Log in

25 February 2007 @ 12:05 pm

After my night with Liam I went home in a daze. Not in a good kind of daze, but more a confused one. Things were getting out of hand. He wanted more from me that I was able to give. Willing to give. There couldn’t be more. There shouldn’t be any soft touches or kisses. There certainly shouldn’t be ‘I love you’s’. And the latter we’d been very close to this time.

I was perhaps just as guilty as he was. I should’ve left right after the… after the deed, so to speak. Not give him any time to slide into that comfort zone where he would slip and do something like this. I’m still surprised I hadn’t crashed the car on the way back home, considering the state I was in. I was however very glad not to find William loitering around in my living room, having let himself in as per usual. He must be having fun with his night on the town.

At least one of us was. That’s something I suppose.

Willow, thankfully, had already gone to bed by the time I’d gotten home. So I could indulge in a drink. Or two. Quite possibly three. Of course it was illegal, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t some stash of it laying about. There were times one just needed something stronger then a sarsaparilla. I’m just fortunate William never found my stash, even though I’m pretty sure he knew it has to be hidden somewhere.

By the time I went to bed I was suitable buzzed of a different variety. That didn’t, as I had hoped, stop me from thinking. Mulling things over. I tried to mull the case over, but that one I had as good as solved. I just needed to gather some evidence and it was water tight. Instead I mulled about Liam and myself and how we were going to drown if this kept going on.

Yes, I cared about him. I cared about him quite a lot. But I wasn’t going to become a home wrecker. I refused to become that flat out. Though it may have been a little late for that. Liam had assured me Darla still had no idea, and perhaps it was better if this, this between us was called to a halt before she found out. Before we slid in to deep and could find out. The consequences for both of us would not only be dire, but dangerous. Perhaps even deadly.

I fell into a restless sleep, woke up with a pounding headache and rather….cranky, to say the least. After a quick shower and some toast and tea for breakfast, I got dressed, slipped on my glasses, my coat and plodded over to my car. I was running a bit late, which was unusual for me.

Dammit. This has to stop. This cannot go on.

All the parking paces near the office were already taken, which left me to park a few blocks away. Cursing under my breath I stomped over to the office, nearly slammed the door closed behind me but caught myself just in time. “Morning,” I grumbled, realizing I hadn’t even gotten my newspaper, tea and I'd forgotten to shave.

Great. This is going to be a *wonderful* day. I can already tell. Bloody hell.

[Open for Cordelia and/or Spike if they're at the office]
Current Mood: bitchybitchy
__visiongal: black and white headshot__visiongal on April 5th, 2007 07:57 pm (UTC)
I feel 110% better when I get into the office the next day. I'm not sure if Lindsey's alcohol worked overtime or the little impromptu-massage was really what I needed, but I feel less sneezy and less uck when I get into work, and I'm ready to tackle anything that comes at me.

It occurs to me, when I'm sorting out what I have to do today, that I should probably get in touch with Lindsey. Maybe... Maybe show my appreciation for him not taking advantage of my sick state. Then again, I also think that in his sick state, there wasn't much taking advantage of anything, but I should still thank him.

I think I'm warming to the guy. Okay, so that worries me. My track history with relationships isn't exactly a great one (it pretty much reads like a Who's Who of Human Crap) but Lindsey... Something tells me he's different. And I'm just insane enough to want to test that theory today so I pick up the phone--

And promptly put it back as Wesley charges into the office, feeling like a kid who got her hand caught in the damn cookie jar.

Note to self: when your boss looks like crap? You're in for a shitty day.

"You look awful," I tell Wesley, not bothering to tame down my lack of tact, "Are you coming down with that cold?" I peer closer and realize that's not the reason why bossman looks like he dropped a hundred dollar bill and found fifty cents.

"Okay, what's up?" I ask, immediately. I love Wes, I truly do - he's one of my best friends - but I refuse to tiptoe on eggshells all day even if the guy is paying my salary. Besides, isn't it better to get this stuff out in the open?

"You look terrible, you clearly haven't shaved and don't think I haven't noticed the lack of tea..." The world may be ending as I speak, so my voice softens a little, "Are you okay?"
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on April 11th, 2007 09:03 am (UTC)
“Thank you,” I grouse, “and no.” I glare at her and her obvious lack of tact. Not that this is anything new, though in font of paying clients she shows an amazing amount of it. I just wish she’d do the same when it’s needed without any clients around. Like now. I feel as though anyone saying something wrong, is in danger of loosing his or her head.

