they're going to do to her.

A pause, meeting Andrew's eyes, or trying to. "She's terrified." But not as terrified as he is. So much his heart lurches from just making the suggestion.

He makes himself meet that red gaze without flinching.

"She should be. We don't have a lot of leeway here. And we have to consider both what she's already done, and what she could do if we let her go."

One step closer, two, walking right past Wells to lean against the big, comforting hunk o' tree trunk. He needs it, needs the one solid point of reference before the world starts spinning faster. Before he's actually sick instead of just feeling it.

"She's harmless. She didn't know what Baldwin wanted the Scythe for and now that she does, she's dead and dying on the inside for what she did."

Not saying she isn't guilty. Just saying she's got a guilty conscience.

Very quiet, and heavy with certainty: "That doesn't make her harmless. Guilt can make you turn to the bad guys because you know the good guys won't want you. Or decide there's no such thing as good guys or bad guys, so you don't have to hate yourself for being on the wrong side. Or make you vulnerable to blackmail, or ... all kinds of other things."

He shakes his head, and this time his eyes move away. "She lived here for months. She knows the layout, the protocols ... plus she knows every other Slayer here by sight. That's how she outed our inside agent to Baldwin, after she took the Scythe, and she probably didn't even do that on purpose. But sorry or no, she’s not harmless."

"She believed she was doing the right thing. She believed the bitch could help her get rid of her nightmares, and believe you me, that's a pretty potent incentive right there."

He really isn't in the mood for a fight, even if Wells is hitting him where it hurts. Wesley, the late turn coat-of-sorts. Himself, the line dancer. He isn't in the mood for much of anything, really. "Furthermore, she believed she was working for the good guys. She's harmless in my book. Sweetest girl I know, and if you start finding flaws with that opinion too, I might as well get out of your goldilocks.

"I'm telling you my opinion of her. If it doesn't count, why do we even bother?"

"Your opinion," says Andrew, and his voice has gone just a little flat.

"Why don't we talk about that."

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