Growling, I push past her and glare at the hat rack when it fails to hold up my hat I’d only disposed there moments ago. Another growl gets out as I pick it up, the pounding in my head getting ten times worse while I bend down. Goddamit, this really isn’t my day. I slam the hat on there, my coat following swiftly while Cordelia keeps looking at me as though I’ve two heads or something.

“What?” I snarl, stomping over to the coffeemaker, “Nothing’s wrong. Why should there be anything wrong? Speaking of lack of tea, why *isn’t* there any tea. And for that matter why isn’t William here yet?” I squint at my watch and realize that it’s far to early for him to be in the office. But come on! If Cordelia and I are here then why can’t he.

“I’m fine,” I insist, sighing at the lack of tea, lack of newspaper and a mountain of paperwork on my desk. At least I have the foresight *not* to slam my office door shut. I think my head might’ve exploded if I’d done that.
__visiongal: not sure what you want look // mistress___visiongal on April 24th, 2007 10:28 pm (UTC)
O-kay, so we're airing on the side of really cranky today. To most people, this would be a sign to back off, to take a leave of absence maybe until boss-man comes out of his funk for fear they'd lose their job. To most normal people, that is.

Thankfully for Wes, I'm not normal. I sit there in silence as he slams his hat back on the coat rack for a second time, his coat following in quick succession, and snarls at me in his really pissed off voice, wondering why William is late.

I decide not to point out to him that today is one of those pesky one's that, like, ends in Y, so of course he's going to be late. I don't even answer him when he asks why there isn't any tea, just watch him stomp his way into his office and then get up to follow him, sitting down in the seat usually reserved for clients.

"Okay," I start, "There's no tea because I haven't been to get any. A little lax on my part, maybe, but since I've felt like I've been dying all week--" and I don't even know if he noticed, but I'm not gonna push that "--it didn't get done. The last I saw of William, he was heading out of here with a tip of his hat and a 'get well soon, Cordelia' and there is definitely something wrong because you have that face..."

This followed by Wesley's puzzled face and, "No, not that one. The other one," I point out, arching my eyebrow, "The one that clearly tells me that I should be heading out the door but I'm just too big a person and I care about you too much to actually do that, so what's up?"
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on April 25th, 2007 08:40 am (UTC)
Oh dear god. Why cannot I have a normal secretary like say...the rest of the world? No, mine has to also be a good friend. And what I need right now is not a good friend, it's my bloody secretary! My brother showing up at work for *once* would be a lovely thing too! Then again, Liam not crying or...whatever happened last night would be even more wonderful.

I can't change what I am. But I can change the fact that I keep dragging people down with me. Perhaps it's for Liam's best interest that he and I broke it off. I mean he's got a wife and a kid for crying out loud. There's also the fact that I'm getting close. Far to close. If I'm not careful I might...I might fall in love. And I wont go through that pain ever again.

As I sit behind my desk and ponder who on earth I'm going to get out of this mess, my secretary - who cannot seem to only do her job when I need her to - comes in and give me *that* look. I steeple my fingers together and glance at her over them and raise my eyebrow. The moment she raises her voice, she's so very much fired, I think idly.

A sigh gets out when I realize that I could never tell her what's wrong. Well golly, Cordy, you see I'm falling in love with one of the most important people of the police force. And hey, here's the big laugh, it’s a man and he's married with a kid. Yes, I can see that going over well. With everyone, not just Cordelia.

"What is up?" I say darkly, "is that you're not heading out the door. I've a headache, I've had a horrible night and the day before that was lousy as well. I want to be left alone so I can write up these bloody case file, shove them over to McDonald and be done with them. That's what's up. What do you think of that?" I ask, sarcasm practically oozing from my tone of voice.

Christ. Where are those painkillers I know we keep at the office?
__visiongal: not impressed s2__visiongal on April 25th, 2007 08:41 pm (UTC)
This is really not what I'd planned for this morning. Sure, I felt better and everything. My cold was almost completely gone (and okay, that was down to Lindsey as much as anyone) but this, I was not prepared for, and Wesley was just completely abusing sarcasm right now.

He tells me in a tone I really haven't heard before, that the problem is me. The fact that I'm not leaving, that he has a headache and has had a horrible couple of days, and sue me, but my eyebrow arches.

I wasn't going to do this, I wasn't going to get angry with him, and fine he may not want to talk, but damnit, that's what friends do and he--Geez, he can be a pompous ass sometimes.

"What do I think about that?" I echo, frowning, "Let's see. I've spent the last two days sneezing all over your office and fielding phone calls and visits from people who want to know whether my best friend is as incompetent as some two-bit-floozy's newspaper seems to think he is. I come in here because you look like you've had a worse couple of days than I have...and all I get is Cranky!Wes and a case of the glares because I actually care about what's going on with you?"

Well, fine. If that's the way he wants to play it, then that's a-okay with me. I stand up and with as much poise as possible, I walk out to my desk, grabbing the list of messages that I wasn't going to give him this week, never mind this morning.

I head back armed with said messages and the box of painkillers that've taken up residence in my desk lately. "Here," I tell him, smiling though there's not a hint of warmth in it, "Your messages, Mr. Pryce. I'll be sure to patch all your calls through."

I head back out to my desk then, managing to place myself behind my desk though I'm about three seconds off exploding. Who the hell does he think he is anyway? Of all the arrogant--

The phone rings and interrupts my inner monologue and I snatch it up, saying in the sweetest voice I can manage, "Pryce Investigations, Cordelia speaking, how can I help?"
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on April 25th, 2007 09:39 pm (UTC)
Everything seems to be very loud today. Extremely loud. Serves me right for getting drunk last night I suppose. I'm somewhat surprised Cordelia hasn't grasped this opportunity yet to berate me on the evils of alcohol and the fact that they're illegal for a reason. Which would make her a hypocrite since I *know* she drinks on occasion as well. Still, she's never one to let a good opportunity slide.

Things are just to loud. The car. The doors. The people on the street. Cordelia.

What is she on about anyway? Resting my head on my hands I glance up at her with somewhat bleary eyes. Which is when I realize I don't even have my glasses on. Well, some things suddenly make a world of sense. It's a miracle I didn't crash the damn car on my way here. I must really look charming. No meeting with customers for me today I'd wager. I'm not trusting William to do so. Cordelia on the other hand can handle it.

Cordelia who's still talking. Nay, ranting. “Oh what,” I mutter, “You’re the only one who’s allowed to be cranky from time to time?” Lets not even begin about that once per month thing shall we? Not that I’m stupid enough to point it out that clearly.

And suddenly she cares? Where was she last night when my life went to hell? Okay, that's not fair. She doesn't know about that part of me. And I hope to god she never finds out. Which is when I realize she may be getting to close to me. Cordelia is a bright girl and will eventually do the math. Damn. Damn her for caring.

Then again, aside from William and...Liam, no one cares either way. It's a bit of a novelty which I'm not sure how to react to. So I do it the only way I can. Business like.

"Thank you, Miss Chase," I murmur, feeling like a heel for reacting this way. Damn her for caring. "And if you could *hold* all my calls, I'd be much obliged."

I should just find myself a girl and get married. Except, that doesn't work does it? Another reason I'm here and not in merry old England. Clarice Witherspoon, especially selected by Father as my future wife. I'm sure she can tell you stories about my...none performance in bed. She figured it out and god what a disgrace that was. No, I have to come up with something to deflect the rumors.

And I have to come up with something to do about Liam.

Dropping my arms on the table I let my head fall on them and groan. "I hate my life," I mutter, wondering if McDonald would take offence if I were to shove the files up his arse. Bloody case. "I hate my job." I hate myself.
__visiongal: cordy wes friend to turn to // catatonic__visiongal on April 26th, 2007 08:40 am (UTC)
Hold all his calls? Oh, that's rich. And never mind the fact that I'm actually paid to do it - I should just patch them all through on principle because Wesley's a giant ass who--

"Does Mr. Pryce wish to comment?"

I realize I wasn't even listening to what the guy was saying. I was too busy watching through the glass as Wesley did the whole head-meeting-desk thing.

"Like I told you yesterday," I frown, "Mr. Pryce isn't available for comment." Detective # 57392 hangs up after flappin' his gums a little bit and I stare at Wesley, hearing him mutter something but not quite catching what it is.

Okay, I can totally be the bigger person here. I'm still pissed - nobody talks to Cordelia Chase like that and completely gets away with it - but not pissed enough to completely ignore my bosses plight so I get up and grab him a glass of water, walking through to place it on his desk and pop a couple of pills from the bottle of painkillers.

"You're welcome," I tell him before he can say anything and slip back out of his office, closing the door quietly behind me. I can amuse myself until bossman gets rid of his headache. I totally have work to do. That, and I can wait until he's ready to share whatever the hell is going on with him.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce_wes_pryce_ on April 26th, 2007 06:16 pm (UTC)
There’s movement in the office. Why is there movement in the office. Oh. Right. Because we work here. I glance up blearily and notice Cordelia’s back at my desk. I brace myself for another onslaught of words, no doubt ones I deserve as well. I don’t think I can go through with this whole pushing her away. I mean, it’s not as though I can…talk with William. He makes a joke about everything. And he’s family. Not that I’d tell Cordelia the real problem. Actually, I doubt Cordelia would like to talk with me period at the moment.

“Thank you,” I mumble, glancing at the pills now on my desk with some confusions. Women! They’re so bloody confusing! One moment she’s ready to glare me to death if not slash my throat with her ton-… that’s a ghastly imagery. The next she puts down some painkillers and a glass of water. I’m such a bastard aren’t I? God, why didn’t I stay at home?

Sighing, I sit up in the chair and swallow the pills she’s left me. I glance over at her through the window in the office. She’s good at pretending to be occupied. Alright, I could never actually tell if she’s occupied. Unless he’s obviously painting her nails. Or reading one of her stupid magazine’s. The phone’s ringing though, and…god, it’s to loud.

Another sigh gets out as I slowly move to my feet. As I drag myself over to her desk I finger my…absent tie. I’m not even wearing a tie? Bloody…. This is horrible. This is a horrible, no good day and I should’ve stayed in bed. Damnit. Since my glasses are missing for polishing as well, I push my hands into my pockets.

“Ah…” Clearing my throat, I glance at a suddenly very interesting spot on the wall. Needs painting. The whole office needs a work over. “Sorry I snapped at you,” I mutter rushed. “I-I uhm…Well, never mind. I’m…sorry. I’ll be in my office…hold my calls please.” Wonder if I should go out and walk under a buss. With my luck? The bussdrivers will probably be on strike.

At least I apologized. I think. Which hurts. Ow.
__visiongal: cordy/wesley // bench time__visiongal on April 29th, 2007 08:52 pm (UTC)
It occurs to me when I sit down, that my little trick of being nice to him while he's afflicted was a pretty sneaky one. Lindsey tried that yesterday and ended up giving me a totally impromptu massage that--Okay, didn't entirely suck.

I'm not about to be offering Wesley a massage here, but he looks like he could use someone to talk to even if he doesn't know it yet. he shuffles out of his office, opting to put his hands in his pocket instead of cleaning his non-existent glasses and I glance up at him.

“Sorry I snapped at you, I-I uhm…Well, never mind. I’m…sorry. I’ll be in my office…hold my calls please.” He mutters, clearly hoping to get this over with and fast.

I'm not that easy brushed off however and I call his name softly before he can disappear again. "You can talk to me, y'know," I tell him, watching his face carefully to make sure he knows I'm not trying to overstep a mark here or push any boundaries. I'm just telling him that... That we're friends, that's all. And if the occasion ever called for it, I'd trust him with anything. I think maybe even Wilson, and that's not something I like to think about, never mind talk about.

"I mean, I have two pretty good ears on me. And no offence, Wes, but when you've forgotten your tie and your glasses, I think it means something's really bugging you. Like majorly. So if you want to talk... I'm a good listener. And it doesn't go further than this office."
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: Wes/Cordy old school_wes_pryce_ on April 30th, 2007 03:29 pm (UTC)
Right. Apology over with, time to move back to the office before she decided she want to 'talk'. If there is something I don't want to do it's 'talk' about my problems. I mean, it's not as though I can actually say to her anyway. Not about my problems. Not about Liam.

She'd probably quit straight away and despite her dislike of the woman would walk over to that Morgan wench with the hot news that one of Los Angel's finest private detectives is gay. I could forget about the business. William would be even more tainted then he already is, and it wouldn't even be his fault.

I sigh and quickly start to make my way back over to the office, but don't actually reach the door before she calls out my name. Damn. Double damn. I freeze, frantically thinking of a way to get out of this one when she tells me I can talk to her. I wish I could. I really wish I could.

Taking a deep breath I turn around, hands still shoved far into my pockets and look at her. A sad smile slides on my face as the brief, very brief, though of telling her everything crosses my mind. But no, that can never be. Ever. "I know you're a good listener," I tell her quietly, "But there isn't anything wrong," at least not something you an fix, or would want to hear.

"Just a bad...week, actually, that's all." A shrug to accompany the smile as I rock back and forth on the balls of my feet. "Just a bad week. I'll uhm..." I point over my shoulder at the office, as if that makes all the difference, "go do some work. Let me know when William decides to show up after all. Sorry again for...well...snapping." Clearing my throat, I quickly look away and slide into my office.